Or
becoming president of Hempnell overnight, even if I'd thought you
wanted to. There's a law of reaction or retribution in all conjuring--I
mean, I used to think there was. Like the kick of a gun. I was afraid." After that there were no more interruptions--only the white smudge of
Tansy's face in the darkness. When he had finished his voice was tired, too. There was a pause. Then she said, "I'll do what you want me to. I'll
burn all my stuff. I'll never touch it again." He snapped on the light, and it seemed to him that science and healthy
skepticism had been created anew from the primeval dark. The hands of
his watch stood at ten thirty. Then he saw that Tansy had begun to cry. "Darling," she managed to say, "don't you see this is what I've wanted? Only I'd gotten in so deep I never dared. On your account. You had to
find out and make me stop. That was the only way." What followed was oddly anticlimactic--the ransacking of the house for
all of Tansy's hidden charms. First the contents of the dressing table. He found then that he could be generous in his victory because his
trust in Tansy was re-established--he did not demand to look into her
locked little leather-bound diary, when she told him it contained no
relevant material. Then the rest of the house, Tansy darting from room to room, deftly
recovering flannel-wrapped "hands" from the upholstery of chairs, the
under sides of table tops, the interior of vases, until he marveled
that he had lived in the house for more than ten years without chancing
on any. "It's rather like a treasure hunt, isn't it?" she observed with a
rueful smile. There were others outside--under front and back doorsteps, in the
garage, and in the car. With every handful thrown on the roaring fire
he had built in the living room, his sense of relief grew. Finally, she
opened the seams of the pillows on his bed and carefully fished out two
little matted shapes made of feathers bound with fine thread, so they
blended with the fluffy contents of the pillow. "See, one's a heart, the other an anchor. That's for security," she
told him. "New Orleans magic. You haven't taken a step for years
without being in the range of one of my protective charms." The feather figures puffed into flame and were gone in an instant. "There, that's the last one of them," she said. "All gone." "You're sure?" For a moment his voice grew hard again. "Absolutely
certain you haven't overlooked any?" "Absolutely certain. There's not one left in the house. I've gone over
it in my mind a dozen times. I'm tired now, really tired. I want to go
straight to bed." Suddenly she began to laugh. "Oh, but first I'll have
to stitch up those pillows, or there'll be feathers all over the place." He put his arms around her. "Everything O.K. now?" "Yes, darling. Only one thing I want to ask you--that we don't talk
about this for a few days at least. I'm really terribly ashamed. But
I'm glad it's happened, remember that." *       *       *       *       *

After Tansy was gone, Norman threw a fresh log on the fire, and sank
back in the easy-chair, watching the restless, rhythmic play of the
flames. Gradually his thoughts began to unkink. He found himself
wondering--not without admiration--at Tansy's relatively cool behavior. He would never have dared to try reasoned argument on any other woman
in a similar situation. But that was like Tansy. Always fair. Always
willing to listen to logic. Empirical. Except that she had gotten off
on a crazy sidetrack. He reached down to stroke Totem, who did not look away from the
hypnotic flames. "Time we got to bed, old man. Must be about twelve. No--quarter-past
one." As he slipped back the watch, the fingers of his other hand went
automatically to the charm at the end of the chain--more a locket than
a charm--a gift from Tansy. He gazed ruminatingly at the flattened golden heart, weighed it in his
palm. It seemed perhaps a trifle heavier than its metal shell would
account for. He snapped up the cover with his thumbnail. There was no
regular way of getting at the space behind Tansy's photograph, so,
after a moment's hesitation, he carefully edged it out with a pencil
point. Behind the photograph was a tiny packet, wrapped in the finest flannel. Just like a woman, was his first thought--to seem to give in
completely, but to hold out on something. Perhaps she had forgotten. Angrily he tossed the packet into the fireplace. The photograph
fluttered along with it, lighted on the bed of embers, and flared
before he could snatch it out. He had a glimpse of Tansy's face curling
and blackening. The packet took longer. A yellow glow crept across its surface, as the
nap singed. Then a wavering four-inch flame shot up. Simultaneously a chill went through him, though he still felt the heat
from the embers. The room seemed to darken. There was a faint, mighty
roaring in his ears, as of motors far underground. He had the sense of
standing suddenly naked and unarmed before something menacingly alien. Totem had turned around and was peering intently at the shadows in the
far corner. With an expectorant hiss she sprang sideways and darted
from the room. He realized he was trembling. Nervous reaction, he told himself. Might
have known it was overdue. The flame died, and once again there was only the bed of embers. Explosively, the phone began to jangle. "Professor Saylor? I just want to tell you that you're not going to get
away with what you're trying to do to me. I'm not going to be flunked
out of Hempnell without a protest." The voice spluttered with rage. It was some moment before he recognized
the student and cut in. "Now listen, Jennings, if you thought you were being treated unfairly,
why didn't you present your grievances three months ago, when you got
your grades?" "Why? Because I let you pull the wool over my eyes. I didn't realize
until this minute that you were behind it all." "Be reasonable. You flunked two courses besides mine last semester." "Yes, because you dropped dirty hints. Poisoned everyone's mind against
me." "And you mean to tell me you only realized it now?" "Yes, I do. It just came to me in a flash as I was thinking here. I saw
your whole slimy plot. Oh, you were clever all right, but let me tell
you, Saylor--"

The voice ranted on. Twice his "But what possible motive could I--"
went disregarded. With a distasteful grimace he hung up. He felt suddenly very tired. There was an unpleasant coincidence
tangled up in the events of the past few minutes, if you bothered to
figure it out, but a scientist ought to have a healthy disregard for
coincidences. He put the screen in front of the fire and went to bed. II. The red-haired woman knew immediately what had awakened her. She made
no further movement, but lay there, propped on one elbow. From the
opposite bed came placid snores. Presently, although there was no further sound, her eyes were drawn to
the blacker smudge of the phone. She lifted it quietly and whispered,
"Expected you, dear.