So much for his “clerical work.” Now came a little research work.

She didn’t hug her room quite as continuously and tenaciously as Peter the Hermit, but she never strayed very far from it nor stayed away very long at a time—was constantly popping in and out a dozen times a day to feed a cat she kept.

He had a word with Perry the following morning, and soon after lunch the manager, who received complimentary passes to a number of movie theaters in the vicinity, in return for giving them advertising space about his premises, presented her with a matinee pass for that afternoon. She was delighted at this unaccustomed mark of attention, and fell for it like a ton of bricks.

Striker saw her start out at two, and that gave him two full hours. He made a bee-line up there and pass-keyed himself in. The cat was out in the middle of the room nibbling at a plate of liver which she’d thoughtfully left behind for it. He started going over the place. He didn’t need two hours. He hit it within ten minutes after he’d come into the room, in one of her bureau-drawers, all swathed up in intimate wearing-apparel, as though she didn’t want anyone to know she had it.

It was well-worn, as though it had been used plenty—kept by her at nights and studied for years. It was entitled Mesmerism, Self-Taught; How to Impose Your Will on Others.

But something even more of a giveaway happened while he was standing there holding it in his hand. The cat raised its head from the saucer of liver, looked up at the book, evidently recognized it, and whisked under the bed, ears flat.

“So she’s been practicing on you, has she?” Striker murmured. “And you don’t like it. Well, I don’t either. I wonder who else she’s been trying it on?”

He opened the book and thumbed through it. One chapter heading, appropriately enough, was Experiments at a Distance. He narrowed his eyes, read a few words. “In cases where the subject is out of sight, behind a door or on the other side of a wall, it is better to begin with simple commands, easily transferable. 1—Open the door. 2—Turn around, etc.”

Well, “jump out of the window” was a simple enough command. Beautifully simple—and final. Was it possible that old crackpot was capable of—? She was domineering enough to be good at it, heaven knows. Perry’d wanted her out of the building years ago, but she was still in it today. Striker had never believed in such balderdash, but suppose—through some fluke or other—it had worked out with ghastly effect in just this one case?

He summoned the chambermaid and questioned her. She was a lumpy, work-worn old woman, and had as little use for the guest in question as anyone else, so she wasn’t inclined to be reticent. “Boss me?” she answered, “Man, she sure do!”