Suspense
Date: 2025-01-29T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Detective and mystery stories; Young women -- Fiction; Paid companions (Household employees) -- Fiction

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Title: Suspense

Author: Isabel Ostrander

Release date: January 29, 2025 [eBook #75240]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Robert M. McBride & Co, 1918

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75240

Credits: Tim Miller, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUSPENSE ***

SUSPENSE

By ISABEL OSTRANDER

AUTHOR OF
"THE CLUE IN THE AIR,"
"THE PRIMAL LAW,"
ETC.

NEW YORK
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO.
1918

Copyright, 1918, by
ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & CO.

Published March, 1918

CONTENTS

I. | THE GIRL WITH THE SCAR
II. | THE SILENT INTRUDER
III. | THE VELVET GLOVE
IV. | BLINDFOLD
V. | BOX A-46
VI. | A MESSAGE FROM PHARAOH
VII. | TEN THOUSAND SHEEP
VIII. | THE ORCHID LADY
IX. | CROSSROADS
X. | FACE TO FACE
XI. | THE FOURTH PEW
XII. | THE FANGS OF THE WOLF
XIII. | JUSTICE NODS
XIV. | NAKED FOILS
XV. | THE PORTRAIT OF BEETHOVEN
XVI. | THE CLOSING NET
XVII. | TURNED TABLES
XVIII. | UNMASKED
XIX. | THE HONOR OF THE NAME
XX. | TREASURE TROVE

SUSPENSE

CHAPTER I.

The Girl With the Scar.

"Young woman, well-bred, educated, stranger in city, and without relatives, desires situation as companion or social secretary with lady of established reputation and position. Good oral reader, pianist, quick and accurate household accountant, intelligent amanuensis, willing and obliging. Amount of salary optional. Address Miss Betty Shaw, 160 Wakefield Avenue."

The girl read the advertisement for the twentieth time, then dropped the newspaper upon the shabbily ornate center table with a shrug of impatience, a frown gathering between her level brows.

The boarding house parlor was shrouded in gloom, and outside the window whirling snowflakes showed white against the deepening dusk. A little heap of torn envelopes and a card or two upon the mantel bore evidence that the naïve appeal had evoked response, yet it was with a hopeless gesture that the girl turned from them and began pacing the floor, her brooding eyes fixed as though they would pierce the shadows which crept about her.

All at once she paused tense and alert with lifted chin and quickened breath. The throbbing purr of a motor had pulsed upon the stillness of the snow-enwrapped street, and halted with a dull grinding of brakes before the door.

She darted to the window and peered eagerly out between the dingy curtains. A massive limousine stood at the curb, its bulk looming blackly against the lesser darkness, with broad diagonal lines of white striping the lower body, and a rakish torpedo-shaped hood. It was just such a car as a person of somewhat bizarre taste and the wealth with which to gratify it might have chosen, yet had it been a veritable juggernaut its effect upon the girl could have been no more sinister. She recoiled from the window, her hands clenched, her breast heaving tumultuously, and shadowed as it was, her face seemed distorted into a mere mask of malevolent fury akin to triumph.

Then the small hands relaxed, and with a visible effort at control, she turned toward the door, as laggard feet shuffled along the passageway and a murmur of voices arose.

"'Nother lady to see you, Miss." A frowsy head appeared in the doorway and the girl advanced to meet the summons.

"Ask her to come in, please, Susan." Her voice was guilelessly soft and low. "No, wait, I must light the gas—"

But the servant had already disappeared and in her place stood a tall, commanding figure, swathed in furs and heavily veiled. For a moment the girl hesitated, then with a steady hand she struck a match and a flare of light streamed from the gas jet. In the full flow of its radiance, she turned and faced her visitor.

The woman in the doorway took a step forward and paused involuntarily, with a slight murmur of shocked surprise. The girl before her was slender and of quite a usual type, with soft brown hair and moderately large blue eyes, but a spreading blood-red scar with five curved streaks reaching out from it like an angry clutching hand covered her left cheek from brow to neck.

If the girl observed the other's momentary loss of poise she gave no sign. Her level brows were arched ingenuously, her expression childlike in its bland candor, but the smile which parted her lips did not reach her shadowed, inscrutable eyes.

"Won't you take this chair? You wished to see me regarding my advertisement for a position?"

The woman advanced and sank into the seat indicated, loosening her furs deliberately before she replied. The heavy veil still obliterated her features, but through its meshes her eyes glowed fixedly.

"Yes." She inclined her head slightly. "You are Miss Shaw?"

The girl nodded in turn.

"I have had no previous experience, but it has become necessary for me to earn my own living and I have not had any specialized training. I am quite alone in the world—"

The woman leaned suddenly forward.

"May I ask why you stated that in your advertisement, Miss Shaw? You are very young and doubtless inexperienced, but you must have realized that to announce yourself as alone and friendless would invite unsuitable and even dangerous response."

The girl glanced at the cards on the mantel and then back to her visitor in wide-eyed amazement.

"Why, no!" she exclaimed. "I wanted to make it clear that I could give no references except social ones from my own home town, and that my object was not so much a matter of salary as a home of refinement where I could feel safe and sheltered. It is dreadful to be adrift, with no one to take a personal interest, but back in Greenville there was nothing for me to do."

"Greenville?"

"In Iowa. My mother and I moved out there to live with an uncle of hers when my father died. I was a little girl then. Last year Uncle Will died, and six months ago, my mother." She glanced down at the simple black gown. "There is no one left belonging to me, and very little money, so I came back to the city where I was born to try to find a position. I have been here only a few days, but it is more difficult than I had thought. You are looking for a companion or secretary? I did not put it in the advertisement, but I am quite capable of taking charge of a household and managing servants. If—if you have children I can amuse them, too, they always take to me."

The woman's eyes searched the flushed, eager face but seemed to linger, repelled yet fascinated, on the sinister scar.

"You—er, you have had an accident?" she asked.

"Accident?" The girl repeated. Then with a smile of understanding quite free from bitterness she touched her cheek. "You mean—this? It is a birthmark and everyone around me is so accustomed to it that I scarcely ever think of it. It must be awfully unpleasant to strangers, though. I suppose it—it would be a drawback——"

Her tone was wistful, almost pleading, and she paused with a catch in her breath. There was a long minute of silence before her visitor spoke.

"Not unpleasant. It will merely be necessary, as you so sensibly say, for one to become accustomed to it. I am not sure that it is a disadvantage—" she caught herself up abruptly. "You spoke of social references from Greenville. You have friends there to whom I can write, if we come to an understanding? You realize that I, too, must be careful about whom I take into my household in so intimate a relationship as that of companion."

"Of course," the girl assented quickly. Then she hesitated. "You live here in the city?"

"On the North Drive. I am Mrs. Atterbury." The woman spoke as if the mere mention of her name sufficed to establish her status, and with a deliberate gesture she threw back her veil. The face revealed to the girl's frankly curious gaze was colorless, the thin, arched nose and firm, straight lines of her lips as immobile as if carved from marble. Only the eyes, sloe-black and glittering, gave a semblance of life to the flawless, masklike expression. The smooth, dark hair was coiled tightly about her head and brought low over the ears, but did not cover them sufficiently to conceal their peculiar formation. Small and delicately pink, they were lobeless and narrowed toward the top so sharply that the girl wondered if beneath the hair they might not be pointed, like a cat's.

As if intuitively aware of the other's scrutiny, the woman drew her furs more closely about her neck and spoke hurriedly.

"I forgot for a moment that you were a stranger here. My husband was one of the most prominent financiers in the city, but since his death I have lived very quietly, receiving only a few old friends quite informally. I am childless, and, like you, alone in the world." She paused, with a slight suggestion of a smile and the girl's intent gaze shifted and dropped. "My home is one which you would perhaps consider luxurious, but it needs a youthful presence. I want the companionship of a bright, cheerful young girl, gently reared, who can amuse and interest me, and assist in the occasional entertainment of my guests. Practically the only duty you would have would be to attend to my correspondence, which is large as I have financial interests and property all over the country. I would require your time unreservedly, however. That is why I prefer a stranger, with no affiliations to distract her. For such services I am willing to pay well, but there are certain conditions I should impose."

The girl had listened without a change of expression, but now she glanced up quickly.

"Mourning depresses me. Would you be willing to lay it aside and dress in colors, such colors as I choose for you?"

"Oh, yes. I thought of that, in any event."

"Do you speak any foreign language?"

The girl shook her head.

"There were no foreigners in Greenville but the Italian road builders."

"You are prepared to place yourself absolutely at my disposal? There will, of course, be hours when I will not need you, but I shall want you within call. Moreover, if I make you a member of my household I shall feel responsible for you. You must not attempt to go about the city alone without consulting me first. That is understood?"

The girl's eyes narrowed and for an instant her lips compressed, but she replied quietly:

"Of course. I appreciate the interest you take in me, Mrs. Atterbury, and I am grateful for it. I shall do my best to please you."

A few details followed.

"Then we will consider the matter settled." The women glanced at the jeweled watch on her wrist. "How long will it take you to pack?"

"You mean you wish me to go with you at once?" The girl's face had whitened until the scar stood out in cruel clarity upon her cheek. "I had thought of taking a few days to prepare—"

"Anything you need can be purchased tomorrow." There was a hardened note of dominance in the cold voice which brooked no denial. "I am a person of quick decisions, as you will discover, Betty—that is your name, isn't it? I came to take you home with me if I found you suitable, but I cannot keep my car waiting long in this storm."

Betty rose submissively.

"I have no trunk, only two bags. It will take me only a few minutes to pack, if you will excuse me."

Mrs. Atterbury sat immovable until the sound of the girl's footsteps had died away upon the creaking stairs far overhead. Then she rose and gliding swiftly to the mantel, glanced over the cards and notes of her predecessors. Tossing them aside contemptuously, her eyes fell upon an open desk between the windows. A sheet of note-paper half covered with writing lay upon it and picking it up she scanned it deliberately, nodding in evident satisfaction.

"'Reverend Doctor Slade,'" she repeated aloud. "Greenville, Iowa."

A quarter of an hour later, two figures emerged from the dingy vestibule and descended to the waiting car, the girl cringing in her thin black cloak against the icy blast which swirled about them, the older woman erect as if the very elements themselves could not compel her to bow her head.

With her foot upon the step the girl hesitated and her eyes swept the bleak snowy darkness in swift terror, like a trapped animal. The look was gone as quickly as it had come, however, and into her face crept a trace of the sinister, resolute triumph which had crossed it while she waited behind the curtains of her window for the entrance of this woman in whose hands she had placed herself.

In silence she seated herself beside her new employer, the footman closed the door with a snap and they glided swiftly away through the snow-muffled streets. Few words were spoken during the brief journey, and they were mere commonplaces, but beneath the casual banality ran an undercurrent of sharp tension almost tangible enough to be felt. It was as if, unconsciously, they were adversaries, pausing by tacit consent to take breath for a second encounter. The girl lay back relaxed with half-closed eyes, the woman sat with her veiled face averted, and each seemed buried in her own thoughts, yet each was aware of the sly, furtive glances of mutual speculative appraisal which passed between them.

The droning wind arose to a shrieking gale when they turned into the North Drive, the merging strands of electric light breaking into widely detached clusters as compact rows of brick and stone gave place to exclusive residences, each sequestered within its private park. The whistles of the river boats rose eerily above the blast of the storm and the girl shuddered and drew the straggling fur collar more closely about her throat.

"You must have warmer clothing." The woman spoke without turning her head. "You will need one or two dinner frocks also. That can be arranged tomorrow, and I will supply them, as you are disposing of your mourning at my request. We are home at last."

The car swerved from the broad avenue and turning in between two high gate-posts, followed a short winding drive to a brilliantly lighted porte-cochère. Light streamed, too, from the opened doorway, upon the threshold of which stood a thick-set man in the conventional black of a butler.

"Welch," Mrs. Atterbury spoke with curt authority, "Miss Shaw will take Miss Harly's place. Show her to her room, please." Turning, she added to her companion: "We dine at seven. You need not change."

The butler bowed obsequiously, but his beady eyes surveyed the girl deliberately from head to foot in a coolly impudent stare before he picked up her bags and started for the staircase.

The hall was square and of spacious dimensions, with a gallery encircling the second floor landing, from which rare tapestries were hung. The leaping flames of the hearth played upon their soft, mellow hues and glancing off in darting rays from the brass andirons, turned the dull brown of the leather wall paneling into burnished gold.

Betty Shaw mechanically noted the general effect as she followed her surly guide. There was little surprise and no curiosity in her gaze, which had flown straight to the door opposite the hearth. As she reached the foot of the stairs this door was flung violently open, and a man sprang forward, confronting her employer.

"Good God, where have you been?" he demanded, his voice grating harshly with anxiety. "'Ranza has been trying to locate you all the afternoon. She saw him, but he has broken! He's going to—"

No countering exclamation from the woman had interrupted him, yet he paused with a strangling gasp, as if a hand had been laid suddenly upon his throat.

Betty glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Atterbury stood silently drawn up to her full height regarding the intruder with eyes which blazed from a face that might well have given pause. The impassivity which had masked it was gone, the brows were drawn and knotted and the lips curled back in a distortion of silent rage so that her strong, white teeth gleamed menacingly in the firelight. The girl caught one swift glimpse of the man who cringed in the doorway, then turned and fairly fled up the stair.

The hall was dimly lighted but a rosy glow came from an opened door around a turning, and approaching, Betty found herself in a veritable bower of a room, spacious but cozy, with flowered chintz draperies and soft, rose-shaded lamps.

"If you want the maid, Miss, there's the bell." Welch had deposited her bags beside the dressing-table, and was again surveying her with his curiously intent, lowering gaze. "Should you be liking a cup of tea, now,—"

"Thank you. I shall require nothing before dinner." Her quiet tone was in itself a dismissal, yet the man still lingered as if on the point of further speech. Before her steady eyes, however, his own shifted and fell, and turning, he shambled from the room.

Betty waited until his stealthy, cat-like footsteps had passed well down the hall, then closed her door softly and began a minute examination of her apartment. It faced the side of the house, with two long French windows opening on a narrow balcony. A door in each wall led presumably to connecting rooms, but upon examination the first proved to be fastened, evidently by a bolt on the farther side, for the keyhole was plugged with a hard substance resembling sealing wax. The opposite door disclosed a well-appointed bathroom, with no opening other than a ventilator, high up in the wall.

Completing her simple preparations for dinner, the girl sank in a low chair before the glowing coals in the English grate and chin in hand, lost herself in a reverie. The eager, childishly trustful expression had vanished when she found herself alone and in its place had crept a hardened, crafty look which robbed her face of its youthful charm. The scar leaped again into prominence, and seemed to throb as if its clutching fingers were tightening in a relentless grip, and in her somber eyes abiding passion brooded.

The silver tones of a gong echoing up from below aroused her and she sprang to her feet, her clenched hands pressed to her burning temples. For an instant she stood swaying in the intensity of some all but overmastering emotion. Then her hands fell to her sides, revealing again the mask of disingenuousness.

But behind it there lurked, not wholly concealed, an air of joyous triumph, and she glanced exultantly about her as if out of all the world, the shelter of this roof had been her goal, and in winning her way into the household she had brought some deep-laid plan to consummation.

While she hesitated at the stair's foot, Mrs. Atterbury's voice summoned her to the drawing-room, where she found beside her employer a sallow little woman, dull-eyed and slender to the point of angularity, who was presented as Madame Cimmino. As Betty responded timidly to the conventional greeting another figure came forward from a shadowed corner and paused, smiling and urbane.

"Betty, this is an old friend, Mr. Wolvert." An odd smile twisted Mrs. Atterbury's attenuated lips. "Don't make love to Miss Shaw, Jack. She seeks sanctuary with me from the world, the flesh and the devil."

"Dear lady!" He raised a deprecating hand before extending it to the shrinking girl. "You malign me! Let me assure you of your immunity from evil here, Miss Shaw. Our hostess tolerates no serpents in her garden, as you will find."

The man's tone was smooth and unctuous, but there was an undercurrent deeper than mere mockery in the careless words, and Mrs. Atterbury's eyes glittered dangerously, although she shrugged in cold distaste.

"Shall we go in? Cook times her soufflés to the instant and she is the only mortal before whom I quail. Come, Speranza."

Madame Cimmino laid her hand lightly on Jack Wolvert's arm as she passed him, but his gaze was riveted upon the girl, and followed her slim figure curiously until the curtains fell behind her.

"She is attractive, this new little one, eh?" Madame Cimmino had halted in the doorway and there was a hard ring in her voice. "It is an added charm, perhaps, that brand upon her face!"

"Don't be absurd, 'Ranza." The man frowned impatiently. "There's something queer about that girl, something oddly reminiscent. I could almost swear I had seen her before, or at least heard her voice."

During the simple but perfectly served meal, Betty unobtrusively studied the two guests seated at either hand. Madame Cimmino was evidently of Latin birth, although her quick, impulsive speech was interlarded with ejaculations in many tongues. Huge opal hoops dragged at the lobes of her ears and her brown, clawlike hands were loaded with rings which glistened barbarically in her ceaseless gesturing. She ignored the newcomer as far as courtesy permitted, snubbed Wolvert with a proprietary air, which failed to carry weight before his bland equanimity, but showed an anxious almost fawning deference to her hostess.

Wolvert made a half-playful attempt to draw out the little companion, but finding no encouragement in her shy, monosyllabic replies, he devoted himself to his dinner, and Betty found opportunity to observe him at her leisure. He was a man of approximately forty, lean and wiry with olive skin and curiously light eyes in grotesque contrast with his crisply curling, black hair and small, military mustache. The man's whole personality seemed oddly at variance. His hands were slender and shapely, with the tapering, sensitive fingers of an artist, yet the high Slavic cheekbones, spreading nostrils and heavy jaw belied a finer sensibility, and his face in repose was saturnine.

Regarding him, Betty could scarcely bring herself to believe that he was the same man who had burst upon the scene at the moment of her arrival with his impassioned outcry. The inexplicable words still rang in her ears. "'Ranza," was evidently Madame Speranza Cimmino, but why had she tried so frantically to ascertain Mrs. Atterbury's whereabouts during the long afternoon? Who was the man she had seen, and what was the meaning of the phrase that he had broken?

Dinner concluded, they returned to the drawing-room, and after a brief desultory conversation Betty was dismissed, to her infinite relief. Wolvert sprang forward gallantly to open the door for her departure and stood staring after her until she disappeared around the turning at the stair's head, the same puzzled, questioning look in his eyes with which he had regarded her at their meeting.

Her light extinguished, Betty lay motionless and seemingly relaxed, but her sleepless eyes were fixed as though they would pierce the darkness, and her ears strained for the slightest sound. The storm swirled unabated outside the windows, and the tall clock on the stairs droned out the hours at all but interminable intervals.

Midnight came, and with it the hum of a high-powered motor on the drive. A subdued murmur of voices floated up to her from the hall, the front door closed with a thud and the motor snorted its way through the piling snowdrifts to the gate. A few minutes later there was a faint silken rustle of skirts past her door, then the cat-like tread of Welch as he went his final rounds and darkness and utter silence reigned supreme.

One o'clock struck, then two, and as the echo of the second stroke died away, Betty threw back the covers, and slipping from bed stole to her dressing bag. She fumbled for a moment and then a tiny, thread-like ray of light leaped from her hand. With the electric torch carefully shielded, she enveloped herself in a dark kimona, thrust her feet into soft felt slippers, and unbolting her door, crept silently out into the hall. The gleaming strand of light wavered, then steadied and moved slowly along to the turning into the gallery. Its pale afterglow lingered like a nimbus for a minute and then vanished, and darkness descended once more about the sleeping house.

CHAPTER II.

The Silent Intruder.

The storm ceased with the coming of day, and when Betty awoke a glistening expanse of diamond-encrusted snow met her gaze between the parted curtains of her window. Softened by sleep, her face was flushed and girlishly winsome as she lay with the cruel scar pressed deep into her pillow, her bewildered eyes roving the unfamiliar room. Then, with returning consciousness, the shadow descended once more and her expression perceptibly hardened.

Rising, she walked to the window and flung the curtains wide. The view of park and clustering, frost-spangled cedars was intersected sharply with vertical bars of iron and she gave a little involuntary gasp of dismayed surprise at the discovery that the narrow balcony beyond her windows was stoutly enclosed, like a huge cage.

The same trapped look of terror which had leaped to the girl's eyes on the previous day when she faltered at the door of the limousine returned anew, but she steeled herself against the sudden tide of emotion which all but overwhelmed her and moved resolutely to her mirror. The birthmark flamed back angrily at her, but she touched it almost caressingly as if the knowledge of it gave her strength, and an enigmatic smile wreathed her lips.

She breakfasted alone in the sunny morning room, attended by Welch, whose scrutiny of her at her arrival seemed to have satisfied him, for his bearing was that of a mere well-trained automaton. Betty observed him surreptitiously as he moved about the room, his heavy-jowled face and massive bulk incongruous with the light, springing, silent tread and his shifting eyes obsequiously lowered.

"If you please, miss," he coughed apologetically, as she rose, "Mrs. Atterbury will see you in the library."

Betty submissively followed him to a door at the left of the entrance hall. A voice bade her enter and she found her employer seated at an official-looking desk, already deeply engrossed in her correspondence. Her dress was severely plain, her hair coiffed low over the lobeless ears and to the girl's shy morning greeting she turned a face waxen in its pallor but inscrutable as on their first meeting.

"You are not late, my dear," she responded to Betty's contrite query. "I rose unusually early and have been sorting my mail in order to show you just what your task will be."

She motioned to a chair by the desk, and Betty eyed with inward misgiving the formidable heap of unopened envelopes which still remained.

"Any letters which may be marked with a small cross in the corner, like this, for instance," Mrs. Atterbury held one out for inspection, "you may put aside. The rest you are to open and read, dividing them into two separate piles, business and purely social, for me to glance over later. Begging letters, even from personal friends for charity subscriptions, belong in the financial stack. Do you think you can manage now with these?"

"Yes, Mrs. Atterbury. Do you wish me to reply to them?"

"At my dictation. I will come back in an hour and we can go over them together." Mrs. Atterbury rose. "My seamstress will be here this afternoon to measure you for some new frocks."

When the door had closed behind her, Betty applied herself to her task. The social letters were few and formal in tone without intimate detail. Four of the remainder bore crosses and these she laid obediently aside. The others were palpably business communications and from their tenor it would have appeared that Mrs. Atterbury's financial interests were amazingly varied, and of a magnitude which even the luxury of her environment had not conveyed.

Mines, oil wells, railroads, stock companies and enterprises of every sort were represented in the heterogeneous collection, from the latest invention to live stock on the hoof. One letter, evidently concerning the latter, made Betty pause with a puzzled frown. It began without any form of address and was unsigned, its few lines being hurriedly scrawled, but unmistakably legible, although they conveyed no sense to the girl.

"Five thousand sheep no go," she read. "Bulls instead. Pink wash fed. Clearing den. Tail comet yellow."

In bewilderment she took up the envelope; the superscription was in the same irregular hand, and it was postmarked Laramie, Wyoming.

The desk telephone rang as she laid it aside, and hesitatingly she picked up the receiver.

"Marcia!" It was unmistakably the voice of Wolvert, but the bantering derisive note was gone, and stark fear rasped in every syllable. "Some one has squealed! He's got the dope and it's all—"

"I beg your pardon." Betty's tones were cool and steady, but her heart stood still, for her quick ear had caught the rustle of a skirt just behind her. "This is Mrs. Atterbury's secretary. To whom did you wish to speak?"

There was a smothered exclamation at the other end of the wire, and Mrs. Atterbury snatched the receiver from the girl's hand.

"What is it?" she demanded in a voice which she strove in vain to control.

"I-I don't know," Betty murmured. "The person spoke so quickly I could not distinguish a word." "Mrs. Atterbury speaking.... Oh, the market has broken? Well, sell the shares I hold in that company at whatever price you can obtain, do you understand? At whatever price! There will be no panic, tell your partner not to lose his head. It must be made clear that I will trade no more in that stock.... It will be enough, it must be. Remember, I look to you to settle the matter absolutely. Let me have an accounting by tonight."

She hung up the receiver and turned with a shrug but Betty saw that her lips were white.

"My broker," she remarked, with studied carelessness. "Conscientious man, but not resourceful. By the way, my dear, I neglected to tell you that you need never answer this telephone. It is my own private wire. Call me if it rings when I am at home, but pay no attention to it if I am not here."

"I am sorry—" began Betty, but the other silenced her.

"It is of no consequence. We will take up the letters now. You did not find them difficult?"

"No-o," Betty responded hesitatingly. "There is one, however, which I could not understand at all. It seems to be a business matter, but the wording doesn't make any sense; it's something about sheep."

"Sheep?" Mrs. Atterbury's level tones sharpened. "Where is the envelope? Was there no cross upon it?"

"No. At least I didn't see any, and I am quite sure I looked carefully. This is the one."

"Idiot!" The ejaculation was clearly not intended for the girl, as Mrs. Atterbury looked vainly for the distinguishing mark, and filliped the envelope angrily aside. "Give me the letter, please."

She glanced over it rapidly, without comment or change of expression and put it on the little heap of private letters.

"We will get rid of the social ones first—" she was beginning, when Betty suddenly interrupted her.

"There is a motor car coming up the drive."

"Ah, it is Mme. Cimmino." Mrs. Atterbury arose, her glance following the trim little electric brougham as it lurched over the hillocks of snow. "She will probably stay to lunch, and that means the letters will have to be held over until tomorrow. Amuse yourself as well as you can, my dear. You'll find plenty of books here and there is a phonograph in the corner."

But Betty did not turn to the well-filled bookcases which lined the walls. Instead she sat with the strange letter spread out before her, reading and re-reading it as if to memorize every word. That it was a code of some sort she did not doubt, and without the key it would seem a hopeless task to attempt to decipher it, yet the young girl pored over it as eagerly as though its possible solution contained a message of vital import to herself as well as her employer.

Welch brought her lunch upon a tray and the afternoon was well advanced before the summons came for her to go to the sewing room. She spent the intervening hours in a searching examination of the library itself, but it yielded nothing of seeming interest or import to her. There was no sign of Mme. Cimmino, but her car had not left the drive and a subdued murmur as of several voices came from behind the tightly-closed door of the drawing-room as the girl passed. Welch ushered her to a large sunny room at the top of the house where she found Mrs. Atterbury deep in consultation with a faded little woman of indeterminate age who fluttered nervously on being presented.

"Miss Pope knows what you require, I think," observed Mrs. Atterbury. "Everything must be as simple as possible, you know."

Miss Pope nodded, her mouth full of pins which she was sticking with mathematical precision into the little flat cushion that hung from her belt. When the last was in place, she took up her tape measure.

"Now, miss, if you please."

Betty stood patiently, marvelling at the odd tremulousness of the withered hands which fumbled about her. Could it be merely nerves, or was the worn, pallid, little creature under the spell of some emotion too strong to be wholly controlled?

Mrs. Atterbury had strolled to the window with a fashion book and the seamstress dropped to her knees before Betty to measure the skirt length. Glancing down, the girl met the tired eyes of the older woman and found them fixed on hers with a mute insistent appeal in their depths.

Involuntarily she started, and Miss Pope, with a warning gesture, turned over the pincushion at her belt. Upon the under side worked out in rough irregular letters formed by the pin heads, Betty read the words, "Go away."

Her eyes sought those of the seamstress once more in puzzled questioning, but the woman, after a vehement nod, evaded her glance, and her quivering fingers plucked at the pins until the strange message was obliterated.

"Have you finished?" Mrs. Atterbury's calm tones cut the pregnant silence.

"Yes, ma'am. I will come tomorrow for the lining fitting." The seamstress barely breathed the words, as she scrambled to her feet, but there seemed a shade of significance as she added: "I-I hope the young lady will be satisfied."

"I shall be," Mrs. Atterbury responded with good-humored but unmistakable emphasis. A faint flush mounted in Miss Pope's wan cheeks and she did not glance again toward Betty, even as she bowed herself out.

"My dear, I shall not need you again this afternoon. Would you care to go out for a little while?"

Betty's eyes eagerly turned to the window were sufficient answer.

"You will find several paths leading around the grounds if you don't mind the snow, but do not go beyond the gate." Mrs. Atterbury smiled, but she watched the girl's face keenly. "You look pale, and the fresh air will do you good. We must not keep you cooped up in the house too much, but I do not want you to go about the city aimlessly until you learn your way."

"I will not leave the grounds," promised Betty.

"One thing more," Mrs. Atterbury paused at the door. "Don't go near the garage, for Demon may be unleashed. He is the watch dog and underfed to keep him savage. Be sure you come in at dusk."

When Betty, as warmly clad as her meagre wardrobe would allow, slipped out at the side door, the pale wintry sun was already sinking in the West and the still air nipped her sharply, bringing a tingling glow to her cheeks. She set out jauntily down the first path which led among the cedars, her footsteps ringing on the hard packed snow and the frosty vapor of her breath floating like a veil before her.

The events of the past twenty-four hours, culminating in the inexplicable attitude of the seamstress, had wrought upon her nerves and the sense of freedom and solitude was grateful, illusive though she knew it to be. No doubt of Miss Pope's good will or sanity came to her, but she wondered what part the faded little creature was called upon to play in the strange scene of which she herself had become a supernumerary.

What crisis had arisen in the mysterious affairs of her new employer and why were her friends, Mme. Cimmino and the man Wolvert, so deeply concerned for her? The voice of the latter over the telephone that morning had revealed a frenzy of emotion which his debonair assurance on the previous evening had utterly belied. Then his impetuous outburst at the moment of her arrival returned to her mind. Who was the mysterious "he?" The frantic telephone message of a few hours before had concerned the same man. Who could he be, and through him what menace threatened the quiet woman with the inscrutable face to whom her services were bound?

So engrossed was Betty in her maze of thought, that she had followed the path unheedingly and only paused when she found her way blocked by a square granite post. She had reached the entrance gates beyond which she might not stray. For a moment she lingered, her eyes turned wistfully down the broad, bleak avenue, a mad, incomprehensible impulse to escape surging up within her, as if tangible bonds held her to her voluntarily assumed duty, and danger lurked for her in the house behind the cedars. The next minute she had turned resolutely and started to retrace her steps.

The early dusk was already descending and Betty quickened her pace lest she prolong the hour of freedom beyond the time allotted her. Midway, the path entered a thick clump of trees, and all at once she became aware of the rapid thud of feet on the snow behind her. Someone was running toward the house.

The thought that she was being pursued flashed into her mind, but she banished it, and turning hastily aside, concealed herself behind a screen of tangled evergreens. Scarcely had she done so, when a man appeared around a turn in the path, and passed her with almost incredible speed.

The single fleeting glimpse she obtained of his gray, set face, however, had sufficed for recognition. It was Wolvert, and some unnameable terror sped with him through the eerie gloom.

Betty shivered and looked blindly about her for another way out of the grove. She dared not enter the house on the heels of this visitor, nor from the same direction in which he had come, lest she seem to have been spying upon him, and she desired above all else to reach her own room unobserved.

At length she discerned a break in the trees at her right and approaching found a second path branching off in a curve which promised to lead around the house. Mrs. Atterbury's warning had passed from her memory and only when the low square bulk of the garage loomed up before her and a rumbling growl assailed her ears, did she remember the presence of the dog.

She hesitated, a new and very tangible fright gripping her, but it was too late to turn back. Even as she paused, the growl changed to a deep, full-throated cry, and a huge shape bounded toward her out of the shadows. To attempt escape would only betray her fear to the brute intelligence and precipitate an attack upon her. Betty knew and understood canine nature and she realized that her safety depended on coolness now.

Motionless, she waited until the dog was almost upon her, and then held out her hand, palm uppermost. The great beast halted in his tracks, his slavering jaws agape and every hair bristling on his neck.

"Demon! Good Demon!" she called softly. "Steady, old boy. Come here."

Slowly the fire died out of his gleaming eyes and he approached warily, step by step, while her own eyes held his unwaveringly. He sniffed at her hand, gazed up at her in mute question and reading confidence and mastery in her face, dropped obediently in the snow at her feet.

The wave of relief which swept over her was checked by a fresh disquieting thought. Was the dog merely guarding her until his keeper appeared to relieve him of his charge? The slightest movement on her part might bring him up with a spring at her throat, but to wait until help came would mean the discovery of her disobedience.

Chance solved the problem for her before many minutes had passed. A shrill whistle sounded from the direction of the garage, and the dog, lifting his head, gave tongue in response. The whistle was repeated, followed by a hoarse, blasphemous command. Demon rose reluctantly, brushed against her knee in friendly farewell, and loped away in the fast-gathering darkness.

"Oh, Demon!" The girl breathed a sobbing little cry after him. "Remember me well, the sound of my voice and the scent of me. Sometime I may need you!"

Then ashamed of the momentary, hysterical weakness, Betty turned and fairly flew to the house. Slipping in at the side door by which she had left, she reached her room, breathless, but unobserved, and sank into a chair.

The house was oddly silent. No sound of voices had met her ears, but a narrow streak of light had shone from under the library door as she passed, and her overwrought imagination pictured for her a tense, constrained group within. In spite of Mrs. Atterbury's specious explanation, Betty knew beyond question whose voice had come to her over the telephone, and no mere financial crisis could have brought to Wolvert's face the look which she had seen upon it when he unwittingly crossed her path among the trees.

A half-hour went slowly by and then the whirring of the electric brougham broke the stillness and droned diminishingly into the distance. Mme. Cimmino had evidently taken her belated departure. Had Wolvert accompanied her? Betty shrank from encountering him at dinner and the effort to meet his forced banter serenely, conscious of what lay beneath it seemed beyond her power.

When she obeyed the gong's summons, however, she found the table laid only for two, and Mrs. Atterbury already in her place.

"You enjoyed your walk, my dear?" The latter raised imperturbable eyes to greet the girl. "You did not find it too cold?"

"Oh, no, the air was wonderfully bracing," Betty replied at random, scarcely aware of what she was saying. "I very nearly lost my way, though. There are so many paths and the trees quite hide the house."

"Yes. I purchased the property mainly because of the privacy and seclusion it promised. I am not a hermit," Mrs. Atterbury added, with the shadow of a smile, "but the rush and turmoil of an active social existence bore me. You will, perhaps, find it rather monotonous here, Betty, but there will be more tasks for you to do when you have settled down and learned your way about the city. I shall have many errands for you."

"I am glad," Betty responded with nervous eagerness. "The thought of the city doesn't frighten me any more, now that I feel anchored, Mrs. Atterbury, and I want to do anything I can. You know I have been idle all day and it does not seem as if I were earning my salary."

Mrs. Atterbury scrutinized the girl's face, and her own relaxed for an instant and sagged into deeply graven lines of utter weariness and exhaustion. The necessity for rigid self-command had faltered before Betty's seemingly innocent candor; the mask had slipped momentarily and from beneath it peered a shadow of the anxiety and dread which had beset her unexpected guest of the afternoon.

With the next breath, however, she had herself again in hand.

"You will not complain of that tomorrow." Her voice was amusedly tolerant. "We shall have a double amount of correspondence to attend to, remember, and I will positively be at home to no one until it is finished. I think I shall retire almost immediately after dinner, my dear, for I have a slight headache."

The warmth of the house after the sharp, nipping atmosphere outdoors brought an early drowsiness to Betty, who went directly to her room after the meal. In spite of the puzzling events of the day, and the air of mystery which seemed to envelop the household, a lassitude stole over her and her heavy eyelids drooped and fell.

The dropping of coals in the tiny grate awakened her and she started up to find that it was close on to midnight. Stumbling softly to the door she opened it and listened, but the silence was unbroken.

Disrobing, she laid her dressing gown and slippers ready to hand, extinguished the lamp and crept into bed. Her first deep sleep was over and Betty lay wide-eyed, staring into the darkness. A vague sensation of suspense set her brain a-tingle and she felt as if she were waiting with every nerve taut for something which she could not name.

Gradually, however, the feeling was dispelled and she was sinking into an uneasy slumber when all at once she started up in bed with a shivering gasp, her heart leaping wildly and the very hair upon her brow seeming to stir and rise as though an unseen hand were lifting it. A sudden, muffled crash had pierced her consciousness and the very air seemed to quiver with the jar of impact, although no further sound broke the stillness. Betty listened with bated breath for a moment, then rose, impelled by an impulse stronger than her power to combat.

Throwing her gown about her, she snatched the electric torch from the drawer of her dressing-table and made her way to the door. Impenetrable darkness greeted her as before, but it seemed to her overwrought fancy that a shuddering tension filled the air and the ticking of the tall clock beat like a tocsin upon her brain.

As one in a trance she moved mechanically to the stairs and down, the thread of light which played from her hand guiding her cautious footsteps. The doors of the library and drawing-room were closed, but that of the dining-room was opened wide and a frigid draft blew through it, whipping the gown about her bare ankles.

Betty flashed her light upon the aperture and the outline of the heavily carved dining table leaped into view, while all about it on the floor lay fragments of something which scintillated in the shaft of radiance like scattered diamonds.

Slowly she approached the door, the darting rays from her torch piercing the sinister darkness, the very breath hushed in her throat. On the threshold she paused and stood transfixed.

The dining table had been slewed to one side, chairs were overturned, draperies pulled from their rings and the great glass punch bowl lay shattered on the floor.

But it was not upon these signs of violence that her eyes were fastened in a glaze of horror. A man lay stretched before the hearth with upturned face and arms flung wide, a man whose eyes stared with tragic vacuity and from whose breast a sluggish crimson stream had flowed to form a spreading pool upon the rug.

For a long minute the girl stood staring with eyes as fixed as those of the dead. She opened her lips, but no sound issued from them to raise an alarm or summon aid. Instead she lifted her hands jerkily to her throat as if struggling to draw breath, and turning, fled silently for her very life up the stairs.

CHAPTER III.

The Velvet Glove.

Betty was seated before her mirror, gazing somewhat doubtfully from the small round box of rouge in her hand to her wan reflection. Dare she hope successfully to conceal the ravages of a sleepless, tortured night? Her cheeks and very lips were blanched and her eyes sunken and heavily circled. Only the birthmark, like a scarlet stain, glowed sullenly and served but to accentuate her pallor. It were better by far that her employer's keen eyes should note a condition which she could attribute to illness than that her effort to conceal it would be so palpable as to invite suspicion of a graver nature.

How she had managed to reach her room after the shock of her tragic discovery, she could not have told. No memory remained with her of that swift silent flight from the room of death. She only knew that she found herself back in bed once more, trembling in every limb and with an icy, pulseless void in her breast where her heart had been. Reason itself seemed to have fled, and her thoughts become a whirling phantasmagoria of horror in which but one thing stood out as if stamped indelibly upon her mind: the face of the slain man.

It floated before her in the darkness as distinctly as the pitiless glare of her torch had revealed it, strangely calm and detached amid the debris of the devastated room below, and the girl cowered as if once more in its dread presence.

For hours which seemed like years she lay in an agony of expectancy, waiting for a cry of alarm when the inevitable discovery should be made. But no sound broke the tomb-like stillness save once, when a vague muffled thud came to her ears. Even that she could not be sure of, for her senses were tottering on the verge of hysteria, and the night passed in the hideous unreality of a dream.

With the dawn came utter exhaustion, but she desperately combatted its lethargy, in fear lest sleep bring a nightmare which would wring from her unconscious lips a shriek of betrayal.

The hazy patch of light at her window broadened into day and at last faint but unmistakable sounds came to her from below. The servants were stirring, and surely now, at any moment, the alarm would be raised.

Wonder succeeded expectancy as the minutes passed and the normal tranquility of the house remained unbroken. At length, unable to endure the torture of inaction, she had arisen. Whatever the immediate future held in store, she, at least, must appear ignorant of all that had occurred during the silent watches of the night.

The breakfast gong sounded as she replaced her rouge unused in the drawer, and with leaden feet she descended the stairs. The door of the dining-room was open and from within it issued the cheerful clatter of silver and purr of the coffee urn.

As if hypnotized, Betty made her way down the hall but paused involuntarily on the threshold. The room was in perfect order, the furniture arranged as usual; even the great cut-glass bowl, which she had seen only a few hours before shattered into a score of fragments, stood whole and unmarred in its accustomed place upon the sideboard.

The girl's eyes turned incredulously to the hearth where the ghastly figure had lain. It was spic and span, and the pale gray of the silken rug showed no slightest trace of the sinister pool which had reddened it a few short hours before. The bright sunlight, streaming in between the curtains at the window, added the last touch of solid reality to the scene, and Betty felt that her sanity was rocking in the balance. Had she indeed been the victim of some fearful hallucination? Was the tragedy upon which she had stumbled but the figment of a dream?

All at once she became conscious of eyes upon her and turned sharply. Mrs. Atterbury stood just behind her, smiling her calm, inscrutable smile.

"Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?"

"Not very." Betty forced her stiffened lips to frame the words. "I awoke toward morning with a terrific headache, but it is better now."

She stood boldly, with a shaft of sunlight full upon her face, conscious of the keen scrutiny to which she was being subjected, but determined to avoid possible suspicion by as realistic a semblance of candor as she could command.

The pause seemed interminable, but Mrs. Atterbury broke it at last.

"You are very pale. I must give you a headache powder before your coffee. Welch!"

A figure moved in the shadowed corner of the china closet, and Betty all but cried out in dismay. Had the sly, soft-footed butler been standing there, silently noting her hesitation on the threshold, and her significant glances about the room?

"Madame?"

"Tell Caroline to give you one of the powders from the blue box in my medicine chest; remember, the blue box."

"Yes, Madame."

Mrs. Atterbury seated herself in her accustomed place, and Betty took the chair opposite. She dared not refuse the proffered medicine but a hideous fear gripped her. Suppose her subterfuge had been suspected and she was now to be done away with, like that other whose body she had seen! Or had he really never existed, save in her distraught imagination?

She managed to drink her coffee, but the food repelled her. As her nerves steadied and self-command returned to her, she furtively studied the faces of her employer and the butler. There was no mistaking the significance of their suddenly acute espionage. She could not account to herself for the magic rehabilitation of the room, but as the chaos of her mind subsided one fact resolved itself irrefutably; the event of the night had been no dream or vision born of hysteria.

Upon that rug so miraculously cleansed had lain the body of the murdered man. How it had been spirited away, or how, indeed, the intruder had gained entrance, and the violent struggle which the condition of the room had indicated could take place without its noise alarming the house, were mysteries Betty made no attempt to solve.

Every sense was alert to her own danger, and she realized that her very life depended now upon her powers of dissimulation. The watchers had become the watched, and she noted that Welch's pasty face was gray in the strong light of morning and his shifty, ratlike eyes darted furtively over his shoulder when he crossed before the hearth.

Mrs. Atterbury, too, left her food practically untouched, and the hand with which she raised her cup shook visibly, but her indomitable brain was evidently schooled to the utmost concentration, for immediately after the farce of breakfast was concluded she conducted Betty to the library and dictated steadily for more than two hours.

The social letters were devoid of interest to the girl, and under the stress of the moment seemed curiously banal. Those concerning financial matters were for the most part unintelligible, but she strove to fix her mind on them and banish the hideous vision which still obsessed her. No allusion was made to the private letters marked with a cross, nor did Mrs. Atterbury dictate any reply to the cryptic communication concerning five thousand sheep which had arrived on the previous day.

However, when the voluminous correspondence had been seemingly disposed of and Betty's eyes were turning longingly toward the crisp sunshine beyond the window, Mrs. Atterbury rose and going to a tall, narrow bookcase built in a corner of the wall, swung it nonchalantly outward with a light practised touch.

A compact steel safe was revealed, imbedded in the solid brick of the wall, and Betty watched eagerly, striving to note each twirl and stop of the combination as the other woman swiftly manipulated it. With a final click the door swung open, disclosing row after row of numbered pigeonholes like a post-office rack, each containing its quota of long, legal-looking envelopes.

