MADAME VICTORIA.
It was nearly noon when Nick Carter, after dismissing Grady, entered
the handsome granite building on Tremont Street in which the rooms of
Madame Victoria were located.
In so far as her pretentions to foretelling the future were concerned,
as well as her other alleged powers, Nick felt morally sure that the
woman was a fraud. Yet he decided to take no chances that she possibly
had seen him before, and would remember his face, and in the corridor
of the building he carefully adjusted a simple but effective disguise.
In so doing, he had a double object, however; that of first getting
an insight into Madame Victoria’s business and her alleged occult
endowments, merely to satisfy his own curiosity; and, second, that
of afterward being able to return and question her about the robbery
without her suspecting his first visit.
“I’ll have this much the best of her, at all events,” he said to
himself, while adjusting his disguise. “If she is as clever as she
claims to be, however, she should be able to see right through it. Yet
I wager that she does nothing of the kind.”
In the corridor of the second floor was a door bearing Madame
Victoria’s name in gilt letters, and Nick unceremoniously entered.
He found himself in an elaborately furnished waiting-room, with windows
overlooking the Boston Common. The carpet was velvet. The furniture was
upholstered with richly figured plush. There were fine lace draperies
at the windows, and the walls were hung with choice paintings, while
various ornaments of one kind or another added to the adornment of the
place.
Nick decided that Chief Weston was correct in stating that this woman
did a lucrative business.
From a chair near the window a young girl quickly arose, laying aside a
novel, and Nick inquired if Madame Victoria was in.
“Yes, sir, but she is engaged just now,” said the girl. “She will be at
liberty in a few minutes, however.”
“I’ll wait,” said Nick tersely.
“Take a chair, sir. If you will give me your card, sir, I will take
it to Madame Victoria as soon as her visitor leaves, and will learn
whether she will give you a sitting at this time. It is nearly her hour
for lunch.”
Nick did not discuss the matter. He gave the girl a card bearing a
fictitious name, with several of which he was always provided.
Presently a richly dressed, middle-aged woman emerged from an inner
room, drying her eyes with her handkerchief. She hurriedly departed,
however, after viewing her hat and hair in the mirror.
“She must have heard from some dead one,” thought Nick, with grim
derisiveness. “Either that, or some infernal calamity has been
predicted for her. I’m blessed if I’m not a good bit curious to know
what I shall get in there. Maybe I shall get it in the neck.”
He had not long to wait, for the servant presently announced that
Madame Victoria would receive him in the inner room.
Nick left his hat on the table, and entered.
At first sight the view within was startling.
The single window of the inner room was heavily curtained with black,
excluding every ray of daylight. Above a small square table in the
middle of the floor, however, there burned two electric lights
enveloped in green globes, the rays from which shed a weird and uncanny
light throughout the room.
On the walls were hung numerous astrological charts, a number of
horoscopes of celebrated men, more accurately cast after death than
before; and along with these were various devices and insignia, of the
meaning and object of which Nick was entirely ignorant.
On a stand near the table were several packs of playing-cards,
presumably for fortune-telling, if no other amusement.
In other respects the room was well furnished, with a book-case against
one wall, a couch opposite, and several small but expensive chairs.
What chiefly startled Nick, however, was less this curious appearance
of the room than that of its solitary inmate.
Madame Victoria was seated at the table, a woman under thirty, large of
figure, without being corpulent, an attractive, self-reliant face, and
an abundance of brownish-red hair done up in picturesque disorder. She
was clad in a long purple robe, figured with small silver stars, along
with a crescent moon here and there among them, the whole conveying
a vague suggestion of a midnight sky. The garment was voluminous,
entirely covering her waist and skirts.
From the large, loose sleeves, and in vivid contrast with the rich
dark-purple, protruded a pair of shapely bare arms and hands; yet both
these and the woman’s face, uplifted when Nick entered, were lent a
disagreeable, deathlike pallor by the green light of the room.
Her first glance was at Nick’s left hand, at a valuable carbuncle ring
on the third finger, and then her eyes rose up to his face while she
abruptly exclaimed, with a curious mingling of vivacity and surprise:
“Dear me! Oh, dear me, what a strange feeling, Mr. Sibley. I feel just
as if two men had entered this room.”
Nick was a bit startled.
