The Clairvoyant Countess Read Online Free PDF Page B

car that hit that chap—I can’t tell you what I’ve seen. It seems an absolutely filthy world!”
    “Ah,” said Madame Karitska, alerted.
    “Yes.” He looked really abject now. “I realize my wife despises me, and has for many years. My daughter is living in sin with a young hippie upstate, in some sort of commune, and one of my clerks is pilfering the accounts of the firm.”
    Madame Karitska concealed a smile. “Then you have just discovered what you have been surrounded by all your life. How fortunate! Perhaps you will be able to change some things. But this has tremendous meaning, you know.”
    “I keep hoping it will go away as suddenly as it came.”
    “Perhaps it will,” she said cheerfully.
    “All right, where does it come from?” he asked suddenly and angrily.
    She laughed. “Oh my dear Mr. Faber-Jones, you wish the answer in one sentence? I can only tell you this: as human beings we remain very ignorant in spite of our splitting atoms and building vast machines. There is far more to the universe than we can possibly comprehend as yet, and there are laws of the universe that no scientists have as yet uncovered. To know ourselves may be the next frontier, because inside of each of us lies the clue to all time and space concepts, all—”
    Abruptly she stopped, realizing that several people were waiting for her attention. Reaching out a hand she said consolingly, “Do not take it too severely, I beg of you. It can be heartbreaking, yes, and often it is terrifying, but for it to have happened in this manner—such a strange manner—is most challenging for you.It was meant to happen, Mr. Faber-Jones. Trust it. Be patient, accept.”
    When Madame Karitska returned to her apartment it was with ninety-seven dollars in her purse, enough to pay her monthly rent and her telephone bill as well. She took it at once to the top floor where Kristan painted and lived.
    “The rent?” he said in astonishment.
    “The rent.”
    He counted it and tucked it away in his wallet. “Oh by the way, there’s a Lieutenant Pruden waiting for you downstairs. I hope it’s all right, but seeing he’s a policeman I let him into your apartment.”
    Madame Karitska thanked him, avoided any second glance at his latest painting, which appeared to be a tangle of snakes placed on a bilious green background, and went downstairs. Opening the door to her apartment she found Pruden looking through the books in her bookcase. “So—we meet again,” she said pleasantly.
    He turned. “You certainly have a great many books on the occult here.”
    “As well as the Bible, the Koran, the Upanishads, the Dhammapada, and others,” she pointed out lightly. “You look tired, Lieutenant.”
    He looked at her and she felt no hostility in his gaze today. He said simply, “I’ve been up all night reading books on ESP. I think we’ve found Alison Bartlett’s murderer.”
    “Oh?”
    “I know you don’t read newspapers but—” He drew a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
    She unfolded it gingerly, as if it was distasteful to her, and read the leaping black headline: ARREST MADE IN ALISON ’ S MURDER ; Stepfather arraigned. “Perhaps you will sit down and tell me about this,” she said quietly.
    “It was her stepfather. It took us days to prove that he’d ever left Massachusetts on April 2. Neighbors insisted his lights were on in the house all evening until midnight, but of course there are gadgets that turn lights on and off.” At her puzzled frown he said, “His name is Carl Madison and he married Alison’s mother seven years ago. Alison adored him.”
    “Ah,” said Madame Karitska, comprehending.
    “We had only a photograph—a blown-up photo—to work with. We figured that if he really was our chap he would have had to drive to New York, since buses or trains or planes would have been too conspicuous. He would have had to leave Massachusetts no later than 8 P.M. to reach Alison’s apartment by midnight,