The girl's gaze was riveted, tense and fascinated upon the movements of her employer, and unhidden there crossed her face once more that sly, subtle look of Machiavelian cunning and triumph, maturing yet debasing its artless charm.

Had Mrs. Atterbury turned at that moment she might have read a warning in the silent strained figure, but she was engrossed in her occupation. When at length she selected a packet and closing the safe carefully came back to her desk, the girl was rearranging its contents, her face averted.

"Here are rough drafts of some letters which I want you to copy for me. Be careful that you transcribe them exactly; I think you will find them readily legible. When you have finished, mark the envelopes with a cross and place them with the others, for Welch to mail."

The new task occupied Betty until lunch time, and when Welch appeared with her tray, as on the previous day, she ate with relish, grateful to escape the ordeal of another hour in that room of mystery under the Argus eyes of Mrs. Atterbury and her servitor.

The former returned as she concluded her simple meal.

"You have finished the letters? Good! I can see that you are going to be a valuable aid. Your predecessor, Inez Harly, was a conscientious girl, but stupid—!" Mrs. Atterbury rolled her eyes with an expressive shrug. "My dear, have you ever done any library work at home in—let me see, where did you come from?—Greenville, Iowa?"

"'Library work'?" Betty repeated with a smile. "Our community was not important enough to have attracted the attention of Mr. Carnegie, but we had quite an extensive library of our own, and I always took care of it for my—my mother."

If Mrs. Atterbury noted the odd hesitation in the last words she gave no sign.

"Then you understand the rearrangement, classification and listing of books? I wonder if you will attend to mine? There are, I believe, over four hundred in this room alone and many others are scattered practically all over the house. The sets are all in a jumble and I never seem able to put my hand on any particular volume when I want it."

"I think I can do it." Betty's eyes had turned again wistfully to the window and her heart sank. "It will take me several days, I am afraid, but if you have nothing more pressing for me to do—"

"I haven't at the moment." Mrs. Atterbury moved toward the door. "I shall be glad if you will begin this afternoon. Take all the time you require and when the books are arranged, please catalogue them for me. There are a few rare volumes among them which may interest you, if you are a student. I will send for you when Miss Pope comes."

The books were in an almost hopeless state of confusion and Betty had no mind for her task. She was still shaken with the horror of the previous night's discovery, and the imperturbability of the other woman had suggested to her a new and startling train of thought. What if Mrs. Atterbury herself were ignorant of the tragedy which had taken place beneath her roof? Could it have been the work of Welch? The girl had read the evidence of his guilty knowledge unmistakably stamped upon his elemental, brutish face that morning, but Mrs. Atterbury's inscrutable countenance defied analysis.

The continued strain was telling upon the girl and she longed unspeakably for the cold, bracing air of out of doors, but it was evident that her employer intended to grant her no leisure that day. Could the rearrangement of the books have been merely an expedient to keep her occupied and close at hand? Mrs. Atterbury had shown her nothing but kindness, yet she was conscious of the woman's dominant character, and that beneath all her suavity lurked the pitiless tyranny of an inflexible will. She was beginning to feel the iron hand within the velvet glove, and she shuddered at the mere fancy that it might some time close about her.

It was significant that no thought of escape came to her. She had met the new danger as something which must be faced and lived down, and the natural alternative of notifying the authorities of the foul play to which she had been an unwitting accessory after the fact never entered her mind. Instead, with a singleness of purpose which seemed inexplicable she resolutely forced her thoughts into other channels than those which led to the appalling mystery, and strove to focus her attention on the books.

Through the long afternoon Betty plodded on at her tedious task, for it was dusk when Welch came to announce the seamstress' arrival. The silence in the house had remained unbroken, but as she left the library the girl became aware of distant and confused shouting in the street beyond the great gates. It sounded upon her ears like the clamor of an approaching mob, and her heart beat fast as she hurried upstairs.

"What can it be?" she voiced her query aloud as Mrs. Atterbury met her at the door of the sewing room. "Those cries upon the street! Did you hear them? Could there have been a—an accident?"

"It is just the news-sellers crying an 'extra'," the other responded, adding with an amused smile, "No wonder it startled you! I suppose they are unknown in your home town. They are an unmitigated nuisance, but the public feeds on cheap sensation—"

"There's been a murder!" the little dressmaker croaked suddenly from the corner where she had been waiting. "A gentleman was found stabbed—"

Mrs. Atterbury's lips tightened and she lifted an authoritative hand.

"If you please, Miss Pope!" Her voice was as cold as the ringing of steel on steel. "Horrors do not appeal to me, and I am averse to discussing them."

"I'm very sorry, I'm sure." Miss Pope fluttered in distress, her pallid face flushing darkly. "I didn't think when I spoke, but I saw it in big staring headlines in a man's paper on the car, and the words just popped out of my mouth. I wouldn't say anything to upset anybody for the world——"

"You haven't." Mrs. Atterbury stemmed the quick, nervous flow of speech, and her own voice had sunk to its normal unemotional level. "I do not believe in encouraging a tendency to morbidity, especially in the young. We all know, unfortunately, that crime exists, but we who do not come in contact with it should spare ourselves the revolting details. Now let us see how the gown will fit."

Tremblingly, the cowed little creature busied herself about the girl's slender figure. Betty stood like an automaton, turning obediently at a touch of the seamstress' hand, but oblivious to all that went on about her. Miss Pope's inadvertent words had seared themselves on her brain in letters of fire and for an instant everything grew black before her eyes. Then out of the whirling darkness had come a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Atterbury's face and all doubt of her knowledge of the midnight tragedy was gone forever. Stunned by the confirmation of her own secret fears, Betty gave no heed to the seamstress, until Welch appeared to call his mistress to the telephone.

When they were alone, Miss Pope glanced up with a strange intensity in her lack-lustre eyes.

"You—stay?" The words were barely formed by the woman's shaking lips.

"I think so," Betty murmured in response. "If Mrs. Atterbury likes me."

"Oh, she'll like you, fast enough." Miss Pope looked fearfully behind her as if the shadow of her employer lingered in the doorway. "Before you know it you'll be caught, too, and you'll never be able to get free. Why didn't you go yesterday when I warned you?"

"What did you mean? Mrs. Atterbury is kind and I must earn my living. Why should I leave this place?"

"Because you are young, with all your life before you! I can't explain. I'm taking an awful chance now, but oh! believe me, miss, and go! You'd be better off homeless, in the streets, than here!"

"You must tell me more!" Betty urged. "What is wrong here? What harm can come to me? I cannot give up a good position without even knowing why!"

The seamstress' hands fluttered in a little hopeless gesture, and she laid one finger warningly on her lips. When she spoke, it was in an altered tone.

"Yes, Miss, as you say, a little more fullness here. Mrs. Atterbury will advise me about the draping."

Her ear had been quicker than the girl's, for even as she paused the rustle of a skirt came to them down the hall and the mistress of the house appeared in the doorway. She darted a keen glance from one to the other, but Betty met her eyes calmly, and the seamstress' face was averted.

The fitting concluded and Miss Pope dismissed, Mrs. Atterbury turned to the girl.

"A few friends are dining with me tonight and I do not want you to appear in that sombre black. I have had Caroline put one of my waists in your room which I think you can manage to wear. Come down to the drawing-room early, please."

Betty obeyed, but found that some of the guests had already arrived. Mme. Cimmino was curled up felinely in a corner of the great davenport, a cigarette between her fingers and a spot of red glowing in each sallow cheek. She was talking rapidly with shrugs and darting, nervous gestures, to a tall, white-haired, distinguished stranger who was introduced as Doctor Bayard.

Wolvert stood alone, with one arm resting on the mantel. He was gazing into the fire and his face in the flickering glare seemed aged and shrunken, the high cheek bones glazed like those of a skull and the pale eyes shadowed.

Mrs. Atterbury was conversing with two other men by the door and as Betty was presented she took furtive note of them. The first, Leonard Ide, was a mere youth with a receding chin and vacant, glassy eyes. His dinner coat was extreme to the point of foppishness, but its dashing lines could not conceal the narrow stooped shoulders and hollow chest beneath. The hand he extended was cold and clammy to the girl's touch, and his high, thin voice grated unpleasantly on her ear.

The other was in appearance almost humorously antithetical. Short and stocky, with a rotund paunch, and bushy, iron-gray hair, he stood with his plump legs set wide apart and his eyes twinkled benignly behind huge rimmed glasses as he bowed his salutations. His voice was deep and gutteral with a decided accent and his ruddy face glowed in the firelight. Betty did not catch his name, but the others called him "Professor."

The pale youth attempted to engage her in conversation with an air of bored patronage which would have amused her under other circumstances, but as she looked from face to face, one question rang insistently through her brain. Did they know? The old gentleman with the air of an aristocrat, the jovial Professor, the spineless youth—could they bear the burden of guilty knowledge in common with the rest?

There was an undercurrent of perfect understanding, a veiled intimacy about the scattered group, ill-assorted as it was, which suggested a closer bond than that of old acquaintanceship. Betty could not have defined the sensation which assailed her but she felt that her every move and intonation were being weighed in the balance, as one brought before a tribunal.

Wolvert had turned from the fire-place and was approaching her, when the door was once more flung open, and Welch announced:

"Mr. and Mrs. Dana."

There was nothing distinctive at first glance about the couple who entered. The man was smooth shaven and of middle-age, slightly florid, slightly bald with lines of fatigue or dissipation about his eyes. The woman, a trifle younger, carried herself with a certain indolent grace, but her complexion was a shade too brilliant, her hair meretriciously yellow, and her voluptuous figure in its shimmering gown resembled a gorgeous over-blown flower.

The others addressed them familiarly as "Mortie" and "Louise," but with their entrance Betty noted a perceptible change in the spirit of the assembled party. The talk became disjointed, but more general in tone, and the note of intimacy was lacking.

At dinner, Betty was seated between the fatuous young man and Mr. Dana, with Wolvert again facing her across the table, as on the evening of her arrival. The debonair, bantering manner was gone, and he sat in moody silence, the food untouched before him, but his wine glass emptied as quickly as Welch could replenish it. A dull red gathered beneath his cheek bones, and his eyes glowed fitfully as the dinner progressed.

Betty could feel his gaze fastened upon a point just back of her, and involuntarily she glanced over her shoulder. The table had been enlarged to accommodate the augmented circle, and she realized with a start that she was seated directly in front of the hearth, almost upon the very spot where the body of the dead man had lain.

Madame Cimmino leaned over swiftly with her hand on Wolvert's arm, and whispered a few words in his ear, then deliberately she reached across for his wine glass and placed it beside her own plate.

He straightened as if suddenly awakened and flashed a lightening glance around the table, and at that moment the nasal tones of Mrs. Dana were raised in lazy derision.

"Ghosts! They went out of fashion with moated granges and secret panels. Good Lord, who believes in 'em nowadays?"

The professor shook his shaggy gray head.

"There is much that not yet scientifically explained has been," he remarked argumentatively. "It is the talk of a child to say, 'This cannot be,' because we know it not. I, myself, haff seen——"

"My dear Professor!" Doctor Bayard lifted a slim, blue-veined hand in deprecation. "I suffer from insomnia. Do not present me, I beg of you, with a group of shades to evoke about my bed! If the ghosts of men live after them, it can be only in the thoughts of those who are left behind."

"Household pets, eh!" Wolvert's voice rang out in a strident laugh and he seized the wine glass from Madame Cimmino's detaining hand. "Let's drink to them! To the ghosts of yester-year! May their shadows never grow less!"

Watching, Betty saw his eyes stray past her once more, and the glass halted half-way to his lips. For an instant a sick horror stole over her and then she heard Mrs. Atterbury's calm, level tones.

"That is a toast for Hallowe'en, Jack, but not apropos now. Why drag in bogies when you can pledge other things more to your taste?"

"Beauty, my boy, and youth. That's the ticket, eh?" Mortie Dana looked up from the hothouse pear he was peeling with placid precision. "Me for the youth thing every time—until Louise tries to teach me the new dance steps. Then I pass."

Under cover of the titter which ran around the table, Mrs. Atterbury collected the eyes of her women guests, and they retired to the drawing-room for coffee. Betty hesitated in the doorway, declining Welch's proffered tray and her employer smiled tolerantly.

"You are tired? My dear, run along to bed, if you like. You have been indoors all day and busy, and I forgot that your head ached. If you cannot sleep, ring for Caroline, and she will give you a bromide."

Betty thankfully availed herself of the opportunity and made her escape, but sleep was furthest from her thoughts. The hideous mystery still hammered at the gates of her brain, and could not be dismissed, but she was grateful at least for solitude that she might relax from the strain of dissimulation.

She wrapped a loose robe about her, unbound her hair and extinguishing the light threw herself on the chaise longue before the hearth. A pale moon rode high in the sky, glinting on the frost-laden cedars beyond her window, and the smouldering coals in the grate cast a cheerful ruddy glow about her. In the tranquil reality, it seemed incredible that tragedy and crime could have lurked beneath that roof so short a time before. In a swift revulsion of feeling the girl wondered if the suspicion and watchfulness which she had read on every face save those of the Danas, could have been, after all, but the product of her imagination.

A sudden sharp scream, muffled but unmistakable, brought her to her feet with her heart beating wildly. How long she had lain there, in the lethargy of a complete reaction, she had no means of knowing. The cry was not repeated, but the silence seemed pregnable with unnameable horror, and unable to control herself, Betty stole to her door and opened it. Then she paused, rigid with surprise. A few paces away, the maid, Caroline, sat on guard.

"Did you want something, Miss?" The woman rose respectfully, but her eyes did not meet the girl's. "Mrs. Atterbury said you might need me."

Betty started indignantly to speak, but checked the words which had risen to her lips. After a pause, she said quietly:

"No, but I fancied someone called."

"Oh, that was just somebody laughing, Miss. They're playing cards, Welch tells me."

Betty bade the woman a brief goodnight and closing her door, locked it with an emphatic click. The cry still echoed in her ears. Muffled as it had been, she recognized the voice of Mrs. Dana, and knew that no mirth had sounded in its shrill crescendo, but stark terror. Was a fresh tragedy being enacted below?

One point, at least, was clear beyond further doubt; the espionage and surveillance had been no vain imagining. The woman outside her door was there as jailor, not servitor. She herself, was a virtual prisoner!

CHAPTER IV.

Blindfold.

The offices of the Joseph P. McCormick Detective Agency, Incorporated, occupied the entire nineteenth floor of the Leicester Building and more nearly resembled those of a potentate of finance than a private investigator. The Chief's sanctum was protected by a series of smaller communicating offices presided over by subordinates of ascending rank and importance, through whose hands the visitor, client or culprit, must pass before gaining audience with the great man himself; a process which tended either to crush or irritate the stranger, according to his temperament.

The lady who sent in her card to the Chief on a certain crisp morning in late winter, however, seemed to find food for amusement in the ceremonious progression. She was of the type which proclaims rather than admits age, but in spite of her snow-white hair, her tall figure was as erect as that of a girl and her snapping gray eyes behind the gold pince-nez were neither dimmed nor mellowed by time.

A dry smile tightened the fine lines about her lips as she was ushered into the last of these offices, which served as an ante-chamber to the supreme consulting room. A slim, mild-looking youth with the face of a student was seated behind a typewriter table and raised his eyebrows superciliously as he greeted her with the question which through reiteration had appealed to her sense of humor.

"You wish to see Mr. McCormick himself?"

"That fact should be self-evident even to a detective, since I have gained admittance as far as this." Her tone was pleasant, but peremptory, as if she were addressing an inquisitive schoolboy, and the young man gasped, but preceded doggedly with the formula.

"You have no appointment?"

"None. I have already stated that to a red-headed boy, two totally uninterested young ladies and several men, as you are doubtless aware."

A harassed look was creeping into the eyes of her inquisitor.

"If you will kindly state the nature of your business, Madame—"

"I came here to consult a private detective, not to discuss my affairs with his subordinates or shout them from the housetops." A sharper note had penetrated her tones as if a smooth weapon were suddenly turned edge upwards. "If your Mr. McCormick is too busy to talk to me in person, I prefer not to waste further time."

The young man rose resignedly.

"I think the Chief is at liberty now. Step this way, Madame."

He threw back a door at the farther end of the office, revealing a huge corner room walled on two sides by windows, from which a dazzling glare shone full upon their faces. A heavy-set, brawny figure, with keen eyes beneath beetling brows and a straight-clipped black mustache, rose impressively to receive her as the door closed behind her guide.

The old lady brusquely forestalled his opening remark.

"Young man," the Chief was at least forty-five, "I've been presented at five European courts with less fuss and bother than I have experienced in trying to reach you. Let us come to the point. I want someone found; if you think you can accomplish it for me, name your price."

The Chief smiled slightly as he glanced at her card on the desk before him.

"It is possible that I can be of service, Madame Dumois." His voice was blandly ingratiating. "Take this seat and give me the particulars. Is the missing person a relative?"

Madame Dumois seated herself as he had indicated and her lips set in a straight line.

"I did not come here to be cross-examined, my good man, and I haven't said the person was missing. I mean there has been no mysterious disappearance, if that is what you are getting at. I will tell you as much as I have a mind to and no more, and if you do not find it sufficient to work on, we can stop right here. I have lost track of a certain young woman, and I want to locate her. Never mind why, or what our relations have been. I'd pay a good price to lay eyes on her again."

Her voice hardened perceptibly and a faint, angry flush mounted in her faded cheeks and boded ill for the unfortunate object of her search. Detective McCormick leaned forward persuasively in his chair.

"But my dear Madame, I must have a few personal details or I shall not know what type of operative to assign to the case. I take it that it is strictly confidential?"

"I congratulate you!" Her lips twitched again in grim humor. "I seemed unable to convey that impression to your various secretaries. Your operative will have to be a person of intelligence and tact, and if he is to come in personal contact with this young woman, he must be a gentleman. She is what you would call a lady, I'll say that much for her."

"You do not care to give me her name?"

"It is immaterial."

The detective lifted his shaggy brows.

"May I ask if this young woman is a fugitive? Is there a likelihood that you will bring charges, criminal or civil, when she is located?"

"It is possible, under certain conditions." Madame Dumois' tones trembled for the first time, then steadied and she added in a sharper key. "That is beside the point. I want her found; your case ends there. The rest is my affair. Call in your operative and I will put him in possession of such facts as I consider essential."

"It is absolutely essential that I should know more, myself, before I can assign anyone to the case." The detective squared himself firmly in his chair. "Have you any idea where this young woman may be found? Any possible clue? Where and when was she last seen?"

Madame Dumois rose majestically.

"I will not take up more of your valuable time, Mr. McCormick. I see that we will be unable to come to an understanding. Good morning."

She turned to the door, but he extended a swift detaining hand.

"My dear Madame Dumois! I am prepared to do anything that is possible to be of service to you, but you must realize that you have given me no data whatever to work upon."

"I was under the impression that you would not undertake this matter personally in any event." She had halted, but there was no yielding in her tone. "If you have a moderately clever, discreet operative with the bearing and appearance of a gentleman, I will talk with him. I do not wish to discuss the details of the case any more than is absolutely necessary. I will give him a description of the young woman, nothing more. The rest will be in his hands."

The detective reflected.

"I think I have just the man for you," he announced at last. "Unfortunately, he is out on a case at the present moment, but I will recall him and send him up to see you this afternoon, if you will leave your address."

"I will meet him here," Madame Dumois replied hastily. "If he has tact enough to accept what information I am prepared to give him, and brains enough to turn it to account, it will be all I shall ask. At what hour can you have him here?"

"Shall we say three o'clock? I am confident that you will find Mr. Ross eminently suitable for your purposes. He is young, good-looking and discreet, with great personal magnetism—"

"I am not requesting him to make love to the girl." A flash of her old humor returned. "And now, Mr. McCormick, what are your terms?"

The business arrangement was briefly concluded and the detective bowed his visitor out with grudging admiration in his eyes. He waited until her firm, methodical footsteps had died away down the corridor, and then pressed a button upon the under edge of his desk top. The studious-looking young man made his appearance almost instantaneously from the adjoining office.

"Yes, sir?"

"Disappearance. Young woman, good standing. Probable social scandal. Detail Clark to tail Madame Dumois and get what info he can. Try the hotels, the old-fashioned conservative ones first. Wire Ross, 192-A. Spring Garden Street, Philadelphia, to return immediately earliest train and report here at two-thirty. Send Luders out to take his place."

The young man whipped out a pad, wrote rapidly and then paused with an inquiring glance. His chief nodded, chuckling.

"That's all. Peppery old lady, but she knows her business. Ross is the chap to handle her."

At precisely half-past two a young man bounded up the steps of the Leicester Building and, elbowing his way good-naturedly into the already packed elevator, shot up to the nineteenth floor. He was boyish-looking and slim, but his broad, straight shoulders and lithe hips betokened the athlete and his laughing eyes had a habit of narrowing suddenly in keen intensity.

He nodded a careless greeting to the red-headed boy and the burly strong-arm man who guarded the outer office, and made his way unceremoniously into the presence of his chief.

The latter explained the reason for his recall and told him succinctly of the morning's interview.

"Tactful and brainy and a gentleman; that's what the old lady says she wants, and I guess you fill the bill, Bert," McCormick added. "You're the gentleman, all right, because you were born one, and that's something you never lose and can't fake. For kid glove cases no one stands in the same class with you, but you'll need more than that in handling Madame Dumois; asbestos gloves would be safer. She wants to find the girl, but she's dead scared of our getting a line on her. Sharp as a steel trap, she is—a regular Tartar!"

"Um—French?" Herbert Ross seemed in no wise perturbed by the formidable description.

"No. Yankee accent, but there's a Paris look to her clothes. Dressy old party, in spite of her widow's cap. Shouldn't wonder if she's just back from the other side. That's why I had her looked up at the hotels, but I couldn't smoke her out. Don't antagonize her by asking questions or you're a goner. Just let her do the talking and pick up what scraps of data you can. I'm not worrying about your ability to make a success of it, Bert, if you can only get enough out of the old lady to work on, but blood from a stone would be a cinch in comparison."

"Any hint as to why she wants the subject located?"

Ross lighted a cigarette and leaned forward in his chair.

"Not in words, but from her manner I judge it is not from any desire to remember the young woman in her will," the Chief responded dryly. "Looks more like a scandal than anything else, as she's so anxious to keep the girl's identity a secret. I tried my level best to worm some information from her, but she flared up and threatened to call it all off. The best I've got is that the subject is young, refined and to all appearances a lady, although Madame Dumois seemed to grudge that fact. You go to it, Bert, and see what you can do." The young operator pondered for a moment.

"Well, sir," he began at last, "I can't hope to succeed where you have failed, if I work along the same lines. In your official capacity you have had the bad luck to antagonize her, so I think I shall try another scheme. May I have the reference library for an hour? I'll receive her there instead of here."

"Take the whole shop if you want it, but get the right dope from her about the girl!" The detective brought his hand down on the desk in a resounding slap. "It will be a long step up the ladder for you if you can start to make a reputation for yourself of successful discreet work among conservative people of the sort the old lady belongs to. That's why I put you on this; I haven't the time to go after it myself and it requires class as well as brains. The woods are full of refined young ladies who have turned one trick or another; a chance word may give you a line on how to locate this one. Try any scheme you like, but get results. That's all we're after."

The reference library was more like a club room than the sanctum of a private detective. A long, mahogany table surrounded by heavily carved chairs occupied the center of the room, and the walls were lined with bookcases, interspersed with tall glass cabinets filled with curios. A few prints and signed photographs hung above them and over the mantel was mounted a neat arrangement of firearms and various weapons.

There was nothing remarkable about the room or its appointments at first glance, save its obvious incongruity with the rest of the suite, but a closer inspection would have revealed the fact that all the volumes—with the exception of those in a small case between two windows—dealt with one subject; crime. The curios in the cabinets, the weapons above the mantel, each had its individual history, tragic or sordid, to bear mute testimony to the futility of defiance of the law.

Madame Dumois' return was punctual to the moment and she was ushered without delay to the apartment, where Ross awaited her. She stared critically at the slim, straight, immaculate figure as he turned toward her from the low bookcase, a quaint vellum-covered volume open in his hands.

"Madame Dumois?" he bowed low with continental courtesy over her hand. "I have come from Philadelphia to be of what service to you I may; I am Herbert Ross."

"Mr. McCormick suggested you—" she began, but he interrupted her swiftly.

"Do you know, while awaiting you I have come upon a real treasure here? The collected verse of Nizami!"

Mme. Dumois stepped backward, blinking.

"Poetry!" she ejaculated faintly, in blank amazement.

"Ah! I see you are interested." His face lightened in boyish eagerness. "Nothing so appeals to the woman of rare discernment and feeling as the lilting charm of the early Persians. The casual reader knows only the Bacchanalian philosophy of Omar, but you, I am sure are familiar with Rumi and this greatest of lyricists, Nizami, to say nothing of Hafiz—"

"Upon my soul!" Mme. Dumois had backed until the table barred her retreat. "You are a most extraordinary young man!"

"Should one permit the ugliness of life to blind one to the beauties of expression? But I see you have not done so. You possess that rarest of all gifts, sympathetic appreciation, Madame Dumois!" He beamed upon her. "Do you remember this lament of Majnun over the grave of Laili? Where even in the exquisite love letters of your own Abelard to Heloise, can you find such haunting beauty? Listen, I beg of you:

"Oh, bower of joy, with blossoms fresh and fair,

But doomed, alas! no ripened fruit to bear.

Where shall I find thee now in darkness shrouded!

Those eyes of liquid fire forever clouded—"

He sighed dramatically and closed the book. "Your French poets—but I forgot; I had fancied from your name that you were a native of France—"

"I am American—" Madame Dumois stammered, still dazed from his unexpected onslaught.

"That I realized at once when I saw you. I knew even the part of the country from which you came, Madame." He bowed again. "Only the women of New England retain their girlhood grace and beauty of form with their native charm of manner through years of cosmopolitan life, as this little volume has retained its beauty of thought and inspiration in spite of the fact that it was discovered in the pocket of an arch murderer when he was searched in the death house."

A faint flush had risen to the faded cheeks of the old lady at his daring flattery, but she paled again with an involuntary shudder.

"Mercy! Put the horrid thing away!"

He laid the book upon the table.

"Forgive the digression, Madame Dumois. I am at your service."

For once she seemed at a loss.

"You are really a detective?" Her eyes searched his face keenly, as he pulled out a chair for her.

"That is my profession," responded Ross, with a touch of quiet dignity.

"This McCormick person has told you what I require?"

"You wish to find a certain young lady, whom you will describe to me."

"Precisely." Madame Dumois' tone was gracious. "I think, Mr. Ross, that we shall get on. This young woman appears refined, well-bred and rather more comprehensively educated than the average girl of today, but in appearance she is quite a usual type, neither blonde nor brunette, not actually pretty nor strikingly plain."

Ross nodded encouragingly as if he found valuable points in the negative description, and the old lady warmed to her task.

"She has brown hair and blue eyes, and her taste in dress is conservative, but her manner when last I saw her was altogether too self-reliant; pert, it would have been considered when I was a girl. There is very little more that I can tell you about her, but I believe her to be in the city somewhere."

"Your description is remarkably clear." The young detective preserved an inscrutable face as he added blandly: "No doubt you have a photograph of her?"

"If I had, young man, I should not exhibit it," the old lady retorted.

"Only to me," he smiled persuasively, then dodged the issue. "You say, Madame Dumois, that the young woman is well educated. Is she also accomplished? Music, art, languages?"

"A mere smattering of music, but she is a perfect parrot in picking up strange tongues; a born linguist." She caught herself up abruptly. "However, I did not come here to answer questions, Mr. Ross, as I explained very definitely this morning. I want this young woman found. You have her description; now go ahead and find her."

"I will do my best." His smile had not wavered, and he bent forward ingratiatingly. "But will you permit one solitary question? It will not be an impertinent one, and it would simplify matters greatly. It has been said, you know, that the most passive, idle-minded of us has one pet enthusiasm, one hobby or talent, call it what you will, which interests us above all other things. Has this young woman any special predilection?"

"I hadn't thought of that!" Madame Dumois exclaimed. "Of course, she has, and a most ridiculous one for a gentlewoman: Egyptology."

The detective gave no sign that at last a clue lay within his grasp, but remarked with studied carelessness:

"Oh, that sort of thing is a fad nowadays, to acquire the patter of some science or art and pose as a savant or connoisseur. In all probability the young woman has no real knowledge of the subject."

"If she hasn't it is her own fault." The old lady returned in unguarded haste. "She was a pupil of the greatest authority of the age, Professor Mallory, of Cairo."

"Indeed. I have not heard of him." Ross brushed the information aside with a slight gesture, as if it were of no moment. "I think, however, that I shall be able to proceed with the data you have given me."

Madame Dumois rose, and her sharp eyes flashed in a sort of grim exultation.

"In that case, I can only wait for your success. If you can lay your hands on that young woman, Mr. Ross, you will not find me unappreciative. You will report to me——?"

"But not here!" he expostulated. "The atmosphere, you know, for a person of your delicate sensibility in frequent visits to a detective agency would be too repellent to be borne. I will be delighted to come to you, Madame Dumois. I do not anticipate any insurmountable difficulty in the case, but if I find myself in a quandary I am sure your opinion and advice would be of inestimable value."

The broad touch of flattery proved the final straw to break the back of her prejudice, and the old lady capitulated.

"Well, you may call, if you like. I am staying with an old friend, Mrs. Hemmingway, on the North Drive, but I do not care to have my address bandied about this office, Mr. Ross."

"I quite understand." As he held the door open for her to depart he added coolly: "I will come tomorrow for the photograph."

"Which you will not get!" She chuckled in frank enjoyment of his pertinacity. Then the stern lines tightened about her mouth. "Find this young woman with the information I have given you, Mr. Ross, or drop the case. You have wormed more out of me than I meant you to, but I think I can trust you not to take advantage of it in any way other than to promote my object. The girl must be found."

CHAPTER V.

Box A-46.

On the morning after Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party, Betty awoke from a deep sleep of mental and physical exhaustion to find that a fresh snowstorm was raging. The fine, hard-driven flakes swirled past her windows like a heavy meshed veil, obscuring even the cedars just outside and piling in soft drifts between the iron bars of the balcony.

The terrified scream which had aroused her from her reverie at midnight still rang in her ears. She was sure that it had been the voice of Mrs. Dana, and she dared not allow her thoughts to dwell on what it might portend.

Her own position in the household, now clearly defined by her discovery that she was indeed under surveillance, left her no alternative but to disarm the suspicion directed against her at all costs. An instant off guard would be fatal and she summoned all her self-command to her aid.

Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart that she dragged herself downstairs in response to the breakfast gong, dreading lest she come upon evidences of a second tragedy. The sedate, seemingly tranquil house had become for her an abode of horror, and with each reluctant step fear gripped her more tenaciously by the throat.

To her unspeakable relief, however, she heard Mrs. Dana's high, nasal tones issuing from the dining-room and entered to find the lady herself already seated opposite her hostess. She was attired in a teagown belonging to the latter, beneath which her ample figure sagged, and her face in the cold light was ghastly and drawn.

"Sit down, my dear." Mrs. Atterbury nodded her good-morning from behind the coffee urn. "You slept well?"

"Yes, thank you. My headache has quite disappeared," Betty murmured, adding deliberately: "It was kind of you to have Caroline at hand, but I did not need her services."

For a moment they looked squarely into each other's eyes; Mrs. Atterbury's were the first to fall.

"I kept Mrs. Dana with me as you see, because of the storm. Mr. Dana stayed over night, too, of course, but he left for his office half an hour ago. We played bridge until very late."

"I'm a wreck this morning," Mrs. Dana remarked fretfully, but there was a curious quiver in her voice. "Mortie says I am the original daylight saver; I only make use of the night hours."

"The moon was ever so bright when I went to bed," ventured Betty. "The storm must have come very quickly."

"Quickly enough to give me quite a house party," Mrs. Atterbury replied. "Madame Cimmino remained also, and Professor Stolz, but they have not risen yet. I hope you will have an opportunity to talk with the Professor, Betty, you would find him most interesting. He is an eminent scientist and justly celebrated in his own country."

Betty would have liked to ask what branch of science had claimed him, but she discreetly remained silent, with a mental reservation to find out for herself, if possible.

Madame Cimmino appeared shortly, looking more sallow and shrunken than ever, and while her hostess greeted her, Betty slipped away to the library to sort the morning's mail.

The room had not yet been put in order for the day, and the girl's attention was caught by a heap of torn papers, half charred, on the cold hearth. The writing upon the scraps seemed oddly familiar, and she stopped hastily and examined them. They were the letters she herself had painstakingly copied from the originals which Mrs. Atterbury had taken from the safe and given to her on the previous day. Like the rearrangement of the bookcases, the letters had been merely a subterfuge to keep her employed and under watchful eyes.

Nevertheless, she doggedly assailed her uncongenial task and was midway through the morning's mail, when a heavy foot sounded in the hall, and Professor Stolz stuck his shaggy head in the door.

"Pardon. I a book would wish to have and Mrs. Atterbury says it here is," he translated idiomatically from his native tongue. "I disturb you, no?"

"Not at all." Betty rose. "Perhaps I can help you, Professor. What sort of book are you looking for?"

"It is Egyptian—a history of the twelfth dynasty."

"Egyptian!"

The professor had been peering along the bookshelves, but at her exclamation he turned.

"Yes. Professor of Egyptology I have been for fifteen years already, in the University of Leipzig. The book you have perhaps seen, Fräulein. Very old and rare it is, with the cover much stained—"

"Is this it?" Betty held out a quaint, time-worn volume, which he seized with avidity.

"In here an inscription is, from the tomb of Ameni-emhat, at Beni-Hasan, for which long looking have I been." He turned the pages eagerly, then paused with a snort of satisfaction, and read in a mumbling undertone: "'Renpit XLIII Xer hen en Horu anx mest suten net xeper-ka-Ra anx Petta—'"

"Year forty-three, under the Majesty of Horus, living one of births, king of the North, Kheper-ka-Ra, living forever—" Betty translated softly, in utter self-forgetfulness.

"Himmel! What is this?" The professor stared at her over his huge-rimmed glasses. "You know Egyptian!"

Betty flushed.

"I—I knew a young man in my home town who had studied it abroad, and he taught me a little," she stammered hastily.

"A little? Donnerwetter! For my assistant I should like you, so fluently you translate!" His eyes shone with the fire of an enthusiast. "After my own heart you are, Fräulein, and to teach you more, proud I should be!"

"Thank you, Professor, but I—I have no time at present." Betty turned back to her desk with a determined air and after futile efforts to engage her further in conversation he departed, shaking his head in stupefaction.

For several days thereafter no untoward incident disturbed the surface monotony of the household routine, and only the unobtrusive but persistent surveillance to which she was subjected remained to keep the tragic mystery uppermost in Betty's thoughts.

Of her knowledge of the espionage she gave no sign, but went about her daily tasks with winning docility and an outward serenity of bearing which brought the hoped-for reward. After the third night, Caroline was no longer installed on guard outside her door, and before the week was out the girl felt that she had at last lulled all suspicion. Mrs. Atterbury had not suggested that she walk again in the grounds of the estate, however, and although the confinement was telling upon her, Betty feared to risk a direct refusal by seeking permission.

However, from the hour that Caroline's vigil ceased, Betty had pursued her secret exploration of the home. As on the first night after her arrival, and the second, when she made her gruesome discovery, she had continued her mysterious quest throughout the sleeping house and every spare moment during the day, when she could escape detection, found her delving in odd nooks and corners. She managed in time to visit each of the sleeping apartments and even penetrated to the attic, but her efforts continued to be fruitless. The object of her clandestine activities seemed still to elude her.

She attended to the correspondence each morning and completed the rearrangement of the books in the library. Miss Pope appeared on two subsequent occasions, but made no further effort to communicate by stealth with the girl even upon the day she delivered the finished gowns. Whatever her motive had been, her courage was not equal to a second attempt.

The Danas made no reappearance, nor did the pale, foppish youth, Jordan Ide, but Mme. Cimmino and the ubiquitous Wolvert were constant visitors and on more than one occasion Betty heard Dr. Bayard's measured tones issuing from the drawing-room. By tacit arrangement, she now retired to her own room immediately after dinner on such evenings as there were guests present and the silent hours of readjustment and utter mental relaxation gave her renewed strength to play her daily part.

By the end of the week a thaw set in which swept the cedars bare of frost and turned the unbroken expanse of white into a veritable sea of mud. Mrs. Atterbury herself had not left the house since she acquired her new companion, but early one morning she entered the library where Betty sat wearily anticipating her secretarial duties, with a proposal which made the girl's eyes dance.

"My dear, I wonder if you will undertake an errand for me? The walking is atrocious, I know, but you have been cooped up indoors quite long enough and the fresh air will do you good."

"Oh, I shall be glad to go!" Betty cried warmly, adding in haste, "Of course, I don't know my way about, but if you will direct me I am sure I shall not make any mistake."

"I don't think there is a likelihood of your getting lost," Mrs. Atterbury smiled. "But if you do, you can always reach a telephone, you know, and I will send the car to conduct you home. I want you to go to Madame Cimmino's and bring back a package which she will give you for me. She lives in the Lorilton Apartments on Falmouth Avenue; walk three blocks across town from the corner here, and take a southbound red 'bus. Tell the conductor your destination and he will see that you reach it safely."

"That seems quite clear, Mrs. Atterbury." Betty rose with alacrity. "Do you wish me to go at once?"

"If you will, please. The mail can wait until later, but this is rather important."

The air was as mild as on a spring day and Betty's heart leaped as she passed out of the gateway to the broad, untrammeled avenue. She glanced back sharply at the house, but no one was visible, and its windows stared blankly at her.

Rounding the corner, she set out across town at a brisk pace, her blood tingling in her veins and the soft wind bringing a flush to her pale cheeks. Her gaze was introspective rather than curious and she boarded the southbound omnibus almost mechanically, although she scrutinized her fellow passengers with grave intentness.

A ride of some twenty minutes brought her to the doors of the Lorilton, which proved to be a huge, ornately constructed apartment house in a somewhat less exclusive locality than the North Drive.

A gaudily upholstered elevator deposited Betty on the tenth floor and in response to her ring, the apartment door was opened by a smug-faced Japanese butler who ushered her silently into the drawing-room.

She took a swift mental inventory of her surroundings as she waited. The room presented an odd mixture of real artistic treasures, and the basest of imitations; rare tapestries hung upon the walls between wretched copies of masterpieces, a hideous terra cotta statuette overshadowing a Ming vase, and an exquisite Buhl cabinet was filled with the most trumpery of knickknacks.

Madame Cimmino made her appearance in a gorgeous but somewhat soiled kimona. Her sallow cheeks were highly rouged and the jeweled hoops which tugged at her ears seemed oddly garish in the light of day.

"The packet? Ah, yes, I have it," she murmured in response to Betty's request. "You came alone? You are learning, then, to find your way in this strange city; that is well."

She clapped her hands, and when the butler appeared, jabbered rapidly to him in his native tongue, while Betty sat with her face averted. The functionary disappeared, to return almost immediately bearing a small package which Madame Cimmino placed in the girl's hands.

"Be careful that you do not lose it, my dear," she warned her at the door, adding with a flash of her white teeth, "Some day when you have leisure, little mouse, you shall come and have tea with me, if Mrs. Atterbury permits. I like American young girls."

Betty thanked her and departed. She thrust the precious package in her muff without a second glance, and a peculiar, hard light glowered in her eyes until she reached once more the house in the cedars.

Mrs. Atterbury accepted the package without comment, and thereafter Betty roamed the grounds at will. Her position save for the morning's correspondence had become a sinecure, but she felt a presentiment of impending change, and awaited developments with keen expectancy.

They ensued more quickly than she had anticipated. She was summoned to Mrs. Atterbury's room late one afternoon, to find her employer critically examining a gown which had just arrived; an exquisite affair of filmy tulle and creamy lace.

Betty could not suppress a little cry of admiration, and Mrs. Atterbury smilingly held it out to her.

"I wish you to try this on, my dear. If it fits you, it is yours."

Wondering, Betty placed herself in Caroline's hands and when the change had been effected Mrs. Atterbury herself gasped. In the simple blouse and skirt Betty had been winsomely attractive in spite of the disfiguring birthmark, but the delicate beauty of the gown transformed her as if some fairy godmother had touched her with a magic wand.

"Really, you are quite wonderful!" There was amazement mingled with the unfeigned admiration in Mrs. Atterbury's tones. "I had no idea that you would develop such possibilities, Betty. I did well to select this model for you."

"It is really mine?" The girl turned her flushed face from the mirror. "I—I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Atterbury, but when shall I have an occasion to wear it?"

"Tonight." The reply came with startling brevity and promptitude. "You are going to hear 'Aida'. Have you ever been to the opera?"

"Aida!" gasped Betty. There was a pause, and then she added with a change of tone, "No, I—I have never heard any opera except on a phonograph. It will be like a dream come true."

And as if in a dream she completed her toilet for the evening. She had schooled herself to accept without visible surprise anything which might eventuate, but to appear at the opera in company with Mrs. Atterbury and her probable guests, was a move she had not in her wildest fancy anticipated.

A fresh surprise awaited her when she descended to the dining-room. Only Mrs. Atterbury was present, and she was still attired in the somber gray gown she had worn throughout the day.

"Perhaps I should have waited to dress later, also," Betty murmured, glancing down at her own shimmering elegance. "I did not know we would have sufficient time after dinner."

"I am not going with you," Mrs. Atterbury replied to the implied question with calm directness. "I am sending you quite alone, Betty. The car will take you, and wait to bring you home when you have accomplished your errand."

"'My—errand?'" faltered Betty, off guard in her amazement.

"You will occupy Box A-48, in the grand tier," the older woman continued as if she had not heard the interjection. "In A-46, on your left, there will be seated a party of ladies and gentlemen. You will take no apparent notice of them—I can depend upon your breeding to prohibit your staring—but be sure to take a chair close to the rail which separates the two boxes and allow your arm to rest upon it. At some time during the singing of the opera, one of the gentlemen in the next box will place an envelope in your hand. Do not betray any surprise, whatever you do, but remain quietly for a few minutes longer, then slip away as unobtrusively as possible and descend immediately to the carriage entrance, where the car will be awaiting you. This is a confidential matter, but you are discreet and I am sure that I can trust you, my dear. It is really quite simple; do you think you will be able to carry it through successfully?"

"I—I think so," responded Betty, faintly. She was dazed, but a new light had broken over her consciousness and much that had puzzled her was made clear. She shrank from the task before her, yet no thought of a refusal entered her mind. She had voluntarily placed herself in this woman's hands, and whatever commands were given her, she was prepared to obey.

"You do not seem very confident." Mrs. Atterbury's level tone had become suddenly stern. "If you follow my directions carefully you can make no mistake. I do not find it convenient to go myself, but if you object—"

"Oh, it isn't that!" cried Betty in haste to cover her momentary hesitation. "I'm sure I shall not have any difficulty in merely accepting the envelope and bringing it to you, but I never went to the opera before or sat in a box, and I shall feel as if everyone were looking at me. I am afraid that I am a trifle self-conscious, after all, about the birthmark on my face."

The lines about Mrs. Atterbury's mouth relaxed, and she smiled tolerantly.

"So that is all! You need not think of it, my dear, for I assure you it is rather attractive than otherwise. It serves to render you distinctive, at all events, and that is what everyone is striving for, nowadays. The car will be brought around to the door for you at ten, when you will be in time for the last act. You will have only one thing to remember; be sure that you seat yourself on the extreme left of the box, and that your hand is within reach."

"If you will describe the gentleman to me—" Betty began, but the other interrupted quickly.

"That is quite unnecessary, as you are to make no advances, nor indeed appear cognizant of his existence. Permit him to place the envelope in your hand, but do not even glance in his direction. That is quite clear?"