Sibley was the name on the card he had sent in, and the woman’s
immediate remark, in the light of Nick’s disguise, was at least a
little peculiar.
“Two men, eh?” said Nick inquiringly. “Well, I am quite alone, madame,
I assure you.”
Madame Victoria struck her brow violently with her palm several times,
then shook her head, as if bent upon shaking out some of its ideas, and
finally cried, with obvious perplexity:
“Well, well, this is quite extraordinary. I never had such a strange
feeling. I am impressed exactly as if two men had entered the room.”
“Impressed?”
“Take a chair, sir,” smiled Madame Victoria quite graciously. “You must
understand, Mr. Sibley, that I am what I call an impressionist.”
“I hear and know the meaning of the word,” laughed Nick, with curiosity
still further piqued, “yet I cannot say that I fully understand.”
Madame Victoria shrugged her fine shoulders, and regarded him archly
from under her lifted brows.
“Ah, well, that is not to be wondered at, Mr. Sibley,” she replied
agreeably. “Very few people understand the true nature and source of
their own impressions, to say nothing of those of another.”
“That is quite true, madame,” assented Nick, bowing.
“In fact, sir, I cannot say that I understand even my own,” added the
woman, with a pretty display of frankness. “They are so vivid at times,
yet frequently seem so utterly improbable, that I often shrink from
expressing them. I should have felt so in this case, Mr. Sibley, and I
doubt if I should have said what I did, sir, had it not come from me
quite involuntarily, and before I could repress it. Of course, sir, I
see that you are entirely alone.”
“You interest me,” smiled Nick, bent upon leading her on. “May I ask of
what your present impressions consist?”
Madame Victoria drew forward in her chair, and rested her pretty arms
upon the table. Her face became grave again, and once more her eyes
briefly lingered upon the ring on Nick’s finger, yet in an absent way
that did not attract his attention.
After a few moments, during which she appeared to be yielding to some
outside influence, she looked up at him and said:
“There is something about you, sir, that I really cannot explain. I
cannot get rid of this impression of a double personality here. I will
try to fathom it, Mr. Sibley, if you will be patient.”
“Take your time, madame,” said Nick, smiling at her across the table.
Madame Victoria nodded and laughed, displaying her white teeth and
calling up a charming dimple in each velvety cheek.
“As you probably know, Mr. Sibley,” said she, “people come here for
various objects. Some call to have their horoscopes cast, others
to have a mediumistic sitting with me in the hope of receiving
communications from dead friends, while others call to consult me about
business and love-affairs, or to have their fortunes told by the cards.”
“So I imagined,” bowed Nick.
“But you came for nothing of the kind, that’s my impression,” exclaimed
Madame Victoria, with an abrupt exhibition of earnestness.
“It is quite correct.”
“You have no faith in any of those things.”
“That also is true.”
“Dear me, I am awfully perplexed,” laughed the woman, apparently with
vain efforts to straighten out something in her mind. “You seem to me
just like two men, which I, of course, know is absurd. Yet I cannot rid
myself of the effects of that impression. I shall try to do all that I
can for you, however, and will give you what comes to me.”
“If you please, madame,” said Nick, not a little impressed and puzzled
by her curious statements and apparently genuine endeavors.
Again Madame Victoria beat her brow with her palm, so violently that
Nick did not wonder that her hair was somewhat disordered.
As she suddenly fixed her eyes upon him, he noticed that they began
to dilate and glow with almost preternatural brilliancy, while she
abruptly exclaimed, as if under the impulse of another of her vivid
impressions:
“You have recently been in danger, Mr. Sibley, in great danger!”
“Is that your present impression?” inquired Nick.
“Yes, sir. It must be correct, too, or I could not feel it so strongly.”
“Go on, madame.”
“You are a man who encounters many dangers,” Madame Victoria continued,
now speaking much more rapidly and earnestly. “Your life is made up of
stirring adventures and frequent perils.”
“That is very true,” admitted Nick.
“I see you hunting—hunting—hunting!” cried the woman, with suppressed
vehemence. “I don’t know what it means, sir, but you seem to be
constantly hunting, searching after persons and things, and delving
into all kinds of complicated mysteries.”
“Well, well! that hits pretty near the mark,” laughed Nick.
“Oh, dear! and I see you all surrounded with a red atmosphere, as if
you were not a stranger to violent combats and the sight of blood.”
