Oliver Haddo, at last.

'Nothing,' answered Arthur.

Haddo looked at him for a minute with those queer eyes of his which
seemed to stare at the wall behind.

'Have you ever heard of Eliphas Levi?' he inquired. 'He is the most
celebrated occultist of recent years. He is thought to have known more
of the mysteries than any adept since the divine Paracelsus.'

'I met him once,' interrupted Dr Porhoet. 'You never saw a man who looked
less like a magician. His face beamed with good-nature, and he wore a
long grey beard, which covered nearly the whole of his breast. He was of
a short and very corpulent figure.'

'The practice of black arts evidently disposes to obesity,' said Arthur,
icily.

Susie noticed that this time Oliver Haddo made no sign that the taunt
moved him. His unwinking, straight eyes remained upon Arthur without
expression.

'Levi's real name was Alphonse-Louis Constant, but he adopted that under
which he is generally known for reasons that are plain to the romantic
mind. His father was a bootmaker. He was destined for the priesthood, but
fell in love with a damsel fair and married her. The union was unhappy.
A fate befell him which has been the lot of greater men than he, and his
wife presently abandoned the marital roof with her lover. To console
himself he began to make serious researches in the occult, and in due
course published a vast number of mystical works dealing with magic in
all its branches.'

'I'm sure Mr Haddo was going to tell us something very interesting about
him,' said Susie.

'I wished merely to give you his account of how he raised the spirit of
Apollonius of Tyana in London.'

Susie settled herself more comfortably in her chair and lit a cigarette.

'He went there in the spring of 1856 to escape from internal disquietude
and to devote himself without distraction to his studies. He had letters
of introduction to various persons of distinction who concerned
themselves with the supernatural, but, finding them trivial and
indifferent, he immersed himself in the study of the supreme Kabbalah.
One day, on returning to his hotel, he found a note in his room. It
contained half a card, transversely divided, on which he at once
recognized the character of Solomon's Seal, and a tiny slip of paper on
which was written in pencil: _The other half of this card will be given
you at three o'clock tomorrow in front of Westminster Abbey_. Next day,
going to the appointed spot, with his porti