"Oh, yes!" laughed Betty ingenuously. "I should be an adept at that sort of thing; I have had practice enough at school, passing surreptitious notes."

Mrs. Atterbury permitted herself to laugh softly.

"Then I shall take your success for granted. Come to me before you start, my dear. I have some flowers for you to wear, and I am going to lend you a string of my pearls."

When Betty, wrapped in an ermine cloak the value of which she dared not attempt to compute, drew up before the opera house she was tingling with excitement, but her brain was clear, and her nerves steady. She had realized in a swift flash of comprehension that she was assuming the first of her real tasks. Whatever was written in the mysterious letter which was to be entrusted to her, and whoever the stranger might be from whose hand she would receive it, she was convinced it was for this and no other purpose that she had been engaged. The secretarial work, the companionship, were mere subterfuges to conceal her true mission, although she could not fathom its meaning.

The third act was drawing to a close as she entered her box and Aida's exquisite pleading cry: "Ah no! ti calma—ascoltami," thrilled her very soul. A daring idea came to her. She had been directed to return as soon as she received the letter, but why could she not delay its delivery until the very end of the opera? She longed to hear the final aria, and it would be a simple matter to keep out of arm's reach.

The box on her left was occupied, for although she did not glance toward it, a rustling and soft murmur reached her ears as if her entrance had occasioned comment, unobtrusive though it had been.

For a moment she hesitated, then obeying the swift impulse she dropped her cloak and seated herself in a chair well to the right, her face averted. Scarcely had she composed herself when the curtain fell.

Betty sat motionless in the sudden blaze of light, her eyes idly sweeping the glittering horseshoe which extended at her right, her heart beating wildly. She was conscious only of one pair of eyes upon her and she fought down an almost irresistible impulse to turn and meet them. Someone was staring at her from the box at her left, staring as if mutely compelling her gaze and she flushed darkly beneath the scar upon her cheek.

Whoever they were, it was evident that this man and his companions were well known, for from the fall of the curtain until its rise again, a constant stream of visitors eddied about their box and scraps of gay chatter and soft tinkling laughter came to her ears. One chance phrase, in a vivacious feminine voice made her breath catch in her throat:

"Oh, don't mind Toddie! He is fuming inwardly, although he won't tell why. Anyway, it's a positive comfort to know that there's something on his mind beside his hat. How were the ducks in North Carolina?"

Betty stirred uneasily in her chair. If "Toddie" were the man who had come to deliver the letter into her hands she could well understand the reason for his ill humor. What must he think of her presence yet deliberate evasion of him? Her determination did not falter, however. Come what might, she meant to drain to its dregs this cup of unalloyed happiness which so unexpectedly had been held to her lips.

Just as the lights were lowered, and the first soft strains of Amneris' lamentation swelled from the orchestra, she ventured a swift glance at the box on her left.

A portly, gray-haired dowager was directly beside Betty with two younger women on her left, and all three were glittering with jewels like miniature constellations. Behind them an obese elderly gentleman dropped his lowest chin upon his broad expanse of shirt bosom in well-calculated repose, a younger one bent forward to whisper into the ear of the girl in front of him, and a third, a round-faced man with a downy blond mustache turned squarely and met Betty's eyes, with exasperation glowering in his own.

She permitted her gaze to rest on him impersonally for a moment then slowly shifted it to the stage as the curtain rose.

The scene held her, and the beauty of the music so enthralled her senses that she forgot herself and the strange errand which had brought her there until a chair rasped against the box rail in unmistakable signal. With a start she threw off the spell which had entranced her, and just as the divine notes of Aida's "Vedi? di morte l'angelo—" rose winging through the vast house, she moved silently to the chair at her left and rested her arm upon the barrier.

There was a sound very like a sigh from the next box, and an envelope was thrust almost roughly beneath her fingers.

For a space of interminable minutes she sat as motionless as if carved from stone, save that the hand holding the letter was clenched to her breast, crushing the cluster of white roses which she wore, and feeling like a pulseless lump of ice. The perfume of the flowers, cloyingly sweet, all but suffocated her, and the band of pearls seemed to tighten about her throat.

The strains of "O Terra Adio" were dying away in haunting sadness as she rose, and snatching up the ermine cloak, slipped from the box and down the promenade like a wraith.

CHAPTER VI.

A Message From Pharaoh.

On the morning following her visit to the opera, Betty sat at her desk in the library, with a copy of the Literary Digest, which had just arrived in the mail spread out before her. The waiting heap of correspondence was forgotten, and she read and reread as if hypnotized the chance advertisement which had caught her eye:

"Wanted:—Translator of Egyptian inscriptions and papyri of later dynastic periods. Scholar conversant with Mallory method preferred. Exceptionally high rates, tripling those ever previously paid in America will be given for accurate authentic work. No immediate time limit. Call office nine, National Egyptological Museum."

A gray haze of exuding frost arose from the bare dun lawns stretching before the window and the cedars drooped their branches as if weary of the long wait for spring, but she was blind to the somber prospect before her. Instead rose gorgeous pictures of the East and her vision was peopled with the glory of long-buried kings.

Her own precarious position, the inexplicable shadow which lay like a pall over the house, even the dead man upon whom she had stumbled on that never-to-be-forgotten night had faded alike from her thoughts, and her eyes glowed with an eagerness almost fanatical.

If only she dared to reply in person to the advertisement! Aside from the emolument, which might prove an asset by no means to be despised in her straitened circumstances, the work would relieve her mind from the terrific strain under which she had placed herself.

Why should she not avail herself of this opportunity to pursue a study which possessed for her an irresistible fascination? In spite of her preoccupation, time hung heavily upon her hands and she had come to dread the many hours during which she was left to her own devices with only the wretched treadmill of her thoughts to bear her company.

It might be that with the successful accomplishment of her strange mission at the opera house she would enter upon a new phase of her present situation, with exciting adventures in store for her, on like mysterious errands, but she looked forward to that contingency with no lightening of her spirit. It would be merely a part of the task which she had assumed, and was constrained to carry through.

But to feel again the rustle of ancient papyrus beneath her fingers; to decipher the messages pictured in quaint hieroglyphs by patient hands long since turned to dust, that the unborn legions of the future might sit at the feet of ageless philosophy; to delve once more into a past which was of a bygone age even when three wise men journeyed out of the East—the desire became an obsession which she tried vainly to exorcise.

She did indeed thrust the idea from her while the letters demanded her attention, but it returned again with unabated force with the first moment of leisure. Why should she not at least investigate the advertisement?

At luncheon, Mrs. Atterbury herself precipitated her decision.

"My dear, I wish you would go to Jennings' Art Shop for me this afternoon and select a Colonial frame for that tall mirror which hangs in my room. They sent me a gilt monstrosity when I ordered by 'phone, and I don't want the bother of going myself. If you walk straight across town until you come to the park, and follow its wall around the southern end to the east side you cannot miss it. The Egyptian Museum is on the opposite corner. By the way, Professor Stolz tells me that you, too, are interested in Egyptology. How did you ever acquire a liking for that sort of thing in the middle west?"

"Through a neighbor, who had made a study of it in Egypt," Betty replied readily enough. "It is really fascinating, like a grown-up picture puzzle. But about the mirror, does the shopman know the size you require?"

With the details of her commission carefully pigeon-holed in her mind, the girl started upon her errand. She walked briskly, for she realized that her time must be accounted for, and she had determined to use a portion of it for her own ends. Reaching the park, she struck boldly through it instead of following the longer way around, and no one who had known its every path could have chosen a more direct course than she, a self-confessed stranger.

The purchase was quickly consummated and she had turned to leave the shop, when a figure barred her way. She glanced up to find herself confronted by a tiny, fairy-like creature wrapped in sables with a great bunch of livid purple orchids at her belt. Her hair shimmered like spun gold beneath the fur toque and her face, innocent of cosmetics, was exquisitely fair.

For an instant the stranger visibly hesitated and then as if resolutely checking her impulse, turned and walked to a distant counter.

Betty, too, halted in uncontrollable surprise, then made her way to the street as if in a daze. She had never, to her knowledge, encountered the other before, yet the stranger's face had blanched at sight of her and in the round, babyish blue eyes which for a fleeting moment had met hers, she read unmistakable repulsion and an underlying desperate fear. For whom had the woman mistaken her? She was veiled, but the birthmark must have been plainly discernible. Could it be that her disfigurement was so great as to cause such repugnance and almost hysterical fear in a chance observer?

The sight of the museum, however, drove all thought of the odd encounter from her mind, and as she ascended the low, broad steps to the revolving entrance door she resolved to accept the proffered opportunity, whatever the result should Mrs. Atterbury discover her dereliction.

The gray-haired attendant directed her to an upper floor where in a broad echoing marble corridor she found a double row of office doors. Number nine was ajar, and when she knocked a pleasant, masculine voice bade her enter.

The office was small, with files and glass cases lining the walls above which hung framed sections of parchment, time-frayed and shrunken. The westering sun shone through the single window full upon the desk, behind which sat a boyish-looking young man, with merry twinkling eyes and more than a suspicion of red in his chestnut hair.

Betty had been prepared to confront a sedate philologist of settled age and perhaps stern demeanor, and she came forward rather shyly.

"I am looking for the person who advertised in the current issue of the Literary Digest for an Egyptian translator," she remarked.

The young man rose from the chair, his eyes still fixed on hers, and she observed that they had narrowed swiftly with a keen intensity which lent maturity to his expression.

"Please be seated." His tone was quietly courteous. "I placed the advertisement in the magazine you mention. Do you understand the Mallory method?"

"If you mean the system employed by Professor Mallory, of Cairo, and the form of transliteration used by him so that the ancient phraseology might be retained, I can claim to be thoroughly conversant with it." Betty sank into the chair indicated, her breath ending in a little gasp. For all her self-possession, the young man's impersonal but fixed regard had a disturbing effect, and in the attempt to combat it her manner grew strained. "I have made practical use of it in translations for the Museum at Gizeh—"

She paused, biting her lip, but the young man appeared unobservant of her sudden check.

"You have studied under Professor Mallory?" The question was casually uttered, yet it brought a swift blush to her brow.

"I was a pupil of an associate of his." She spoke slowly as if choosing her words with care. "You mention the later dynastic periods in your advertisement; you refer doubtless to the era of the Persian influence?"

"Precisely. One papyrus in particular which we wish translated as literally as possible for purposes of record is believed to be a message from one of the kings of the twenty-seventh dynasty, who was called 'the Great Pharaoh'." The young man diverted his gaze at last, as he fumbled in a desk drawer. "I have a copy here. He isn't the same chap as the one mentioned in the Bible, whose daughter found Moses in the bulrushes, you know."

Betty could scarcely believe her ears. The flippant display of ignorance on the part of one who must be an important official of the museum seemed incredible, and a dim suspicion came to her that she was being made the victim of a hoax.

"I am aware of that fact," she responded frigidly. "The twenty-seventh dynasty was inaugurated only some five hundred years before Christ. Two of its rulers were known as 'the Great Pharaoh'; Xerxes and Artaxerxes. By which was this papyrus believed to have been inscribed?"

"I will let you judge that." He smiled in winning friendliness, quite unabashed by her icy tone. "To tell you the truth, I am not very well posted on it."

If this were indeed a hoax, Betty determined to obtain some personal satisfaction from it.

"Can you tell me, however, if an interlinear transliteration is required, as well as a translation?"

The young man lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness almost comic.

"I mean," she explained, dimpling behind her veil, "do you wish the corresponding letter in our alphabet placed beneath each pictured letter or hieroglyph, with the translation of the whole phrase on a third line? That is the form used by Professor Mallory."

"Then I presume that is what will be required. I am not going to try to impose on you by any false display of a knowledge I do not possess," he said with engaging candor. "As a matter of fact, I am lamentably ignorant of Egyptology in general, but I happen to be a sort of honorary member of the board of directors governing the museum, and the task of finding a translator was delegated to me, with instructions to obtain, if possible, a pupil of Professor Mallory for the work. The official translator for the museum is in Egypt at the present time. Here is the photographic copy of the papyrus in question."

He opened a portfolio and took from it several large sheets which he passed to her across the desk. Her momentary resentment was forgotten and a little exclamation of fervid interest escaped her lips as she spread the pages out before her and threw back her veil the more clearly to scrutinize them.

The young man leaned slightly forward studying her face, then quietly he touched a button in the wall and the room was suddenly flooded with light.

"That is better, isn't it?" he asked.

Betty glanced up, blinking in the sudden glare, then nodded abstractedly and bent again over the hieroglyphic scrawl. Several minutes passed while she sat absorbed, no sound breaking the stillness but the occasional rustle of the papers beneath her hand. At length she rearranged them with a sigh of satisfaction.

"This purports to be a message from Khshiarsha, or Xerxes, the first ruler of the twenty-seventh dynasty to be called 'the Great Pharaoh' and if the date of the original papyrus has been authenticated, it is a wonderful find, and a valuable addition to Egyptiana. This copy will serve perfectly for translation, but I should like very much to see the original sometime, if it is in the possession of the museum——"

The eager words died on her lips, and her glowing face paled, then flushed hotly. She had looked up to find that the young man's eyes were fixed with an expression which she could not fathom upon the birthmark on her cheek, and it burned her like a newly-seared brand. With a swift gesture she lowered her veil.

"I will see that you have access to it." The young man rose. "I could place it in your hands now, but the curator is out. However, if, as you say, this copy is suitable for translation, do you care to undertake the work? I cannot, of course, judge of your proficiency, but I am willing to take it for granted."

"Thank you," Betty responded, simply. "I am confident that my translation will be satisfactory. It will take me a few days to complete it; shall I bring it here to you?"

"If you will, please. Should I not be here, leave it with the assistant curator for Mr. Ross. The fee for translation will be fifty dollars. Now, if you will give me your name and address——?" He paused expectantly, and Betty's heart sank.

This was a contingency which had not occurred to her. To name her present abode would mean that letters or instructions might be forwarded to her there, and inevitable discovery on Mrs. Atterbury's part would ensue with the probable consequence of immediate dismissal. This risk despite the shadow of tragic mystery which enveloped the house and her own undoubted peril should the extent of her knowledge become known, she would not hazard. A determination stronger than fear of death itself bound her to Mrs. Atterbury's service.

But the pause was lengthening, and the young man eyed her in puzzled inquiry.

"My name is Shaw—Betty Shaw," she stammered, adding with a sudden inspiration: "I live at 160 Wakefield Avenue. Have you any special instructions for me, Mr. Ross?"

"None. I will leave the work entirely in your hands. You say you will require a few days in which to complete it. Can you bring it here to me by Tuesday afternoon, at this time?"

"I will try." Betty flushed behind her veil. "My time is not absolutely my own, so I cannot make a definite appointment, but I shall make every effort to be here."

"There will be more work when this is finished, you know; inscriptions from tombs and that sort of thing," he added, as if on a sudden inspiration. "By the way, have you done any translating from the modern languages—French, German?"

Betty shook her head, and although the young man waited, she vouchsafed no further response.

"Well, we are in no hurry for this." He opened the door for her at last and held out his hand smilingly. "We only want to file the translations before the originals are placed on exhibition. Good afternoon, Miss Shaw."

Betty hurried from the museum, now grim and shadowy in the gathering dusk and started south toward Wakefield Avenue with the precious transcript clasped tightly in her muff. Late as it was she felt that she must arrange to have her change of address concealed should the exceedingly frank young man with the laughing eyes attempt to communicate with her. His personality had impressed her so strongly that the oddity of the whole interview did not present itself to her mind. If the translations to be placed on record in a National museum were left to the discretion of a young man who was avowedly ignorant of the work, it was a proceeding which aroused no suspicion in her mind. She knew nothing of the directorship of similar institutions in America, and gave it no thought. Her chief concern was that her subterfuge should not be discovered.

The work itself, fascinating though it would prove, shrunk to insignificance beside the interest the strange young man had aroused in her. Isolated as was her voluntarily assumed position, hedged in by mystery and distrust and even danger, the candid, disinterested friendliness of his attitude had made an appeal to which her lonely spirit responded joyously. The crafty, scheming expression which sometimes hardened her face was gone as if it had never existed, and her eyes glowed with a new unconscious happiness as she turned the corner of Wakefield Avenue, and ran lightly up the dingy steps of the once familiar house.

Meanwhile, the young man upon whom her thoughts were centered had also left the museum and was hastening across the park as fast as a taxi could carry him. Blue eyes, brown hair, education, refinement, youth; every attribute tallied with the rather vague description furnished to him, and the knowledge of Egyptology which the girl had displayed, unless it were the most improbable of coincidences, seemed the last detail needed to prove the identification complete.

And yet his client had made no mention of the one salient point which would render the girl who had just left his presence distinctive in a multitude; the strange scar or birthmark, like a clutching hand upon her cheek.

The sincerity of Madame Dumois' search, whatever her ultimate motive might be, was unquestionable. She could serve no object by deliberately eliminating so conspicuous a detail from her description, and it was incredible that she could have forgotten it, had the young woman she sought possessed such a means of recognition.

His taxi slewed recklessly through the mud as it rounded a corner into the North Drive and he glanced idly out of the window at a square stone house, half-hidden in a grove of cedars past which he was being rapidly whirled. A figure which appeared to be loitering beside the gate turned at the sound of the motor and for an instant his face loomed with almost grotesque distinctness against the enveloping dusk.

Herbert Ross uttered a sharp exclamation, and starting forward in his seat, reached for the speaking tube. The next moment he had checked the impulse and sunk back once more, but his round, candid eyes had narrowed to mere slits in each of which a steely point glittered and his jaw was set in a grim line of dogged relentlessness.

Some half-mile further down the Drive, his taxi turned in at the modest ivy-clad gate of an estate smaller than its pretentious neighbors, but surrounded with an air of solid, unchanging antiquity which they could not boast.

A white-haired butler opened the door and ushered Herbert Ross ceremoniously into the drawing-room. It was a long, narrow apartment, stiff and ugly with the prim austerity of the mid-Victorian period from which it obviously dated, and the conservative handful of coals in the grate served only to accentuate the chill and gloom in the lurking shadows beyond its proscribed radius.

Madame Dumois appeared with businesslike promptitude.

"Have you news for me, Mr. Ross?" She regarded him shrewdly as she extended her hand. "Or are you going to try to wheedle some more information from me? If you are, you may spare yourself the trouble. I admit that the surprise of encountering a detective who talked Persian poetry loosened my tongue the other day but you have all the data I can give you to help you locate the young woman, and what takes place between us when you have found her, will be my affair."

"Are you sure that I really have all the data, Madame Dumois?" he asked earnestly. "Is there not something that you have forgotten or purposely withheld, which would be a distinctive means of recognition?"

"I don't know what you mean!" Her voice was guarded, but her eyes snapped with sudden fire. "You have a description of the young woman's appearance, together with a lot of quite irrelevant detail which I was a babbling fool to disclose—"

"Have I?" he insisted. "You have given me a description which would fit probably four-fifths of the young women one meets, without a single distinguishing feature. Has she none? Think, please. The smallest scar, or physical peculiarity would be of inestimable value in identification."

He watched her narrowly, but her expression did not change an iota.

"She is unfortunately not branded, like Western cattle!" The old lady snorted contemptuously. "Nor is she, as far as I know, six toed like a cat. She is just an average, normal, young person, with an abnormal amount of duplicity."

"Then she possesses no scar, or birthmark?" Ross inquired slowly.

"Good heavens, no!" Madame Dumois exclaimed. "I wouldn't consider her actually pretty, but she has no disfigurement or blemish unless she has been injured recently."

"How recently?" He shot the question at her, but she was on her guard.

"It would have to be a comparatively fresh scar." She smiled grimly at his discomfiture. "No, Mr. Ross. The young woman for whom I am searching has absolutely no feature to distinguish her from a thousand and one others. I see your point, and I regret that I can give you no fuller information concerning her."

She rose as if to terminate the interview, and he was constrained to accept the hint.

"You still could aid me greatly, Madame Dumois, if you would." The detective spoke in his most persuasive manner. "Let me see the photograph of her, which I am sure you possess."

The old lady drew herself up to her full commanding height.

"There are no grounds for your assurance, sir," she declared coldly. "I have no photograph of the young woman."

"Then I will not detain you longer." He bowed. "I cannot accost a stranger, claiming her as the girl you seek, unless I can be absolutely certain of my ground, no matter how conclusive my suspicions are."

"You mean that you have found some one who answers the description, only that she has a scar?" Madame Dumois spoke with rigid control. "Take me where I can see her, and I will soon tell you whether your suspicions are correct or not."

"Unfortunately, that would be impossible." Mr. Ross shook his head gravely. "If I should prove to have been mistaken, explanations might involve you in the very notoriety you are seeking to avoid. But if you can obtain a likeness of her the question will be settled once and for all."

He paused and there was a brief silence while the old lady seemed to hesitate. At length she said grudgingly:

"I will try to get one. In the meantime, Mr. Ross, do not lose sight of the person you suspect."

He reassured her on that score and departed. He was confident that his client would produce the photograph at his next interview with her, but a grave doubt filled his mind that the girl who had come to him that afternoon was the one sought. The old lady's astonishment at the suggestion of a scar or birthmark had been unfeigned, and that single incontrovertible fact would overthrow the whole structure of his theory. The case which he had assumed practically blindfold seemed no nearer a solution and no other translator had risen to the bait offered by the advertisement who could by any possibility have been associated with his subject.

Meanwhile, Betty had concluded a satisfactory arrangement with her former landlady and was hastening homeward. A confused babel of voices arose as she crossed the avenue, and amid the raucous shouts one phrase beat upon her brain:

"Wuxtry! Wuxtry! Latest news about the big murder! Coroner's inquest adjourned. Wuxtry!"

She purchased a paper from the first newsboy who accosted her, and stopped in the rosy reflected glow from a drugstore window to scan the headlines. The light shining through a crimson globe dyed the page a sinister hue and from it there stared out at her the face of a man in the prime of life, with a square, determined chin and fine eyes, albeit there clustered about them the unmistakable lines of world knowledge and satiety.

Beneath it in double type she read:

"Breckinridge inquest adjourned. Coroner holds case open for further evidence. Rumor that detectives are working on new and startling clue. Close friend of George W. Breckinridge, millionaire clubman whose body stabbed to the heart was found in a secluded spot on Vanderduycken Road, declares that he has for some time been under a cloud—"

The letters ran together and blurred before Betty's eyes, and crumpling the sheet convulsively, she dropped it at her feet. Then as if suddenly conscious of the conspicuous spot in which she stood, the girl slipped quickly away into the shadows. Her pulse pounded in her ears and her brain seemed reeling, but one fact stood out in terrible, relentless clarity; the pictured face was that of the man who had lain dead in the dining-room of the house among the cedars.

CHAPTER VII.

Ten Thousand Sheep.

For several days thereafter Betty was kept closely confined to the house. Mrs. Atterbury had accepted her statement that she lost her way in attempting a short cut through the park as the explanation of her late return and attributed her own agitation to anxiety over the young girl's welfare. The mask was lifted for an instant, however, and Betty had a glimpse of the sullen fury which seethed beneath her employer's calm austerity.

She was in no sense made to feel like a virtual prisoner once more, but Mrs. Atterbury made constant demands upon her which practically filled her hours of daylight, and no further errands were broached.

The evenings were usually her own, however, and she spent them in fascinated study of the Egyptian translation. Her enthusiasm grew with its development, but she resolutely banished it from her mind during the daily routine, for fear her abstraction be noticed and questioned. Yet always, with every hour of freedom from espionage, she continued her protracted search. Whatever her object she sought it in every place of concealment which suggested itself to her. Betty learned quickly to know when the servants' tasks would lead them to various parts of the house, and managed skilfully to elude them. It was from her employer herself that she most feared discovery, but in this eventuality fortune had so far been with her.

Mrs. Atterbury's correspondence continued to prove negative and devoid of interest, but one morning she dictated a letter which caught Betty's wandering attention. It was evidently in reply to one which had not passed through the girl's hands, and the oddity of its phrasing impressed her so acutely that when her employer went to receive a caller, she sorted it from the pile of envelopes and read it again:

"My dear Shirley:

Your letter received. Send me ten of the thousand circulars quoting sheep prices for March. Home market good this week for forty or fifty and even more points rise if my brokers handled the situation properly. State Senator Laramie advocates strict game laws now up before house. Comet, my horse, sold. Speranza invited us last Thursday out for week-end to see her pink hothouse roses bud. The frost killed them, however. Her sister is safe from submarines on the northern way home from Japan. Demon won red ribbon show held last month in Littleton, near Denver. Mrs. Ardmore's 'Alibi' beat him straight. John will meet your friend Professor Blythe, of Chicago University, on Saturday at eight. He says he has obeyed your instructions about buying new machinery; to substitute old endangers success. He fears block contracts will head off buyers, but he is conscientious. There is no longer any danger of piracy, discovery now patented so you can use the invention this year. Unwritten code among manufacturers in America is letting unions ruin us. Do you know what the result was out West in the Cote vs. Williams affair? Was the end satisfactory to all concerned?

Write soon.

Sincerely,
Marcia Atterbury."

The abrupt change of subject matter throughout, the short sentences and inconsistent style of the missive—now terse with telegraphic brevity, then verbose in unexpected and seemingly irrelevant detail—was utterly unlike her employer's usual concise mode of expression, and Betty's wonderment grew.

What had game laws to do with the market value of sheep, and who were "Professor Blythe," and "John" and the mysterious "Shirley" to whom the puzzling letter was addressed? The girl had not known that Mrs. Atterbury owned horses, or Mme. Cimmino a country residence; surely the latter had no conservatory in which to raise hothouse roses connected with her stuffy, overcrowded town apartment!

A minor point, too, stood out in challenging mendacity; Betty was too discriminating a judge of dogs to credit Demon with having taken a ribbon at any show. He might possess many traits which would render him invaluable as a watchdog, but his mixed breeding was too evident to admit of his qualifying on points.

As she further analyzed the letter two coincidences sprang to her mind, which brought back vividly the mysterious communication in code that she had opened on the first morning of her secretarial work. That, too, had contained a reference to sheep, but the number mentioned had been five thousand. The last sentence contained the word "comet," and Mrs. Atterbury had made use of it also in her present letter.

Another code! Betty stifled an exclamation as the truth burst upon her. It would be compatible with her employer's imperturbable daring to dictate a private and possibly incriminating letter to her unconscious amanuensis, secure in the belief that it would never occur to her to question its superficial meaning or seek to solve it without the key. Then, too, it might be that for certain cogent reasons, Mrs. Atterbury did not wish her own handwriting to appear in the communication, although she had said she would address the envelope herself. Betty had even signed the former's name, at her request.

If only she might hit upon the key! Concentration was impossible with the imminent fear of discovery before her, but she felt that she could not relinquish this rare opportunity to pierce the web of mystery without at least an effort.

Transcribing the letter hastily, she thrust the copy in her blouse, and when her employer returned she found the girl apparently deep in a book.

That afternoon, for the first time since her recent escapade, a suggestion was made that she go for a walk, and Betty eagerly availed herself of the permission.

"Be sure you do not get lost again!" Mrs. Atterbury warned her, with a smile which struck a chill to the girl's heart. "If you go beyond the gates, turn only in one direction and when you are tired, retrace your steps. I shall expect you home in an hour."

There was more than a hint of spring in the languorous, humid air, and the sight of a venturesome robin preening his scarlet breast on the lawn made the blood leap in her veins. In spite of the dark shadows which surrounded her, and the problematic future looming ahead, the youth in Betty responded joyously to the burgeoning year and she quickened her pace as she passed out of the tall gate.

Chance led her to turn southward along the drive and at the corner she came face to face with a man lounging against a lamp-post. He was smooth shaven and respectable in appearance, but the cap pulled low over his eyes gave him a furtive air and his burly figure and truculent bearing made her think somehow of a policeman, although the clothes he wore resembled those of an artisan. He glanced at her sharply and moved on, but the trail of cigarette stubs about the lamp-post told of a lengthy vigil, and Betty's heart contracted in sudden apprehension.

Could he be a detective watching the house? Had the law already found a trail from that secluded spot on Vanderduycken Road to the place where George Breckinridge had so mysteriously come to his end? Would swift retribution descend and engulf her also, the innocent with the guilty, while yet her position had availed her nothing?

She walked on quickly without looking back, conscious of the stranger's scrutiny. Her step was still brisk, although the buoyancy had died out of it as the momentary, carefree happiness was blotted from her face. The future, black and uncertain, stretched forth tentacles of doubt and dismay which dragged at her spirit and the bright day seemed suddenly lowering and chill.

A half-mile further on, she came to a low, square, ivy-covered gate-post, and paused almost wistfully to examine the springing green of the new shoots, when a sedate step upon the stone flagging made her glance upward.

A woman was coming toward her down the path which flanked the driveway from the house; an erect, elderly woman with smooth, white hair beneath her severe toque and a figure as trim as that of a girl. She was peering about her with an alert, bird-like movement of her head as if unaccustomed to viewing the world without artificial aid for her eyes and she had evidently not as yet observed the girl at the gate.

For an instant Betty stood rooted to the spot, staring as though she could scarcely credit the evidence of her senses. Slowly the blood receded from her face, leaving it blanched and ghastly, and into her eyes, dulled with introspection but a moment since, there crept a look of livid fear.

She swayed, then with a sobbing gasp turned blindly and fled as if the very fiends of darkness were pursuing her, back toward the doubtful haven of the house among the cedars.

She had scarcely traversed a hundred yards, however, when she collided violently with a young man whose approach she had not been conscious of in her supreme agitation. She clutched at him instinctively as the impact threatened to sweep her off her feet and he put out a steadying arm.

"I beg your pardon—" His tone was conventionally contrite, but he broke off in unfeigned surprise when she raised her head. "Why, Miss Shaw!"

It was the young man from the museum!

"Mr. Ross!" she gasped. "How stupid of me! I must have run full tilt into you."

"I'm not seriously injured," he assured her gravely, although his eyes twinkled. "But you were going at a most extraordinary pace. Tell me what villian was pursuing you and I will cheerfully annihiliate him."

Betty laughed with a note of sheer hysteria in her trembling tones.

"I have an appointment for which I am late." She lowered her tell-tale eyes. "I did not see you coming and the long deserted avenue tempted me to run for it. I—I cannot wait—"

"You are a long way from home." He had caught the dismayed, hunted look which she cast involuntarily over her shoulder. "If anyone has annoyed or frightened you, won't you allow me to walk with you to your destination?"

"Oh, no!" Her alarm at the suggestion was unmistakable. "Thank you, but I shall be quite all right, and I must go on alone. Nothing frightened me, Mr. Ross, I was only surprised at meeting you so unexpectedly in this part of town."

"And the Egyptian translation?" He was studying her face.

"I will bring it to you on Tuesday. Good bye."

Betty nodded in farewell, and turning, sped lightly off down the Drive, the fear that he might follow lending wings to her feet. The broad avenue stretched straight away for miles to the northward without a curve or obstruction which would serve to screen her destination from view, but she felt that in any event she could have gone no farther.

The close confinement of her position had ill prepared her for a test of physical endurance and when she reached the gateway of home her limbs were trembling beneath her and her panting breath came in agonized strangling sobs. Reckless of the young man's possible observation she turned in between the high gates, and staggering up the side path to a little knoll ringed with low-growing holly bushes, she sank breathlessly upon a stone bench, and crouched waiting, but her solitude was undisturbed and no tread of an approaching footstep sounded upon the graveled walk. Gradually her composure returned and with the gathering of her scattered forces she remembered her employer's final warning. Whatever the future held in store, she must play the game.

Herbert Ross had watched the girl until she disappeared within the gates, then slowly proceeded on his way. The surprise in their meeting had been mutual, but he made no attempt to fathom the reason for her presence in the neighborhood. His thoughts were busied with the cause of her evident terror. From whom or what was she flying when chance precipitated her into his arms?

She had recovered herself quickly, but her attempt to dissemble had been vain. The detective had read aright the hunted, cowering look in her eyes. What had so changed her from the confident, self-assured young woman of a few days previous to the trembling, terrified creature who had shrunk from him in dismay and attempted so vainly to conceal her consternation?

The solution of the enigma was approaching even as he cogitated, but so unprepared was he for the revelation that it was with a distinct sensation of shock he beheld Madame Dumois coming toward him down the avenue. The full significance of the scene burst upon his brain and the momentary flash of self-disgust for his stupidity was followed by the exultation of achievement. He had solved the case!

With the slenderest of clues to work upon and the most difficult of clients to handle; blindfold, knowing nothing of his subject's past or her relations with the stern old woman who was so relentlessly running her to earth, without even a name to guide him, he had found her! Nothing remained but to produce her and take his fee.

Then, unaccountably, the girl's face, as he had last seen it, rose before him, frightened, appealing in its very helplessness and despair. What would be her fate at the hands of his grim client? She was so young, with a sufficiently long future before her in which to atone for any mistake of the past. He shrank even in thought from the suggestion of crime in connection with her, and for the first time in his professional career he hesitated in the face of his duty.

And the scar! If indeed it was a birthmark as he had concluded, why had Madame Dumois not only eliminated it from her description, but deliberately denied its existence when he himself had referred to it? What had Betty Shaw to fear from her?

If he could only have felt assured of his client's motive in seeking out the girl, his course would have been clearly defined, but his experience forced him to conclude it could only be in a spirit of retribution for some real or fancied offense. If she were trying to find a missing relative, a daughter, perhaps, who had disappeared, her anxiety would have been more marked in spite of her iron self-control, and why would the other have flown from her? There could have been no reason for her secrecy with one professionally bound to preserve her confidence, save in the incredible contingency that the young girl was a fugitive from justice.

An impulse came to him to turn and flee, even as the girl herself had done; to put off the interview until he had made up his mind to face the issue. The next moment he banished the thought resolutely and stepped forward with extended hand.

"Madame Dumois! This is a fortunate meeting. I was just on my way to call upon you, although I rather fancied you could not resist the lure of this wonderful spring day!"

"It isn't the weather which has brought me out, young man." She spoke dryly, but her sharp eyes softened and her smile was one of unalloyed welcome. "When you reach my age you will remember your rheumatism and think twice before you venture out in this wonderful humid atmosphere. You have news?"

He shook his head.

"If you have an engagement, and I am detaining you——" he began weakly, raging within himself in self-contempt at his irresolution, but the old lady placed her hand upon his arm.

"No, Mr. Ross. I have no interests which supersede in importance the case on which you are working. Come back to the house and tell me why you wished to see me. Where is the young woman you mentioned? You have not lost sight of her?"

Her voice trembled with eagerness and the angular gloved hand upon his coat sleeve trembled too. It was the first sign of emotion she had betrayed in the detective's presence, but whether anxiety or vindictiveness actuated it, he was at a loss to determine.

"The resemblance can only be a casual one, on the strength of your description." He evaded the direct question. "Then, too, remember that the young woman whom I have seen bears a mark upon her face. That would seem to prove my mistake, would it not?"

They had turned and were walking together up the path which led to the house and for a short space the old lady maintained silence. When she replied her voice was low, but quite steady once more.

"But as you suggested it might be a fresh scar." She gave him a shrewd sidelong glance. "If my description of her appearance were so casual, and the mark would seem to disprove it, you must have surer grounds on which to base your theory."

He flashed one of his rare, winning smiles upon her.

"Madame Dumois, if you were not beyond the necessity of making a career for yourself, permit me to say quite without impertinence that you would have been an ornament to my profession."

A delicate flush tinted her cheeks like old ivory and a spark twinkled in her eyes.

"You are a most refreshing young man!" She tapped his arm with a long forefinger. "But you have not replied to my question."

"I have based my theory on more than the young woman's appearance," Herbert Ross admitted quietly. "Some of the data which you considered irrelevant furnished me with a clue to work from. But that is beside the point. I came this afternoon to find if you have been able to secure the photograph we talked of."

They had mounted the steps and the old lady rang the bell before she replied.

"Yes. I will get it for you at once."

While he waited in the gloom of the drawing-room he tried again to force his mind to a decision, and once more the girl's face loomed before his mental vision, but this time with a haunting entreaty in her soft eyes, and the pitiful scar seemed to plead for at least a respite from final judgment. He cursed himself for a soft-hearted weakling, a susceptible fool to be swerved from his course by the girl's unconscious appeal to the innate chivalry he had believed to have been burned out long ago by the fire of his experiences and vicissitudes in his chosen profession. If only the photograph would prove him mistaken!

The rustle of Madame Dumois' gown sounded upon the stair and in another moment she had entered the room and silently placed in his hand a cabinet size square of cardboard. He walked over to the lamp ostensibly to obtain a better light, but he paused with his shoulder turned to her. Trained as he was to disguise his own thoughts, he dared not trust himself to the old lady's keen scrutiny.

The lower part of the photograph had been cut away, perhaps to destroy a tell-tale inscription, but the upper portion disclosed the picture of a young girl seated in a high cathedral-backed chair, with her head turned sharply to the left, so that only her profile and the right side of her face were visible.

Herbert Ross drew a long breath and Madame Dumois' voice grated hoarsely upon the stillness.

"Well? Is it the girl?"

"I cannot tell." He turned and faced her squarely. "The scar I spoke of is on the young lady's left cheek, which as you see, does not show in this photograph. I only succeeded in obtaining a casual glimpse of her, and although there is a general resemblance, the scar changes the whole expression, and I cannot be certain until I have had an opportunity to observe her more closely."

The old lady seated herself heavily in the nearest chair and the lines seemed suddenly to deepen in her face.

"You're not sure?" She clenched her hands upon the chair arms until the knuckles showed white beneath the soft lace frills which fell from her sleeves. "But there is a resemblance, you say. It must be the girl I am searching for! Go to her at once, Mr. Ross. I cannot endure the strain of waiting longer!"

"One must have patience, Madame Dumois, in a case of this sort. If the young woman knows of your search, and is hiding from you; if she has committed a wrong and fears retribution——"

"That is beside the point!" She glared at him. "Never mind what I want of the girl, Mr. Ross. That is not your province. Only produce her for me and I will be responsible for the consequences."

Madame Dumois set her jaws with a snap, although her breath came quickly and her old eyes flashed.

The detective rose.

"I will see the subject I have in mind at the earliest possible opportunity, and if my suspicions are verified, I will bring her to you."

Late that night, Betty, all unconscious of the meeting between the two people who had so unexpectedly crossed her path that day, sat before the fire in her room, with a paper spread out between her hands. It was not the Egyptian translation tonight, however, which held her absorbed, but the copy of Mrs. Atterbury's strange letter.

She knew nothing of codes or ciphers and racked her brains vainly for a clue which would enable her to glean the hidden meaning from the cryptic sentences. The word "sheep" she felt intuitively would prove a starting point, since it had appeared in the first secret message; "comet," too, must have been indispensable, for the wording of the letter was obviously forced to give it space. But "ten of the thousand circulars quoting sheep prices for March" read lucidly enough and seemed devoid of any suggestion of ambiguity, yet——

All at once Betty started forward in her chair and with parted lips and eyes shining with repressed excitement she scanned the page once more. She had found it! The key which she had sought so vainly lay revealed and the words of the hidden message leaped out at her as in letters of fire.

Her mobile face in the light from the glowing hearth reflected each successive emotion as she read, and her expression changed from avid interest to a dawning horror. Then quite suddenly she threw back her head and laughed silently, in a convulsion of ironic mirth which ended in a little sob; and she sat staring at the name "Marcia Atterbury," which she herself had obediently signed to the note that morning, with a slowly gathering menace in her eyes. As the firelight flared and died again, the spreading birthmark upon her cheek seemed to move as if the five curved tentacles which radiated from it were writhing to grasp their prey and her small hands clenched until the paper tore.

At last she rose with a determined air, and thrusting the letter into the bosom of her loose, dark robe, she took her electric torch from its hiding place behind a loosened tile of the hearth.

Then extinguishing her lamp, she crept to the door, unbolted it softly and stood for a moment listening with every nerve tense. No sound echoed back to her from the sleeping house, no light pierced the darkness save the thread-like ray which played from her hand, and with cautious, silent footsteps she descended the stairs, and entering the library, closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Orchid Lady.

"I shall return in time for lunch." Mrs. Atterbury paused in the doorway. "You have quite enough work to keep you occupied, I imagine. Don't leave the house until I return, Betty, for you may be called to the other telephone. Welch is so stupid I dare not trust him with messages and I am expecting a rather important one from Doctor Bayard."

"I doubt if I shall be able to finish before lunch, but I'll try." Betty glanced rather ruefully at the loose assortment of letters scattered about the desk top.

"Do, please, for this afternoon I shall want you to go on an errand for me which may keep you until late. Don't tire yourself, though, my dear."

She nodded a careless farewell, and a few moments later her car whirled off down the drive.

Betty waited until its rather bizarre stripes had disappeared and then resolutely applied herself to her task. Seated there at the desk in her severely simple morning frock, with every hair in place and a serene, intent expression masking all emotion, she made a vastly different picture from that of a few hours earlier when she had crept into that very room in the darkness just before the dawn, trembling with fear of discovery yet urged on as if hypnotized by a stronger will than her own.

If her thoughts reverted to that hour and what she had accomplished therein, she gave no outward sign, but worked systematically until order resolved itself from the chaos before her, and two neatly arranged piles of envelopes marked the result of her labors.

A light knock interrupted her and before she could speak the door opened and Jack Wolvert entered, smiling in bland assumption of his welcome.

"I felt sure I should find somebody about!" he remarked. "Welch left me to cool my heels in the drawing-room, but I am not over fond of my own society. Do be charitable and give me permission to bore you a little, Miss Shaw!"

He lounged with easy grace over to her desk and rested his elbows upon its top staring boldly down into her eyes. She averted them and leaned back in her chair, an unpleasant sensation, almost of repulsion, tingling to her fingertips.

"Mrs. Atterbury will not be back until lunch time, Mr. Wolvert." Her voice was coolly impersonal. "If you care to wait until then, however, there are books here and Welch will bring you the morning papers or anything else you may require."

"But I much prefer to talk to you." The smile deepened and an impish, mocking light danced in his pale eyes. "It really is time that we became better acquainted, now that we are to see so much more of each other."

Betty gasped. She did not understand the final observation but the man's audacity disconcerted her. Instinctively disliking him from the moment of their first meeting, his appearance on the occasion of Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party had not tended to raise him in the girl's estimation. His immoderate drinking, the strange toast he had proposed like a challenge flung into the spirit world, and his reckless abandonment to whatever mood swayed him lingered disquietingly in Betty's mind, and she longed to be rid of his presence.

"I am very busy, as you see." She took up her pen suggestively. "Mrs. Atterbury will expect me to have finished with her letters——"

"Busy? By Jove, I should think you were! What an industrious little person! Our charming hostess certainly believes in Satan's influence over idle hands, and has guarded you well against him." He reached down deliberately and picked up one of the letters. "Quite distinctive, your handwriting; like your personality, it baffles by its lucidity."

Betty's quick eye had followed the action and noted the purpose beneath his studied carelessness.

"Give me that letter, please." She spoke courteously, but there was a hint of underlying firmness in her tone.

"But there is no harm." He smiled. "Surely you know that Mrs. Atterbury consults me about all her affairs. Whatever you may write for her, I may read."

"That is for Mrs. Atterbury to say," retorted Betty, flushing with resentment at the man's insolence. "I will ask her on her return. Meanwhile, her correspondence is in my charge."

Wolvert shrugged and the smile changed to a snarl which showed his long, white teeth like suddenly bared fangs, but the letter fluttered from his fingers to the desk.

"Mrs. Atterbury is to be congratulated on her choice of a secretary. Your honesty exceeds your tact, my dear young lady. You are inexperienced and in a strange position; do not handicap yourself by making enemies. A friend at court might be very useful to you, more useful than you can realize."

He had bent still lower, until his dark saturnine face was within a few inches of her own, and he spoke with calculated significance. For the first time a little shudder of fear swept over her, but she met his eyes calmly.