“I have seen my share of both.”
“Yes, yes, that is plain to me, very plain,” she rapidly went on. “You
are a busy man, and you—wait! I am now carried away from here. I feel
as if I were riding in a railway-train. I don’t quite interpret the
impression as yet, but I feel—oh, now I have it! You don’t belong here,
sir, not in this city. You are a stranger here.”
“Well, not exactly that,” replied Nick, more and more puzzled by the
accuracy with which she was hitting the mark.
“I don’t mean that you never were here, and are not familiar with this
city,” cried Madame Victoria quickly. “I mean only that your business
is not here, that your interests are in some distant place. Isn’t that
right?”
“Nearly so.”
“I knew it was.”
“How did you know it?”
“Because of my impression, that of being carried away in the cars,”
explained the woman. “I presumably get it from you, sir, for I am
susceptible to all of the conditions surrounding those who come here to
consult me.”
“That is quite mysterious.”
“So many think.”
“How do you explain it?”
“I don’t explain it. I know only that it is so.”
“Yet——”
“One moment, please!” exclaimed Madame Victoria, again leaning nearer.
“You have recently lost something, Mr. Sibley.”
Nick laughed.
“Can you direct me how to find it?” he asked.
“Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot tell what it is, yet—yet I feel that you miss something
usually carried on your person.”
“That is true.”
“No, I cannot direct you how to find it—at least, not at present. It
is not still, not located yet. It is moving—moving—moving. I see smoke
and hear guns. I feel the same impression as a moment ago—that you have
lately been in danger.”
Again she was speaking with that rapid, vehement earnestness as
before, as if every sensitive string of her delicate organism had
been suddenly struck, thrilling her with new and strangely correct
impressions.
Nick Carter sat watching her as a cat watches a mouse, but he could
detect no sign of simulation or treachery. Her voice, looks, actions,
and constantly changing moods all appeared to be perfectly genuine.
“I admit that I recently have been in danger,” said he, in reply to her
last remark.
Madame Victoria bowed over the table, again fixing her eyes upon him
with that strangely intensified stare.
“There are greater dangers before you,” she rapidly declared.
“Is that so?” inquired Nick, wondering what was now coming.
“Much greater dangers.”
“Of what kind?”
“Many kinds.”
“A general assortment, eh?”
“You regard them lightly, but I judge that to be like you.”
“Rather.”
“If you do so at this time, Mr. Sibley, you will do wrong.”
“Why so?”
“The perils threatening you cannot be wisely ignored. I am impressed
with a conviction that your life is imperiled by——Stop a moment!”
“Well?”
Again Madame Victoria beat her brow, shaking her head violently,
apparently striving to get a clear interpretation of her impressions.
“Ah, I have it!” she suddenly cried. “You are in Boston on
business—perilous business.”
“Well?” queried Nick, determined to tell her nothing.
“You came to me for advice?”
“Yes.”
“Then I advise you to drop it.”
“Drop what?”
“This perilous business.”
“Do you know of what it consists?”
“I do not get any impression of that,” replied Madame Victoria, with
curious nervous efforts to make her mind receptive to the information
desired, efforts that brought the perspiration to her neck and brow in
tiny drops.
“No, no. I do not get it—cannot get it,” she presently added, with a
gasp. “I have no idea of what it consists. Yet I advise you to drop it.”
“Because of the dangers it involves?”
“Yes.”
“They will not deter me,” said Nick, with a headshake. “I never run
from danger.”
“There is yet another reason.”
“For dropping the business?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“You will fail.”
“Fail in my undertaking?”
“That is my impression. Ah, I see you smile!” cried the woman, wiping
her damp cheeks and brow. “You do wrong to deride and ignore my
predictions. Ask others to whom I have given advice. I have never yet
erred in one of these predictions. Take my advice, Mr. Sibley, and
avoid the impending perils.”
Nick had smiled incredulously, and arose to go. He saw that the woman
had no more to tell him, nor had he any inclination to hear more in the
same line.
Having paid her fee in money obtained by cashing a check in order to
settle with Grady for the damage to his runabout, Nick bade Madame
Victoria good morning, and departed.
At the door of the inner room the woman tendered him her hand, which
he gravely accepted, noting at the same time that it was damp with
perspiration, yet as cold as a hand of clay.