There was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. ” The idea struck him as novel. There was more shouting. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. I should have known at a glance if it was. Hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. She had killed him. CHAPTER VI.
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