"I have need of no one's friendship, Mr. Wolvert, on the score of usefulness, for I ask no favors and grant none. Mrs. Atterbury is my employer and I serve her interests."

He straightened and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, strolled to the window, where he stood with his back turned to the room, whistling softly between his teeth.

Betty pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and when he wheeled about, she was apparently absorbed once more in her work.

"I, too, am wholly at Mrs. Atterbury's service." He strode back to her side. "You must not doubt that, Miss Shaw. I like you for your loyalty, even if you are ungracious to me. Will you not give me your hand, and say that we shall be friends?"

"If you insist." Betty forced a smile. "I am sorry if I appeared ungracious, but I am really very busy. Rudeness to any friend of Mrs. Atterbury is furthest from my thoughts."

She placed her hand shrinkingly in his, and he raised it to his lips in exaggerated gallantry.

"'The friends of my friends are my friends,'" he quoted. "You will find me at your service also, Miss Shaw. I will leave you now to your labors, and see if I am sufficiently in Welch's good graces to coax a cocktail from him."

When the door had closed behind him Betty rubbed her hand resentfully as if a stain remained from contact with his lips. Her thoughts were disquieting. What if she had indeed made an enemy of him? Was the extent of his influence in the household great enough to sow seeds of suspicion against her, and render her already difficult position all but intolerable? Was a new obstacle to be added to those which even now crowded everywhere about her path?

At luncheon she learned from Mrs. Atterbury's own lips what the visitor had meant about their seeing more of each other. Both Jack Wolvert and Madame Cimmino were to be house guests for a time, the latter having temporarily closed her apartment, and Wolvert coming on the plea of quiet and seclusion in which to finish a new composition.

Betty glanced at him with fresh interest. She had frequently heard snatches of brilliantly executed melody from the music room during the evening and knew that a master hand was touching the keys, but she had never entertained the idea that it might be Wolvert.

All idle thoughts were driven from her mind, however, when at the conclusion of the meal, Mrs. Atterbury summoned her to her room. As on the occasion of her appearance at the opera, a new costume was spread out before her, this time a gown and cloak of daintiest gray, with soft silvery furs.

"My dear, I am sending you to execute another errand for me, since you were so successful with the last. This should be no more difficult than the other, and it will give you a glimpse of a new side of city life. Here are some furs and a suit of which you have been in need."

"But, Mrs. Atterbury, I really cannot accept these costly things from you," Betty stammered. "The salary you are paying me——"

"Nonsense, child! Consider them as commission for the extra work which is apart from our original understanding, and for your rare discretion. The last errand must have seemed strange to you and this one will doubtless be more of an enigma, but I can assure you that when I am free to explain it to you fully you will appreciate the reason for my reticence, as well as the necessity for putting to use all your finesse and diplomacy."

"I had no thought of prying or curiosity, Mrs. Atterbury." The girl's face flushed. "I am ready to do whatever you require, as I told you when you engaged me. Where am I to go this afternoon?"

"To the Carnival Room at the Café de Luxe. A table for two has been reserved in your name, but you will go alone, as before. You will find a tea dance in progress and presently a lady will join you at the table."

"A lady?" Betty murmured.

"Yes." Mrs. Atterbury paused, and then went on carefully. "A young lady with golden hair and very richly gowned. She has a letter to deliver to you. You will be able to identify her absolutely by the enormous bunch of purple orchids which she will wear. Please remember this carefully, Betty, for it is imperative. Should any persons approach you except the lady I describe, cut them, absolutely. If they persist, conduct yourself just as you would if accosted by any stranger and return home immediately. Do you understand quite clearly?"

"Quite, Mrs. Atterbury. When shall I be ready?"

"The car will be brought around for you at four and will wait to bring you home."

When, at the hour named, Betty descended the stairs, demure but radiant in the dovelike costume, Mrs. Atterbury intercepted her at the drawing-room door.

"Charming, my dear! But why do you wear a veil? It really spoils the whole effect and you do not need it."

"My face!" Betty seemed to shrink within herself. "The birthmark, you know. I—I find the people here look at me so strangely."

Her employer shot a keen glance at her.

"You must not permit yourself to grow self-conscious. The mark is not an absolute disfigurement, as I have told you, and even if it were, it is irremediable. You can only make yourself needlessly wretched by thinking morbidly of it." Her level tones sharpened with the note of stern authority which the girl remembered. "Remove the veil at once and do not wear it when you go on an assignment for me."

Betty's fingers trembled as she obeyed. Could Mrs. Atterbury have divined her subterfuge? When she raised her eyes, however, the other woman was smiling graciously.

"Ah! that is better. The fur brings out your color, my dear. Remember to hold no communication with anyone except the lady you are going to meet."

The Café de Luxe was the most cosmopolitan of the newer establishments which had sprung up mushroomlike throughout the theatre district of the city to meet the latest demands of an amusement-crazed public. Garishly appointed, it was as blatant in character as the clientele to whom for the most part it catered. The many mirrors and dazzling-colored lights, combined with the blare of the orchestra and the heated, heavily perfumed air, confused Betty for a moment and a sensation of faintness stole over her.

Through the parted lobby curtains she beheld a vista of crowded tables each with its mutually engrossed couple, and behind them in a roped-off square the dancers, jerking and swaying like marionettes. As she hesitated, a small, white-gloved hand was laid upon her arm and a merry voice, glad with surprise, sounded in her ears.

"Ruth! Where have you been all this while? Everyone is asking about you! Fancy meeting you here! Isn't this simply fascinating?"

Betty turned slowly. A plump, fair-haired girl with a pretty, doll-like face stood beside her. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion but valley lilies instead of orchids were clustered at her belt. Betty bestowed upon her a slow, deliberate stare of non-recognition, which the other returned in wide-eyed bewilderment which swiftly changed to confusion and dismay when her eyes encountered the birthmark. With a crimson face, she murmured a halting apology and turning, fled precipitately. Betty watched the stranger until she vanished in the congested group at the entrance door, then made her way into the restaurant.

The headwaiter bowed profoundly and with elaborate circumstance led her to a retired spot behind a cluster of palms, where covers had been laid for two. A low bowl of purple orchids graced the center of her table, but she noted that all those nearby were decorated only with daffodils in tall vases. Were the flowers meant for a sign by which her own identity was to have been disclosed to the mysterious other woman?

The waiter hovered obsequiously about and Betty ordered tea to be rid, for the moment at least, of his unwelcome attention. Her eyes mechanically swept the moving kaleidoscope of faces about her, but all seemed too preoccupied to give a passing glance to the solitary figure half-hidden behind the towering palms.

The tea, long since placed before her, grew cold untasted; the tintinabulation of the orchestra ceased, then after an interval recommenced, and still Betty sat alone. The hands she clenched beneath the tablecloth were icy, but her cheeks burned and her heart pounded suffocatingly.

How long must she wait? She had not been told the hour of this strange appointment, but Mrs. Atterbury had remarked that morning that the errand might keep her out until late. The incident of the girl with the valley lilies kept recurring to her thoughts, and as the minutes lengthened into a half-hour she felt an all but overmastering impulse to spring up and run from the chattering, inconsequent throng to the seclusion of the waiting car, even if it meant facing the unleashed fury of her employer.

All at once she became conscious that a young man had appeared beside her; a strange young man, with a clean-cut face and square shoulders beneath an irreproachably fitting coat. Betty's swift glance encompassed his general appearance, but her eyes fixed themselves upon his lapel where nodded a single orchid of a livid purple hue.

The young man bowed stiffly and without waiting for an invitation, pulled out the opposite chair and seated himself.

"So sorry to have been late, but I was unavoidably detained," he began in a loud, forced voice. Then bending swiftly across to her he added in a rapid undertone: "The lady could not come, but I am here in her place. Put your muff on the table and I will slip the packet into it."

Betty eyed him steadily.

"You have made some mistake." She spoke in a low voice with quiet distinctness. "I do not know you."

"Good heavens, don't make a scene! It is all right, I tell you! Can't you understand? The lady was unable to come in person but she sent me to deliver it to you. Look! Don't you recognize this?" He spoke with half-savage insistence and the girl noticed that beads of perspiration had started upon his brow. He touched the flower in his buttonhole, then pointed to the others in the bowl between them, but she gave no sign of comprehension.

"I do not know who you are, or what you are talking about," Betty said coldly. "I must ask you to leave my table at once."

"What sort of a game are you trying to play?" he demanded. "You are the woman I came here to find. I recognized you at once from the description—"

Betty rose.

"Wait!" The young man put out a detaining hand. "What is the good of all this bluff? I give you my word of honor that I am acting in good faith with you—"

"You must be mad!" Her eyes flashed with unfeigned resentment and indignation. "If you attempt to follow or annoy me further, sir, I shall complain to the management."

Turning, she swept from the restaurant and out to where the car awaited her at the curb, but as it rolled swiftly away, she sank back and buried her burning face among the cushions.

When the strangely pertinacious young man had declared his recognition of her, his eyes had been upon the birthmark on her cheek. This, then, was the reason for Mrs. Atterbury's peremptory command to her to remove her veil. Her very infirmity was being made to serve her employer's ends!

Betty laughed softly, bitterly, and struck her small, clenched fist against the window frame, in impotent anger. Then her head drooped upon her arm and for the first time since she had entered Mrs. Atterbury's service, she broke down utterly. Sobbing the weary, heartbreaking sobs of a forsaken child, she cowered in her corner, while street after street flitted by in the ghostly gray dusk.

At length, spent with the storm of her emotion she lay back, exhausted but calm once more. The dusk was deepening to darkness and as she watched the chain of lights twinkling past, Betty suddenly came to a realization of the flight of time. Surely she should have reached the house on the North Drive long before this! Had an hour gone by while she sat huddled there, weakly giving way to tears?—

Tears! Betty's very heart stood still for a moment in deathly fear. Then she switched on the light and seized the mirror from the leather case before her. The face which stared back at her was pale, the eyes puffed and reddened, but a dab of cosmetic and powder would conceal the ravages of her emotion from even Mrs. Atterbury's keen eyes until she could reach the haven of her own room.

The necessary articles were in her wristbag and she applied them quickly, then turned off the light once more and peered again from the window. The streets were narrow and unfamiliar, even squalid; where was she being taken?

Pressing a button, she caught up the speaking tube.

"I wished to go directly home and I cannot understand why we have not reached there. Did Mrs. Atterbury give any different instructions?"

"No, miss, only to drive back along the Western Parkway, but I find the streets are closed for repairs, and I have to go around. I'm sorry; I'll hurry, miss."

The car zig-zagged for several blocks further, then turned a corner sharply and swung into the North Drive, shooting forward with lightning speed. Betty held her breath as the car skidded between the towering entrance gates and she drew a deep sigh of relief when it swooped under the porte-cochère and came to a jarring halt before the lighted doorway.

Mrs. Atterbury was awaiting her and drew her into the library.

"What has happened?" Her tone was low but vibrating as if she spoke with bated breath. "The lady did not appear?"

Betty shook her head.

"A man came instead. He wore an orchid boutonniere, and he tried to make me listen to him. He had your letter with him, and wanted to put it in my muff but I pretended not to understand, but to be insulted at his daring to address me. He would not go, so I left him."

She described her experience of the afternoon in detail, omitting only to mention the girl who had accosted her in the lobby, and Mrs. Atterbury heard her without interruption to the end, then placing her hand beneath the girl's chin, she lifted her face to the light.

"You have been crying, my child. Is there something which you have not told me?"

Betty was thankful for the burning blush which swept to her brow.

"I did cry a little, in the car coming home," she admitted. "It was silly of me, I know, but the man frightened me, he was so persistent, and rather fierce. I'm very sorry I failed, Mrs. Atterbury."

"'Failed!' My dear, you have succeeded! You carried out my instructions to the letter, and no one could ask more. I regret that you were annoyed, but the gentleman who came to meet you did not himself understand the situation. I can promise you that you will not have that sort of thing to contend with another time." Mrs. Atterbury's black eyes flashed ominously, but they softened when they rested again upon the girl's face. "Now run and dress, Betty, for we dine very shortly. And remember, child, that I am very well pleased with what you have done, and I shall not forget it."

Betty's heart was heavy, nevertheless, as she obeyed. The adventure at the opera had brought a thrill of excitement and she had given little thought to its possible consequences, but the afternoon through which she had just passed brought a swift revulsion of feeling and she tore off the costly furs as if they stifled her. She was filled with loathing of her task and its instigators and a growing dread of the future. Why was she singled out to be the bearer of these mysterious missives? She had been prepared to carry out the agreement under which she had been engaged, but she shrank from the role of confidential messenger and hoped fervently that she would not soon again be called upon to play it.

The hope was vain, however, for on the following afternoon she found herself again in the car and speeding toward the lower part of town. Her destination on this occasion was not the garish Café de Luxe, but the old Hotel Rochefoucauld on Jefferson Square, whose conservative roof sheltered now only the elect of an older regime, which still clung to the aristocratic purlieus of a bygone generation.

"But if the lady with the orchids does not come this time," Betty had faltered to her employer, when she received her parting instructions, "if the man who met me yesterday appears again, what shall I say to him?"

"He will not, never fear." Mrs. Atterbury had smiled, but the cold light glinted in her eyes once more. "The lady will be there herself, and you need exchange no words with her; just take my letter from her hands and bring it to me."

Betty made her way down the wide, dim corridor of the ancient hostelry to the writing-room to which she had been directed. The heavy velvet curtains at the windows almost wholly obscured the light and she fancied at first that the room was deserted, but as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she descried a small figure half-hidden in a huge leather chair.

As she approached it, she was conscious only of a heap of soft, brown fur with a deep purple blur of orchids nestling in it, but she halted abruptly a few feet away. The other rose slowly and for a moment the two young women stared at each other.

It was the girl of the art shop! The blonde, fairy-like creature who had regarded her with such evident repulsion and fear! Betty stood rigid with amazement and then the truth came to her in a flash of understanding.

The purchase of the mirror was a mere subterfuge to get her to the shop at a certain hour, where this other woman had doubtless been directed to note her appearance for future recognition. She remembered how the stranger's eyes had lingered on her birthmark, which she evidently described to the man who had attempted to take her place on the previous day. Every action, no matter how trivial, which was suggested by Mrs. Atterbury must be a part of some deep-laid, far-reaching plan.

The same look of fear was intensified now in the eyes fastened upon her and a tiny gloved hand was extended as if to ward off a blow.

"I couldn't come yesterday, for I was really ill." The stranger spoke in a low, fluttering voice. "I sent him, I played fair, why would you not deal with him? Here is what you have come for; take it, and let me go!"

She drew from her breast a long, sealed, blank envelope and held it out, but Betty's fingers had not closed upon it before the other's touch was withdrawn as though contaminated. She glided quickly to the door, but paused upon its threshold and turned, her golden head erect.

"Remember!" she cried, her flute-like tones suddenly shrill. "Tell those who sent you that I shall have nothing more to do with this affair. If a further attempt is made to drag me into it I shall kill myself. I will accept no more commands, expose myself to no future danger. I am almost mad now, but I shall have enough sanity left to take myself beyond your reach. I have kept my wretched compact; see to it that you keep yours."

The doorway was empty, but a faint elusive perfume lingered in the air, and upon the floor at Betty's feet lay a crushed and trampled orchid, its livid petals outspread like the wings of some wounded tropic bird.

Betty stood staring down at it for a moment, then abruptly thrusting the envelope into her muff, she turned and made her way to the street.

CHAPTER IX.

Crossroads.

The rain was falling in torrents, hard driven before the gusty March wind, and turning the gutters into miniature foam-crested freshets when Betty struggled up the steps of the Egyptological Museum, with the completed translation beneath her arm.

The attendant who took possession of her dripping umbrella stared curiously at her unveiled face and his gaze followed her as she ascended to the upper floor, but Betty was oblivious to the interest her presence created. Her thoughts were travelling ahead of her down the corridor to the office numbered nine, and the friendly, laughing-eyed young man who awaited her there.

The hour of her previous visit was the one bright spot in the gloom and mystery which had surrounded her since she made her entrance into Mrs. Atterbury's service, and his protective concern when she had rushed blindly into his arms at that unexpected meeting almost at the gates of her new home, lingered comfortingly in her memory.

As she entered, Herbert Ross rose from behind his desk with extended hand and a beaming smile of welcome.

"You are punctual, Miss Shaw, in spite of the rain. How is the work coming on?"

"It is finished." Betty laid the roll of manuscript upon the desk before him. "I hope that it will prove satisfactory, Mr. Ross."

"You found it difficult?" He spread the papers out, glancing over them rapidly as he spoke.

"No. I have translated almost literally as you can see—But I forgot that you were not an Egyptologist yourself."

"Nevertheless, I am sure this will be an admirable addition to our collection of translated papyri. What sonorous, mouthfilling phrases the old chaps used in those days!" He quoted from her page: "'Hail ye living ones upon earth, ye who pass on the Nile, scribes all, readers and priests of the ka all, this the great Pharaoh and royal Xerxes, triumphant.'—I will place this at once in the hands of the keeper of antiquities."

He pressed a button in the wall beside him, then abruptly swung his chair around until he faced her. His eyes had narrowed slightly and there was no longer a hint of a smile about his firm lips.

"Miss Shaw, you told me when you were last here that your time was not wholly your own. Does that mean that you are employed at indeterminate hours? I ask this in reference to future work, of course."

Betty nodded, and moistened her lips nervously.

"I did most of this translating at night."

"Ah! You are free, then, in the evenings? What is the nature of your work, if I may ask? Are you a teacher?"

A knock upon the door saved her from an immediate reply. A uniformed attendant entered and to him Herbert Ross entrusted the manuscript with instructions to take it to Professor Carmody. When the door had closed once more he turned to her inquiringly, and noted a swift pallor which seemed to have blotted all the wind-blown color from her face.

"You teach?" he repeated.

Betty shook her head. She dared not risk his asking where she taught if she took refuge in that evasion. The truth, or at least as much of it as was possible under the circumstances, would be safest.

"I am a—a visiting secretary."

"Indeed. That explains your presence on the North Drive the other day when you literally ran into me." His lips relaxed. "You told me you were late for an appointment, I remember. You are not living at present at the address which you gave me, Miss Shaw."

It was neither question nor accusation, but a mere statement of fact casually uttered, and yet a bomb-shell could not more effectively have stunned the girl. Could her former landlady have betrayed her? Her head whirled and it seemed another voice than hers which replied quietly:

"No. I am staying temporarily at the home of my employer, but I have my mail sent to my permanent address."

"I see. You are not a native of the city, then? Your home is not here?"

What did this continued catechism portend? In so far as the translating provided an excuse for this insistent young man's questions she would reply, but her personal affairs and former life were surely no concern of a museum director.

"No, my home is not here." She paused deliberately. "Perhaps, if this translation proves satisfactory and you have other work for me, Mr. Ross, you will mail it. I will arrange to have it forwarded—"

She got no farther for the door was suddenly flung wide and a shrivelled grey little man precipitated himself into the room. With bent shoulders and head thrust forward, he peered eagerly at the younger man through thick tortoise-shell glasses and demanded in a high voice crackling with nervous excitement:

"Ross, who is she? The young woman you said had undertaken this translation for you? I must see her—"

"She is here." The young man rose. "Miss Shaw, allow me to present Professor Carmody."

The girl bowed distantly, but the little professor advanced to her with outstretched hands.

"My dear young lady, I want to congratulate—" He stopped abruptly, amazement and a dawning recognition in his eyes. "It can't be—is it possible——?"

"You find my translation satisfactory then, Professor Carmody?" Betty darted a swift glance at him, and then turned her head sharply as if to gaze from the window. This move presented her profile to the nearsighted eyes bent upon her, and brought the birthmark out with cruel distinctness upon her cheek.

Professor Carmody halted, stammering, and the look of expectancy died from his weazened face.

"I beg your pardon. I fancied for a moment that I had met you before. I intruded just now, Miss—Miss—"

"Betty Shaw." The girl prompted him steadily.

"Miss Shaw, I wanted to tell you that your work is admirable! The translation is masterly and I doubt if even my friend Professor Mallory himself could have improved upon it. You have kept to the text with extraordinary fidelity, and retained the spirit as well as the letter to a marked degree!"

"Thank you." In spite of herself Betty flushed at the fervent praise, but she kept her face averted. "The work was intensely interesting, but I feared I had forgotten a great deal."

"Miss Shaw studied with an associate of Professor Mallory," Ross remarked.

"Really. I should have believed her to have been a pupil of the great man himself." Professor Carmody's eyes still glistened with enthusiasm. "I shall be happy to show you several original papyri of profound interest, if you will call some morning, my dear Miss Shaw. In this intensely modern age, it is a genuine pleasure to encounter a young person who appreciates the wisdom and greatness of the past."

He bowed and had turned to the door when Herbert Ross stopped him with a reminder.

"You, er—you have the check, Professor?"

"Bless me, of course!" The little man fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then drew out a narrow slip of paper which he laid upon the desk. "There are one or two inscriptions from tombs of the eleventh dynasty, I believe, which have been awaiting translation. You will find them in that drawer, there. Good afternoon, Miss Shaw."

When the sound of his quick, nervous footsteps had died away down the corridor, Ross handed the check to Betty. It was made out for fifty dollars and signed by the secretary of the Egyptological Society. Murmuring a conventional expression of thanks, the girl placed it in her handbag and rose.

"Would you care to undertake some more translation immediately?" the young man asked, opening the drawer tentatively.

"I should, very much," Betty responded, her eyes alight with eagerness.

"In that case, it will be necessary for me to have your present address, Miss Shaw." There was no mistaking the businesslike finality in his tone, and Betty hesitated. If she refused, she would not only forfeit the translating which was a fascinating study, but she might never again see this young man, her only link with the world beyond Mrs. Atterbury's forbidding gates. On the other hand, her reticence would undoubtedly arouse his curiosity and suspicion and if he were sufficiently interested, he might institute awkward inquiries and precipitate the very crisis she sought to avoid. Would frankness be her wisest course? She hesitated only a moment.

"Mr. Ross, I gave you the address of my boarding house because I have undertaken this translation unknown to my present employer. I work at it only in my leisure hours, but I do not think she would approve of my doing anything which lay outside of her own immediate interests. She is Mrs. Atterbury, of Three Hundred and Thirty-five North Drive. However, I should like all communications sent to the first address I gave you."

Herbert Ross drew his hand quickly across his forehead and there was an odd, repressed note in his voice.

"I quite understand. You will remain for some little time in your present position? I believe you said it was temporary."

"I—I cannot tell." Betty's tone was very low and her eyes wandered restlessly to the door. "I shall have finished this translation, at any rate, before I leave."

"Very well." He arose and held out his hand to her. "Bring it to me, please, when it is completed. The terms will be the same as before. I wish you the best of luck with it, Miss Shaw."

When she had gone he dropped back into his chair and sat for some minutes lost in a profound reverie which, judging by his frown, was not a happy one. At length he struck the desk an emphatic blow with his fist as if to register some vital decisions and springing to his feet, he started precipitately for the sanctum of Professor Carmody.

"My dear Ross!" The grey little man glanced up in mild deprecation from a heap of yellowed parchments as the other burst in upon him. "I trust my abrupt intrusion on your conference did not complicate matters for you. I had completely forgotten, in my enthusiasm over the young woman's remarkable work, that she was a subject for your own especial study."

"On the contrary, Professor, your entrance was fortunate; it lent verisimilitude to the little farce I have been playing with your valuable assistance. But I want to ask you a question upon which much depends. For whom did you mistake Miss Shaw, when you first saw her?"

Professor Carmody pondered for a space.

"I do not know," he responded at length, thoughtfully. "I cannot recall her name, but I was forcibly reminded of a young girl whom I had met in Cairo some two years ago, who was studying under Professor Mallory. When Miss Shaw turned her head I realized my mistake at once, for the girl I speak of had no blemish upon her face. It is rather odd, as the translation bears unmistakable earmarks of Professor Mallory's tutelage, but the association of ideas is undoubtedly responsible for my misapprehension."

"Undoubtedly," echoed Ross. "Nevertheless, if you can recall the name of the young woman in Cairo, by any chance, I shall be grateful."

It was Professor Carmody's turn to halt his visitor at the door.

"This Miss Shaw to whom you just presented me—I trust that, er, she is not under your professional interest as a suspect? A young person of such a high order of intelligence, of intellectuality——"

"By no means, Professor. She is merely an unimportant witness in a civil case; rather curious, but with no criminal features. I'll look in on you tomorrow. Try to remember the other girl's name for me; the one in Cairo."

Twenty minutes later, when the young detective was ushered into the presence of Madame Dumois, even that astute lady could read nothing in his grave non-committal face.

"You have found her?" The aged voice quivered with the tension of her control, but there was no hint of a tenderer emotion. "The young person you suspected, is she the original of the photograph I showed you?"

Ross shook his head.

"I have been unable to determine." His voice was very low. "She has succeeded in eluding me, Madame Dumois. I am sorry to be obliged to confess it, but I was too confident. Either I have underestimated her intelligence and inadvertently put her on the defensive, or circumstances have combined to effect her disappearance a second time. She has slipped from my grasp."

The old lady uttered an exclamation of bitter disappointment and anger.

"Why did you not take me to her at once?" she demanded. "A fig for your conscientious scruples, sir! Had she not proved to be the young woman I am looking for, what harm could it have done?"

"None, save precipitate the notoriety you wish to avoid, Madame Dumois." He leaned toward her with a ring of passionate earnestness in his tones. "Why will you not be frank with me? What is your interest in this girl? What do you mean to do with her when you have found her?"

"I repeat, that is solely my affair." She fixed him with a shrewd glance. "I might answer your question by another, young man. What interest have you in my motive for instituting this search? You have found someone whom you believe to be the one I wish to see, yet you claim to be unable to produce her. What has my object to do with your chances of locating her once more?"

His interrogator's keen directness took the young detective by surprise, but he countered swiftly.

"Everything, my dear Madame! If I were assured that her disappearance was a purely voluntary one, resulting from inclination alone, rather than any sinister or criminal cause, I could prosecute my search along far different lines than those I am compelled to adopt, as long as I am working in the dark."

"You have not entirely lost track of your suspect, then?" The old lady leaned forward in her chair. "You will be able to find her again?"

"I firmly believe that I shall, but it may require some little time," he responded cautiously.

Madame Dumois straightened herself with an air of conscious triumph.

"In that case, Mr. Ross, our original compact holds, unless you voluntarily relinquish it. Find her with the information I have already given you, or drop the case. That is positively my last word in the matter. I decline to take you or anyone into my confidence. What I have to say to that young woman shall be said to her alone, and what disposition I shall make of her will be strictly according to her deserts. If I did not believe you to be above suspicion, upon my soul, I should accuse you of knowing more than you will admit and actually trying to shield her!"

"My dear lady!" He raised protesting hands. "I shall not refer you to my chief, or call upon my record to witness my utter singlemindedness in this, as in every other case I have handled. It is one of the generally accepted prejudices against those engaged in my profession that we are devoid of any finer feeling and insensible to injustice, but I had believed myself immune from such a suspicion, especially in the eyes of a person of your rare discernment."

"I haven't accused you of bribery, young man!" There was a softer, almost contrite note in her dry tones. "But a baby stare has forced many a hasty conclusion. However, we won't quarrel about it. I can assure you of one thing; in placing that young woman in my hands you'll be saving her from far worse ones. Whether she has dabbled in crime or not, the quicker she is located the better for her."

"I shall do my best," Ross said earnestly. "Be assured that I have no interest in this but to serve you. My questions may have seemed impertinent, but they were not prompted by idle curiosity, you know. I shall not intrude again until I have something definite to report."

He bowed over her hand and her withered fingers tightened about his in a cordial clasp.

"I hope it will be soon, Mr. Ross," she added in impulsive candor. "Call whenever you wish and I shall be at home. I won't promise you any further information, but I am a lonely old woman and I find our little tilts highly diverting. If you have not yet succeeded in my quest you have at least brought me a new interest in life, and I positively look forward to your visits."

"Thank you." He smiled boyishly. "I will avail myself of your invitation gladly, Madame Dumois, but remember I mean to succeed, even if I must work blindfold."

The smile did not linger as he made his way down the path to the Drive. The old lady's shrewd instinct had divined his procrastination and unerringly probed its cause, and his chief, too, would be clamoring for a report. Why should he hesitate? The girl was within reach of his hand and his duty was clear. Scar or no scar, he could not blind himself to the conviction that in Betty Shaw his search was ended. What was it that, stronger than his will, deeper-rooted than his loyalty still held him back from the step which sooner or later would be inevitable?

As the toils closed tighter about the girl and the clouds which encompassed her grew darker and more sinister, her face shone clearer before his mental vision and her steady eyes seemed to meet his in sorrowful questioning.

He was a detective, but he was also a man; must he in willful ignorance of the consequences, deliver her to the tender mercies of Madame Dumois? She had trusted him, she had replied in simple faith to the decoy advertisement and placed herself in his hands. Madame Dumois had also given him her confidence, relying upon his professional honor. Which would be the greater betrayal?

Detective McCormick was in the best of humors, and shook hands heartily with his young operative.

"My boy, that was the finest bit of sheer luck that has come our way in many a long day!" he exclaimed. "Your running into Ide hanging around the gates of that place out on the North Drive has given the whole investigation a new turn, and I shouldn't wonder if the results would be sensational."

"I wouldn't be too sanguine, sir." Ross spoke with curious repression. "It was dusk, as I told you, and I only had a momentary glimpse as I flashed past in a taxi. I may have been mistaken."

"You didn't think so the other day." The Chief turned in his swivel chair and stared up at him. "You were sure enough then of the identification, and I think myself that you were right. I've had the place covered ever since, and there's something queer doing there, as sure as shooting!"

"Doesn't seem likely." Ross shook his head. "People of the social standing of those who live on the North Drive couldn't be mixed up in any game of Ide's. What did you mean 'queer,' sir? Who's on the job?"

"Clark. The house is owned by a woman named Atterbury; lived there for years and seems to rate A1 in the neighborhood, but she's laying mighty low, too low for a person who is on the level. She's comparatively young and a good looker, but she lives like a hermit, and there's a young girl in the household, a girl with a scar on her face, who will bear watching."

"I think it's a mistake, sir, it must be." Ross spoke with all the assurance he could command. "There's nothing wrong with the Atterbury woman, and as for the girl—"

"As for her, what?" demanded his chief, as he paused. "What do you know about them?"

"Nothing, except in a general way," he hedged lamely. "But if she's the Mrs. Atterbury I imagine, Clark is barking up the wrong tree and he'll only make a fool of himself if you let him push this matter. Ide—if it was really Ide whom I saw—may have been passing by. That is a blind trail, Chief."

"Look here, Ross, what's got into you?" McCormick blustered. "You were as keen on the scent as Clark is now and all of a sudden you back down. The fellow was Ide, all right; I've never known you to make a mistake yet in spotting a man, and I tell you this Atterbury woman, whoever she is, has an ace in the hole, somewhere. What's the dope?"

"Simply that she is too well known, too prominent. You couldn't touch her, sir. It's out of the question."

"Is it?" McCormick swore a vigorous oath. "Nobody ever flew so high yet that I couldn't bring 'em down when I had the goods on them. And I'll get it, Ross, don't make any mistake about that! This is the first time you've laid down on anything, but Clark will stick like a burr and even if Ide is out of it, there's some other little game being pulled off up there, you mark my words. We'll get to the bottom of it before I call Clark off it. But what's the good word in your own case?"

"Nothing doing." Ross raised his eyes with an effort to those of his chief. "I've been stalling Madame Dumois and trying to kid her into giving me enough data to work on, but you know how it was with you. She is fighting so shy of possible notoriety that she won't loosen, but I haven't given up hope. I found one clue that looked promising, but I was on the wrong track. It wasn't the right girl."

"Well, keep after the old lady." McCormick resumed the cigar butt he had relinquished at the other's appearance. "You can get around her in time if anyone can. Let me know when something turns up."

"Very well, sir." Ross accepted the hint and departed, but long after the door had closed behind him, McCormick sat gazing reflectively before him with a startled half-incredulous query in his eyes.

CHAPTER X.

Face to Face.

Betty attacked the new translation that evening with undiminished enthusiasm but her mind wandered and when midnight came a few meager lines proved to be the result of her labors. She paused to read them over before putting them away and the quaint phraseology fell strangely from her lips upon the stillness of the room.

"To the Stele of Abu I have come in peace to sepulchre this of eternity which I have made in the horizon western of the home of Abydos—"

Her voice halted and trembled into silence and she stood listening with every nerve strained. A dull jarring crash had sounded from below accompanied by the muffled but harsh tones of a man's voice raised in anger or expostulation.

Hastily disposing of her work she extinguished the light and groping her way to the door, opened it. The voice had sunk to an indistinguishable rumble, and mingled with it was a murmur in a higher, clearer tone which she had no difficulty in recognizing as that of Mrs. Atterbury.

The girl hesitated, then crept to the head of the stairs. The house was in darkness save for a narrow shaft of light which glowed from the open door of the music room. Clinging to the banisters and keeping well in shadow, Betty made her way down the staircase and from behind the shelter of the newel post she peered into the room.

Jack Wolvert was crouched half over the table, both fists full of crumpled papers and his dark face, half-defiant, half-cringing, leered up at his hostess who stood before him drawn up to her full height in imperious disdain.

"You're crazy!" he ejaculated. "What's the good of playing a waiting game? Come out in the open and make one big bluff, that's my idea."

"You'll find it decidedly dangerous, my man, to execute your ideas without my sanction." Mrs. Atterbury's quiet tones dominated his blustering whine. "Remember, I am master and I will not brook any rebellion against my authority. I might remind you that the last time you took matters into your own hands the result was unfortunate."

"Ah-h!" The sound which issued from his lips was between a snarl and a groan, and Betty saw his whole body quiver as he cowered back. Mrs. Atterbury advanced a step and her cameo-like face suddenly hardened.

"We're all in this for life or death. If one succeeds, all succeed; if one fails, he fails alone. That was my rule, but once I broke it for you. Hereafter you fare with the rest. You have your uses, I admit, but no one is indispensable to me. You know what happened to the Comet; remember her luck when you are tempted to play a lone hand, my friend."

Betty waited to hear no more, but turned and fled silently up the stair, her heart beating tumultuously. The level unemotional voice of Mrs. Atterbury had not raised in pitch or increased in volume, yet there had been something far more sinister in its measured utterance than any display of ungoverned wrath could have evidenced.

The girl sank trembling upon her couch and for the first time a vision came to her of her own possible fate should the extent of her knowledge be even suspected by the ruthless woman downstairs. She had learned from the cipher letter of the retribution which had overtaken "The Comet," and once again the stark face of Breckinridge rose before her, his sightless eyes fixed on hers in mute warning.

She covered her face with her hands, striving to shut out the dread picture imagination conjured for her. She, like the Comet, was playing a lone hand, but the stakes were worth the hazard! At that thought her momentary weakness dropped from her like a cloak and she straightened, her eyes aflame with resolution. She would win, she must!

Disrobing in the dark, she lay for long listening intently, but no sound reached her from below, and the strained effort brought its own reaction of fatigue. She slept at last, to awaken only when the sunlight of broad day streamed through the uncurtained window and flooded her face.

There was no hint of the previous night's quarrel in the genial camaraderie of Mrs. Atterbury's attitude toward Wolvert, but Betty fancied that Madame Cimmino regarded them both with ill-concealed anxiety and the girl was glad to escape to the seclusion of the library.

The morning's correspondence awaited her, and she opened the first letter in listless abstraction, her thoughts still centered on the implacable words she had overheard. One glance at the sheet of note-paper in her hand, however, and everything else was banished from her mind.

"My dear Marcia:

"Professor Blythe has caught pneumonia in Chicago. Doctor's consultation held over him on Monday. Too old for recovery, Hamilton says is verdict. Much grieved but still hope. McCormick has been getting orders which evidence strong market. New machinery no trouble to operate. Marked Mary's improved letters; she has seized her opportunity. Hear from out west that John Cote won appeal. Sanitarium being planned for consumptives here. Good air but nothing can be doing if Mayor refuses permit. Please communicate in care Trust Company. Give nobody business confidence but me. They lie who say low prices ruin business. It is dead if the end of the superfluous stock is not sold out regardless of cost.

"With kindest regards,

"Yours,
"Shirley."

With a curious set smile Betty read and reread the missive, then laid it aside, and sat for some minutes staring out of the window. The hidden message was pregnant with meaning and a shade of anxiety crossed her face. The man whom she had seen loitering under the lamp-post just outside the gates a few days before loomed up as a possibility more to be dreaded than any present contingency within the house and she felt that she was being irresistibly carried forward in a chain of events forged by circumstance which she could not break if she would.

When Mrs. Atterbury came to her, Betty watched surreptitiously for her reception of the cipher letter and saw that after a quick glance her employer thrust it without a perusal into her belt. The girl marveled anew at her stoicism; she must at least have gleaned the purport of the first sentence, yet her eyes were as clear and her voice as steady as though it had been the most casual of communications.

Her dictation was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Madame Cimmino.

"Look!" the latter exclaimed with an excited gesture toward the window. "It is Louise Dana, but in what haste! Without a hat, too, in this most detestable of climates! Is it that something has happened? An accident?"

She spoke lightly, but her eyes smouldered as they met Mrs. Atterbury's, and the rouge stood out in patches of vivid scarlet against the sudden pallor which blanched her cheeks.

Mrs. Dana was running swiftly up the path from the gate, her meretriciously golden head bare and gleaming in the sunlight. A cloak had been flung carelessly about her figure, but as she sped past the window Betty noted that her feet were encased in the thinnest of boudoir slippers.

With a murmured ejaculation Mrs. Atterbury hurried from the room followed by Madame Cimmino, and the girl was left to her own thoughts. A bell pealed wildly through the house and its echo had not died away when there came a slam of the front door and a piercing cry which reached even to the secluded library, although Betty could only distinguish a word or two.

"Mortie—caught—help—!"

"Good God!" It was unmistakably Wolvert's voice but shaken with the same craven fear which had actuated it on the day of Betty's arrival. "What do you mean by coming here? Do you want to give us all—"

"Silence!" Mrs. Atterbury dominated him and after a confused murmur from which not a separate word could be gleaned another door closed and the hysterical sobs of Louise Dana were hushed.

What had happened to bring that woman in terror to the house? For it was mortal terror which had distorted her face as she passed the window and had rung in her desperate cry. She had come for help, but what help could she find there? Betty remembered her single meeting with the florid middle-aged man whose eyes were lined with weariness and dissipation. What had he "caught," or was it that he himself had been caught in some difficulty?

For half an hour Betty restlessly paced the library, fearing to venture forth lest she be suspected of eavesdropping yet longing to escape to her own room. The hum of a motor drew her to the window, and she reached it in time to see the familiar bizarre stripes of Mrs. Atterbury's own car whirl past and down the drive, with a fleeting glimpse of a golden head within it. Whatever her trouble, the woman had not remained to add its shadow to those already clustering about the household.

It was with somewhat of a shock that Betty turned to find her employer standing on the threshold.

"Yes, she has gone." Mrs. Atterbury nodded, following the girl's glance. "Such a ridiculously nervous, excitable, young woman! Just fancy, my dear! Mr. Dana—you met him at my last dinner, if you remember—has been ailing for some days, and this morning the physician was called and found that he was suffering an acute attack of diphtheria. It is very sad, of course, although I do not doubt that he will pull through, but that silly wife of his rushed out of the house just as she was with only a cloak over her negligee, jumped into a taxi and came straight to me. Unfortunately, the car broke down a short distance beyond our gates and what the neighbors will think of her running about bareheaded I cannot imagine!"

"I am sorry about Mr. Dana," Betty remarked in a lowered tone. "Diphtheria is very dangerous, isn't it?"

"Not since medicine has become the science that it is today," responded the other, indifferently. "Mr. Wolvert was quite annoyed. Did you hear him? He is an arrant coward about contagion, like most men, and he feared she would give the disease to all of us! It really was stupid of her, but they are strangers here, you know, and I am practically the only friend she has. I arranged by 'phone for Mr. Dana's reception in a private hospital and she has gone back to him with her nerves steadied. What empty-headed fools most modern women are!"

Her tone was a skillful blend of indignation and amusement but she bent her eyes upon the girl in a keen, unwavering scrutiny as if to satisfy herself that the explanation was received in good faith.

Betty smiled back at her steadily.

"People are apt to lose their heads when someone they love is in trouble, don't you think?" she asked.

"Some people, not those with any self-control. I don't believe that you would, for instance, my dear. I think that you could be counted upon to act in any emergency which presented itself with quick decision and courage if you were sufficiently interested."

Betty flushed but she replied without a tremor.

"Perhaps I should. I hope so. We never can tell until the moment comes."

Luncheon was a constrained meal. Madame Cimmino maintained a non-committal silence and her nervous fluttering hands were still, but Wolvert's mood had changed to a mocking frivolity which Betty had learned to recognize as the reaction of his lawless nature from any emotional stress. Divining the girl's aversion, he directed his witticisms at her, and sought in impish perversity to compel her response. Madame Cimmino listened and watched with sombre eyes and Mrs. Atterbury flashed an ominous warning to him as they rose.

For the better part of the afternoon her employer kept Betty beside her, busied with the mending of household linen, while from the music room came strange intermittent bursts of melody, rippling, elusive, hauntingly sweet. Long moments of silence would ensue and then a thunderous crash of chords as if in very fury the musician sought to smother the softer, tenderer strain.

Betty was fascinated in spite of herself. It was as though the man's inmost soul were revealed racked with the storm of his passions yet alluring in its reckless gay abandon. A dangerous man to himself as well as to others she felt, and to her own heart there came again that thrill of fear.

When she descended the stairs at dusk, she found Wolvert standing before the great hearth in the hall staring moodily into the flames. She would have passed him with a mere nod, but he stepped forward impulsively.

"Where have you been hiding yourself since lunch? I looked for you in every corner, but you had vanished."

"For me?" Betty paused in unguarded surprise.

"For you, mademoiselle!" he mimicked her slyly. "Why will you not be kind and talk to me? I know that you disapprove of me most heartily, but you have promised to be friendly and I am bored with my own exclusive society. Come and sit here and tell me what goes on behind those grave, wise, young eyes of yours."

He pushed a chair forward coaxingly but she shook her head.

"I—I have a message for Welch—" she began.

"A plague take Welch!" Wolvert interrupted. "In all this great house, where no one ever does anything and nothing ever happens, must you alone be always busy, you who alone are worth talking to? You could tell me much, if you would."

There was a note of studied intent in his tone which held her as much as the choice of phrase piqued her curiosity.

"What do you mean, Mr. Wolvert? What could I tell you?"

He shrugged, laughing lightly.

"Why you are always so still, for one thing, like a little mouse. Your silence intrigues me. Why your glance is always so distrait as if you were listening to a far-off voice." He knelt upon the chair his arms folded across its back and brought his dark face close to hers. "Perhaps you will tell me also why your smile is so sad and so bitter. What has life taught you, Little Mouse?"

"To keep my own counsel, Mr. Wolvert." Betty retreated a step or two, but her eyes met his gravely. "To walk warily, and to do my appointed work."

"That is a wise creed." He seemed to muse aloud. "But is this your appointed work? To write at another's dictation, to fetch and carry, to serve and wait and to be finally dismissed! You are so demure, so docile, so perfectly in the picture, that I sometimes wonder if you are not playing a part."

He paused and she waited breathlessly seeking to read in his sardonic smile how much of serious purpose lay behind the facetious drawl.

