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She knew very well what it was, for her grandmother had been carried off as a slave from the west coast of Africa, and knew all about Ashantee sorcery and fetish rites. These she had repeated to her granddaughter Dido, with the result that Dido, cherishing these recollections, knew exactly how to use the wand of sleep. She had spoken about it to Dr. Etwald, quite ignorant that Jen kept one as a curiosity, and now Etwald had intimated through Battersea that he wished her to do something in connection with the stick. What that something might be Dido at the present moment could not guess. "Yes," he replied, with point and some dryness. "It gives me a clew in a direction for which I should not have looked for it. Thank you, Miss Dallas, and you, Dido. I shall now say good-day." "Right-o, Miss Judith," laughed Patricia, flinging an arm about the young sage. "My word, but you're a crafty young one! I'd have raved about it till even Michael Angelo or Raphael couldn't have satisfied the expectations of the beholder. How do you come by so much wisdom, Miss Minerva?".
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Dido saw her thoughts, and hating Maurice as one who scoffed at Obi, she did her best to put evil ideas in the girl's head concerning the young man. But as yet she had failed to sow dissension between the lovers. "The thief and the murderer!" "Why do you sing the death song?" asked Mrs. Dallas, opening her eyes, "Fire away, Scheherezade," she commanded, folding her arms in eager attention. "Unfold the tale of the letter of the long-lost twin brother of the three lovely sisters of——".
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