"Your work is still new to you, but are you content?" He rose and strode around the chair to face her. His manner had changed and the words fell in a rapid, insistent undertone from his lips. "Will you be satisfied always to stay in the background, to occupy the extra chair, to be commanded when you might command? You have too much intelligence to be without ambition, too much common sense to work for a mere pittance when you might share, too much personality to remain a nonentity. You are quick-witted and discreet, you would go far if you were shown the way, and I——"

"Jack!" Madame Cimmino's querulous voice sounded from the stairs, and Betty shrank guiltily. Wolvert straightened and uttered an oath beneath his breath, but the next instant the little mocking smile was curling about his lips.

"Ah, Speranza! Now that I have ceased torturing the piano, you come forth from your refuge! I have been trying to beguile Miss Shaw from her duty and succeeded only in boring her. Come down and tell me how you liked my concerto; you must have heard it for I thundered it to the gods."

"Miss Shaw does not look bored." Madame Cimmino flashed a look of unconcealed hostility at the girl, her usually dull eyes snapping fire. "Marcia has sent me for you. She is in her private sitting-room."

"At your service, Madame." He shrugged, glanced at Betty from beneath lowered lids and bounded lightly up the stair. Midway he passed the woman and she caught his arm, murmuring something in a staccato patter of Italian. He shook himself free and laughing vanished around the gallery overhead.

"Will you be satisfied always to be commanded when you might command?" His words still rang in Betty's ears and his dark face, sinister and insurgent rose before her mental vision. Had he not spoken as much to himself as to her? He, too, appeared to be at Mrs. Atterbury's command and the girl recalled his half-cringing defiance in that secret quarrel of the previous evening. Was he contemplating revolt?

All at once she was aware that Madame Cimmino stood staring with insolent hauteur into her face.

"I must find Welch; I have a message for him." She stammered and was turning away when the other woman detained her with a gesture.

"Surely a further delay will make but little difference, Miss Shaw." Her tones were silky. "There is something I wish to say to you and you would do well to listen to me. You are clever even for an American young girl, but you rely too much upon your ability to take care of yourself. For your own good I speak; do not try to play with Jack Wolvert."

"I don't understand you, Madame," Betty said coldly. "What have I to do with any guest of Mrs. Atterbury?"

"What indeed?" The woman came close and thrust her sallow pointed chin forward. "Do you think I have no eyes, that I have not seen your sly crude efforts to engage his attention? Mille tonneres! You are but a conceited, over confident child! Your very gaucherie may amuse him for the moment but you could not hold him a day. Do I not know him? Have I not studied his every mood these many years? Could you think in the insolence of your youth to take him from me?"

"You are mistaken, Madame." The girl spoke in quiet control, but she met the snakelike glitter in the other's eyes with an answering gleam. "I have no interest whatever in Mr. Wolvert and his inclinations and prejudices are alike of no moment to me. In any case I am accountable to my employer alone for my conduct and I have received no complaint from Mrs. Atterbury. Let me pass, please."

"Then I warn you!" Madame Cimmino turned livid. "You are treading on dangerous ground, more dangerous than you know. Keep your silly schoolgirl wiles for others, but leave Jack Wolvert to me or I will make you wish that the earth had opened and engulfed you before you crossed my path!"

Betty smiled.

"Your threats do not interest me, Madame Cimmino. I shall accept censure only from Mrs. Atterbury, and I beg that you will go to her. I really cannot listen any longer to these unfounded accusations."

She turned and left the other inarticulate with rage. Her own heart was filled with a dull ache of resentment, not against the hysterical virago and her absurd charge, but against the perverse fate which through no act or fault of hers, seemed rearing difficulty after difficulty in the way of her purpose. She did not underestimate the intelligence of Wolvert or the danger of arousing his suspicions, while she realized that the jealous animosity of Madame Cimmino might at any moment precipitate a crisis. She must walk warily, indeed.

Her message delivered to Welch, she ascended the back stairs to avoid a second encounter with the woman who had become her enemy, and was rounding the gallery shadowed in the gathering dusk, when a blotch of white lying against the baseboard caught her eye.

It was a folded paper, crumpled in the center and even before she opened it, a premonition warned her of its contents. The cipher letter! The significant words leaped out at her anew from the irrelevancies with which they were cloaked and on a swift impulse she thrust the letter into her breast.

Late that night when all was still Betty crept from her room and down the stairs like an unquiet wraith intent upon the secret motive which actuated her, yet on her guard for the slightest warning of discovery.

The darting ray from her electric torch played before her, dancing in a diminutive circle of light upon the wall and piercing the almost opaque darkness like a flash of forked lightning. The midnight silence was oppressive in its intensity and for the first time there seemed to be a brooding menace in the soundless void.

The girl's nerves were tingling and the torch wavered fitfully in her hand. A hallucination, vague but terrible, took possession of her that something unnameable lurked in the shadows watching, crouched to spring. In vain she summoned her resolute will to her aid, lashing herself with scorn for her weakness. A swift unreasoning fear clutched her by the throat and her trembling limbs all but refused her support.

Doggedly she forced herself to go on but the distance from stair foot to library door seemed interminable and when she had traversed it Betty paused, an unexplainable reluctance staying her hand upon the knob.

At length she set her teeth and with an impatient jerk opened the door. Her torch light circled about the familiar room, the desk with its orderly array of papers, the center table, the bookcases—

Her breath caught in a strangling gasp. One bookcase was swinging loosely on its secret hinge and the safe in the aperture behind was open, a handful of documents scattered upon the floor.

Slowly her light travelled along the wall creeping ever nearer and nearer to the hearth. The brass andirons glittered dazzlingly from the darkness and the outline of a massive chair leaped into prominence. Something lay relaxed upon its arm, and the wavering light stopped.

It was a black coatsleeve, motionless but seemingly vibrant with life and from it protruded a pallid hand shapely and slender, its tapering fingers loosely extended.

There was a roaring as of many waters in Betty's ears and her heart seemed to have ceased to beat, but mechanically she trained the light upward. Jack Wolvert's face, diabolic in triumph, leered at her.

CHAPTER XI.

The Fourth Pew.

For a long moment Betty stood transfixed with the electric torch rigid in her hand and her eyes held by the insolent challenging ones so near hers. Then with an almost physical effort she wrenched her gaze away just as his cynical voice, drawling no longer, but keen with malign exultation, cut the silence like a knife thrust.

"So, Little Mouse! You venture forth from your hiding place at night when all are sleeping, to nibble at forbidden dainties, eh?"

He sprang from his chair with the agility of a cat and seized her wrist in a viselike grip which forced her tortured fingers to relax their hold and the torch clattered to the hearth. His hot breath, laden with the fumes of wine, played upon her neck, and she felt, rather than realized, the menace in his low, breathed words.

"I thought there was a traitor in camp! Who sent you here to spy upon us, girl? In whose pay are you? Quick, or I'll—"

"I don't know what you mean!" Betty whimpered into the darkness. "Let me go, you are hurting me, Mr. Wolvert! I—I—could not sleep, I came down for a book I left unfinished and you frightened me!"

"That doesn't go; it's too thin!" he growled harshly. "Young ladies don't prowl about at night with electric torches for any innocent purpose. What's the lay?"

"I don't understand!" Betty reeled against him, then shrank away. "I—I feel faint—"

His grip insensibly relaxed and the girl, seizing her opportunity, tore herself from his grasp and vanished into the black void of the hall. She could hear the crash of the massive chair behind her as he overturned it in his stumbling pursuit and a rumble of oaths followed her up the stair. Miraculously she cleared every obstacle and her alert brain out-paced her flying feet. One desperate move was left her to turn certain exposure into possible victory. Its failure could not increase the peril of her present position and success would serve to entrench her more firmly in the confidence of the woman who would be her judge.

She groped her way noiselessly to her own door, found the switch in the wall and flooded the room with light. A pink boudoir candle stood upon her dressing-table and seizing it she thrust it into the live coals in the grate until it was partly consumed. Then shielding its flickering flame, she went straight to her employer's door and knocked boldly.

A murmur responded, a light flared up within and Mrs. Atterbury stood on the threshold. In her white robe with her long, dusky hair in two heavy plaits upon her shoulders and her waxen expressionless face, she might have been an effigy taken from some ancient place of worship; all but her eyes which gleamed like banked fires suddenly revealed.

"What is it?" she asked calmly. "You are not well, my dear?"

"Oh, it isn't that. I am quite well, but I thought you would wish to know that your safe is open downstairs," Betty whispered.

"My safe!" Mrs. Atterbury fell back a step and her pale face grayed.

"Yes, the one in the library. I suppose it is all right, as Mr. Wolvert is there, but I felt that I could not sleep without telling you."

"And what were you doing in the library at this hour?" The woman's scrutiny fairly burned into Betty's brain, but her wide ingenuous eyes did not flinch nor her voice falter.

"I was restless and wakeful and I remembered a book I had left there, so I lighted my candle and went down. Everything was dark, but when I opened the library door I saw a man with an electric torch in his hand. He sprang forward and seized me and I thought it must be a burglar, until he spoke and I recognized Mr. Wolvert's voice. The safe was open and papers all scattered about, and somehow his manner frightened me. I—I thought I had better come straight to you."

"An electric torch?" Mrs. Atterbury repeated and paused, her lips pursed thoughtfully. Betty waited in an agony of suspense. Would the slender thread of her fabrication bear the weight of this woman's keen analysis or would it snap beneath her swift inexorable judgment? Freedom, perhaps life itself, hung upon the issue.

"You did the proper thing, my dear, and I am very glad that I can rely on you to let me know at once if anything seems wrong in the household." Mrs. Atterbury's smile announced the verdict. "But in this instance, everything is quite all right. Mr. Wolvert was going over some private accounts for me at my request, and doubtless you startled him by your sudden appearance as much as his presence surprised you."

"I am sorry I disturbed you—" Betty began in well-simulated contrition, but the other stopped her with a gesture.

"You did not, but in any case it would have been your duty, my dear. However, I do not approve of your going about the house so late at night, for Welch has an inordinate apprehension of burglars and is likely to blaze away promiscuously with his revolver if he hears any untoward sound. Be careful in future. And now good night, Betty, and thank you."

The reaction from the strain through which she had passed was so great that the girl all but collapsed when her own door had been closed once more behind her. She had forestalled Wolvert's betrayal, but would her version of the evening's encounter prevail against his narration, bearing as it must the stamp of truth?

Then another contingency presented itself to her mind. What if Wolvert's visit to the library had been, like her own, a surreptitious one? She remembered his significant phrase of the afternoon: "You have too much common sense to work for a mere pittance when you might share." She had fancied then that he was but voicing his own inmost thought, the aftermath of his open rebellion which Mrs. Atterbury had so imperiously quelled on the previous night. Had he turned traitor to the mysterious compact that bound him and all of their circle in a sinister secret alliance? Had she, by this betrayal, made of him an implacable enemy? Even if she had succeeded in lulling her employer's possible suspicion, her presence in the library had disclosed her true position in the household to Wolvert and she realized that a powerful weapon lay within his reach if it were to be war to the knife between them.

To her amazement, the matter was not again referred to in the days that immediately ensued and if Wolvert had gone to Mrs. Atterbury with his tale, or learned of the girl's disclosure, he gave no sign. While he did not openly avoid her, he made no effort to arrange a tête-à-tête, only his gaze burning with a strange intensity of questioning, filled her with troubled unrest.

Madame Cimmino treated the girl with frigid indifference, but unconsciously played into her hands by constant demands upon Wolvert's time and attention.

Mrs. Atterbury's manner did not betray an iota of change and the days followed one another in an unbroken routine until the following Sunday, when there occurred an event which plunged Betty deeper than ever into the toils of difficulty and danger.

The breakfast gong, sounding a full hour earlier than usual, aroused the girl from slumber and she descended to find Mrs. Atterbury already at the table, the coffee urn bubbling at her elbow.

"My dear, I am going to send you to church this morning," she began, nodding as Betty lifted inquiring eyes to hers. "It is another letter which I wish you to obtain from one of our outstanding members, and he has arranged to meet you there. You may object to making use of a house of worship for a mundane transaction, even though the cause be a worthy one, but the better the day, the better the deed, you know."

"I have no scruples." Betty smiled slightly. "It will be interesting to see what the churches here are like; I have not attended service since coming East."

"St. Jude's is one of the most prominent in the city. The minister is noted and the congregation representative of the best society. I am not a church-goer myself, as you have seen, but laziness, not prejudice, is responsible for my dereliction. You won't be bored, I promise you, and the incidental errand will not be complicated by any such annoying misunderstanding as on the last occasion. You will enter by the door leading to the center aisle and tell the usher that you wish to be placed in the fourth pew from the back of the church on the right as you face the altar. Be careful of this, as the location is of the utmost importance. Seat yourself at the end of the pew next the aisle and pay no attention to anyone. When an envelope is presented to you, no matter in what manner or from what quarter, accept it without a word and at the conclusion of the service bring it home to me."

"I shall remember, the fourth pew from the back," Betty repeated. "The service commences at eleven, does it not?"

"Yes. The car will be here for you at a quarter before the hour, but it will be necessary for you to return without it. However, I will direct you explicitly and you will be in no danger of losing your way a second time. Come to me when you are ready."

Betty's pulse quickened in spite of her inward reluctance to perform the task before her. That it had been given her, proved to her own satisfaction that her daring move on the night of her discovery had really achieved the result she had hoped for, and that she was more firmly established than ever in her employer's confidence.

Attired in the gray suit and silvery furs, she presented herself for Mrs. Atterbury's final instructions, and the latter regarded with approval her dainty appearance and unveiled face.

"You have determined like a sensible girl to overcome that absurd self-consciousness about your birthmark? That is well." She placed an ivory-bound prayer book in the girl's hands. "This adds the finishing touch to your costume, my dear. You look quite like a modern Puritan. Now as to the directions for finding your way home. St. Jude's is on the corner of Carlton Avenue and Brinsley Square. Walk five blocks north and two east and you will come to the terminus of the Highmount trolley line. Take a green car and ride to Wellesley Place. There you can connect with a red bus which will drop you three blocks from the corner here, at the same spot you alighted when returning from Madame Cimmino's apartment. Do you think you will be able to remember?"

"I think so," Betty replied slowly. "About the letter, Mrs. Atterbury; it makes no difference who offers it to me in this instance, I am to accept it without question?"

"Certainly. There will be no difficulty about that. There is the car, now. Remember, Betty, the fourth pew."

The girl nodded reassuringly and started upon her way. To her relief, there had been no sign of either of the house guests that morning and it was with freer breath that she found herself departing even for an hour from their vicinity. The gloom and apprehension which enveloped her and insensibly sapped her nerves in the environment of mystery and repression within the house, lifted as soon as she was beyond the gates, although a little frown gathered upon her brow.

Beneath the lamp-post stood the same idly-lounging figure she had seen on the day of her unexpected encounter with Herbert Ross, and he peered keenly into the limousine as it whirled by, making no attempt to cloak his eager interest. Whatever the motive of his protracted vigil, his presence alone indicated that it had not yet borne result, yet it served as a goad to her own secret intent.

A short, shrill whistle sounded upon the air as the car rounded the corner, but Betty was only subconsciously aware of it, so preoccupied was she with her own thoughts. Since the night of her encounter with Wolvert in the library and Mrs. Atterbury's adroitly conveyed command that she indulge in no future nocturnal wanderings, she had not ventured to leave her room in the small hours, but now the realization came to her that if she were not to be forestalled she must risk all.

The car took its place in the decorous line and Betty alighted before the doors of the imposing edifice, mingling with the brilliant stream which eddied about the vestibule. The measured chant of the processional welled forth when the inner door was opened and the girl waited until the others had preceded her to their places before venturing into the nave.

A tall, tow-haired usher, very young and very self-important, bowed stiffly and turned to conduct her down the aisle, when she touched his arm and whispered:

"The fourth pew on the right, please, if it is vacant. I have a particular reason for wishing to occupy that seat."

Betty fancied that his expression changed; it was patent, at any rate, that he regarded her curiously, although he responded with ready courtesy:

"Certainly, madam. The rear pews are all reserved for strangers."

She slipped into the pew designated and knelt for a moment in silent prayer before taking her seat. Her mind was filled with unrest but the quiet and solemn peace which pervaded the atmosphere was like balm upon her troubled spirit and insensibly she relaxed beneath its gentle influence.

The vaulted arches high above, shadowy and vague in the half-light, rang with the clear, swelling notes of the white-robed choir which she could glimpse above the sea of heads before her; and when their echo had died away, the sonorous well-rounded tones from the pulpit fell with soothing monotony upon her ear, lulling her to a temporary forgetfulness of her errand.

Not for long, however. A late comer, a woman, was ushered into the pew beside her and Betty's drugged senses awoke to instant alertness. She had been given no hint as to what manner of person would keep the strange appointment with her and no one could so unobtrusively pass an envelope to her as an occupant of the same pew.

She darted a furtive glance at her unknown companion, but could form no conclusion. The woman was of middle-age, neatly but plainly dressed in contrast with the brilliant assemblage about her, and her comely serene face bore no indication of one engaged upon a secret mission.

The seat behind Betty was occupied by a governess and three restive children; that before her contained two elderly ladies, an anæmic youth and a bent old man, his white head nodding above a gold-topped cane. Surely none of these could have entered the church with an ulterior motive.

Betty had been placed so that the left side of her face was turned to the aisle and the birthmark prominently visible. She realized that this must have been planned to proclaim her identity, but the woman seated beside her politely ignored her existence and as the lengthy sermon drew to a close, the girl was forced to conclude that the unknown associate in the transaction would approach her on the way out.

A hymn, a prayer, and then from the pulpit the familiar: "Let your light so shine before men—" proclaimed the collection. The opening notes of the offertory sounded from the choir and Betty abstracted some money from her purse and idly watched the approach of the smug-faced rotund little man who minced down the aisle, pausing at each pew to extend apologetically his felt-lined silver salver.

She heard the rustle of banknotes and clink of coins as he drew nearer, and when he had reached the pew immediately in front of her, Betty saw that the salver was heaped high with offerings.

The bearer paused over long and she glanced up to find that his small pouched eyes were fixed as though fascinated upon her face. A swift forewarning of the truth darted across her mind, even before she observed that with surprising dexterity he had whipped from his pocket of his frock coat an envelope which he laid upon the pile of currency.

Two short strides brought him to her side and he thrust the salver nervously before her. She had no need to glance again into his face to confirm her thought for upon the envelope had been scrawled an odd, fantastic mark, meaningless to others but of unmistakable significance to her. It was the outline of an irregular formless blotch with five curving tentacles reaching out from it; a crudely sketched representation of the scar upon her cheek!

With a hot flush mounting to her brow, Betty dropped her offering upon the salver and deftly palmed the envelope, not daring to raise her eyes. The woman beside her was intently fumbling in her purse and the swift furtive movement of the girl had been unobserved.

The bearer of the salver emitted a gasping breath that was almost a snort, and as the stranger's bank-note was added to the rest he bowed and passed on with obvious relief to the next pew.

Wedging the envelope between the pages of her prayer book, Betty watched as the smug-faced man joined his colleague who had passed down the opposite row and marched beside him with grave dignity back to the altar rail. The solemnity, the calm spiritual peace had vanished for the girl and the warm, incense-laden air stifled her as the recessional died away in the dim recesses of the vestry, and she knelt mechanically for the final prayer.

The slow, crowded egress from the edifice tortured her beyond measure and when at length she stood in the dazzling sunshine on the steps she drew a deep breath of profound relief.

It was a blustery day and the treacherous March wind caught her roughly in its grasp, but she faced it boldly as though welcoming the physical exertion.

Amazement at the daring manner in which the missive had been placed in her hands had momentarily numbed her faculties. Its donor was the last person from whom she would have expected to receive it. His strutting importance, his bland, patronizing air of conscious dignity and social eminence accorded ill with her preconceived idea of the type of person she would meet.

His predecessors passed in quick, mental review before her; the weak-chinned, downy-mustached scion of society in the opera box, the timorous, fragile, exquisite lady with the orchids, and now this rotund, pragmatical pillar of the church! What mysterious bond held these three, widely diversified as they were, in a common fellowship with Mrs. Atterbury and her coterie?

So absorbed was she in her reflections that Betty gave only a passing glance at a man who had elbowed his way through the throng at the church steps and in apparent inadvertence followed her as she walked north from Brinsley square and turned eastward in her footsteps. She was vaguely aware that someone boarded the Highmount car when she did, alighting behind her at Wellesley Place. Ignorant of the city as she had claimed to be, she could not fail in the realization that the directions given her to follow were curiously roundabout ones and had taken her several unnecessary miles out of her way. Why had Mrs. Atterbury chosen this route for her?

Her mind was filled with this new problem and she did not observe her pursuer enter a taxicab as she boarded a red bus. It was only when she noted that the smaller vehicle deliberately stalked the larger, halting when the bus stopped and following it doggedly through the mazes of Sunday traffic, that her interest was aroused, and as one after another of the passengers descended until she was left in sole possession of the conveyance and still the taxi cab clung tenaciously behind, a suspicion came to her that she might be the subject of espionage.

A memory came to her of the circuitous route followed by the limousine in bringing her home from the Café de Luxe. Could the motive have been to elude pursuit? Had the same purpose prevailed in Mrs. Atterbury's mind when she issued these devious directions for her messenger's return?

Betty alighted at her corner and walked swiftly off toward the North Drive without a backward glance, but her acute ear told her that the taxicab had turned and was trailing slowly in her wake.

Deliberately she slackened her pace and the machine stopped, hastening on she heard it start again. The first cross street was but a few yards away, and on a sudden inspiration Betty started to run, turning the corner sharply, and darting into a narrow tradesman's alley between two houses. There she crouched motionless while the taxicab veered around the corner, stopped with a harsh grating of brakes and then chugged uncertainly on and out of sight.

Betty's face was scarlet, and her eyes ablaze, but her heart was turned to lead within her breast, for her pursuer had leaned for an instant from the cab window and she had recognized the face of Herbert Ross.

CHAPTER XII.

The Fangs of the Wolf.

"Misfortune seems to be treading upon the heels of our friends more relentlessly this season than before." Doctor Bayard looked up from his salad with a sympathetic sigh. "Our poor dear Professor dying in Chicago, Mortimer dangerously ill, and yet another gone down under the strain of financial worries and cares."

Betty glanced quickly at his grave ascetic face crowned with its wealth of snowy hair and then her eyes wandered to her employer.

Mrs. Atterbury was sitting very straight in her chair, her expression as immobile as ever, but the girl fancied that a shade of weariness had clouded the glitter of the keen, black eyes and the fine lines had deepened about the firm, chiselled lips.

"Professor Blythe will recover." There was a finality in her tone which brooked no argument. "He has been in a far more critical condition than this and regained his health almost miraculously."

"But consider the attendant circumstances, my dear Marcia." Wolvert's voice, coolly ironical, intervened. "The previous illnesses must have weakened his constitution, and—er—complications may set in at any time."

"As a diagnostician, Jack, let me remind you that your conclusions have been erroneous more than once." Mrs. Atterbury raised her eyebrows significantly. "As for Mortie Dana, we have every reason to believe that he will pull through. The doctor's report is highly satisfactory, although of course he is likely to be quarantined for some time to come."

"That would seem to be a foregone conclusion." Wolvert was in no wise abashed by the snubbing he had received. "Louise is in no danger of contagion, however, and the change of air will do her good."

Betty could not repress a little gleam of interest. She had wondered why Mrs. Dana did not come again to the house, but had not previously heard of her departure from town.

"Personally, I shall be pleased if she remains away indefinitely." Madame Cimmino shrugged. "She gets upon one's nerves, with her hysterics. One never knows when she may make a scene."

"To say nothing of the possibility of contagion—" Wolvert caught his hostess' eye and turned in obvious haste to Doctor Bayard. "But of whom were you speaking just now, Doctor, who has gone to pieces?"

The doctor held his wineglass up to the light and gazed into its amber depths reflectively as he replies.

"My old friend—Cote. I had heard depressing reports of his mental condition, but I would not believe them until I had investigated personally." He shook his venerable head. "I returned only a few days ago from a visit to him and I seriously fear that his usefulness is passed. He is unable to handle his financial affairs and his permanent retirement is all that can be looked for."

"But surely the others in his firm will assume his obligations!" Wolvert's bantering tone had sharpened. "It is almost as vital to them that his affairs should be straightened out as it was to him. They must be made to understand the situation."

"You talk like a child!" exclaimed Madame Cimmino. "What is to prevent them from going into voluntary bankruptcy, now that he is incapacitated? Others have done that before, when driven to the wall."

Betty sat with downcast eyes and a politely detached air but her hands were clenched tightly in her lap and her breath came quickly. If those about her at the luncheon table remembered her presence they must have believed their conversation unintelligible to her, yet every word was fraught with meaning, and she waited with leaping pulses for the next disclosure.

"That would scarcely be possible in this instance." There was an implacable note in the old Doctor's measured tones. "His is not a corporation, you know; he has one silent partner who without doubt will carry out the contract entered into by my friend when he learns of it. Unfortunately, it will be necessary to locate this partner first and I have not the address."

"That can be arranged." Mrs. Atterbury rose. "Jack, come and play the new concerto for Doctor Bayard."

Betty had been granted permission to go out for an hour but her heart was heavy as she dressed. The discovery of the previous day that the supposed museum director was shadowing her had come with a shock which had benumbed her brain, but the reaction aroused all her faculties to the alert against this new threatened danger. Through the long hours of the night she lay in silent combat between the dictates of common sense and a strange, incomprehensible influence which sought to undermine her surer judgment and defy the evidence of her reason.

Herbert Ross a spy! It was unthinkable! His merry, candid eyes, his grave sympathetic manner, the latent boyishness and straightforward simplicity—all belied the possibility of such a role, and yet her coolly analytical mind forced her to the contemplation of hitherto unconsidered trifles which, viewed in the light of her discovery, assumed new and alarming proportions.

His confessed ignorance of Egyptiana in contradistinction to his avowed position of museum official; the readiness with which he had assigned the work of translation to her with no assurance of her qualifications, seeking only to learn her address; the personal questions he had later plied her with and his discovery that she no longer resided at the boarding house she had claimed as her home, all puzzled her and seemed to point at some ulterior motive in his conduct.

Could the advertisement itself have been a bait to draw her into his net? If so, from whom could he have learned of her penchant for Egyptology?

The grim, old woman whose unexpected presence in the neighborhood had so disconcerted her flashed across Betty's thoughts. Was Ross in her employ or was he in turn making a tool of the woman, using her knowledge to aid in snaring his prey for other and more desperate opponents?

Reason won in the unequal contest with the emotion which she could not name, and instinct warned her that no alternative remained but to sever all relations with the young man who had occupied her thoughts more than she realized until the decisive moment came.

With the completed translation secreted in her muff, she let herself out of the side door and proceeded to the gates from whence she chose a widely deviating course to the museum. In the maze of suspicion and distrust through which she walked she must guard herself on all sides and the knowledge that she might be trailed from the house at Wolvert's instigation or perhaps by the man on his own initiative led her to exercise all precaution.

Mr. Ross was absent when she reached the museum and to her inward dismay she was ushered into the study of Professor Carmody. The shrivelled little man greeted her with flattering warmth and reviewed the inscription from the Stele of Abu in glowing terms, but she felt his nearsighted eyes upon her in recurring perplexity and doubt and she longed to bring the interview to an end.

The tinkle of a telephone in an adjoining office interrupted her tentative move of departure and Professor Carmody returned from it rubbing his withered hands in obvious relief.

"That was our young friend, Ross," he announced in high feather. "He will be here directly and he begs that you will wait. In the meantime, I have here a genuine papyrus of rare antiquity, presented to me by Professor Mallory himself. It dates from the pre-dynastic period and some of the symbols, as you see, are Sammarian in form."

"But it has been restored!" Betty cried protestingly, resentment of the sacrilege overruling her caution. "What a pity! The word 'suten' or king, has been inserted here where the text would clearly indicate 'priest' and the whole tenor of the theme is changed. Surely Professor Mallory did not sanction such a desecration!"

"Then you have seen the papyrus before?" Professor Carmody spoke in quiet satisfaction as if a mooted question had been settled in his own mind. "I was under the impression that I had met you in Cairo, but your name had escaped me. You know the great man himself?"

"No. I studied with an associate of his, in this country," Betty stammered desperately. "I have never been in Cairo and I do not know Professor Mallory, but I have seen a copy of the papyrus before this attempt was made to restore it."

"I myself presented it to the museum here, and the restoration was done at another's suggestion, overruling my objection." The professor returned the ancient scroll to its glass case as he added, dryly: "I was not aware that a copy was in existence."

Betty writhed, but resolutely turned the conversation to some newly-discovered monoliths which had created a mild sensation in archeological circles, and the arrival of Ross on the heels of his message shortly brought the disquieting interview to a close.

The young man ushered Betty into his private office, but she declined the chair he indicated and stood before him with her grave eyes fastened upon his in cold disdain.

"There really was no need of my waiting to see you, Mr. Ross," she observed. "The translation is finished and approved by Professor Carmody and the matter is closed."

"I don't understand!" he exclaimed in haste, adding lamely: "I have other work for you, you know. There is more translating to be done—"

Betty shook her head decisively.

"I shall undertake no more at present." There was finality in her tone, and her expression had hardened. "As I have explained, my time is not at my own disposal and I am late now for an engagement. If you will permit me—"

"But surely you will not relinquish the work without a reason! If your other duties interfere, perhaps some arrangement can be made—"

"My other duties concern no one but myself!" Betty retorted, in a flash of temper which instantly subsided. "I do not wish, for reasons of my own, to continue with this work and nothing further remains to be said. Good afternoon, Mr. Ross."

"Wait, please." His tone was quiet, but there was a compelling quality in it which halted Betty against her will. "Something has occurred to annoy you and make the work distasteful. Won't you tell me what it is that I may take steps to remedy it? Surely you owe me an explanation."

"The work is not distasteful; it has merely ceased to interest me. In undertaking it I assumed no obligations to continue it indefinitely, Mr. Ross, and I do not feel that any explanation is due from me."

"Is it that meddling old fool Carmody?" Ross demanded. "Has he offended you in any way?"

"By no means. I am not offended in the least, I have simply changed my mind. My secretarial work is sufficient occupation."

"But you were so absorbed, so enthusiastic about the translation." His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "I cannot believe that it has ceased to interest you; it must be more suitable for a young woman of your attainments, more congenial than the task to which you have been assigned."

There was no mistaking the deliberate intent in his tone and Betty countered swiftly.

"Mr. Ross, may I ask why you are so solicitous in this matter? On my last interview with you, you asked me many irrelevant and highly personal questions. I responded to your advertisement, I came in good faith to accept the work if it were offered me. I did not anticipate a cross-examination, or interference with my private affairs." Resentment was fast getting the better of her discretion and she spoke with all the bitterness of a lost illusion. "I might ask you in turn how long you have been officially connected with this museum, and whether that advertisement was really inserted in good faith or with an ulterior motive. I would demand also to know why you have been following me about the streets, but the motive for your annoyance does not interest me. I decline absolutely to have anything further to do with this work, and I must request that you let me go at once."

Herbert Ross sprang from his chair and placed himself between her and the door.

"Miss Shaw, you shall not leave until one thing is plain to you. I have tried to be your friend. You have repelled every overture from me, but believe it or not as you please, my only desire is to protect you. If I have followed you in the street, it was from a motive far removed from any intention to annoy you." The young man, too, seemed in danger of losing his self-control. His face flushed and his voice grew hoarse. "Suppose I were to tell you that I have followed you because I could not help myself, because in spite of appearances, in spite of my certain knowledge, I believe in you, I want your friendship, your confidence, your—your liking—"

"I cannot suppose you would venture such an assertion, Mr. Ross; you are far too shrewd to insult my intelligence." Betty made as if to pass him but he suddenly laid his hands upon her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.

"Will you at least try to believe this? I mean to be your friend whether you desire it or not. If the time ever comes when you need the help of a man, call me up here. Professor Carmody can reach me, and you will find me at your side."

His hands fell and he walked swiftly to the window where he stood with his shoulders turned to her and his head bowed.

Betty regarded him thoughtfully, a little soft gleam of compunction appearing unbidden in her eyes. She opened her lips to speak, but paused uncertainly and in another moment she had slipped silently from the room.

She stumbled down the steps of the museum and entered the park, her feet mechanically seeking the right path. The naked trees and clustering skeletons of shrubbery upon the brown patches of lawn were blurred and shapeless before her and she seemed to see again the face of Herbert Ross as he wistfully proffered his friendship, the stab of pain in his clear eyes when she refused it.

Once she hesitated and turned as if to go back, but the vague impulse died and she pressed resolutely on. He had found her by a trick, a mere subterfuge; perhaps his offer of friendship was another trap to gain her confidence now. He had sought her out, followed her, spied upon her, and for what purpose than to serve those who were working against her, who might even now be planning a coup which would mean the demolition of her own hopes and drag her down into the ruins?

Matters were in a state of armed truce now between them. When they met again—if they met—it must be open war.

Betty had taken no note of distance or direction and she came to a realization of her surroundings only when the roar of traffic sounded in her ears, and she found that she had traversed the park and was within a few blocks of the North Drive. As she hurried homeward she forced her thoughts resolutely to the future and the work which still lay to her hand, but the long hours of early evening loomed before her, robbed of the absorbing study which had proved such a stimulating relief from the continuous mental strain; and the days to come would be empty indeed with the budding friendship, which had come to mean so much to her, brought so swiftly to an end.

She was dispirited, tired in mind and body as she entered the gates of home, and her feet lagged wearily along the path. The house looked blank and forbidding, and the wind soughed dismally in the sagging branches of the trees.

Faintly the high-strung wailing note of a dog's whine reached her and she remembered her encounter with Demon when first she walked in the snowy garden. Would the dog know her again, if chance should deliver her to his mercy?

Memory returned to her also of that other encounter in the same hour when, unconscious of her presence, Wolvert had passed her place of concealment as if racing with the very fiends of darkness, cowardly fear stamped upon every lineament of his dark face. Why had he avoided her since their mutual surprise meeting in the library? Was he deliberately evading the issue or delaying it for some sinister purpose of his own?

She had reached the clump of trees through which the path wound, and even as her thoughts were centered on Wolvert the man himself stepped from the tangle of evergreens which had screened her on the former occasion, and confronted her. It was evident from his smile and air of easy assurance that he had lain in wait for her, and Betty's first feeling of dismay was superseded by a sensation of relief that the long anticipated moment had arrived and the contest between them at immediate issue.

"You have been long upon your foraging expedition, Little Mouse, and you have strayed far from your hiding place." He laid his hand upon her arm in an insolent assumption of familiarity. "Not so fast, my dear. The mistress you serve so conscientiously is not in need of your presence and the time has come for an understanding between us."

"I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Wolvert." She met his sneering smile with one of calm defiance. "I think we understand each other fairly well."

"Perhaps, but the knowledge has not yet accrued to our mutual advantage. We have been working at cross purposes and that means disaster. I warned you once that a friend at court is not to be despised, but as an enemy you would not find it advisable to cross swords with me. I do not underestimate your pluck and resourcefulness; sheer admiration for your audacity has stayed my hand against you so far. Your move in carrying the war into my camp by going to Mrs. Atterbury with your naïve little story was a bold one. Gad, you even explained away the evidence against you, the electric torch, better than I did later, I don't mind confessing; but do you suppose I could not have smashed your transparent subterfuge to atoms if I had wished?"

"Why did you not, in that case?" Betty asked coolly. "I am not in the least afraid of you or what you can do. Come now to Mrs. Atterbury if you care to; I will go with you to face her and she shall choose between us."

His grip upon her arm tightened.

"Do you think that I am imbecile enough to call your bluff?" he demanded. "When I find you seriously in my way I shall crush you like this! Until then, my dear, you will prove mildly amusing. You interest me as I never thought to be interested again in a woman. Your eyes, your smile are branded upon my brain even as that brand is upon your cheek like a hand reaching out for the unattainable. You might set a man's blood on fire, sear his very soul and drive him to madness, but you would never bore him. Little, quiet, inscrutable mouse, with you beside him there is nothing that a man who gambles with life might not win!"

"You talk in riddles, Mr. Wolvert." Betty disengaged her arm and stepped back from the savage light in his empassioned eyes. "Your opinion of me is flattering, but if you are detaining me for further expression of it, I must beg leave to continue on my way to the house."

"You may go when you have answered one question: what is your game? I knew from the moment I saw you that you were superior to the position you chose to occupy, but not until I encountered you in the library did I guess the truth. How much do you know? Are you a free lance or in someone's pay?"

"If I had an ulterior motive in entering Mrs. Atterbury's service, is it likely that I would make a confident of you whether you are her ally or a traitor?" Betty shrugged. "Your attitude is a matter of absolute indifference to me; why should I reply to your questions?"

"Because you may find me useful." He came close to her once more. "What is it you desire within those walls that you court danger to obtain? Perhaps I can get it for you. What is your purpose? It may be that I can aid in its accomplishment. Traitor or not, I am at your service!"

"But why?" A swift thrill of fear darted through her, and she glanced about, but the tall bushes ringed them on all sides and they seemed as isolated as in a wilderness. "Suppose that another purpose actuated me than to fulfill the duties for which I was engaged—and I do not for a moment admit that there is any truth in your wild assertion—why should you offer me your aid? Why should you, Mrs. Atterbury's guest and friend, conspire with one you profess to regard as a deceitful and dishonest servant?"

"Because you have driven me mad!" He seized her, dragging her into a half-savage embrace. "Because I want you as I've never wanted any other woman!"

"Let me go!" Betty panted struggling with all her strength, but her heart sank within her for no help could reach her from the house and her efforts to free herself were unavailing against the man's brute grasp.

He laughed exultantly and drew her closer.

"'Little Mouse,' I called you; Little Wild-Cat! But I'll tame you, or break you with my hands! What I want I take, and you're mine, do you understand; you're mine!"

All at once a new sound broke upon Betty's ears. The dog's continuous whine, of which she had been dimly aware like an undercurrent in the swift torrent of Wolvert's words, had changed suddenly to a deep, full-throated cry which seemed to her excited fancy to be drawing nearer and nearer. A swift thought like a prayer mounted in her brain and by a supreme effort she extricated her head from the stifling folds of her captor's coat where he had crushed her to his breast.

The cry came again and with it the soft rush of padded feet on moist yielding ground. Betty drew a deep breath and screamed with all the power of her pent-up fear.

"Demon! Here! Come here!"

With an oath, Wolvert's arms dropped from about her and he sprang backward as a huge, dark shape lunged through the undergrowth and sprang full at his throat. The force of the impact hurled Betty aside and when she had picked herself up she turned to find Wolvert stretched upon the ground, the great dog standing over him, with every hair a-bristle and yellow fangs bared in a snarl, as he hesitated at the sound of her voice.

"Demon!"

He turned his shaggy head obediently to glance up into her eyes, but one great paw remained planted upon Wolvert's breast.

"Guard him, Demon! If he moves, take him by the throat!" An inarticulate murmur issued from the lips of the prostrate man and the snarl changed to a growl of menace.

"Don't let him get away! Until your master comes. Demon, on guard!"

The dog's eyes answered her and he dropped his out-thrust jaw upon his paws, within an inch of Wolvert's throat.

Betty turned swiftly and walked off among the trees. As she neared the house a man came running from the direction of the garage and paused beside her, touching his cap.

"Excuse me, Miss, but did you see anything of a dog? He's broke loose, and he's that savage that he may hurt somebody."

Betty smiled and extracted a bill from her purse.

"You will find him in that knoll by the drive. He is standing over Mr. Wolvert, but he has not hurt him in the least. Understand, no matter what orders Mr. Wolvert gives, the dog is not to be ill-treated or punished. Demon and I are old friends and he was protecting me from annoyance. I called him to my aid. You understand, don't you? I do not wish to worry Mrs. Atterbury, but if Mr. Wolvert makes any trouble, I will tell the truth. I can rely on you to see that no harm comes to Demon?"

"That you can, Miss." The man pocketed his fee with added respect.

"He's no gentleman, that Mr. Wolvert, if you'll excuse me for saying so, and I'm glad the dog was loose. I'll see that he don't get hurt."

As she let herself in at the side door and mounted the stairs to her room a heavy sense of foreboding descended upon Betty's spirit. She had made two powerful enemies in one day, for Herbert Ross, in spite of his protestations, she felt to be a potential antagonist. Would she alone be able to stand against them, or would she go down to defeat with that for which she had entered the lists almost within her grasp?

CHAPTER XIII.

Justice Nods.

Jack Wolvert did not put in an appearance at dinner and Mrs. Atterbury explained that he was suffering from one of his severe headaches and had taken an opiate. Her manner gave no indication that she possessed an inkling of the truth, but Betty's apprehensions were not lulled into a false security. That Wolvert had not immediately betrayed her in blind rage argued that he was biding his own time for a personal revenge all the more complete and she realized that when the hour came she could expect no mercy.

Madame Cimmino's dull eyes glowered at her in undiminished animosity and suspicion, but she forced herself to a show of civility in the presence of her hostess; and in the greater danger which menaced her Betty gave little heed to the woman who looked upon her as a rival.

The following day, however, Wolvert reappeared, his debonair, ironic spirit of raillery unquenched. There was an unaccustomed pallor on his dark face and it was noticeable that he held one arm stiffly, but to Madame Cimmino's solicitous queries he responded only with a petulant shrug.

Throughout the morning meal he kept up a running fire of facetious comment directed with suave impertinence at Betty and she seized the first opportunity to retire to her work in the library. She had anticipated this attitude on his part but her nerves were beginning to play her false and she wondered despairingly how long the crisis would be delayed. For the first time she felt a doubt of herself; not that her resolution should falter but lest her strength fail under the strain and at the crucial moment sheer weakness rob her purpose of its fulfillment.

Mrs. Atterbury followed her into the library as she seated herself before the desk.

"Not that this morning, my dear." She shook her head with a slow smile. "The letters must wait. Have you ever been in a courtroom, Betty?"

"No." The girl turned to her, wonderingly. "There is a county court house at home, but I have never been inside it. Do people go here—women, I mean—unless——?"

She faltered and Mrs. Atterbury completed the question for her.

"Unless they are prisoners or witnesses, you mean? Indeed, yes! There are seats apportioned off for spectators and a particularly grewsome and revolting murder trial will bring out as many feminine auditors as a fashionable divorce. As you know, I personally avoid all horrors, but there is a case now before the Bar which presents some very interesting features to a student of human nature. A poor wretch named Huston is on trial for the murder of his wife, who by all accounts richly deserved to be done away with. Would you mind running down there for an hour this morning, my dear? Do you think you could venture into the presence of a murderer without succumbing to hysterics?"

"I think so," the girl responded quietly. "In all probability I may have been in the presence of one before this, without knowing it."

"What a strange thought!" Mrs. Atterbury eyed her keenly. "You have an odd philosophy all your own, as I have discovered; but what put such an idea into your head, Betty!"

"The very people one passes in the street may have murder in their hearts or upon their consciences. Who can tell?" Betty paused and drew a deep breath. "Consider the number of murder mysteries which are never solved; this Breckinridge case, for instance."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Atterbury shifted her gaze to the window.

"Haven't you been reading about it in the papers?" persisted the girl, inwardly quaking at her own temerity, but determined to discover if the woman before her would betray any knowledge of what had taken place beneath her roof. "They call it the greatest sensation of years."

"I remember the name, but I carefully avoided the details." Her employer observed coolly. "That sort of thing repels me and it is not from any interest in this present trial that I am sending you there this morning. There will be a man in the courtroom who has a message for me and for certain reasons, as on the other occasions when you have acted for me, it is inadvisable for me to appear personally in the transaction. I have tested you, my dear, and I feel that you are to be trusted, at least as far as is compatible with my oath. We are all members of a powerful secret organization working for broad humanitarian ends. I need not assure you that there is nothing unlawful about it, for you can realize that I would not lend my name or influence to any purpose no matter how charitable, the methods of which could be questioned. It is necessary, however, for diplomatic and political considerations, that the work shall proceed as quietly as possible until the strained relations which exist between certain European powers shall have been adjusted. That is all I am at liberty to tell you now, but later everything will be made plain to you, and you will never regret the slight services you have rendered."

"I am sure that I shall not," Betty remarked quietly. "It is good of you to take me into your confidence, Mrs. Atterbury, and you know that I will respect it, but it was unnecessary as far as I am concerned. It is enough for me that you wished me to go upon these errands."

"You are a model!" There was unusual warmth in her tone, but her eyes, as they rested upon the girl, narrowed with a slow, amused contempt. "Unquestioning obedience is rare and you will find it a valuable asset. Now, my dear, I shall want you to be in the courtroom by eleven. Dress very plainly; your old dark cloak will do. Present this card at the door and you will be ushered into a seat which has been reserved for you. Remain until court adjourns at the end of the morning session and hang back until you are among the last of the spectators to leave. A man will approach you as before and give you a letter for me. Take no more notice of him than you did of the others, and come straight home. You must use the public conveyances, as the car is being overhauled, but I will direct you when you are ready."

The route laid down to her was even more circuitous than that of the previous Sunday and Betty followed it faithfully, keeping a sharp lookout for a possible trailing taxicab, but those which surrounded her in the mazes of traffic seemed bent solely on their own affairs and nowhere did she glimpse the kindly, keen gray eyes of Herbert Ross.

However, the idle artisan was again beneath the lamp-post at the gate and a man in overalls with a plumber's kit emerged from a house midway of the block and sauntered after her, boarding the same car. When she mounted the steps of the courthouse, after many changes of conveyance and crosstown divergencies, a man brushed against her with a swift glance at her scarred cheek. Without the kit of tools and buttoned into a greatcoat which covered him to his knees, she yet had no difficulty in recognizing in him the erstwhile plumber's assistant, and Betty's lips tightened.

Others, then, besides Ross held her under espionage, and the mysterious words of the little dressmaker, Miss Pope, flashed across her memory: "Before you know it you'll be caught, too, and you'll never be able to get free!" Had Mrs. Atterbury employed her in these errands not only for their accomplishment but to identify her secretary irrevocably with the organization of which she had spoken? Was she to be scapegoat as well as catspaw? The price she must pay for her temerity was looming more sinisterly before her with each passing hour, but her will was all the more indomitably fixed. Though she stood within the very shadow of the law she would still fight on.

Finding her way with some difficulty to the grand jury room, Betty presented her pass to the gray-haired doorman. She had received it in a sealed envelope from Mrs. Atterbury and had made no attempt to tamper with it, but as the court attendant extricated the card and read the words pencilled upon it he eyed her with amazement, in which an added respect was mingled, and without a word led her to a seat apart from the other spectators.

It was near the press rail, facing the jury box and almost on a line with the Bench, beside a narrow aisle leading to a single door. Betty seated herself and once again her mission was temporarily forgotten in absorbed interest in the scene before her.

She had no difficulty in picking out the prisoner; a mild-faced, sandy-haired little man, shrunken and bowed in his place beside his lawyers. Just back of him sat a slender woman in rusty black, whose face was hidden from Betty's gaze and whose tremulous hand reached out in pathetic tenderness to the man before her.

Betty looked again at the prisoner and the puzzled look in her eyes gave place to a flash of recognition. She leaned forward in her chair, agape with amazement and startled interest, until the consciousness of shrewd glances from the assembled representatives of the press made her draw back in belated caution.

Vaguely, almost subconsciously, she observed the stolid jury and the stern, inflexible countenance of the judge. The faces of the spectators, too, passed before her in meaningless review, not one impressing itself individually upon her agitated mind.

As the case progressed, and witness succeeded witness, it became evident that the whole defense hinged upon an alibi which the prisoner's attorneys found difficulty in proving. The testimony offered was inconclusive and the prosecutor riddled it with ease or blasted it with deftly turned ridicule.

The hideous story was gradually unfolded in all its revolting detail, and Betty's heart sank within her as the evidence, circumstantial, but damning, was heaped upon the prisoner's bowed head. The little woman behind him did not waver in her attitude of protective tenderness and something in her tremulous, almost furtive, gestures appealed to Betty as being vaguely familiar, although the face was still turned from her.

A particularly brilliant shaft of ironic wit from the prosecutor created a stir of amusement among the spectators and as the clerk of the court rapped for order, Betty's eyes again sought the judge. Beneath the huge mural painting of Justice he sat immovable, his thin lips set in a straight line, his cold, gray eyes fastened with grim intentness upon the prisoner. No mercy tempered his jurisdiction, she felt certain; no slightest benefit of a doubt would be permitted to weigh in the scales for any unfortunate mortal whose life might hang in the balance. She shuddered, her gaze once more descending to the little ignominiously isolated group below and at that instant the woman behind the prisoner turned her head and the cold light from the tall window fell full upon her face.

It was little Miss Pope! The timid, nervous, self-effacing seamstress who had warned her of danger and begged her to leave almost beneath the argus eyes of Mrs. Atterbury, and whose strange words had returned to the girl's mind within the hour, after a lapse of many eventful days. What connection could exist between her and the wretched creature at the Bar? Were Mrs. Atterbury's affairs also somehow involved in this tragic crisis?

Her employer had declared herself uninterested in the case herself and no mention had been made of Miss Pope, yet she must have known the girl would recognize her. The letter was to be delivered by a man; could it be that it would come from the prisoner himself or one of his friends? He seemed singularly alone in his trouble and sat as if hypnotized, gazing straight before him in a dull stupor of misery. Once his eyes met Betty's and the girl swiftly paled, but there was no consciousness of recognition in their fixed stare.

Until the morning session ended the girl sat tense and motionless, listening to the testimony, but only receiving a general impression of its tenor. A conflict was raging within her, and she faced the most vital problem which had ever presented itself for her decision. Heretofore her path, beset with difficulties as it was, had been plainly marked before her and her will had driven her on relentlessly over every obstacle, but now she had reached without warning an insurmountable barrier and she hesitated which course to pursue around it.

A rustle of papers and shuffling of feet in the press enclosure and a concerted movement among the spectators aroused her from her thoughts and apprised her that court had adjourned. The judge rose in all the awful majesty of his black robes and sweeping down from the Bench, came toward her along the narrow aisle. Betty noted the stern preoccupation in his averted eyes and the grim, inexorable set of his lean, shaven jaw and her vision blurred in pity for the hapless victim of circumstances whose doom seemed already sealed.

The judge passed her so closely that his robe fluttered against her knee; then he disappeared through the door which led to his private chambers. Betty, fumbling for her glove, glanced down into her lap and then sat as if petrified with her eyes fairly starting from her head.

There upon her knee, half-hidden by her muff, lay a small thick envelope, its square, blank expanse staring up at her in uncompromising self-evidence! The judge himself! Mrs. Atterbury's organization must be indeed powerful when it could command the services of an administrator of justice!

Betty slipped the envelope into the capacious pocket of her cloak and rose as if in a trance. The shock of surprise had fairly taken her breath away and she strove vainly to collect herself as she lingered in obedience to her employer's instructions until only a few stragglers remained in the courtroom. Little knots of people had gathered in the corridor outside and she was threading her way through them when a convulsive clutch fell upon her arm, and looking up hastily, she found herself face to face with Miss Pope.

The little dressmaker's eyes were reddened and sunken and she seemed to have aged many years in the brief period that had elapsed since their last meeting.

"Miss Shaw!" The name fell from her lips in a quivering whisper. "You remember me, don't you? I made those dresses for you at Mrs. Atterbury's——"

"Yes." Betty took her hand in a little sympathetic squeeze. "I remember you, of course, Miss Pope. I recognized you in the courtroom and I am so sorry that a friend of yours is in trouble."

"He is my brother, and he is innocent!" The whisper changed to a low wail, and she clung to the girl's arm as if for support. "Oh, Miss, you don't know what it means to sit there day after day and listen to them hounding him to his death, knowing all the time that a word would save him! But there's nobody to say it, and they'll send him to the chair; him that never hurt a fly, he was so tender-hearted!"

"Your brother!" Betty murmured. "But the name—?"

"My half-brother, I should say. He's fifteen years younger than me, but he's all I have in the world and I love him like a mother and sister in one. Oh, Miss, if you only knew——!"

"We cannot talk here." Betty interrupted the little woman's grief-stricken outburst and drew her aside nervously. "I have not much time, I must return almost at once, but I should so like to comfort you. You look faint and ill; isn't there a lunchroom near where we can get some coffee?"

"There's a little place just around the corner where I usually go, but I can't eat. It's just as if my heart had settled up in my throat and closed it." Her face was working piteously. "I shall go crazy if I can't talk to somebody, Miss. I feel as if each hour was the end; that I couldn't go on any longer."

Betty led the way to the modest little restaurant and when they were seated opposite each other at the narrow, linoleum topped table and the order given, she leaned compassionately toward her sorrowful guest.

"Tell me what you can, Miss Pope. I sympathize with you deeply, more deeply than you know, and I would do anything that I could to help you in your trouble. I have not forgotten that you tried to do me a good turn, even if you could not explain, and I am grateful."

Miss Pope's faded eyes lighted with sudden interest.

"You're still there, in that house? You haven't been dismissed yet, and you are free to come and go as you please! Oh, Miss Shaw, keep your eyes open and think twice of anything you are asked to do. Don't let yourself be led into what you don't understand. I'm talking too much, I know, but I can't seem to even think straight these days." She paused, and the old look of hopeless misery dulled her eyes once more. "Since Robbie's wife was killed, and they took him away, it seems as if I'd lived in a nightmare."

"How did it all happen?" asked Betty.

"Robbie and his wife lived apart. She's dead, and the least said about her the better, but she was a disgrace to a decent man. One morning, about three months ago, they found her dead in her bed with her head beaten in. Robbie was questioned, but he didn't know anything about it, he hadn't seen her in nearly a year. He was left free then and the police went after another man, but, because they couldn't find him, they fastened on Robbie again. You heard the evidence this morning, Miss. He has a temper, for all he's so meek-looking, and he had cause enough to kill her, Heaven knows, but he never did it, never, although he had made threats, like anybody who is tried beyond endurance."

She paused in her rapid flow of words and wiped her eyes on a wisp of handkerchief while Betty sat silent, with every nerve taut.

"There was a terrible snowstorm, the biggest one of the year, on the night she was killed," Miss Pope went on. "Robbie is the chauffeur for the King family, of Hempstead; it's Mr. King who is paying for the defense. He ordered Robbie to take the car into town that night to meet some folks who were arriving from the West, but Robbie never got there; he was stalled in a snowdrift all night on a lonely part of the road. That's why he's got no alibi."

"Did no one see him or talk to him?" Betty's voice was low and strained.

"Only one person and we can't find her. She won't come forward and speak for him; most likely she forgot all about him an hour after, although we've advertised and done everything we can."

"Does he know who she is?" Betty asked, her eyes upon her plate.

"No, Miss. It was some little time before he got stalled, when he was plowing along in the storm through that string of fashionable colonies on the North Shore that run together with no beginning or end. He doesn't rightly know where he was, when somebody called out to him and he stopped to see a young lady beside the road in a little run-about car that had got stuck. The engine was frozen and Robbie offered to tow her home, although it would have been a hard job. The young lady said it wasn't necessary, she didn't mind leaving the car there all night if he would take her to where she was going; that it wasn't far. She perched herself up beside Robbie at the wheel and directed him on the way, and a couple of miles further on he set her down at a big house. He wouldn't know it again if he saw it, because the snow was driving so hard against the lights that he could only see a few feet in front of him. The young lady offered him some money but he wouldn't take it. Oh, if she'd only come forward now!"

Betty looked up slowly.

"Maybe she will. It isn't too late even now."

"We've about given up hope." Miss Pope shook her head. "Robbie was in prison waiting for his trial when I came to sew for you, but the lawyers were so sure the young lady would be found and his name cleared that I wasn't worrying, except about the disgrace of his being suspected at all."

"Does Mrs. Atterbury know of your trouble?" The question came as an afterthought.

"No. The name being different she wouldn't connect it with me, and I guess she's got enough on her own mind. Why should I have told her? There would have been no help from her, even if she could have given it. She's too careful about keeping her own skirts clean."

There was concentrated bitterness in the dreary voice, and Betty regarded her expectantly; but the little woman's thoughts had evidently reverted to her own trouble and she said no more.

The girl comforted her as well as she was able, and took leave of her at the door of the restaurant, to continue her homeward way, sunk in a horrified perplexity which deepened with each passing moment.

The story she had just heard weighed upon her spirit and she shrank from thought of the man whose life hung on an unspoken word. Her own problem had faded into insignificance in the face of this potential tragedy and had she been personally involved in it, she could not have hoped more fervently for the prisoner's acquittal, even as she realized its futility. Would the mysterious young woman speak? Betty herself wondered.

CHAPTER XIV.

Naked Foils.

Detective Joseph P. McCormick was pacing his office like a caged bear, and his retinue of aides in the outer strongholds, recognizing the storm signals, went about their various tasks as expeditiously as they were able without venturing into his presence to discuss the details of the day's routine. Once his bell whirred viciously and to the scared office boy who reluctantly obeyed the summons the Chief turned a face like a thunder cloud.

"Ross shown up yet?" he barked.

"No, sir. He got your message when he 'phoned and he said he'd be here at once. There's hardly been time, sir—"

"When I want any observations from you I'll ask for them." The Chief brought his hand down smartly on the desk. "Bring Ross here the instant he arrives."

The door closed precipitately and the Chief resumed his restless tramp about the room, his heavy footsteps making the bronze electrolier on his desk vibrate until its dangling chains tinkled a protest. The clock ticked off five slow minutes, then ten, and the cigar butt between his strong white teeth was chewed to a pulp before the door opened quietly once more and Herbert Ross entered.

"You sent for me, sir?" His voice was gravely respectful, and his clear eyes were very sober, as he raised them steadily to meet those of his superior.

"Where the devil have you been?" McCormick's tone was ominously calm.

"I came as quickly as a taxi would bring me, sir."

"I don't mean now." The chief threw his cigar butt into the cuspidor and seated himself with deliberation behind his desk. "I mean since your last report; a report, let me remind you, which amounted to nothing."

"I have been working on the case, sir, as far as I was able along the lines laid down at that time. I thought it was understood that I was not to put in an appearance until I had something definite to report."

"When would that have been?" McCormick leaned back in his chair. "Look here, Ross, I've sent for you because something is going on that I don't understand, or rather I don't want to understand it, the way things seem to lie now. I want to give you a chance to explain, if you can. I've taken a personal interest in you from the time you walked into my office to look for a job, with nothing but your nerve to recommend you, and a college education against you, to say nothing of the fact that you were born a gentleman. I gave you a chance to show me what you could do and you made good, and since then I've come to depend on you more than I realized until this thing hit me between the eyes! I'd have banked on your honesty as I would on my own, and thank God! I've always been square, but, Ross, you've got to speak out now like a man!"

"What is it, sir?" Herbert Ross straightened himself and his steadfast gaze never wavered. "Are you accusing me of crooked work?"

"I'm accusing you of nothing." The Chief's face had turned a dull, mottled red. "You may have good reasons for what you're pulling, but whatever they are it's time you let me in on your game. You spotted Ide hanging around the gates of that Atterbury house on the North Drive and tipped me off. You were sure of yourself and as keen about nabbing him as anybody. I didn't ask you then what you were doing in that neighborhood, and if I asked you now I know devilish well you'd say you had been on your way to see the old lady, Madame Dumois."

Ross looked up quickly.

"It would be the truth," he remarked.

"Well, we'll let that slide, for a minute." The detective waved his hand, as if brushing something tangible aside. "The next thing I know you come to me with a complete change of front and do your level best to make me lay off the Ide matter, claiming to know that the Atterbury woman is too high up, socially and every other way, for anybody around her place to be mixed in anything shady. When I told you I had enough dope already to work on and mentioned the girl with a scar on her face you did everything you could to throw me off the trail."

"That is rather a sweeping assertion, Chief." Ross's face had gone very white. "Mrs. Atterbury is well known on the Street as one of the biggest women traders, powerful enough to swing the market in a crisis, and her social connections are irreproachable and of long standing. I know nothing about the girl with the scar or any other member of her household."

"Don't you?" The Chief eyed him steadily. "When you reported to me in the Dumois case, you said you had found one clue that looked promising but that it didn't turn out to be the girl you were after. But you didn't mention, Ross, that the girl whose trail you dropped so quickly, without giving Madame Dumois a chance to identify her, had a scar on her face. Don't try to flim-flam me, the old lady herself has tipped me off to that, and I tell you the whole thing dovetails too well to be a coincidence. Are you shielding that girl?—But no, I should not have asked that, Ross. I have never yet had cause to doubt your professional honor."

The young man flushed darkly.

"Thank you, sir, I'm not going to make a fool of myself and bring ridicule on the office by following a wild goose chase. I hope I am experienced enough to know when to drop a false clue! The girl I located has had a mark upon her face from birth; the one for whom Madame Dumois is searching has no blemish whatever and never had. I have the old lady's word for it and that is conclusive enough. As for the other girl at Mrs. Atterbury's I have nothing to say about her. She may be a daughter, or a dependant for all I know."

"Or a pretty shrewd accomplice!" McCormick banged the desk and swung his chair around to face his operative. "You remember the case J. Todhunter Crane put in my hands? He'd done business with a girl with a scar; Mrs. Haddon Cheever brought a similar affair to my notice, but weakened. She knew the result to her if the police got hold of it, but she, too, described the girl. I've got enough to take her on suspicion now, if I can get her identified, and things are coming to a head. The police will beat me to it, if I don't hustle."

"But what is a scar? If you are going to pull a suspect on a serious charge with no other evidence than that he or she has a birthmark, Chief, you're going to let yourself in for trouble." The young man's tone was a shade too eager and McCormick watched him from beneath lowering brows. "You can't drag a woman of Mrs. Atterbury's position through the mire unless you are mighty sure some of it will cling to her skirts."

"What if I tell you that I've got her already? At least, not enough to tap her on the shoulder with, but a line that connects her in a way she'll find it hard to explain, with a lot that has puzzled us for the past five years. In fact, ever since Brooke Hamilton came to me from Chicago; you remember the case?"

"Great Lord!" Herbert Ross shrank as if he had received a sudden blow, and his voice was a hoarse whisper. "You don't mean that Mrs. Atterbury is mixed up in that—?"

"If I'm not mistaken, she's the brains of the whole outfit. I'll have to prove it, of course, but I'm pretty confident that I can put it over. Oh, it's not just that you spotted Ide outside her gate, or the evidence of the girl—"

"Remember, I'm not certain about Ide. I warned you of that!" The young man broke in, but his superior smiled.

"I am. I could put my hand on him within an hour, but I'm giving him a little more rope. You know that Larne murder out in Denver the other day?"

"Of course. 'The Comet' they called her."

"She was deep in the game and just on the point of squealing when 'Red' Rathbone put her out of the way in a fit of jealousy, but we got to her for a little dope first up in Wyoming, and it's a straight tip to the North Drive bunch. Added to that, the Professor is under lock and key out in Chicago; we're holding him on the old Hamilton affair, but I'm working on him, and I've got a hunch he's in league with the others here. In fact, every clue focuses true, and you mark my words, the round-up will be the most sensational in years! My boy," McCormick rose and circling the desk, laid one hand upon the younger man's shoulder. "It's not my habit to talk to my operatives about cases they're not concerned with, but I can't help feeling that you're in pretty deep in this. You haven't chosen to be frank with me, but my cards are on the table, and I'm going to speak plainer still. If you've been fascinated by the scarred face, and let yourself be kidded into the knight-errant stuff, forget it! They're all tarred with the same brush and it's a mighty black one!"

"I—I don't understand, sir!"

"Because you don't want to. Many a good fellow has fallen for the old injured innocence gag and come to, to find his job gone, his career blasted and no guy willing to trust him with a plugged nickel. If there's another reason," the Chief's face hardened perceptibly, "if this Atterbury woman's financial resources have dazzled you, just remember you're selling what you can't buy back again. A lot of us believe we haven't got a price until the offer is put up to us. I'm giving you a chance before you close the deal."

"Bribery!" Ross stood as if turned to stone and McCormick studied him with an almost paternal anxiety. At length the younger man squared himself and said doggedly: "After that, sir, there's only one thing left for me to say. Unless you take me off it, I'll finish up the Dumois case, and I'll find the girl if she's above ground. I don't think you can recall a case that I've relinquished, admitting failure. After that, I'm through; I'll hand in my resignation to you and quit the game for good."

"I'm sorry," McCormick remarked simply, but his face clouded in profound disappointment. "I spoke as man to man, and I didn't think you'd fall down this way. If you're on the level, Ross, for God's sake prove it! As to your resignation, we'll discuss that later. I'll be the first to apologize if I've misjudged you, but you've got to show me. Go out now and make good."

There was an unaccustomed blur before Herbert Ross's eyes as for the only time in their long association he left the presence of the Chief without the cordial handclasp which had conveyed so much of trust and understanding. He did not see the red-headed office boy's commiserating nod nor the meaning glances cast after him by his fellow operatives as he stumbled blindly from the outer office, and he found himself hastening along the crowded thoroughfare with no definite destination in his mind.

The Chief's voice, gruff with the effort to conceal his emotion, still rang in his ears and a wonderment mingled with his self-loathing. Why was he so caught in the toils of treachery and double-dealing, he who had guarded his professional honor with a jealousy transcending that of man to his mate? What was this girl to him, this strange, gentle, indomitable little creature with the pitifully marred face and soul-searching eyes, that her protection should have come to mean more to him than all the world beside?

If McCormick's suspicions concerning Mrs. Atterbury and her friends were justifiable, and the girl was being used as a tool to further their ends she must be warned without delay! The Chief had said that the police authorities would forestall him if he lost much time. Betty Shaw might be in actual peril that very day!

Without any clear idea of what he meant to do, Ross hailed a passing taxi and directed the chauffeur to the North Drive. He must see her at all costs, and a vague notion of presenting himself boldly at the house and demanding an interview with her was taking possession of his thoughts, when not a block from his destination he came upon Betty herself just as she took an envelope furtively from her muff and dropped it into a mail-box.

Jumping from the taxi, he dismissed the chauffeur summarily and hastened toward her. He fancied that she looked pale and careworn in the fresh morning sunlight, but when she saw him an unmistakable light leaped into her eyes.

It died instantly, however, and she bowed with cold aloofness, affecting not to notice his outstretched hand.

"Miss Shaw, I am not going to pretend that this meeting is not of my seeking for I was on my way to try to see you if I could."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I fancied that our last meeting was quite conclusive, Mr. Ross."

"I told you that I meant to be your friend, whether you wished it or not, and it is as your friend that I am here." He spoke very gravely. "Won't you let me walk with you for a little way? What I have to say is vital to you and in speaking I am practically betraying a trust, but I am convinced that you stand in a false position; that through no fault of your own, you are in actual danger!"

Betty paused, regarding him steadily, but made no comment.

"You know my name, but I can tell you nothing more of myself; I can offer you no personal guarantees of my good faith. I only ask you to believe that I speak with good authority. You may consider it an unwarranted intrusion into your affairs, but I must warn you. Miss Shaw, give up this position you hold! Give it up on whatever pretext is possible, or run away if you have to, only go at once, before it is too late!"

"Mr. Ross, this is a most extraordinary request! Will you be good enough to explain? My position is a highly advantageous one; why should I relinquish it?"

"For your own safety. You do not know the sort of trap you are in, or the people for whom you are working. They are using you as a tool, and worse—"

"I think you must be a little mad!" Betty exclaimed. "My employer is a most charming and sympathetic person, the salary is high and the work very congenial.—But I don't know why I should trouble to defend my occupation to you, Mr. Ross. The little I know of you would not predispose me in your favor, and your wild assertions are ridiculous!"

"I cannot explain. Oh, won't you understand that my hands are tied, and I can only warn you of your danger? Please try to trust me, and believe that I am trying to protect you." In his eagerness he laid his hand upon her arm, but she shook it off coldly.

"You cannot be in earnest! I am a secretary and companion to a person whose reputation is unassailable. Surely you can tell me in what way am I being used as a tool?"

"The letters you write, the commissions you execute for her! Are the letters always intelligible to you? Do you know the real purpose of the errands upon which you are sent and what lies behind them?"

"Mr. Ross, your questions would be impertinent if they could be taken seriously. Mrs. Atterbury's correspondence is the usual one of a woman with large financial interests and a host of friends." Betty spoke hastily, her calmly disdainful attitude giving place to half-suppressed eagerness. "Every letter passes through my hands and I may say that her private affairs are an open book. Her charities are innumerable and her friends come to her with all their troubles, sure of help and comfort. The errands I attend to for her are such as anyone who disliked shopping would relegate to another. Really, you have been grossly misinformed; I am in no trap, I can assure you."

Herbert Ross gazed at her flushed face with eyes that had narrowed swiftly. Her change of manner was too palpable to be spontaneous, and it had come only when he had betrayed a knowledge of her activities. She might be a tool indeed but a willing one, closing her eyes to what she did not wish to see. Although his whole nature rebelled against the thought, a fertile seed of doubt was sown.

"It can't be!" He seemed to muse aloud. "You are inexperienced, trusting, blind! You believe what you are told by this woman, and completely under her influence, but you must open your eyes to the truth. Surely the thought must have come to you at times that everything was not well; have you never had a misgiving?"

She lifted her eyes to his in a bland, wondering stare.

"Misgiving of what? If we are to continue this conversation, Mr. Ross, you really must not talk in riddles. What could be wrong?"

His detective instinct was uppermost now and he realized that instead of quizzing her, he himself was being shrewdly drawn out. Was she trying to discover how much he really knew that she might the better arm herself against him? The seed had not taken firm root as yet, however, and in a swift revulsion of feeling he inwardly cursed his momentary suspicion. Her eyes were as clear and steady as the sun! Surely they could mask no scheming, no subterfuge. Yet if McCormick had spoken truly, the most innocent and unsophisticated mind must have found food for puzzled thought in that house of mystery.

"Nothing has ever occurred, no slightest whisper or suggestion from Mrs. Atterbury or her friends to lead you to feel that something was going on which you could not understand? Think, Miss Shaw! You are not stupid; surely some inkling of the truth must have reached you."

"Mr. Ross, you refuse to speak plainly and I cannot imagine what you are hinting, but I can see that you are really in earnest, and there is a terrible mistake somewhere. Mrs. Atterbury's friends are people of the world, learned men and brilliant women whom it is an education as well as a pleasure for a girl like me to meet. Believe me, you are laboring under an absurd illusion! I am very happy in my position and I would not think of giving it up and going away for no reason."

"I can easily obtain another for you," he pleaded. "You will not suffer by the change. This woman is nothing to you; surely you would be willing to relinquish this for a better position—"

"Nothing could induce me to leave Mrs. Atterbury." Betty spoke with calm finality, but across her face had flitted unbidden that hardened, crafty expression which robbed it of its candid charm, and sudden, passionate determination flashed from her eyes. It was gone in an instant but not before Herbert Ross had grasped its significance and his latent suspicion burst into full flower.

'They are all tarred with the same brush.' The Chief had spoken with a wisdom which no puerile emotion had stultified, and Ross's heart turned to lead within him.

"Then there is nothing further for me to say. I have warned you, I have done my utmost to protect you, but if you wilfully refuse to listen to me you must abide by the consequences." His voice trembled in spite of himself and he cried out in bitter denunciation: "There must be some desperate game of your own which you are playing here! If you are not an active accomplice of this woman, what hidden purpose holds you to this house, what common bond links you with these people? Who are you, what have you done that others should hunt you down, and what are you doing now?"

The girl's face blanched swiftly, but her eyes blazed a menace and she drew herself up to her full height before him.

"I have listened patiently to your vague melodramatic attack upon my employer and her friends, but you have gone too far, Mr. Ross, when you extend your mad accusations to me! You have followed me, spied upon me, but this final insult is too much to be endured! I must ask you not to annoy me again. Let me pass, please!"

He stepped back almost mechanically as with her head proudly erect she swept by him and on down the Drive. His gaze followed her until she disappeared, his thoughts a chaos of conflicting emotion.

The swift light which had glowed in her eyes at the moment of their meeting only to be so quickly effaced, her refusal of his proffered hand, the attitude of disdainful aloofness which she has maintained, until driven to the wall, and then her simulation of naïve innocence—what could these changing moods portend? She had striven desperately to disarm his suspicion and when that failed had met him with passionate defiance.

If she were innocent of deliberate voluntary complicity in the machinations of Mrs. Atterbury, would not a girl in her position have welcomed the opportunity of fleeing from such a situation? She must be more than a mere tool, and yet....

It could not be true! Her little sensitive face, piquant despite its scar, rose once more before his mental vision. Her clear steady eyes seemed searching his own, proudly yet piteously imploring. He must believe in her! In spite of appearances which would have been conclusive proof to any other man, he must have faith to the end.

But why should he disdain that proof if anyone else would have accepted it? Why should he believe in her? What was she to him that he must struggle to find excuses for her in his own mind, champion her against all reason, hold desperately to a blind faith where no grounds for it existed?

Then all at once a swift self-revelation came and his heart gave a mighty leap within him as he realized at last what had been behind his vacillation and final renunciation of the scruples which had governed his career. Schemer or dupe, criminal or victim of circumstances, he loved her! Her safety meant more to him than his professional honor, and were she an adventuress of the deepest dye he still would protect her if he could against all the world!

As Ross turned, his foot encountered something soft and yielding upon the pavement and glancing downward he saw a twisted wisp of limp tan suede. For a moment he regarded it, his face a maze of conflicting emotion. Then with a gesture that was almost a caress he stooped, picked up the little glove and strode rapidly away.

Betty meanwhile had made her way to the house, with one unguarded phrase of his ringing in her ears: "What have you done that others should hunt you down?" In spite of her trepidation at the knowledge he had revealed of her employer's affairs and the part she had played in promoting them, that sentence had brought a glow of warmth, strange and inexplicable, to her heart.

Her reverie met with a rude awakening on her arrival. Mrs. Atterbury confronted her at the door and one glance at her stern, threatening face made Betty's blood turn to water in her veins as she obeyed the silent gesture and followed her employer to the library.

Mrs. Atterbury closed the door and faced her.

"Where have you been?" There was a menacing undercurrent in the level unemotional tones, but the girl chose desperately to ignore it.

"I went for a walk. You gave me permission, Mrs. Atterbury."

"Who is the young man with whom you were talking?"

Betty's eyes opened widely.

"I don't know." Her hand had flown to her breast and chance directed her fingers to the little brooch she wore. On a swift inspiration she added: "I dropped my scarab and he came along and found it for me. I thanked him, naturally."

Mrs. Atterbury hesitated eying the girl's candid face keenly.

"You did not enter into conversation with him? He asked you no personal questions, did not seek to draw you out about yourself?" The wrath had given place to a cautious repressed note, and Betty took instant advantage of the hesitancy.

"Certainly not!" Her tone was the epitome of wounded pride and resentment. "I am not in the habit of forming promiscuous acquaintances. If I have given you such an impression, Mrs. Atterbury, I am very sorry—"

"My dear, you must not be offended." A smile curved the set lips and her employer laid a conciliatory hand upon her arm. "I spoke only for your well being; I feel responsible for you, you know, and a young girl cannot be too careful, especially in a huge city like this. Come, we will say no more about it, child, but do not talk to strangers upon any pretext whatever, and let me know instantly if anyone tries to converse with you or engage your attention."

For the rest of the day Betty maintained an attitude of reproachful dignity, however, which enabled her to keep to herself and gave her ample time to formulate her immediate plans. Events were rapidly approaching a crisis, and she realized that not an hour could be lost.

At midnight she stole forth, the half-consumed candle from her dressing-table serving in lieu of her electric torch, and was descending the stairs, when a dim flickering glow from the music room made her pause in affright. She had assured herself that the household had long since retired to slumber; who, then, was this nocturnal intruder? Could it be Wolvert, lying in wait for her?

Hastily blowing out her candle flame, she crept down the stairs and peered cautiously in at the door of the music room. A huge portrait of Beethoven covered a central space in the left wall and before it, silent and motionless, stood a tall figure in a straight, white gown.

The girl paused in awed amazement; there was something detached and remote about the strange apparition, like a worshipper at some mysterious shrine. Then, slowly the figure turned and Betty slipped quickly behind the shelter of the grand piano's upraised top, a gasp of almost superstitious fear escaped her lips.

The strange figure was that of Mrs. Atterbury and her eyes were fixed in a glassy unseeing stare. Rigidly as if hypnotized, she moved toward the shrinking girl and Betty grasped the truth in a flash of mingled horror and relief. The woman was walking in her sleep.

CHAPTER XV.

The Portrait of Beethoven.

Betty held her breath as the tall figure in flowing white threaded its way unerringly among the grouped furniture and passing her so closely that she might have stretched forth her hand and touched it, glided through the doorway and up the stairs. The light she carried glimmered with diminishing radiance until it was suddenly extinguished and there came the echo of a softly-closing door.

The girl waited motionless, her very heartbeats stilled for an interminable length of time, but the house remained wrapped in utter darkness and no sound disturbed the eerie silence.

At last, convinced that the somnambulist had settled once more to rest and that no eye but her own had witnessed the weird visitation, Betty ventured from her hiding place, and groping her way to the smokers' stand, procured a match. Its flame sputtered angrily in her fingers as she applied it to her candle and she glanced about her in fresh terror lest its stroke had been heard, but the shadows were empty.

With faltering steps she approached the portrait and stood for long gazing into the benign eyes which seemed to meet hers with an almost living response. What was there about the huge picture which had so impressed itself upon her employer's unquiet mind that her subconscious instinct drew her to it? Surely not the subject alone, for Mrs. Atterbury had never evinced the slightest interest in it in the girl's presence.

Betty stepped back a few paces and regarded the portrait critically. Including the massive gold frame which surrounded it, the space it occupied was approximately five feet by eight or ten, and it had been hung with no consideration of the lighting effect, either from window or chandelier. The spacing, too, was bad, and its position was far too low upon the wall.

Had there been some special design in placing it there? Was it merely for ornamental purposes, or did it serve as a screen for something behind? Betty thought of the bookcase in the library which swung out, masking the safe that had been built into the wall; could it be that within a few paces of her another and more secret repository was concealed?

The frame appeared as though it had not been moved from its place for years, its dull burnished gold seemingly embedded in the wall and the ivory tint of the paper behind it was unsullied by even a finger mark. She approached the portrait again and held her candle so that its rays swept the oiled surface of the painting, bringing out each brush stroke in clear relief. No crevice showed in its broad expanse and it seemed as securely fastened in its frame as though a part of it.

The portrait in its entirety was too heavy and cumbersome to be moved without tackle. If it were indeed a blind for something which lay behind, it must be turned by means of leverage on some secret mechanism operated with a touch upon a spring or button, but no such article was visible.

Betty turned her attention to the frame. It was old-fashioned and heavily carved with a continuous scroll-work with innumerable protuberances, but none stood out more prominently than the rest and no flaw or disjointure appeared to the most minute scrutiny. The raised edges of the scrolls and high convex points of the decoration between were brightly burnished, the background lustreless and deepened to a brownish shade resembling bronze.

The candle had burned low and was guttering in her fingers when Betty suddenly observed that one of the smaller knob-like anaglyphs which projected from the lower right hand corner of the frame was more highly burnished than the others and the gilt seemed worn as if by friction. Impulsively she pressed it.

It gave beneath her hand and she stepped back quickly as the portrait itself lurched and swung widely out from the frame, grazing her shoulder before she could spring aside from its path. At the same instant a bell shrilled loudly through the sleeping house and its echo had not died away before a hubbub of voices arose from above.

Betty paused only to give a maddened push with all the strength of her terror behind it, to the picture which yawned from the wall, then turning, she fled wildly to the stairs.

Her candle was extinguished in the sudden draught, but she had found the banisters and glided up as swiftly and silently as a ghost. Lights appeared behind her as she rounded the corner of the hall, but she reached her room without encountering anyone and turned the key softly in the lock behind her.

The steady gleam of the live coals in the grate illuminated the room with a rosy glow and Betty thrust her candle end deep into the smoldering embers. Then, taking a fresh, unused one from the many-branched sconce above the mantel, she placed it in the candlestick upon her dressing-table from which she had taken the first.

Loosening her robe, she jumped into bed, and pulling the covers about her, lay listening to the hubbub outside. She could clearly distinguish in the general uproar the high-pitched staccato voice of Madame Cimmino and Welch's deep-throated bellow of rage.

The sounds came nearer and she heard a thundering knock upon a door down the hall. A startled cry from Mrs. Atterbury answered it and a door was slammed back. An excited babel arose once more, and high above it Madame Cimmino shrilled:

"It was you! You have walked again! See, here is your candle half burned and still warm, and there are drops of wax upon the floor before the picture. Would you ruin us all that you will not have a guard at night?"

Another murmur, and then the voice of Wolvert, smooth and silky, dominated the others.

"It is all right, Marcia. The portrait is back in its place. You must have closed it before you came upstairs, although it is a mystery to me how you reached your room so quickly. I thought somnambulists moved step by step, but you must have fairly flown. I wonder that the alarm did not awaken you, or our lights and yells, but at least no harm has been done."

His last words conveyed a swift suggestion to the girl's mind, and lest she court suspicion by effacing herself, she sprang from bed, and switching on the lights, opened the door.

"What is the matter? Is anyone ill?" She blinked realistically in the sudden glare and her clear, young voice rang out above the others. Madame Cimmino turned like an avenging fury.

"What is it to you?" she screamed. "Go back to your bed and do not meddle! Sancta Maria! Must we find you always at our heels? This comes of admitting an outsider—"

"Speranza, you are beside yourself!" Mrs. Atterbury's voice, poised and dominant once more, broke in sternly. "You have been startled, I know, but that does not excuse your lack of self-control. Everything is quite all right, Betty. Welch happened to touch one of the wires of the burglar alarm and aroused the house. Don't allow it to disturb you, it was just a stupid mistake."

Betty closed her door with a little sigh of relief for her narrow escape, and the confusion of voices in the hall gradually subsided until silence reigned once more. Mrs. Atterbury's burned candle and the wax which had fallen from her own combined to form unassailable if falsely corroborative evidence that her employer alone had been in the music room, and Betty breathed a prayer of thankfulness for the fortuitous chance which had saved her from exposure. The portrait of Beethoven was before her eyes when she at length fell asleep, and in the darkness, as her heavy lids closed, she seemed again to see it swing from its massive frame and in the aperture loomed that which she had scarcely noted in the excitement of the moment; the dull sheen of a sheet of steel, with the combination knob in the center. The safe was there as she had suspected, but would chance, which had served her so well that night, enable her to glimpse what lay within it?

Her first waking thought reverted to it in the morning, but when she descended at the sound of the breakfast gong she sensed a new tension in the atmosphere which put her instantly on her guard.

Mrs. Atterbury was in her accustomed place at the head of the table but she avoided the girl's eyes as she bade her good morning and her level tones were oddly shaken. Welch turned from the sideboard at the sound of her voice and the silver dish-cover which he held clattered to the floor. His face was pasty and gray and he stared at Betty in a sort of horror until a sharp word from his hostess sent him hastily about his duties.

Madame Cimmino pushed back her plate abruptly and swept from the room as the girl seated herself, and Wolvert glanced up with a nod, but his usually facile tongue was stilled and his eyes seemed to blaze as they rested upon her. Into his expression Betty read a shadow of that terror which had lurked there on two previous occasions and when she turned in growing wonder to her employer she found stamped upon her face also a look of dazed consternation akin to fear.

She drank her coffee and essayed to eat with her face averted, feeling that their eyes were fixed upon her in an intensity which seemed to burn into her consciousness. Had they discovered some clue to her presence in the music room on the previous night? Did they know that it was she who had tampered with the portrait and were they even now planning her punishment?

The food choked her and the ghastly pretense of a meal seemed unending, but at last Mrs. Atterbury rose.

"You need not attend to the mail this morning, my dear." She tried to speak casually, but the odd quaver persisted in her tones. "I shall be too busy to dictate replies, and it will have to wait until another time. There is a pile of mending in the sewing room, however, which I wish you would go over carefully."

Betty accepted her dismissal and ascended to the secluded room on the top floor, where she spent a lonely and anxious morning. The hours dragged and the silence wrought upon her nerves until she bit her lips to keep from shrieking out in the sheer agony of protracted suspense. Why were they waiting to visit their vengeance upon her if they were assured of her guilt? Anything would be better than this hideous uncertainty.

That the task which had been arranged for her was the most transparent of subterfuges for getting her out of the way became apparent when she examined the work laid out upon the table. The linen was of the coarsest variety, evidently from the servants' quarters, and it had long outlived its usefulness. It was yellowed, too, and creased, as though it had been laid away, forgotten in some musty recess, and she made but little progress, her thread tearing through the frail, worn fabric with each stitch.

What was going on below? Her window opened upon a rear view and from it she could see only the tops of the cedars, and the garage roof, but no sound of a motor approaching or leaving the house came to her in her solitude and she felt cut off from all the world.

The silence within doors remained unbroken, save once when she fancied that the echo of faint, hysterical sobbing reached her ears, but she could not be sure that her overstrained nerves were not playing her false.

Gradually the conviction grew within her that the ill-suppressed excitement and dismay were due to some cause other than the event of the night before, yet something which concerned her vitally. She could not forget the glances of horror and fear which had been directed at her. What could it be? What contingency had arisen of which she herself was in ignorance, yet which wrought the others to a condition bordering on panic? Was it that through her they dreaded interference and possible disaster from an outside source?

Betty anticipated that her lunch would be brought to her and her virtual isolation continued indefinitely, and she was surprised when Welch came to summon her to the meal. He still regarded her furtively and his huge, hairy hands clenched and unclenched as he stood before her. She gazed at them, repelled yet fascinated as if she could feel them already closing about her throat. Had they wielded the knife which had slain Breckinridge? She passed him with a shudder and descended.

A further surprise awaited her; there was a marked change in the attitude of Mrs. Atterbury and her guests. The former was again her well-poised self, serene and calmly detached. Madame Cimmino exhibited a volatile gayety of temperament bordering on hysteria and Wolvert was in his most reckless, brilliant vein.

Sheer amazement held the girl dumb before his raillery, but she made a supreme effort to flog her failing spirit into a response to the general lightness of mood, forced though she instinctively knew it to be. The hour passed more easily than Betty could have dared to hope and at its conclusion as she paused in the doorway, uncertain whether to return to her task or await other instructions, Mrs. Atterbury came and slipped her arm in the girl's in a rare gesture that was almost a caress.

"Come up to my sitting-room, my dear. I have a suggestion to make to you which I think will please you very much, and we will have an opportunity to talk privately there."

Betty turned obediently and side by side they went up the stair. In spite of the indulgent tone, the girl was filled with foreboding, but Mrs. Atterbury was still smiling as she closed the door and motioned Betty to a low chair near the window.

"I want to speak to you, Betty, about the birthmark on your cheek." She began without preface. "I am afraid that you must have thought me needlessly tyrannical in ordering you to go unveiled, but it was the only way to put a stop to the self-consciousness which was growing upon you and would only have increased until your life became a burden. When I engaged you, you assured me that you did not mind the mark, and scarcely ever thought of it, but you were unaccustomed to the city and did not realize that strangers will stare at anything unusual in your appearance. Have you ever made an attempt to have the blemish removed?"

Betty gazed at her in wordless astonishment for a moment before she found her voice.

"Oh, yes, but it could not be done, and the doctors tell me that only a worse disfigurement would result from tampering with it. I did try once, but I hurt myself dreadfully. I really don't mind going unveiled now, Mrs. Atterbury."

"But you would be glad if the blemish did not exist?" Her tone was beguilingly insinuating. "It cannot be wholly eradicated, of course, but I have learned of a method of treatment by which it could be rendered almost invisible. I was interested on your account, child, and procured the necessary materials. I have them here."

"Oh, please, no!" Betty cried in genuine alarm. "I would not dare use acids or anything of that sort! When I attempted it before, it nearly caused blood-poisoning. Nothing could induce me to expose myself to such danger a second time."

"But, my dear, this is absolutely harmless. Do you think I would suggest or even permit you to run any risk of injury?" She opened a drawer of her dressing-table and took from it several small jars and a camel's hair brush. "It does not act upon the birthmark itself and would not irritate the most sensitive skin. It is merely a covering which almost defies detection. This solution of wax forms a sort of enamel and the other jars contain merely paint to produce a natural effect. I do not approve of cosmetics for young girls on general principles, but this is a different matter, and you will marvel at the result. The birthmark will seem to have disappeared absolutely."

"But won't that militate against my usefulness, Mrs. Atterbury?" The girl looked unflinchingly into her eyes. "The people you send me to meet identify me by means of this mark. How will they recognize me if it is covered?"

Mrs. Atterbury drew her breath in sharply between her teeth, and her fingers tightened about the little jar, but she replied coolly:

"You will not be called upon to go on any errands of that sort for some time to come. In describing your appearance the scar was naturally mentioned but it is not essential for your identification. Remember I am not asking you to hide it solely for your own benefit, Betty. I find that it has a disagreeable effect upon my guests and those about us in the household and I am considering their feelings as well as yours when I insist that you disguise it as much as possible. This may seem brutally frank to you, but you know that the blemish makes no difference to me personally, nor to anyone who really cares for you. Come, sit here, and let me show you what a magical change I can effect."

Betty drew back and stood very straight and tall before her employer.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Atterbury, but I cannot allow anyone to touch my face. You are very kind to have taken this interest in me and I appreciate it. I will gladly accept the preparations and use them myself if you will give me the directions, but if anyone else attempted it I should go mad with nervous torture. I hope you understand; I may seem abnormally sensitive to you, but I really could not endure it."

Mrs. Atterbury, with a shrug, capitulated:

"Very well, my dear, you must do as you like, of course. The directions are upon each jar. Use it this afternoon and let me see at dinner how much it has improved your appearance."

Betty took the articles murmuring her thanks and went to her own room. There she carefully extracted a small quantity of their contents from each of the jars, wrapped it in paper and burnt it in the grate. This done she seated herself before her dressing-table, and with cosmetics of her own applied herself to her task.

She worked long and painstakingly, but at length the result was achieved to her satisfaction and she sat back and surveyed herself in the mirror.

The mark was almost obliterated, only the faintest shadow of deeper color showing beneath the rose-pink glow which tinted her cheeks from brow to neck, and with the disfigurement banished her whole expression changed. It was as if a different personality were reflected before her, and Betty's first gleam of pleasure at her handiwork gave place to a little frown of doubt and uncertainty, not unmixed with trepidation. What motive lay behind this suggestion from Mrs. Atterbury?

At dusk when Betty descended the stairs she discovered a man standing in the shadowed doorway of the drawing-room. At first she though it was Wolvert, but a second glance showed that the intruder was of more slender build and younger, and his face seemed overspread with an unhealthy greenish pallor.

He stood motionless staring glassily at her and when she was half way down he stepped forward.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" His high-pitched quavering voice shrilled just as the firelight fell full upon his face, and Betty recognized him at once. It was the pale, overdressed, foppish youth of the dinner party on the night when Wolvert had uttered his strange toast.

"Mr. Ide! Don't you remember me? I am Mrs. Atterbury's companion."

"Oh—er—of course! Stupid of me, but my nerves are a bit on edge and seeing you so suddenly in the half-light—"

His voice trailed off into silence and he still stood with his eyes fixed in wondering perplexity on her face.

"It was a natural mistake, Mr. Ide. You are waiting for Mrs. Atterbury? I will go to her—"

"Thank you, Welch has taken my message." He spoke as if dazed. "It is extraordinary, but do you know I fancied for a moment that you were someone else? There was something about you, Miss—Miss—"

"My name is Betty Shaw," the girl interrupted quietly. "I happen to be of quite a usual type, I believe, except for this birthmark on my cheek. I have powdered it over tonight, so it is no wonder you did not recognize me at once. No doubt Mrs. Atterbury will be down in a few minutes."

She nodded and turning abruptly entered the library, leaving the young man gazing after her with vacant eyes, and jaws agape.

The library was empty and in darkness, even the hearth fire having died, and a chill dampness pervaded the air. Betty switched on the lights and looked about her. The morning's correspondence was still heaped untouched upon the desk, but the rest of the room was in order save that a huge mass of fluffy charred fragments, as of burned paper, choked the chimney opening, smothering the logs beneath.

What could have been destroyed there in such quantities? The whole contents of desk and safe combined would not have produced such a mound of ashes. She took up the poker and stirred them about idly, her thoughts reverting to the strange manner of the young man in the hall, when all at once a scrap of paper fluttered from the rest which showed a gleam of white. It was part of the upper half of a news-sheet; the date of that morning was plainly visible at the top and just beneath it the fragment of a sentence in double heading type caught her eye:

"Police Find Promising Clue to B—
Looking For Girl With Scar—"

Betty dropped the paper as if it burned her.

CHAPTER XVI.

The Closing Net.

A light tapping, faint but insistent came to Betty's ears in the midst of her consternation and her hands dropped to her sides as she turned quickly from the hearth. The sound was brittle and crisp rather than metallic and seemed to come from the window which showed a square black void against the light of the room.

As she approached, however, a face appeared out of the surrounding gloom and flattened itself against the pane. It was that of a man, youthful and clean shaven, with a cap pulled low over his eyes, and as he perceived that he had succeeded in attracting her attention, he beckoned eagerly.

Betty hesitated but as he repeated the gesture with anxious impatience, she walked over to the window and opened it.

"Good evening, Miss. I had Demon out for a bit of a run just now and he got away from me. I whistled and whistled but he didn't come back and finally I found him out by the gate jumping all around a strange man. It was funny, for he's pretty fierce usually; you're the only one he's taken to that I can remember. Then I saw that the young fellow had a glove in his hand, that he was making Demon jump for; this glove, Miss. Is it yours?"

"Why, yes!" Betty stammered, flushing warmly. It was the glove she had dropped during her last stormy interview with Herbert Ross. Her companion she had recognized at once as Demon's keeper whom she encountered on the afternoon when the dog rescued her from Wolvert's unwelcome attentions. "Did he give it to you for me?"

"And something else besides. We got talking and he asked would I give you the glove and this letter. He said it was very private and I was to tell nobody, but put it in your own hands the first chance I got, so I come straight here and nosed around until I saw you over by the fire-place."

"Thank you!" Betty seized the envelope and thrust it in her breast. "I will see that you are well paid—"

"Oh, that's all right, Miss. The young gentleman fixed me up, but I'd have done it anyway. Demon's a good judge of character, he is! I'll beat it now, Miss. It's as much as my place is worth to be seen around here."

He vanished into the darkness and Betty closed the window and sank into the chair before the desk. The letter lay like a living hand upon her heart and she longed for solitude and security to read it in peace, but Mrs. Atterbury's voice sounded from the hall and she knew that at any moment the others would descend for dinner. Why had Ross taken this desperate chance to communicate with her? Was it to implore forgiveness for his accusation, or in final warning of disaster?

She fumbled at her breast in a desperate impulse to brave discovery if necessary but to glean at all costs the purport of his message, when the door opened and Welch stood on the threshold, announcing dinner.

How she managed to struggle through the hour that followed she could scarcely remember. The expression of half-startled amazement with which the others greeted her changed appearance and the awkward attempt to bridge over their surprise lingered but vaguely in her thoughts. She could feel their gaze turning to her again and again in the pauses of the disjointed conversation, but she kept her face assiduously averted, fearing lest they read in her eyes the knowledge she had gained from the charred fragment of paper.

To her relief Mrs. Atterbury dismissed her as soon as the meal was concluded, drawing her aside at the foot of the stairs to whisper commendingly:

"My dear, the improvement is marvellous, as I told you it would be. Use the wax regularly in future and you will have no cause to pity yourself, I can assure you. No one would believe there was a blemish beneath the rouge which you have so cleverly applied, but be careful not to overdo it. Your coloring is just a little too brilliant tonight."

Betty glanced at herself hurriedly in the mirror when she reached the privacy of her room. Her eyes glittered and her cheeks burned feverishly beneath the artificial glow. With trembling fingers she drew the envelope from its hiding place and broke the seal.

"Come to me"—it began without form of address, "—if you value your safety. I will wait near the gate until midnight. Don't delay, for the danger of which I told you is culminating and any hour may precipitate the crisis when it will be beyond my power to help or warn you."

The brief note was unsigned and the flowing characteristic hand was unfamiliar to her, but no question of evading the command entered her thoughts. She must get to him, though it meant running the gauntlet of sharp eyes and ears below, and actual peril should she be discovered. She threw a dark cloak over her dinner gown, determined if she were intercepted to plead a headache and the desire for a turn in the fresh air before retiring. Once clear of the house she feared nothing for she knew that Demon was held in wholesome awe by even the redoubtable Welch. The only danger would be that the dog himself might spring upon her in the dark, but that risk she must face.

Opening her door softly, Betty listened to the low murmur of voices from below. It seemed to come from the music room, and she waited until she had distinguished each voice and assured herself that all three of Mrs. Atterbury's guests were with her before venturing down the hall.

The main staircase was out of the question and she chose the one at the rear. It descended to the servants' quarters, but she knew that the cook had long since retired and the rattle of silverware told her that Welch was busied in the dining-room. There remained only Caroline to be considered and she was seldom in evidence at this hour.

Betty moved to the head of the stairs and listened again intently. No sound penetrated from the lower regions of the house and the hall light was dim. Cautiously, with her heart pounding in her throat, she descended to a narrow landing midway of the staircase, when the kitchen door was suddenly opened emitting a broad stream of light and Caroline appeared, bearing a steaming pitcher.

Trapped, Betty glanced wildly about her and saw a small door at the left of the landing. Flinging it open she sprang into the black void beyond, her forehead striking smartly against the edge of a shelf. As she grasped it to steady herself her fingers came in contact with glass jars placed solidly in rows; evidently she had stumbled into a store-closet.

Behind her she heard slow heavy steps mounting the stairs and she scarcely breathed as they paused on the landing within arm's length of her refuge. Had the woman seen her? But even as the fear gripped her, Betty heard the complaining creak of the stairs once more and the ponderous tread ascended, diminishing to silence along the upper hall.

Waiting no longer, she slipped from the closet and fairly flew down to the kitchen. Welch had not yet made his rounds and the heavy back door, unlatched, swung wide at her touch. With a sob of thankfulness she found herself out in the pine-scented darkness, with only the whisper of the wind in the evergreens and the distant shriek of whistles upon the river to break the silence. She was free!

There was a low light in the upper story of the garage and with it to guide her she sped around the corner of the house on the opposite side from that on which the music room was located, crouching low beneath the window sills and darting from one sheltering clump of trees to another. She found the path but the darkness confused her and more than once she strayed from it to strike against a wide spreading branch or sink to her knees in a tangle of underbrush.

The distance seemed interminable to the gate, and Betty was commencing to fear that she had lost her way when a low rumbling growl reached her ears, and a cautious masculine voice, silencing it, brought a soft little cry from her own lips.

"I knew it must be you!"

Although they had parted in bitterness and anger she seemed to have forgotten it, for her hand reached out and found his in the black void of the night.

For a long minute they stood silently together, then a pleading paw raked at her knee, and Demon's eyes glistened up to her in reproachful greeting. With a murmured laugh that was half a sob Betty released her hand and stooping, patted the great shaggy head.

"You had my note?" Ross's tone was breathless. "I thought that fellow was to be trusted! The dog came to me a half-hour ago but he remembered my voice and I kept him here for fear he would mistake you in the dark and attack you. You must listen to me. Whatever you think of me, whether you are still resentful or not makes no difference now. You are in frightful danger and you must escape from these people while you can. Come! We have no time to lose. There is a car waiting around the corner and your absence from the house may be discovered at any moment."

Betty slowly drew back.

"Come where?" she asked. "My place is here."

"Here? In this den of criminals? Here to wait until the house is surrounded and you are captured with the rest to face the hideous ignominy of a trial? Do you know what you are guilty of in the eyes of the law? Not only compounding a felony but being accessory after the fact to a murder! Not the most adroit counsel could save you from imprisonment, if not worse!"

"Murder!" Betty's voice was a mere whisper.

"Do you know that a man was done to death beneath that roof even while it sheltered you? That the police and every detective in the country have been moving heaven and earth to find a clue to his murderers and a trail has been picked up which leads unmistakably here? Even if you know nothing about it you must have seen it in the papers; they've been full of the case for nearly three weeks, ever since the body was found—"

"I know." She spoke in unguarded haste. "You mean Breckinridge. I saw his picture in a paper which I bought downtown and I recognized him—"

"Recognized him!" repeated Ross, aghast. "Do you mean that you were dragged into even this? You knew him?"

"I saw him once." Betty hesitated and then went on impetuously as if glad to rid herself of the hideous burden she had borne so long. "I came downstairs alone at midnight, and I found him lying dead upon the floor. I don't know how he got in or who killed him. There wasn't the slightest trace left in the morning and it all seemed like an awful dream."

Ross groaned.

"And you told no one? You kept it to yourself and stayed on? Good God, what is it that has held you here? What obsession controls you, stronger than the fear of death!! How could you, a tender, highly-strung girl, force yourself to intimate association with desperate criminals whom you knew had not hesitated to take human life? What manner of woman are you?"

"I don't know," Betty answered truthfully enough. "If anyone had told me that I could endure what I have gone through I should have fancied them quite mad, but I have not given up my purpose and I cannot leave while a single chance remains for its fulfillment. You must think what you please of me. I shall not attempt to explain or defend myself to you, and if the worst comes and I am taken with the others, I will face the consequences. No one can help me, and no one can stop me."

"I mean to take you away now, tonight, if I have to do it by force!" Ross spoke through set teeth. "I know who you are and everything about you except the mission which brought you here, and that I can guess. I mean to save you from yourself and the result of your mad recklessness!"

"You know?" Betty echoed faintly.

"Oh, my dear, give it up and come away with me!" He had drawn close to her and the thrilling tenderness in his tone made the blood leap in her veins. "I will take you where you will be safe, where not a breath of this hideous monster of crime can touch you. You are the bravest little woman in the world but you are acting from a mistaken sense of loyalty, I know, I feel it. Dear, I love you! Whatever you think of me, whatever the future may hold, I love you! When I have seemed to be hounding you down I was trying always to protect you. Before I knew the truth, when everything seemed blackest against you and I believed the worst I loved you. Criminal or not, I wanted to hold you against all the world! Won't you trust me, dear? Won't you let me save you while there is yet time?"

"Oh, please!" Betty cried a trifle breathlessly. "You cannot realize what you are saying. You know nothing of me, nothing, and as to my leaving here, I—I am not free to go."

"And do you think that I will allow you to remain here another hour?" he cried. "Do you think that I will let you face this unspeakable danger, you whom I love?—For I do love you, Betty! Whether you believe me or not, whether you listen or turn from me, I love you! That is why I trusted you from the first, believed in you when appearances were blackest, had faith, blindly, instinctively against reason and logic and circumstantial evidence of the most conclusive kind! The net is closing around this horrible high priestess of crime and her accomplices; it will be only a matter of hours now before the end. Oh, my dear, drive this mad, quixotic idea from your thoughts and come with me!"

Betty slowly retreated a step or two from him.

"I do believe in you—in your friendship, I mean. I know that you want to help me, that you have my interests, my very safety at heart and I am grateful. But there is something stronger than the fear of death. Don't make it any harder for me than it is. I realize my position; I know the danger in which I stand alone, the end that waits for me if they discover my purpose, or the consequences if the police come. And still I must remain! No power on earth can move me!"

"I can't believe you do fully realize your danger!" Ross pleaded. "I did not mean to tell you, I did not want to frighten you until I had taken you to a place of safety, but dear, you must know the truth. It is not the Atterbury creature or the others of her gang for whom the police are searching, but you—you! The newspapers today fairly blazed with it and every detective in the city is out after 'the girl with the scar'! Do you know what you have been doing, what you have been guilty of on these commissions as the tool of this woman?"

"Yes," answered Betty quietly. "I knew, but if I had refused, someone else would have gone in my place and I would have been dismissed, my own plan thwarted. I suppose I was hard and bitter, but it seemed to me that the ends justified any means. Those people came voluntarily to meet me; they had an alternative but they made their choice. If I had gone to the police myself I would not only have defeated my own purpose, but theirs also. Let the detectives search for the girl with the scar! I am safe until they trace me here and by that time I may have succeeded in my plan. No one can know where I am to be found but you, and I am not afraid that you will betray me!"

"But I have!" he groaned. "My chief knows. As a private detective myself I was employed in the first place to find you, you can guess by whom. My chief learned that I was on the trail of a girl with a scar and he thinks I've double-crossed him and gone crooked in trying to protect you. He's honest and he's got bull-dog courage; you can't bluff him or buy him."

"Not even with information?" Betty asked on a swift inspiration. "Will he hold off for only a day or two, just to give me another chance, if you can tell him something that will be of great value to him?"

"What do you mean, dear? What have you learned?" The question sprang eagerly from his lips. "I could not bribe McCormick, but I might stall him until I can take you out of his reach—"

"McCormick!" A sentence she had read a week before stood out across the girl's consciousness in letters of fire. "Listen! There's a man who uses the title of Professor—Professor Stolz, they called him here—who has just been arrested in Chicago."

Ross uttered a startled exclamation, but she went on:

"I believe he has escaped or broken parole before, because he is being held on an old verdict concerning someone named Hamilton, but your Mr. McCormick is trying to find new evidence against him. He's an accomplice of Mrs. Atterbury and the evidence is in this house. Have you ever heard of a woman called 'The Comet'?"

"Yes! Maisie Larne! She was murdered in Denver, in a fit of jealousy, by a man nicknamed 'Red' Rathbone—"

"She was murdered because she sold out Mrs. Atterbury's accomplice, this person called 'Red,' to detectives in Laramie, Wyoming, and they communicated with the federal authorities in Washington, and spoiled that particular plot. 'Red' escaped to Denver, she followed him and she was killed by a man known as 'Bud'—"

"Bud Malone! And we never suspected it! The Chief will get him—"

"He's on his way to Japan," interrupted Betty.

"Then he is as good as in our hands! We will have all the ports watched and he can't escape," Ross cried. Then impetuously he held out his hands to her. "I can't endure it that all this hideous knowledge should have come to you! It is as if you were being steeped in defilement! You know that you can trust me! Tell me what this impossible task is which you have set your hand to. Let me undertake it for you, let me bear the burden!"

"Please, please don't ask me! You cannot help me, no one can. I must see it through alone!"

"Then you—you mean that I am to leave you here?" His arms dropped to his sides. "Nothing can move you? I may not even stay to protect you, lest I draw suspicion upon you! I can't! No man could leave the woman he loved in such peril! What if I were to take you away now by sheer force?"

"But you will not." Betty spoke softly but with absolute finality. "I trusted you, I came to you here because you asked it, you will not take advantage of my faith to destroy it. And you must not mention—love. I am grateful to you for risking your chief's displeasure, your very career for my sake, but I must stand alone. There is stern work ahead of me and I shall succeed; I feel it in my very heart and nothing can make me turn from that which lies before me."

Herbert Ross drew a deep breath and his voice was husky with pent-up emotion as he said solemnly:

"Then may God keep you, dear! It may be that you are right; such bravery as yours should have its reward, no matter what your object may be. Remember that day and night I shall be on guard as near as I can get to you without bringing harm upon your head. Take this and wear it; do not leave it for an instant out of reach, and if danger threatens you blow as loudly as you can upon it. A man will be stationed where he can hear it and pass the signal along, and you will find me at your side. I must not keep you now, but God! how I dread to let you go back into their clutches!"

Betty fingered the slender chain he had placed about her neck. A whistle hung upon it and she thrust it quickly beneath her cloak.

"I shall not forget, nor be afraid, knowing that you are here. I am glad, too, that you do not think me a criminal, even if I have broken the law. When I thought that you were trailing me, spying upon me, I felt that I hated you, but now—"

"'Now'?" he repeated gently, as she hesitated.

"I am deeply grateful, and we—we shall be friends." Betty held out her hand once more, but shyly this time. "Thank you, oh, thank you for all that you have done for me, for all that you would do, and—goodnight."

He took her small hand in both his own and held it tightly for a moment without words. Then she slowly withdrew it and turning moved off into the darkness with the great dog trotting noiselessly at her heels.

For the first time since she had entered that house her spirit was light within her and a great peace and contentment filled her heart. Despite the danger in which she stood, all fear had fallen from her, for was not he there, on guard? Surely nothing would harm her now, no power of darkness or evil would touch her while he waited there, while that little whistle hung about her neck to summon him to her aid. He had believed in her when all the world would have doubted, because he cared for her. And she?

Betty stopped in the wintry path and her clasped hands flew to her breast. What could this strange feeling of happiness mean, which had come to her in the face of her danger, and why had that danger itself become minimized at the mere thought of his watchful presence. Why did she trust him so wholly? Could it be that her faith, her trust in turn, was rooted in something deeper than friendship?

Even as she asked herself the question, the girl's own heart, awakened and singing, gave her answer. It was love!

CHAPTER XVII.

Turned Tables.

Betty reached the house in safety but there an unforeseen difficulty confronted her. In her haste to obey the summons, she had given no thought as to how she might gain re-entrance, if Welch had made his rounds and locked up for the night. She knew with what caution the house was guarded and if she encountered one of the alarm wires all would be lost. Even that would presuppose a window or door left unfastened and that was a contingency too remote to be considered.

The lower floor was still lighted and moving shadows blurred against the curtains of the windows as she skirted the side of the house on which the music room was located. Betty had taken no account of time but she felt that it must be very late and it was with a forlorn hope that she tried the kitchen door.

To her surprise it yielded against her hand and she pushed it slowly open, halting upon the threshold in sudden dread. A low light was still burning in the room and she saw a man seated at the table. His head rested upon his outflung arms and from where the girl stood she could hear his heavy stertorous breathing. The face was turned sidewise toward her and she had no difficulty in recognizing Welch, although his expression was oddly distorted and his heavy jowls were tinged a mottled purplish hue.

Betty tiptoed past him, scarcely daring to breathe, but he did not awaken and his rasping snore followed her as she fled silently up the stair. Her own room was reached at last and bolting the door she removed her damp, chilling garments, heavy with the night's dew and prepared for the task which remained to her when the household should finally retire.

The slender chain clung reassuringly to her neck and she drew out the little whistle and examined it. It was of silver, delicately chased, and bore upon a plain oval shield the initials H. R. It seemed incredible that so fragile and toylike an instrument could summon aid and yet upon it might sometime depend life or death for her. It was Ross's own that he had given to her, and she pressed it to her breast fervently as though it were a talisman to keep all danger and evil from her.

The hour dragged, but at length she heard the rustle of feet upon the stair and a murmur of voices which grew less and less as doors closed until silence fell once more.

Betty was in a fever of impatience, but she resolutely fixed her eyes upon the tiny clock on the mantel and waited in an excess of caution until the hands pointed to half-past one. Then with her dark robe girded about her and her felt-covered feet making no sound, she opened her door.

The next moment she started back in amazement. A chair had been placed a short distance down the hall near the entrance to Mrs. Atterbury's bedroom but it was empty and an oddly huddled figure lay beside it upon the floor. It was a woman, collapsed as though she had been overcome by slumber and slipped from her chair, but there was something about the inert, helpless figure and hoarse stertorous breath not unlike that of the other downstairs which warned Betty that this was no ordinary sleep.

Holding her breath she drew near the recumbent form and recognized Caroline. The woman's face was empurpled like that of Welch and her relaxed chin had fallen upon her breast giving her an expression of repellant brutish vacuity. Betty had always considered her a stolid unintelligent creature whose chief virtue was faithfulness, but now it was as if something malevolent and bestial had made itself manifest, betraying her real nature in her unconsciousness.

Hesitating no longer, Betty stole to the stairs and was descending as on the previous night, when again a light in the music room warned her of an alien presence. This time, however, it was not dim and flickering but a slender, dazzlingly brilliant ray, like the dart of a rapier, which swept the doorway in a flash and was gone, leaving behind a shimmering hazy glow.

Betty crept down, her unlighted candle and box of matches clutched to her breast. The glow still remained as that of a searchlight which has been shifted in another direction and while she paused breathless, the clink of metal and a low-muttered ejaculation in an unknown masculine voice came to her ears.

Step by step, with her heart fluttering like a wild thing, the girl advanced to the doorway and cautiously reconnoitred. The portrait of Beethoven was in its place, but before it knelt a man in rough dark clothes, the soles of his boots upturned and glistening with fresh gobbets of mud. A canvas bag open on the floor beside him displayed odd shapes of metal whose edges caught the light, and the bull's-eye lantern in the intruder's hand cast a steady stream of radiance about the benign pictured face above.

While his back was still turned, Betty slipped silently across the doorsill and to her hiding place of the night before where she crouched peering out from beneath the upraised piano top. The man was passing his hands hurriedly over the lower part of the frame, grunting in his impatience as the secret spring eluded his search. Once he turned his head slightly and she caught a glimpse of a heavy, protruding, unshaven jaw and flattened nose. The low visor of his cap concealed the forehead and eyes, but the profile was startling in its ferocity and sullen strength.

Although she realized that the clumsy fingers might at any moment touch the knob and a shrill alarm peal through the house the girl lingered, held by a slender thread of hope. Welch was sleeping, perhaps drugged, and there was a chance that he might not have attached the alarm system for the night before unconsciousness descended upon him. In that case, if she could but remain undiscovered until the burglar had accomplished his purpose and was gone, she could examine the rifled safe for herself.

"You're ahead of time, Mike. Admiring the portrait?" A low, sarcastic drawl sounded from the doorway and the man turned with an oath, holding something in his free hand which glittered ominously. Betty cowered back, her fluttering heart still and cold within her breast.

Leaning nonchalantly against the wall by the door, his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown and his dark face wreathed with a derisive smile, stood Jack Wolvert.

The man before the picture swore again, but in a relieved fashion.

"You don't mind taking chances, do you?" he growled. "I might have plugged you full of holes without lookin' first."

"Oh, no you wouldn't!" retorted Wolvert amiably. "If you'd been quick on the trigger you wouldn't have done your stretch at St. Quentin. Nifty portrait that, isn't it? Serves a two-fold purpose; immortalizes the likeness of the gentleman who composed what may be your funeral march, if you are lucky, and—"

"Say, cut the comedy, an' let's get down to business!" the other interrupted gruffly. "You'll have Welch lumberin' in on us before you know it."

"Not he!" Wolvert shrugged and strolled over to the picture. "He is sleeping the sleep of one who finishes off the wine-glasses left from dinner. I prepared one for his especial benefit."

"God!" The man called "Mike" recoiled. "You don't mean—"

"Of course not!" The languid tone was edged sharply. "I don't go in for anything crude! Caroline, too, is hors de combat or, as you would express it, dead to the world. Her midnight cup of tea before she went on guard outside Marcia's door was of specific brewing. Our beloved Marcia, I may add, has resumed her Macbethan promenades."

"Walkin' again in her sleep?" Mike paused uneasily. "I don't like that! It always means bad luck for some of us! I ain't stuck on this job anyway; we could drop it now an' stick to the old game, fifty-fifty—"

"Forget it!" Wolvert snatched the lantern from the other's hand and trained its single ray upon the right hand corner of the frame. "Watch me, and duck when the big swing starts."

Betty watched also, her heart racing once more as Wolvert's facile fingers found the spring and the portrait swung out in a mighty sweep, revealing the square steel sheet built compactly into the wall. The buzzer of the alarm whirred impotently and was still, and Mike dropped to his knees before the aperture with a grunt of satisfaction, his suddenly aroused scruples forgotten in professional interest.

His bullet-shaped head completely blocked Betty's view of the combination, but she heard the clink of the knob as it whirled under his hand. At length Mike sat back on his heels, swearing softly.

"It's no go!" he breathed. "Can't feel the drop of the tumblers. I'll have to use the soup, after all."

"Go to it," responded Wolvert savagely. "It's a tough layer but thin; look out she doesn't eat through."

Then followed an interminable age while Betty crouched, tense and cramped, listening to the click of tools and pressing a fold of her gown across her mouth and nostrils to keep out the pungent fumes which stole upon the air. Would they penetrate the closed doors above and give warning that treachery was afoot?

"Ha!" Wolvert's ejaculation of triumph broke the protracted tension, just as the heavy door, with a grating jar, split like a crust before their eyes and fell outward, yawning upon one hinge.

"Got it!" Mike pushed back his cap and wiped his brow. "Armor plate's made of cheese compared to that! Now which is the pay dirt?"

Wolvert knelt beside him and threw the light upon the gaping cavity. Betty's eyes were watering but the fumes were gradually passing away and she could see that the interior of the safe was filled with packets of paper, neatly pigeon-holed in rows.

"Three hundred thousand!" Wolvert crooned, gloatingly. "Three hundred thousand and maybe more! God, what a haul! Think of it, Mike, the pickings of five years, salted down and waiting for us, to say nothing of rich veins that have scarcely been tapped yet!"

"I can lick my chops over 'em just as well when I've got 'em safe away from here!" Mike glanced apprehensively over his shoulder and Betty could see his eyes glistening like those of a cat in the shadow of his visored cap. "Hurry up and pick out the live wires from the dead ones. The old girl may take it into her head to walk again!"

"You can drop her with the blackjack if she does," Wolvert returned carelessly. His long, slender hands were darting in and out among the pigeonholes, sorting the various packets deftly and ranging them in two piles. "Got the wallets?"

"Here!" Mike produced oblong leather folders from each of his breast pockets. "Sure you don't overlook any good bets, Jack."

"No fear!" Wolvert passed over package after package of envelopes as he talked. "Here's the dope on the Texas matter; that's good for thirty or forty thousand to start with; this is the certificate for those two hundred shares of copper you've heard about. To the right party they're worth twenty thousand. These we might take on speculation; lumping them together we may figure on realizing a hundred thousand from them, roughly speaking."

"Some dough!" Mike chuckled, stowing away the packets as fast as they were handed to him. "What's this bunch?"

"Can't stop now to go over them, Mike, but I know what they are and I'll open your eyes when we sort them out over at your joint. Now, if I can only lay my hands on that Crane contract; I wonder where our careful Marcia cached it?"

"What's this, any good?" Mike had stuffed one bulging wallet back into his pocket and drawn a long envelope from one of the upper pigeonholes.

Wolvert glanced over his shoulder at the label and shrugged.

"Small change, a thousand or so, but take it along if you want it. It's easy money."

"A thousand cold iron men look good to me. I can feel 'em rolling into my hand right now, but those big figures make me afraid the alarm clock's liable to go off any minute an' wake me up. Say, get a move on, Jack. I'm gettin' a cold chill like someone was watchin' me!"

Betty gasped inaudibly and shrank still further back in her retreat, but Wolvert only shrugged in impatience.

"That Crane contract is the main thing; it's worth more than all the rest put together, to us!" he grumbled. "Get your head out of the light, Mike!"

"Is this it, in the long blue envelope?" The other had overcome his momentary uneasiness and resumed his search. "Feels kinder thick."

"No, don't pay dividends any more. It's the West—what's that?"

Betty had caught at the leg of the piano as her cramped limbs wavered beneath her and a little silver ring which she wore rapped smartly upon the polished surface of the wood. For one thrilling moment she held her breath, but the lantern swept around the opposite side of the room to the door and then flashed back and Mike swore once more.

"I've had enough of this, I tell you! I don't feel right and I've got a hunch that I'd better be movin'. Let the bloomin' contract go if you can't find it; we've got enough as it is!"

"Nothing doing!" Wolvert spoke through set teeth in a tone which the listening girl remembered with a shudder. "You don't beat it unless you take that with you!"

"Oh, don't I?" snarled Mike, leaping to his feet in swift rage. "I'll show you, my fine gentleman, that you ain't dealin' with a skirt now, to bully or soft-soap as you feel like it! I wouldn't be here if I wasn't through takin' orders from nobody—!"

"Easy there with the bluff!" Wolvert interrupted coolly. "You can't get along without me, you know. What you've got there is just so much waste paper to you, if I don't negotiate it for you. Don't be a quitter!"

"Nobody ain't ever called me that yet, but I'm hep that there's somethin' wrong. Give it up, Jack, an' let's lay the plant—"

"Here it is!" Wolvert swooped down upon a single folded paper and waved it exultantly. "Take it, Mike, and keep it well; it's a gold mine! Now come on and set the stage."

Before Betty's amazed eyes a curious scene was enacted. Seizing one after another of the heavy leather chairs which were grouped about the room, Wolvert and his accomplice noiselessly overturned them, easing them gently to the floor where they lay at grotesque angles. Next they turned their attention to the smokers' stand, rolling the smaller articles upon it in every direction until the rug was strewn with cigarettes and matches. The stand itself they placed upon its side against the wall as if it had been flung there with violence.

"How about the piano?" Mike's eyes travelled speculatively to the shadowed corner and Betty's senses reeled. "Gonna bang it up a little?"

"No, don't overdo the wreckage. Just move the center table over against it." Wolvert was busy scattering the remaining contents of the safe about before it. "Too bad we can't smash that bit of crockery; it would be the last finishing touch."

He gestured toward a priceless Royal Worcester vase which stood upon a teakwood taboret near the portrait, and Mike grinned.

"That's easy! Watch me knock it to smithereens!"

"And have the house about our ears?" Wolvert sneered, but the other paid no heed.

He had caught up a small silk prayer rug and, wrapping it about the vase, laid it upon the floor. Then, raising a sausage-like roll of cloth heavily weighed which he took from his bag, he struck it a blow with all the force of his brawny arm behind it. There was a dull thud and a soft, shivery tinkle, and when the rug was unwrapped a heap of jagged, richly-colored fragments was revealed. It was, as Wolvert had said, the finishing touch to a scene of havoc which seemingly only a hand-to-hand struggle could have wrought.

"Now for the rough stuff." Wolvert rose from his knees and with one quick, muscular jerk, ripped his dressing gown from thigh to shoulder, tearing one sleeve loose. Then he coolly turned his back to Mike and crossed his wrists behind him. "Tie them good and tight, Mike. We don't want to fake this part of the game."

Mike obeyed with alacrity, twisting the cord until Betty could see the slender wrists writhe.

"Now my ankles." Wolvert gritted his teeth, and in the light from the lantern beads of perspiration glittered on his forehead. He knelt again and then lay flat upon his back, facing the safe, his outstretched feet almost within the aperture.

Mike lashed them firmly and turning to his bag, produced a sponge and a small phial with which he approached his victim, grinning slyly.

"Easy on that!" warned Wolvert. "Don't put me out, Mike. Use just enough to leave the scent on my hair and shirt."

"I hate to beat it without my kit." Mike cast a reluctant eye on the bag at his feet. "Prettiest set of tools I ever had!"

"You won't need it again after we've turned this trick," responded his co-conspirator. "It's got to look as though you were scared off, you know. Don't forget to leave the chloroform too. Come on with it, I'm ready."

"Remember, Two Forty-seven Porter Street. I'll wait till midnight and if you don't show up by then I'll clear for the old hang-out in Baltimore. Here goes, pleasant dreams!"

He pulled the cork from the phial and a cloying sweetish odor choked the air. Producing a grimy handkerchief, Mike poured a few drops upon it and applied it to the head and throat of the prostrate man.

"Not—too—much!" The smothered tones died away in a mumble, and placing the phial upon the floor beside the recumbent figure Mike gave one last sweeping glance about the room and slipped like an eel through the door, the flash of his lantern vanishing with him into the gloom.

Waiting only until the rasp of a softly opening window had assured her that the intruder was gone, Betty crept from her hiding place, her pulses leaping madly. She had made a desperate resolve and realized that she must put it into immediate execution, before the fumes of the anæsthetic had cleared from the momentarily dulled brain of the man lying before her.

Lighting her candle, she placed it upon the floor and crept on her hands and knees toward the phial, keeping well out of the possible upward range of Wolvert's vision.

The half-stupefied man stirred and muttered as her fingers closed about the phial, but she dared not hesitate. With a shaking hand she poured an ounce of the pungent liquid over the grimy handkerchief which lay beneath her hand, and creeping to Wolvert, suddenly dropped it like a cone down over his upturned face, holding the sides drawn tightly down.

His limbs twitched and his head moved feebly, but she did not relinquish her pressure until the muscular action ceased and the body lay limp and flaccid as that of the dead. Then, with a little sob of exultation, she flung herself upon the safe and seizing the blue envelope of which Mike had spoken, she tore it open.

A swift glance over the single folded sheet of letter paper and long narrow slip, much creased and yellowed with age, which formed its contents, and Betty clasped it convulsively to her breast. Her face was transfigured as she crept to her candle and with it crossed to the hearth.

A moment more and a clear flame sprang up, flaring fitfully in her trembling hands, then died and only a tiny heap of fluffy black flakes among the heavier wood ashes told of her desperate plan's consummation.

She turned to escape, but a glance at the motionless form halted her in mid-flight. Suppose she had killed him!

Betty's heart contracted and fearfully she approached him once more. The handkerchief had slipped from his face and its deathlike pallor seemed to confirm her misgiving.

Kneeling beside him, she had placed her hand upon his breast, when a lurching shuffle in the hall made her recoil.

Stumbling and clinging to the wall for support, Welch reeled in at the doorway, and his drug-dulled eyes burst into sudden flame as they lighted upon her.

"D—— you!" he bellowed. "Got you with the goods at last!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

Unmasked.

Betty sprang to her feet and in a swift inspiration born of her extremity, tottered toward Welch with outstretched arms.

"Help!" she shrieked, her clear ringing voice echoing through the silent house. "Burglars! Thieves! Help!"

Muffled screams answered her from above and lights began to waver down the stairway. Welch seized the girl roughly by the shoulder.

"What's the game!" His thick tones rumbled in her ear, and he pointed with a shaking hand. "Is that your work?"

"They've killed him!" she cried, wrenching herself from his grasp. "I heard a struggle and came down and found him—oh; Mrs. Atterbury! Mrs. Atterbury!"

A fresh chorus of shrieks told of the finding of Caroline and mingling with them sounded a deeper masculine note. Who could it be? The only male members of the household were there before her.

"Betty, where are you? What has happened?" Mrs. Atterbury rushed down the stairs with Madame Cimmino clinging to her gown and behind them appeared two pajama-clad forms which the girl did not at first recognize.

Someone turned the wall-switch, flooding the room with light and Welch lurched dazedly to Wolvert's recumbent figure, toppling down to his knees beside him.

Although every nerve in her body recoiled from the contact, Betty nevertheless precipitated herself upon her employer's unresponsive form, sobbing as if in genuine hysteria. Mrs. Atterbury, after one swift comprehensive glance about the wrecked room stood as if turned to stone, her eyes fixed immovably upon the yawning safe, a bluish tinge slowly overspreading her waxen pallor.

Madame Cimmino, however, passed her like a white flame and cast herself shrieking upon Wolvert's unconscious breast. One of the pajamaed figures halted aghast in the doorway, but the other stepped forward and with an added shock Betty recognized Doctor Bayard's venerable head even before his commanding tones dominated the tumult.

"What does this mean? Who first discovered this affair? Welch! Young woman!"

"I found her here!" Welch pointed an accusing finger at Betty but his head lolled drunkenly upon his short bull neck. "She was kneelin' beside him. He ain't dead, only put to sleep. Ask her how it happened!"

"We're sold out!" A high-pitched male voice squeaked like that of a cornered rat from the doorway and Ide's glassy eyes fastened venomously on the girl. She became conscious, too, that Madame Cimmino's cries were stilled, the tumult had subsided and she herself was the cynosure of all eyes.

Straightening, her hands fell to her sides and she stepped forward.

"Something woke me," she began unsteadily. "I didn't know what it was at first, then I heard a thumping, banging noise down here as if furniture was being moved around. I got up and opened my door just as there came a heavy thud like the sound of a body falling and terrible groans that died slowly away.

"I was frightened and I didn't know what to do. Mrs. Atterbury had told me not to venture downstairs late at night for Welch might mistake me for a burglar and injure me, but I did not want to disturb her unnecessarily and I thought I had better investigate.

"I lighted my candle and crept downstairs. There was a funny sweetish odor on the air and I traced it to this door. When I looked in I saw Mr. Wolvert lying there and all the room upset, but no sign of anyone else. I ran to him and was kneeling beside him, trying to feel if his heart was still beating, when Welch stumbled into the room and accused me. Oh, have the burglars killed him?"

It was superb acting but the girl was wrought up to such an emotional pitch that she was scarcely conscious of its effect. She lived in her vivid imagination each phase of the story she was narrating and it bore the impress of truth.

The rest looked at one another, reading in each face the belief which confirmed their own. It was Madame Cimmino, however, who broke the silence crying out in a paroxysm of jealous fury:

"What is it to you if he lives or dies? He is not yours, but mine! My husband!"

"Betty." Mrs. Atterbury spoke for the first time and her tones were dull and lifeless as she wrenched her eyes with an almost visible effort from the rifled safe. "You had better go to your room, if you are not afraid of being alone. You might try to revive Caroline if you will; she is lying ill in the hall upstairs. Cook is a heavy sleeper, but should she awaken and attempt to come down, please detain her; we must have no more excitement."

Betty accepted her dismissal with a swift leap of her heart. Her task was accomplished; there remained only to make her escape and the way seemed clear before her.

"I am not afraid, Mrs. Atterbury," she said quietly. "If you need me, please call."

She slipped up the stairs and past the still unconscious form of Caroline with feet that trod on air. To throw on her cloak and boots and steal out the kitchen door by which she had entered only a few short hours before would be a simple matter and the man who loved her would be waiting, on guard.

Removing her felt slippers, she had picked up her shoes, when an imperative rap on her locked door made her drop them hastily, her spirit sinking in a premonition of further trouble.

"Who's there?" she demanded in a trembling voice.

"It is I; Madame Cimmino." The tones were repressed and oddly civil after the tempestuous outburst of a few minutes previous. "Open the door, please; I have a message from Mrs. Atterbury."

Betty drew on her slippers and, wondering, obeyed. The sallow face of the Italian was still flushed and her dull eyes glowed with undiminished resentment, but she essayed a faint smile.

"You must not mind what I have said to you just now. I was quite mad! My nerves are shattered by this sudden calamity and I, too, feared that Mr. Wolvert had been killed." She spoke reluctantly with an obvious effort, and Betty realized at whose instigation the halting apology was tendered. "Mrs. Atterbury requests that you sleep in her room for the rest of the night. She will join you presently and does not wish to be left alone. You need not trouble about Caroline. I, myself, will attend to her. Come at once, please."

There was a veiled command beneath her studied courtesy and she had placed herself upon the threshold so that the door could not be closed again barring her out.

Betty's gleam of hope died within her, but she forced herself to reply composedly:

"Certainly, Madame Cimmino. If you will wait a moment I shall be with you."

Her simple preparations made before the unwavering eyes of the other woman, she followed docilely down the hall to Mrs. Atterbury's room. The bed was in disorder and the embers dying in the grate, but her companion replenished them and closed and locked the windows, drawing the heavy parted curtains tightly together.

"Sleep if you can, Miss Shaw." She paused in the doorway, a little triumphant gleam lighting her eyes. "There is nothing now to fear. No intruder can enter for he will be shot on sight. I hope you will rest comfortably."

She closed the door and the lock clicked as a key was deliberately turned in it and withdrawn. Betty was a prisoner!

For a time the girl stood motionless in the middle of the floor where the other had left her. She was trying to fathom the motive for this sudden move. What had occurred, what suspicion had arisen the instant she had left the room, for Madame Cimmino to be despatched upon her very heels to intercept and guard her? Had Jack Wolvert been conscious enough to realize her swift attack on him, and recovering, denounce her? In terror at the thought her hands flew to her breast and encountered the whistle hanging from its slender chain beneath her gown. Her fingers closed convulsively upon it and a little sob of gratitude tore its way from her throat. If actual peril came there was one chance left to her; she was not utterly at the mercy of these wolves.

When Mrs. Atterbury unlocked the door and entered an hour later, she found the girl curled up on the couch seemingly asleep. She stood over her for a long moment staring down at the tranquil face upon which the birthmark glowed in the light from the grate, and listening to the gentle regular breathing. At last she turned away and Betty, opening her eyes cautiously, beheld her employer crouching before the hearth, her dark, unbound hair increasing the pallor of her waxen face and her inscrutable gaze fixed upon the gleaming coals. The girl fell into a troubled slumber at dawn, but when she awakened the other still sat immovable, staring into the dead embers with unseeing eyes.

"You are awake, Betty? Run to your own room and dress and then come back to me quickly. We have much to do today." She barely glanced at the girl, and her tones were lifeless.

"Was—was the burglar caught?" Betty stammered as she rose to obey. "Did you lose very much of value?"

"The man whoever he was escaped, but the police have been notified," Mrs. Atterbury replied without turning her head. "I cannot tell how much has been taken until I have made an inventory of what is left. Hurry, please."

Betty returned to her room, to find Caroline on the couch at the bed's foot. The woman seemed dazed and shaken, but her eyes followed Betty craftily and the girl realized that her presence meant continued surveillance.

Wolvert appeared little the worse for his experience of the previous night when he joined the others at breakfast and he greeted Betty with perfect sang-froid, but she fancied that a speculative gleam lightened his pale eyes when they rested on her; and as the day wore on, he attached himself to her with an assiduity which left her in no doubt of his lurking suspicion.

Although the subject of the burglary was avoided as much as possible, there was a tension in the atmosphere which no one attempted to disguise, an air of repressed apprehension greater than the exigency demanded. In spite of Mrs. Atterbury's assertion that the day would be a busy one, a state of enforced idleness prevailed and Betty wandered about like an unquiet ghost with some one of the household inevitably at her heels.

As dusk drew down the espionage became more openly manifest and the girl's self-control faltered beneath the protracted strain. Was she destined to be held in duress until the raid which Herbert had predicted took place and escape was forever cut off? A new anxiety was added to the rest; if she were to continue this ghastly farce indefinitely a few minutes of absolute privacy in her own room would be essential, but how was this to be obtained?

No suggestion of leaving the house had been made by anyone during the day, but toward evening Welch was dispatched with a telegram to the nearest office. He went with marked reluctance, a furtive look of fear in his heavy-lidded eyes, still dazed from the effects of the drug. Betty watched his departing figure in bitter envy from behind the library curtains. Would her moment never come?

"You are very quiet, Little Mouse." Wolvert had come up silently behind her in the gathering gloom of the room. "Last night's excitement has depressed you?"

"On the contrary," she responded coolly. "I am sorry, of course, for Mrs. Atterbury's loss, but I am quiet because I have been thinking. So many things about the affair puzzle me."

"Indeed? What, for instance?" He flung himself into a chair and smiled up at her.

"Why it was that I did not hear the smash of that vase in your struggle, and why, although your hands were tied after you were chloroformed, of course, the burglar did not also gag you. It was no doubt an oversight on his part, but it impressed me as being odd."

The mocking smile had vanished and he was staring at her with a narrowed intensity of gaze as if to read her very soul. When he replied it was in a hurried, uneasy tone distinctly at variance with his usual aplomb.

"It was the crash of the vase that awakened you, perhaps, and the thief must have been frightened away. He left his tools, you know, and he probably did not dare stop to finish his work with me.—But I did not realize that we had such an efficient detective in our midst!"

He added the last sentence with deliberate intent and Betty met his gaze with a little mocking light in her own eyes.

"I think the burglar finished his work with you very thoroughly, Mr. Wolvert!"

Leaving him to ponder over the ambiguity of her remark she passed out to the hall just as Welch burst in at the side door, his ratlike eyes fairly starting from his head. Sheer panic was written upon his pasty face and he charged headlong up the stairs like a maddened beast.

Betty was torn with the conflict of hope and fear. Had he encountered Herbert on guard, or was the house already surrounded by officers of the law?

No comment was made upon his abrupt return, but Betty sensed a redoubled tension in the air. To her relief, however, the onus of suspicion seemed to have been lifted from her, although the house was so palpably under guard by the masculine members of the group that immediate escape was out of the question.

Betty had no need, as the hours lengthened, to feign fatigue. Her nervous exhaustion was manifest in her drawn face, and Mrs. Atterbury at length laid her hand upon the girl's arm.

"You are tired, my dear. Go to bed if you like but you will be obliged to sleep, for a while at least, with closed windows. Welch has connected all those on the second floor with the alarm system down here, and if one is raised during the night the whole house will be aroused again."

Betty understood the covert warning, but rejoiced that the privacy so vital to her was assured. Murmuring good night she ascended the stairs and disappeared around the gallery.

Scarcely had the soft thud of her closing door broken the silence, when Welch entered from the dining-room and approached the circle seated about the hearth, took his place uninvited among the rest.

"How're we going to make our get-away?" he demanded gruffly. "That's what I want to know, with the place surrounded—"

"Rot!" interrupted Wolvert. "For a thorough-going coward, commend me to a strong-arm bully every time. Yes, I mean you, Welch, don't try to bluff me, my man! You're in a blue funk and you'd conjure up a copper behind every tree! Why haven't they closed in on us, if the bulls are on the job?"

Welch muttered sullenly beneath his breath, but Doctor Bayard leaned forward in his chair.

"That is a reasonable conclusion," he remarked in his quiet, well-bred tones. "I admit, however, that taken in conjunction with the crowning misfortune which has come to us, the possibility is disquieting. You have examined the papers thoroughly, Marcia? You are sure that practically everything of value has been taken?"

"Everything." Mrs. Atterbury spread out her hands in an eloquent gesture. "We are cleaned! The result of five years of planning and scheming and desperate risk has vanished in an hour!"

"Except what we may have saved from our individual profits," Wolvert observed smoothly. "You at least will not starve, my dear Marcia."

Mrs. Atterbury darted a vicious glance at him, as Madame Cimmino said with a shudder:

"Unless the end has come, and we are lost! As for me I shall kill myself before again the doors of a hideous American prison close on me!"

"Don't be morbid, Speranza." Mrs. Atterbury shrugged impatiently. "I am not even thinking of that. I am concerned only with one question:—Who among us is the traitor?"

Wolvert raised his eyebrows.

"Us?" he queried. "You speak with painful directness, Marcia! Surely you except our own immediate circle!"

"If you ask me, it was an inside job," asserted Welch bluntly. "I was doped and so was Caroline. There's no gettin' around that!"

Ide coughed nervously.

"I hope the loyalty of none of us is in question." His thin high voice quavered. "Personally I—"

"Personally, you're absolved!" interrupted Wolvert with a sneer. "You wouldn't have the nerve to chloroform a blind kitten!"

"Someone has betrayed us," Mrs. Atterbury re-iterated. "Only one who possessed the most intimate knowledge of our plans and the deals we are working on now could have chosen so well among all the papers in the safe. With one trifling exception everything missing was negotiable."

Wolvert darted a keen glance at her.

"'One exception'?" he repeated. "What was that?"

"The packet containing the Westcote documents," replied Mrs. Atterbury. "That has vanished with the rest."

"Impossible!" Wolvert started visibly. "He didn't take that!"

"What does it matter?" Dr. Bayard shrugged. "It was worthless!"

"But he didn't take it, I know!" insisted Wolvert, caution forgotten in his surprise. "It must be there! There's some mistake—"

"Why are you so sure?" Mrs. Atterbury flashed at him. "How can you know that it was not stolen?"

"Because I was certain it was there when we first went through the safe after I recovered consciousness, don't you remember?" he stammered, taken aback. "I distinctly saw a blue envelope——"

"There was no blue envelope in the safe." Mrs. Atterbury spoke with absolute finality. "It had disappeared."

"Then by God! it is an inside job!" Wolvert sprang from his chair. "And I know who is back of it—that girl!"

"What!" Doctor Bayard exclaimed, as the rest sat spellbound. "The young woman upstairs?"

"The young spy, d—n her!" retorted Wolvert, his dark face ablaze. "I had a hazy idea that I saw her last night while the thief was pressing the sponge over my mouth but I laid it to delirium. I tell you she was in league with him, and what is more, I don't think he was one of our gang gone crooked. I didn't tell you before because I didn't want to throw you all into a panic but I'm convinced he's a 'tec and she was working in with him. He heard Welch coming and beat it, but she didn't have a chance and we've kept too close a watch on her for her to get away since!"

"I knew it!" Madame Cimmino shrilled. "I knew there was something wrong when she came!"

"I, too!" exclaimed Ide. "I've had a deucedly queer feeling since I first met her at your dinner, Marcia, as if I had seen her before somewhere."

"She's the only outsider!" Welch put in dazedly. "I always said no good would come of draggin' in strange girls and usin' them for a blind, but you knew it all!"

He glared at Mrs. Atterbury who sat gazing intently straight before her.

"It is impossible," she said at last. "I chose the girl myself, and she has kept her position perfectly—"

"Too perfectly!" Wolvert snarled. "She was too good to be true, going wherever you sent her without question. You've been a blind fool! She was planted here, I tell you! That advertisement was a trick and you fell for it! 'Stranger in city and without relatives!' Bah! it was too easy!"

Mrs. Atterbury's immobile face was distorted with gathering menace but her voice was still controlled.

"She is not a detective. I have encountered a few of them and I know the earmarks. Whose game could she be playing?"

"The game of someone with whom we are doing business, perhaps. How can we know?" Ide squeaked. "Remember I 'phoned you only two days ago that I saw her talking with a man up the Drive! She's sold us out!"

"What was she nosing around the house at night for, with an electric torch?" demanded Wolvert savagely. "Is that a usual part of a social secretary's equipment?"

"A torch!" Mrs. Atterbury turned on him in sudden fury. "She told me you had it when she came upon you in the library and you corroborated her story afterward by saying it was yours!"

"I lied," he admitted through set teeth. "This is no time to defend myself or dodge the facts. I'm not the first infatuated ass!"

"Infatuated! A-ah!" Madame Cimmino leaped for him like a tigress, but Welch seized her roughly and dragged her back. "That simpering she-devil with the brand upon her face! For her you have betrayed us all!"

"Cut it out!" Welch admonished roughly. "Forget the sentiment stuff! This is business!"

"I'll make a clean breast of it," Wolvert shrugged. "I suspected her vaguely from the first. There was something about her that baffled me but it fascinated me, too. I had her number from that night in the library, but I thought she was playing a lone hand and I could handle her. I even had a notion I could win her over and get her to go in with us, but she's beaten us at our own game!"

"Not yet!" Mrs. Atterbury rose and even Welch shuddered at the new ominous note in her voice. "Don't forget that something else has taken place beneath this roof since she came. She cannot leave it to bear witness against us! I will go to her and wring the truth from her!"

She mounted the stairs, the others following silently in her wake. The rigid emotionless poise with which she had maintained her domination over them all for years had in a moment been swept aside and the real woman stood revealed in all the nakedness of her sinister malevolent passion.

Like a vengeful fury she crouched before the girl's locked door and motioned savagely to Welch to break it down. He put his massive shoulder against it and with a single mighty heave crashed it in.

A startled cry echoed in their ears and the girl seated before her dressing-table turned her face to them, full in the glare of the boudoir lights. It was a blanched terror-stricken face, but they, too, paused aghast, for the birthmark had vanished utterly and the girl who rose slowly before them was like yet vastly unlike the personality they had known.

For a tense moment they paused and then Ide's trembling voice cried:

"I know her now! I was sure I'd seen her before! It's old Westcote's daughter!"

The girl's hand flashed from her breast to her lips and a shrill, ear-splitting whistle cleaved the air as Welch sprang upon her with a bull-throated roar.

The world crashed down about her head and darkness came; a darkness filled with shots and shouts and vague struggling forms. Then all at once a shaft of brilliant light seemed to break over her and full in its radiance the face of Herbert Ross hovered close.

"Herbert!" It was little more than a whisper but her weak, hot hands fluttered out and clutched him convulsively and in her eyes shone the light of a faith which had not faltered. "I knew—I knew that you would come!"

"My wonderful, brave dear!" His voice had a curious, throaty catch in it. "You have been in frightful danger but you are safe now, thank God!"

Betty smiled wanly.

"I was not afraid, for I knew that you were there. No harm could come to me while you waited."

"You mean that?" His arms tightened about her. "Oh, my dearest, you had such faith in me?"

"As you trusted me, believed in me through everything. And—and for the same reason."

"You mean that you care?" he whispered close to her ear. "Dear, is it that? Is it—love?"

Her eyes gave him his answer and for a moment he lowered his head upon her breast as she lay propped up in his arms.

Then she became dimly aware of lights once more, low moving lights which revealed shadowy tense forms and a jumble of wrecked furniture.

As Herbert raised his head a strange freak of vagrant memory darted through her numbed brain and a still, small voice which she did not recognize as her own gasped:

"Mike has the evidence! Porter Street, two forty-seven. Before midnight!"

Herbert's face wavered and blurred before her eyes, a whirling, crashing void encompassed her and darkness descended again.

CHAPTER XIX.

The Honor of the Name.

Chief McCormick's honest face beamed as he sat back in his office chair and regarded the pale young girl before him with the frank, genuine admiration of one colleague for another.

"It was wonderful! I couldn't have engineered it better myself. You've pulled off the greatest stunt in years, Miss Shaw."

"Westcote," she corrected him, smilingly. "I'm glad to drop my friend's name at last, and sail under no more false colors. But I did very little, Mr. McCormick. If it hadn't been for Herbert I would have been murdered as poor George Breckinridge was, and the man called 'Mike' would have escaped."

"'Herbert,' eh?" The detective glanced quizzically at the self-conscious young man who stood beside the girl's chair. "I suppose congratulations are in order, but first let us get down to business. You used the name of some friend, Miss Westcote?"

"And her birthmark. It proved to be a frightful nuisance, wearing off and having to be renewed every day. That was what ultimately betrayed me, you know. But I want to tell you my story from the beginning; I know you will respect my confidence and you have earned it by your kindness in saving me from the police.

"My real name is Ruth Westcote, and I am the daughter of Alden Westcote, a retired broker. My mother died years ago, and we lived alone together in Bruce Manor, an exclusive colony on Long Island. As I grew up I noticed that father was aging rapidly and seemed breaking in spirit and it was borne in upon me that something was preying on his mind. I watched him and observed that his nervous depression reached an acute state regularly every three months on the arrival of certain visitors who came late at night and were received privately in his study.

"When I insisted upon knowing their errand he put me off on the plea of a confidential business transaction which I would not understand, and he had become so unapproachable of late that I dared not press the matter, although it worried me to distraction.

"One night about three months ago—it was the eighth of December, and the first big snowstorm of the year—I returned home late. I had been spending a day or two with a girl friend who lived on the South Shore and was motoring back in my own little car when I stuck in a snowdrift and the engine froze. A chauffeur came along with a big limousine just as I was on the point of freezing, myself, and took me home. I noticed the huge bulk of another limousine with gaudy wide stripes standing beneath our porte-cochère and there was a light in father's study window. My heart sank, for it was about the time for those mysterious visitors to call once more. I had never seen them, but I had heard their voices raised in dispute on several occasions.

"To my surprise, that night it was the murmur of a woman's voice which drifted out to me as I started up the stairs to my room, and on a sudden impulse I turned and ran down to the library to wait until she had gone. She seemed to be urging father to something and once I thought I heard him groan. A low choking cough interrupted her constantly and when at last the door opened and she came out into the hall, I could see at a glance from where I was standing behind the library portieres, that she was very ill.

"Father followed her from the study but he did not speak to her again; instead he turned and groped his way up the stairs, bowed and shaking as if he had received a blow.

"The woman tottered toward the door, but she had taken only a few steps when she reeled, gasping, with her hands tearing at her breast, and would have fallen if I had not rushed out and caught her. I managed to get her to the couch in the library and brought her the water she begged for, but I knew the meaning of her terrible thirst. I had had pneumonia myself and no matter what misfortune her visit had brought to father, I could not help being sorry for her.

"She was a tall, dark, willowly creature and must have been very handsome in her youth. Her eyes were bright with fever and the hectic patches on her thin cheeks heightened their glitter, but she had a hardened expression which made the general effect she produced coarse and repellent.

"She seemed half delirious and kept moaning that she must go, but it would have been death to her to face the storm, even if she had not been too weak to rise from the couch. I told her that she would have to remain and let me send for a doctor, and at length she realized herself the futility of further effort.

"'Who are you?' she gasped, clinging to my hand. I told her and she stared long at me before she spoke again.

"'I have a letter here, a message from your father which must be delivered tonight, or the consequences for him will be disastrous. I cannot go; I feel as if I were dying! Will you take my place? Your father must not know, he would sacrifice himself and his own vital interests rather than have you brave the storm. My car is waiting. Can you do this? Remember, it means much to him!'

"Her eyes were burning into mine and something in her deadly earnestness decided me. I nodded and she fell back in relief. When she had gathered her remaining strength together, she went on:

"'You have only to permit my chauffeur to take you to a certain house and deliver this letter to the man servant who opens the door. The chauffeur will explain what is necessary to him, and then bring you home immediately. I will accept your hospitality for tonight because I must, but I shall be able to go in the morning. No doctor is necessary and I forbid you to send for one. I will not see him! You must lose no time, but go at once. Call my chauffeur in and I will give him his instructions.'

"I aroused the housemaid to prepare a bed and get the stranger into it without disturbing father, and then I started on my journey. I shall never forget that ride! For hours we plowed through drifts and over hummocks, the car swaying and rocking like a ship and the intense cold penetrating my very bones.

"The miles seemed endless and I was so numb and dazed that I scarcely realized when we entered the city, the string of lights were a meaningless blur.

"We drew up at last before a big house and I managed to descend, although my limbs were half frozen. The door opened before I could ring, and the man servant stared at me as if he saw a ghost, but the chauffeur called sharply to him and he ran down bareheaded in the snow and talked to him. Then he returned and conducted me into the hall where a great hearth fire was burning, and I gave him the square, blank, sealed envelope which the woman had handed to me. He took it and ascended the stairs, to return presently with a goblet of mulled wine. His manner was respectful enough, but I thought the way he stared at me was very strange and he was evidently relieved when he conducted me outside and saw me once more safely in the car.

"I slept nearly all the way home and the chauffeur had difficulty in rousing me. The dawn had come, clear, but intensely cold, as I stumbled up to bed.

"When I awakened, the woman was raving in delirium and I was compelled to call a doctor in spite of her prohibition. Of course, I had to tell father of our strange guest and he flared out in fury and would have driven her from the house if he could. I was horrified, for he is the dearest, most tender-hearted man in the world, but no inkling of the truth came to me. He asked if she had sent anything back to town by her chauffeur, and he looked utterly crushed when I told him the man had taken a letter to deliver for her.

"The doctor looked very grave when he came and said he would send a nurse, but when she arrived I had to dismiss her. Mr. McCormick, I sat by that woman for an hour and I knew that no one else must learn from her lips what she disclosed in her delirium!

"There was no hope for her from the first, but she lingered, and I nursed her day and night, not even allowing the housemaid to relieve me for an hour. Her raving filled me with loathing and bitter resentment, but she was a fellow creature dying and I could not help doing all that was possible, in sheer humanity.

"The night before she died consciousness returned to her and she realized everything and knew the end was approaching. She tried brokenly to thank me for the kindness I had shown her, and in gratitude told me the whole truth.

"Years ago, when father was in a desperate financial strait, he forged a check. Oh, if it is hard for me to tell you now, think how hard it must have been for me to learn of it from that wretched woman's lips. Father had great provocation, for the man whose name he used had defrauded him, but the dreadful fact remained. He made full restitution anonymously long ago, and the other man is dead, but somehow the forged check and a letter proving father's guilt had fallen into the hands of a blackmailing gang, through a dishonest law clerk, who found them in going over the man's private papers to settle up his estate.

"The blackmailers had for years preyed on father and he was broken and on the verge of ruin from the continued strain. Imagine how I felt when I realized that I had been used as a tool to deliver to his enemies the very money wrung from my own father!

"The check and letter denouncing him were in the possession of this Mrs. Atterbury, who was the leader of the greatest band of criminals ever organized in America. Their operations covered every state in the Union and they had extorted hundreds of thousands from unhappy victims all over the country. It was to Mrs. Atterbury's house that I had been sent, but the dying woman would not tell me the address. She admitted, however, that it was the meeting place for the sub-leaders of the gang and the incriminating documents were kept there.

"A wild idea came to me to get into that house somehow and destroy that check and letter which held father in such hideous bondage, and the woman's next words showed me the way.

"It appeared that Mrs. Atterbury always employed a private secretary who was not a member of the gang as a blind, and chose a girl who was alone and friendless. If she proved really stupid but trustworthy, she was frequently sent to collect money from victims so that if she later became suspicious she would be technically guilty with the rest and they could hold that as a weapon over her. That had not yet occurred, because Mrs. Atterbury dismissed each one after a short period and replaced her with another young and fairly unintelligent stranger. The time had come for the present incumbent to be sent away before she learned too much, and I made up my mind to take her place, if I could.

"The woman was sinking rapidly and I begged her to tell me her name.

"'I have come into your life unknown and in a cruel, base fashion; let me go out of it a stranger. A stranger, that is it! Once I was called Lucille and that will do for the end; Lucille L'Etrangere! Only, if you have still more compassion left for me in your warm, young heart, save me from burial at their hands! Put me away quietly somewhere, I beg of you, in an unmarked grave!'

"She died at dawn and then I went down and had it out with father. I hope never to live through another such hour! His grief and shame were pitiful, but he seemed relieved, too, that I knew the truth at last. He had been driven to the wall, and was almost mad.

"He arranged for the woman's burial in a little forgotten graveyard nearby. The coroner was an old friend and everything was managed very quietly and without question.

"When it was over I told father that I would be able to save him from further persecution if he would consent to go to a sanitarium and spread the rumor that his mind was permanently wrecked so that the gang would cease their activities in his direction until my purpose was accomplished. I withheld the details of my plan, for he would never have consented to my facing the danger, but his tortured mind was on the verge of giving way and he agreed helplessly to my proposal.

"In the meantime I had received a letter from an old school friend, Betty Shaw, who is like me in type and coloring, but has a huge birthmark like a clutching hand upon her cheek. She had moved West ages ago, but when her mother died she went to Chicago to earn her living, and there received a proposal from an old sweetheart who is now in British Columbia. Her letter was to tell me that she had gone out there to marry him, and I resolved to take her name and imitate her appearance, so that if I succeeded in gaining a position with Mrs. Atterbury and she wrote for reference out to the Western town where Betty had lived, my supposed identity could be established beyond question.

"I closed our house, leaving no address, painted the scar on my face and, as Betty Shaw, went to a cheap boarding house in the city. From there I inserted an advertisement in the papers, asking for a position as secretary and emphasizing my friendlessness as much as I dared.

"It succeeded, for Mrs. Atterbury herself was one of the applicants for my services. I cannot describe my sensations when I saw the very car in which I had made that memorable trip draw up before the door! I went back with her to the house I had visited that night, but the man servant I had interviewed was gone and I have never encountered him since.

"Much of the rest of my story must have been told to you by Herbert; how I searched every night that I dared for the check and letter, and how I found the murdered man on the floor of the dining-room.

"There was a little dressmaker whom Mrs. Atterbury hired during the first days of my stay to make some things for me, and she tried to warn me that I was in danger of being led into a trap, and begged me to go. She was afraid to explain, however, and her visits soon ceased. No one else tried to help me but her.

"I felt that I was being watched and tested, and although I was on my guard I came very near betraying myself more than once.

"When at last they were convinced that I was as stupid as I tried to appear, I was sent on my first errand to collect money from another victim. Looking back now, I can scarcely realize the mood in which I accepted such a horrible task, but my own suffering and the threatened disgrace to my father had hardened me to the troubles of others. That initial experience was at the opera, and a man in the next box handed me an envelope; he had a round, plump face and a little downy mustache, and a woman companion spoke of him as 'Toddie.'"

"J. Todhunter Crane!" exploded McCormick, interrupting for the first time. "They had him on a fraudulent government contract and could have got to him for a huge sum in time! But go on, please."

She told of her meeting with the beautiful golden-haired woman in the art shop and her response to Herbert's advertisement for an Egyptian translator. During this portion of her recital the young gentleman in question carefully avoided the eyes of his chief and the latter forebore to interrupt again, but when the girl told of her fruitless visit to the Café de Luxe and subsequent encounter with the blonde lady of the art shop at the Hotel Rochefoucauld, he could not contain himself.

"Mrs. Haddon Cheever!" he ejaculated. "Young wife of a rich, jealous, old husband, and the Atterbury crew got hold of a bunch of silly letters she wrote to that Willie-boy who tried to stall you in the Carnival Room. Ten thousand cold she handed over to you in the hotel!"

"I had another disquieting experience on the same afternoon at the Café de Luxe. The girl from whose house I returned home on the night of the storm came up and greeted me, and I was obliged to cut her, fearing some spy would hear her call me by my own name. She was one of my most intimate friends, and I felt ashamed.

"I had other worries, too. The man Wolvert, whom you have just placed in custody, had begun to annoy me with his attentions and would not be snubbed. Then I seemed to be forever dodging people I knew! On my second visit to the museum, Herbert introduced me to a dear old professor whom I had met previously in Cairo, where I was studying under the great Mallory. He remembered me, in spite of the birthmark, and he was suspicious enough to trap me later with a papyrus I had seen, but I admitted nothing.

"My search for the incriminating documents continued whenever an opportunity presented itself, but I seemed no nearer finding them. One night I came face to face with Wolvert in the library, but I reached Mrs. Atterbury first with a plausible story and she believed me.

"The next place to which I was sent to receive the blackmail was the very last I could have anticipated—a church. It was the aristocratic St. Jude's, on Brinsley Square, and the envelope containing the money was presented to me on the collection plate!"

She described the event in detail and when she had finished the detective asked eagerly:

"It was a fat, smug-faced little man, with heavy pouches under his eyes and a cocky air about him? That's Hobart Wallace, or I'm a Dutchman! Among the papers we found in Mike Hannigan's bag when we nabbed him at the Porter Street address on your plucky tip, were two hundred shares in a fake copper mine with his endorsement. He would have let himself be bled dry rather than have an inkling of that reach the press!"

"I was sent on one more errand," the girl continued, "to the courtroom where the Huston trial was in progress. I recognized the prisoner as the young chauffeur who had rescued me in the storm and brought me home the night the strange woman came, and as I listened to the testimony and learned that the murder of his wife had been committed on that night and his life depended on the alibi which I alone could supply, I faced the worst moment of all! Seated with him was poor Miss Pope, the dressmaker, who had risked everything to warn me to leave Mrs. Atterbury. I met her afterward in the corridor, and when she told me that Huston was her half-brother, all she had in the world to care for, and I heard his story from her lips, I did not know what to do! My father's good name was very dear to me, but here was a human life at stake. All that night I fought my battle, but in the morning I wrote a letter to Huston's lawyers, signing my real name and assuring them that I would appear if necessary and testify on a certain date. I had just placed the letter in the postbox that morning when I met you on the North Drive, Herbert."

She turned to Ross and he answered her with a quick pressure of her hand, but his eyes twinkled as he remarked:

"You haven't told the Chief yet who paid the blackmail to you in the courtroom, dear!"

"It was the judge, himself," she exclaimed. "He dropped the envelope in my lap as he passed out to his chambers when court adjourned."

"Judge Garford!" McCormick started in his chair. "What on earth could they have on him? It doesn't seem possible!"

"Don't forget there was more than a suspicion of bribery in connection with the Taylor case," Ross reminded him. "The opposition made a lot of it at the last election. The Atterbury crowd may have held some evidence of that over his head."

"Lord! They didn't mind who they tackled, did they?" McCormick chuckled. "It took just one little woman, though, to put the whole bunch out of business! Go on, Miss Westcote; I am anxious to hear the rest."

The girl told her story to the end, and when she had finished dusk was fast settling down outside the office windows. The Chief's eyes sparkled with admiration as she told of her desperate venture in the music room and the chloroforming of Wolvert, but his bluff, kindly face grew grave when he learned of the concerted rush upon her by the conspirators and the blast of the whistle which meant life or death to the girl who had dared all, and won out in the face of inconceivable odds.

"You ought to have taken me into your confidence, Ross." He turned reproachfully to his operative. "When you came to me with all that inside dope about the murder of 'the Comet' and the rest of it, and told me to round the boys up for a raid on the North Drive at the signal of a whistle, I agreed to let you boss the job, but if you'd given me an inkling that this young lady was in danger at the hands of that pack of thugs—!"

"You might have pulled them too soon and spoiled her game, Chief." Ross smiled slyly. "Besides, you had said something about being tarred with the same brush, remember, and I wanted to prove to you who was crooked and who wasn't."

McCormick reddened.

"My boy, I told you I'd be the first to apologize, and I do, most heartily. But what could I think? You were shielding the young lady with the scar at every turn, double-crossing me, and—say!" He broke off and faced the girl. "Did you ever hear of a peppery old lady named Madame Dumois?"

"Oh, yes!" She dimpled, delightfully. "Herbert is going to produce me in—in a little while!"

Then her face clouded and she shuddered.

"There is one question I have not dared to ask, although it has beaten into my brain day and night since that awful hour. Who killed George Breckinridge?"

"Jack Wolvert," the Chief responded slowly. "He has confessed, and will pay the penalty of his crime."

CHAPTER XX.

Treasure Trove.

"You see the murder of Breckinridge was an unexpected complication in the plans of the gang," McCormick explained, when the girl's first intense horror at the knowledge of the slayer's identity had been partially overcome. "They had never before gone so far as to take life. Breckinridge had the reputation of being pretty swift and he's been mixed up in more than one scandal. He must have been meat for the Atterbury gang until he revolted, but he made a big mistake then. Instead of going to the police and braving a public inquiry, or coming to me, he chose to play a lone hand against the blackmailers, and lost. He traced the ringleaders to the Atterbury house and attempted to confront them single-handed. How he managed to elude the watchdog isn't known, but he got in through a dining-room window which Welch had left unfastened. It was only after the murder that the crook who played butler was so careful to lock up the house at night.

"Breckinridge had unfortunately taken a bracer or two before he started on his foolhardy expedition and when he found himself face to face with Wolvert he let his feelings get the better of him and in his resentment blustered out how much he knew against the gang. If he had only realized it he was confirming his own death-warrant, for he had found out too much to go free. Wolvert didn't wait to consult the head of the gang, Mrs. Atterbury, but seized a knife from the sideboard and a fight for life began. It must have been a silent one and quickly over, for no one heard it except Welch who slept on the ground floor at the back. He arrived on the scene in time to see Wolvert plunge the knife in Breckinridge's breast.

"Afterward, in desperation, they consulted as to the best method of disposing of the body and Wolvert suggested taking it up the road and leaving it. Welch tied up the dog and then went off to a junk dealer and fence whom he knew, and hired a horse and cart which he brought back to the gate.

"Wolvert, meanwhile, had gone to tell Mrs. Atterbury the truth and it must have been at that time you discovered the body, Miss Westcote.

"When Welch returned, the two men between them carried the body wrapped in an old rug down to the gate, where they loaded it on the wagon and drove to the secluded spot on Vanderduycken Road."

"The body must have been discovered very soon," the girl murmured with a little shiver. "I heard the extras announcing the murder in the early afternoon."

"It was found at dawn. The junk dealer's wagon had been seen and it was traced down finally and spots found which the chemists proved were human blood. The man wouldn't confess who had used his wagon, though he was put through the third degree. He claimed that if it was out at all he had known nothing of it and easily proved his own alibi.

"The case was at a standstill when one of Breckinridge's friends, to whom he had hinted that he was being besieged for hush-money came to me. With what I already knew of the Atterbury gang I put two and two together, but the police were not far from the truth. If we hadn't forestalled them it would only have been a matter of hours before they knocked at the gates on the North Drive and in the cellar of the house they would have found convincing proof; pieces of a rug, blood-stained and charred, where an unsuccessful attempt had been made to destroy it in the furnace. Shreds from the same rug were found twisted about the buttons of the dead man's coat, and clotted in his wound.

"But let us have done with that, Miss Westcote," the detective added hastily as he saw her pale lips quiver. "There are still a few points to be cleared up in my mind. How did you get all that information about the outside members of the gang?"

"From one queer abbreviated note and two cipher letters," the girl responded. "The note was the first and I remember it word for word. It read: 'Five thousand sheep no go. Bulls instead. Pink wash fed. Clearing den. Tail comet yellow.' I couldn't understand it then, but later when I had solved the cipher letters I realized the general drift of it. It evidently meant that five thousand dollars could not be gotten out of somebody although I don't comprehend the significance of the word 'sheep.'"

"Slang among them for shearing the sheep, or blackmail," McCormick explained. "What did you make out of the rest of it?"

"That the police were after them, and detectives had communicated with the federal authorities at Washington," she went on. "The writer was clearing for Denver and he advised Mrs. Atterbury to 'tail' or trace the movements of 'The Comet,' that she was 'yellow' or crooked."

"Well done!" The detective thumped the desk in his enthusiasm. "There's a place here for you if ever you want to take it, Miss Westcote! That letter was written by 'Red' Rathbone."

"What does he look like?" the girl asked suddenly.

"Tall and shambling, bright red hair," McCormick replied with an inquiring look. "No eyebrows or lashes; they were burned off in a prison fire the last time he was sent up. Got a curious way of carrying his head on one side——"

"Then I know him, too!" she exclaimed. "His soubriquet 'Red' reminded me. He must have been the manservant who opened Mrs. Atterbury's door to me on my first visit! I wonder I did not think of him when I read the cipher letters."

"What were they?"

"I have them here." She produced two papers from her handbag and placed them before him. "The first is a copy of a letter which Mrs. Atterbury dictated to me."

"'My dear Shirley,'" read McCormick. "'Your letter received. Send me ten of the thousand circulars quoting sheep prices for March. Home market good this week for forty or fifty and even more points rise if my brokers handled the situation properly.' H—m! I don't quite get it."

"You will if you read every third word, eliminating the two between." The girl rose and bent over the desk. "You see? It really means: 'Received ten thousand sheep. March good for fifty more if handled properly.'

"I was convinced that this could only be read aright by choosing certain combinations of words, and I tried all that I could think of, backward and forward, until I came upon the key."

"Good Lord! So somebody named March fell for a ten thousand dollar jolt and was willing to disgorge fifty thousand more under pressure, eh? Let's see what the rest of it says." He picked out the words slowly with a thick forefinger: "'Laramie game up. Comet sold us out to pink. Bud killed her; safe on way Japan. Red held in Denver, alibi straight. Meet Professor Chicago Saturday, he has instructions. New substitute success, blockhead but conscientious. No danger discovery so use this code in letting us know result Westcote affair. End.' So she calls you a blockhead, does she? Whoever 'Shirley' may be, he didn't meet the professor after all, for I got to him first."

"Yes. 'Shirley' replied to her in the same code. This is his original letter. Mrs. Atterbury dropped it in the hallway and I took possession of it. Stripped of the superfluous words, it reads:—'Professor caught Chicago. Held on old Hamilton verdict but McCormick getting evidence new trouble. Marked letters seized. Hear Westcote sanitarium for good. Nothing doing, refuses communicate. Trust nobody, but lie low. Business dead. End.'"

"They felt the net closing!" McCormick brought his great fist down upon the desk. "One by one we were gathering them in: Red in Denver, the 'Professor' in Chicago, Mortimer Dana here—"

"Oh, then it was you?" cried the girl. "Mrs. Dana came rushing to the house one day crying out that her husband was caught, but they quieted her and sent her away as quickly as they could, to avert suspicion from themselves, I suppose. She fled the city, but I don't know where she went—"

"To Bermuda," the detective interrupted grimly. "She's coming back, though, under escort. She fought the extradition like a wild-cat, but I think she will be in a communicative mood when she reaches here, and if she tells us a few things I want to know, I'll see that she gets off comparatively easy. She wasn't in it as deep as the rest."

"There is one person I would help if I only could." The girl hesitated. "I don't know what she has done, or how closely she is allied to the gang, but she did as much as she dared for me. I mean poor little Miss Pope. She is in trouble enough about her brother as it is, and she is so timid and long-suffering!"

"Don't you worry on her account, Miss Westcote." McCormick smiled beneath his short-clipped mustache. "If I can get you off scot free I ought to be able to handle her case. She went to Mrs. Atterbury, innocently enough, as a visiting seamstress and they roped her in, just as they thought they were doing with you, to collect money from their victims. When she found out the truth she was in too deep herself to go to the police, but she was too broken-spirited to be of any further use to them. They didn't let her out of sight, though, you may depend on that. She's free from them at last."

"Suppose—suppose they try to drag me in after all, if any of them makes a confession." The girl's pallid face whitened still more, but the detective laid a reassuring hand on her arm.

"If the police find Betty Shaw, the girl with the scar, they'll find her in British Columbia, with a husband and an alibi, won't they? If the Atterbury gang try to bring Ruth Westcote into the case, there's no shred of evidence left to connect her with it or prove that she or any of her people ever had dealings with them. That birthmark was your salvation, for not one of those from whom you accepted the blackmail would dare swear under oath that you were the same girl. Wolvert's wife has already confessed but made no mention of you."

"Wolvert's wife!" The girl repeated aghast, yet a light was breaking over her and it scarcely needed his reply to confirm it.

"Yes. The woman you knew as Madame Cimmino. She served her time in the West, for pulling off an insurance swindle some years back. She is known, and wanted, pretty much all over Europe. Wolvert is the black sheep of a good family, half-English, half-Spanish; Welch is a former heavy-weight pug, gone to the bad, but Mrs. Atterbury herself is the real wonder of the lot. She is the widow of old Jonas Atterbury, one of the shrewdest financiers that ever bucked the market. She went through the money he left her and then, as luxury was as necessary to her as the air she breathed, she went after it in the one way that her brilliant, unscrupulous mind suggested. We'll never know how she fell in with the gang or became their leader, for she's not the sort to confess, if she was put on the rack, but it's a safe bet that she planned every successful coup they've made in the last five years, and she was foxy enough to realize what an asset her social reputation was in averting suspicion. Her aristocratic neighbors on the North Drive must have had a sensation when they read the papers after the raid!"

"And Professor Stolz?" the girl asked.

"A thorough-going scoundrel, of brilliant attainments but with a crooked twist in his brain. He was expelled from the faculty of the University of Leipzig for trying to sponsor fake antiquarian discoveries and raise money for research work that was never attempted. Doctor Bayard is another scientist gone wrong, and the rest are all more or less well known for their criminal operations. You certainly showed your pluck, Miss Westcote, when you tackled single-handed the most dangerous bunch of crooks on record! It was enough of a miracle that you escaped with your life, but to have succeeded in what you set out to do, and annihilated their organization besides is an achievement almost beyond belief! I take off my hat to you!" The Chief beamed upon her. "I thought I knew something about the detective game, but you can give me cards and spades and then beat me to it! Don't forget my offer; if ever you want to go into the business, there's a partnership here for you."

"Thank you," Ruth Westcote responded demurely. "I have already agreed to become a partner in a different concern and I think it is going to be a success!"

Her eyes, soft and glowing with a new, tender light turned to those of Herbert Ross, and he smiled back at her.

"It ought to be," he said, "for it is founded on the greatest thing in the world!"

"Young man!" Madame Dumois fixed her gold pince-nez more firmly on her high arched nose and glared at the guileless individual who stood before her. "It is a good three weeks since I sent for you, to find out if you had made any headway with my case, and your McCormick person informed me you were out of town. What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Quite a good deal, if you will listen, Madame Dumois." Herbert Ross smiled ingratiatingly. "I only learned of your message yesterday, when I returned. Very important business called me away; I wonder if you can guess what it was?"

"The missing young woman?" she demanded eagerly.

Ross nodded and the smile broadened into a boyish laugh.

"Yes! The young woman you employed me to find!"

"And you have found her?" She eyed him warily, puzzled by his manner.

Ross's face changed and he drew down his lips lugubriously at the corners, but the twinkle remained.

"She is a most elusive person!" he sighed.

"I don't need you to tell me that!" the old lady retorted bitterly. "And I cannot see any cause for levity! I would not have believed your Mr. McCormick capable of finding a lost canary, but I admit I expected more of you!"

"You have heard no news of the young woman for whom you are searching?" he asked.

A faint spot of color appeared in her faded cheeks and her keen, gray eyes snapped.

"Nothing that I consider authentic. Why do you ask that, Mr. Ross?"

"Because I was under the impression that her natural guardian had communicated with you." He spoke in bland surprise.

"'Her natural guardian!'" she repeated indignantly. "Her natural guardian is a natural born fool, as I've often told him to his face! But it appears to me that you have learned more about this affair than I meant you to. Just what do you know?"

"That you returned from Europe to find your only brother in a sanitarium, his home closed and his daughter missing. You interviewed him, but he would give you no satisfaction, and knowing something of the independent character of the young lady——"

"Independent!" Madame Dumois drew a deep breath. "She defied me when she was three years old! The only member of the family who dared to stand up to me!"

"Knowing that she possessed the courage of her convictions," Ross continued, "you made up your mind to find out for yourself where she was and what she was doing."

"What she was up to!" The old lady corrected him grimly. "Never since she was born have I known what she was going to do next!"

"I have seen your brother, Mr. Westcote, and I am happy to be able to tell you that his health is much improved."

"I gathered that from his letter—" A flash of her old humor crossed her face. "He called me a meddlesome busybody, and that is more spirit than he has shown in years! I don't know how you have found out all this, but I cannot say that I am sorry. I did not care to put myself or my family affairs at the mercy of a detective agency, that was the reason why I would not tell you my motive in seeking her, yet I trust and like you, Mr. Ross."

"Thank you," he responded gravely.

"Now, if you will only find this perverse, incorrigible, young woman for me—"

"What if I have?" his eyes danced. "I did not say that I had failed, Madame Dumois."

"You have—you have found her?" The old lady gasped, and her sharp eyes blurred. "She hasn't gotten into any trouble, Mr. Ross? Where is she?"

"At home." He caught the two trembling wrinkled hands in his. "At our home, breaking in the new cook I believe. I have come to take you to her."

Madame Dumois looked long into his happy face and the color slowly came back to her own. A dry smile hovered about her lips, and then broke into a chuckle.

"Well! I do not usually indulge in slang, but that is one on the lawyers! I won't have to change my will again! When I quarreled with my brother and made up my mind that Ruth had disgraced the family by this unaccountable disappearance, I added a codicil in your favor. You were the best type of young American I had encountered in many a long day, and as the choice lay between you and a cat asylum, I decided on you. Now it is all in the family, and I am proud of you both. She is the most provoking, self-willed, irrepressible young woman in the world, and the dearest! Take me to her!"

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Table of Contents

- SUSPENSE

- CONTENTS

- SUSPENSE

- CHAPTER I.

- CHAPTER II.

- CHAPTER III.

- CHAPTER IV.

- CHAPTER V.

- CHAPTER VI.

- CHAPTER VII.

- CHAPTER VIII.

- CHAPTER IX.

- CHAPTER X.

- CHAPTER XI.

- CHAPTER XII.

- CHAPTER XIII.

- CHAPTER XIV.

- CHAPTER XV.

- CHAPTER XVI.

- CHAPTER XVII.

- CHAPTER XVIII.

- CHAPTER XIX.

- CHAPTER XX.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE