THE

 FILM OF FEAR

 BY

 ARNOLD FREDERICKS

 AUTHOR OF

 THE IVORY SNUFF BOX, ETC. 

 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY

 WILL FOSTER

 NEW YORK

 GROSSET & DUNLAP

 PUBLISHERS

 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY

 W. J. WATT & COMPANY

THE FILM OF FEAR

PART I

CHAPTER I

Ruth Morton finished her cup of coffee, brushed a microscopic crumb fromher embroidered silk kimono, pushed back her loosely arranged brownhair, and resumed the task of opening her mail. 

It was in truth a task, and one that consumed an inordinate amount ofher valuable time. And her time was extremely valuable. Computed uponthe basis of her weekly salary of one thousand dollars, it figured outjust $142. 85 per day, or very nearly $6 per hour, or 10 cents perminute, for each minute and hour of the twenty-four. As a motion picturestar, she had the satisfaction of knowing that she was paid a slightlylarger salary than had been, until recently, received by the Presidentof the United States. 

The opening of the huge batch of letters that greeted her daily acrossher dainty breakfast table was very much of a duty. It was not that shefelt any keen interest in the numberless notes from admirers, both maleand female, from Portland, Me. , to Los Angeles, Cal. , to say nothing ofSouth Bend, Opeloosa and Kicking Horse between. These might readily havebeen consigned to the depths of the wastebasket unopened, unread. Butthere was always the chance that, intermingled with this mass ofadulation, there might be a real letter, from a real friend, or abusiness communication of importance from some picture company possibly, prepared to offer her two thousand dollars per week, instead of onethousand, at the expiration of her present contract. So the mail had tobe carefully opened, at least, even if the bulk of it was tossed asideunread. 

Her mother usually assisted her in this daily task, but to-day Mrs. Morton, oppressed by a slight attack of indigestion, slept late, andRuth proceeded with the operation alone. 

She was a singularly attractive girl, combining a wholesome and quiteunassumed innocence with a certain measure of sophistication, gained bydaily contact with the free and easy life of the studios. Her brown eyeswere large and wondering, as though she still found it difficult torealize that within four years she had stepped from comparative povertyto the possession of an income which a duke or a prince might readilyhave envied. Her features, pleasing, regular, somewhat large, gave toher that particular type of beauty which lends itself best to theeccentricities of the camera. Her figure, graceful, well modeled, withthe soft roundness of youth, enabled her to wear with becoming gracealmost any costume, from the simple frock of the school girl to thecostly gowns of the woman of fashion. Add to this a keen intelligenceand a delightful vivacity of manner, and the reason for Ruth Morton'spopularity among motion picture "fans" from coast to coast was at onceapparent. 

She sat in the handsomely appointed dining-room of the apartment onFifty-seventh Street which she and her mother had occupied for the pasttwo years. The room, paneled in dull ivory, provided a perfect settingfor the girl's unusual beauty. In her kimono of Nile green and gold, shepresented a figure of such compelling charm that Nora, her maid, as sheremoved the empty coffee-cup, sighed to herself, if not with envy, atleast with regret, that the good God had not made _her_ along lines thatwould insure an income of over fifty thousand dollars a year. 

Ruth sliced open half a dozen more letters with her ivory paper knifeand prepared to drop them into the waste basket. One was from amanufacturer of cold cream, soliciting a testimonial. Two others werefrom ungrammatical school girls, asking her how they should proceed, inorder to become motion picture stars. Another was an advertisement of anew automobile. The fifth requested an autographed picture of herself. She swept the five over the edge of the table with a sigh of relief. Howstupid of all these people, she thought, to take up their time, and herown, so uselessly. 

The sixth letter, from its external appearance, might readily have beenof no greater interest than the other five, and yet, somethingintangible about it caused her to pause for a moment before insertingthe point of the knife beneath the flap of the envelope. It was a largeenvelope, square, formal-looking. The address upon it was typewritten. Unlike the majority of the other letters, forwarded from the studio, itbore the street and number of the apartment house in which she lived. The envelope was postmarked New York, and was sealed with a splotch ofblack sealing wax, which, however, contained the imprint of no monogramor seal, but was crossed both vertically and horizontally by a series offine parallel lines, dividing its surface into minute squares. 

Ruth observed these several peculiarities of the letter she was about toopen, with growing interest. The usual run of her correspondence was sodull and uninteresting that anything out of the ordinary was apt toattract her attention. Slipping the ivory blade of the paper knifequickly beneath the flap of the envelope, she cut it open. 

The letter within, written on the same heavy paper as that composing theenvelope, contained but three typewritten lines. It was not these, however, that instantly attracted Ruth's attention, but the signatureappended to them. This signature did not consist of a name, but of anastonishing seal, imprinted upon a bit of the same black sealing waxwith which the envelope had been fastened. And the device, as Ruth bentover it to make out its clearcut but rather fine lines, filled her witha sudden and overwhelming dismay. 

It was a grinning death's head, about half an inch in width, witheye-sockets staring vacantly, and grisly mouth gaping in a wide andhorrible smile, made the more horrible by the two rows of protrudingteeth. The girl almost dropped the letter, as full realization of thesignificance of the design swept over her. 

Hastily she recovered herself, and with trembling fingers raised theletter from her lap. The three typewritten lines upon the sheet were, ifanything, more horrifying than the device beneath them. "Your beauty hasmade you rich and famous, " the letter read. "Without it you could donothing. Within thirty days it shall be destroyed, and you will behideous. "

For a long time Ruth sat gazing at the words before her. In spite oftheir ghastly significance she could with difficulty bring herself tobelieve that she had an enemy in the world sufficiently ruthless, sufficiently envious of her beauty and her success, to be capable ofeither threatening her in this brutal way, or of carrying such a threatinto execution. So far as she knew, there was not a single person of allher acquaintance who wished her ill. Her own nature was too sweet, toosympathetic, too free from malice and bitterness, to conceive for amoment that the very charms which had brought her fame, success, mightalso be the means of bringing her envy and hatred in like proportion. She cast about in her mind for some possible, some reasonableexplanation of the matter, but try as she would, she was unable to thinkof anyone with whom she had ever come in contact, capable of threateningher in this terrible way. She had about decided that the whole thingmust be some stupidly conceived practical joke, when she saw her mothercross the hall and come into the room. 

Mrs. Harriet Morton was a woman of fifty, handsome and youthful in spiteof her gray hair, her years. That she had once been extremelygood-looking could have been told at a glance; anyone seeing mother anddaughter together experienced no difficulty in determining the source ofRuth Morton's charms. 

"Well, dear, " said the older woman, with a pleasant smile. "Haven't youfinished your letters yet?" She glanced toward the clock on the mantel. "You'll have to leave for the studio in half an hour. " Ruth nodded, gazing at her mother rather uneasily. 

"You'll have to open the rest of them, mother, " she said, indicating thepile of letters. "I--I'm tired. "

Mrs. Morton came up to her daughter and passed her hand over the girl'sglossy hair. 

"What's wrong, Ruth? You look as though something had frightened you. "Then her eyes fell upon the letter lying in the girl's lap, and shepaused suddenly. 

Ruth handed her mother the sheet of paper. 

"I--I just got this, " she said, simply. 

Mrs. Morton took the letter quickly from her daughter's hand andproceeded to read it. A look of apprehension crept into her eyes, butshe did her best to appear unconcerned. 

"Some crank, " she said, after she had mastered the sudden fear thatswept over her. "I shouldn't pay any attention to it, if I were you, mydear. There are a lot of people in the world that have nothing better todo, than play silly jokes like that. "

"Then you don't think it amounts to anything?" Ruth asked, somewhatrelieved. 

"Certainly not. Just a stupid plan to frighten you. Pay no attention toit. No"--she folded the letter as the girl put out her hand--"I'll takecharge of this. Now you'd better hurry and get ready. The car will bewaiting for you at nine, and Mr. Edwards expects to start that newpicture to-day, doesn't he?"

"Yes. " The girl rose. "It's a beautiful part. I'm the daughter of an oldmusic teacher, who dies in Brooklyn, and leaves me in poverty. And lateron, it turns out he was the heir to the throne of Moravia, and I'm aprincess. Lots of adventures, and spies, and all that. Ralph Turner isthe lover. He's awfully good-looking, don't you think?"

Mrs. Morton assented in rather a preoccupied way, as her daughter leftthe room. She was still thinking of the brutal threat which the girl hadjust received, and of the possible dangers to which she might as aresult be exposed. Mrs. Morton by no means felt the matter to be a joke, in spite of the assurances she had given Ruth. The tone of the letter, the evident care which had been taken to prevent the identity of thewriter from becoming known, filled her with the gravest alarm. 

As she sat pondering the matter, Nora came into the room, with Ruth'sdust coat and parasol in her hands. Mrs. Morton beckoned to the girl, then spoke to her in a low voice. 

"Nora, " she said, "Miss Ruth received a letter this morning, fromsomebody who is envious of her beauty and success. I pretended to makelight of the matter, but there may be something back of it. I want youto watch her carefully while you are away from the house. Be on yourguard every moment of the time. Don't let anyone come near her. Theymight try to throw acid, or something of the sort. I shan't feel safeuntil she is home again. "

The maid's face lit up with a significant smile. From her manner it wasclear that she fairly worshiped her young mistress. 

"I'll not let anyone do her any harm, Mrs. Morton, " she said, earnestly. "You may be sure of that. "

"And don't let her know, " Mrs. Morton added hastily, in a low voice, asshe saw Ruth come to the door, "that I am at all worried. She must nothave a threat like that on her mind. "

The maid nodded, then turned toward the door where Ruth stood. 

"Well, mother, good-by, " the latter exclaimed with a laugh. "You canopen all the rest of the letters, and if you come across any more likethat last one, please keep them. I think I'll begin a collection. "

Mrs. Morton forced herself to join in the girl's laughter. 

"There won't be any more, dear, " she said, kissing the girl fondly. "Don't bother your head about such things. They're not worth it. Andcome home as soon as you get through. "

"All right, mother. We're going to the theater to-night, aren't we?Don't forget to get the tickets. " With a smile she left the room, and afew moments later Mrs. Morton heard the rumble of the descendingelevator. 

She sat in silence for a long time, thinking, a great fear clutching ather heart. Her life, she reflected, had held, until recently, but littleof happiness. The long, weary days of poverty, when her husband, incapacitated by a paralytic stroke, had seen his savings slowly dwindleaway; the death of her son, and then that of Mr. Morton himself passedbefore her mental vision. Only Ruth had been left to her, and in thegirl's happiness and success lay Mrs. Morton's whole life and being. Now, that things had at last taken a turn, and the future seemed clearand assured ahead of her, was some dreadful tragedy to change all herjoy to sorrow? She turned to the pile of still unopened letters with asigh, afraid, almost to proceed with the task of reading them. Yet, anhour later, when they had all been disposed of without further threatsagainst Ruth having been discovered, she breathed more easily. Perhaps, after all, the horrible letter was merely a silly joke. She took it outand examined it again with the greatest care, but no clue to theidentity of the writer rewarded her scrutiny. The message remainedclear, terrible, full of sinister meaning. "_Within thirty days it shallbe destroyed, and you will be hideous!_" The grinning death's head sealstared up at her, fascinatingly horrible. Mrs. Morton quickly placed theletter in her bosom. 

Rising, she left the room, and proceeded to that occupied by Ruth. Itpleased her, notwithstanding the servants, to take care of it herself. Mrs. Morton was passionately devoted to her beautiful daughter. In her, the sun rose and set. 

She glanced about the daintily furnished room with a smile. Theappointments were simple, almost girlish, in spite of their owner'slarge salary. Mrs. Morton began to set the room to rights. She hadfinished making the bed, and had gone over to the dressing table toarrange the articles upon it, when a square of white upon the floorattracted her attention. 

It lay upon the rug in front of the dressing table, and appeared to be aletter of some sort. 

Supposing it to be something that the girl had dropped in the hurry ofleaving, Mrs. Morton stooped and picked it up. Then a queer feeling ofdismay came over her. The large square white envelope, the typewrittenaddress, bore a singular and disquieting resemblance to the one in whichthe threatening letter had been received so short a time before. 

With trembling hands, Mrs. Morton tore the envelope open and removed thefolded sheet of paper within. When her eyes fell upon the contents ofthe latter, she shuddered, and stood white with fear. 

There was a message in typewritten characters upon the sheet, and Mrs. Morton read it with a groan of despair. 

"_Only twenty-nine days more!_" the message said. "We shall not fail. "Below the words grinned the frightful death's head seal. 

CHAPTER II

Mrs. Harriet Morton was a courageous woman, but when she read the secondthreat against her daughter, she was filled with instant indignation andhorror. The thing was so appallingly mysterious, so utterly withoutreasonable explanation. 

Ruth had left the room but a few moments before. Certainly the letterwas not upon the floor then. The maid, Nora, had gone with her. Thatremoved her from any suspicion, even had such a thought been reasonableor possible, and Mrs. Morton felt it was not. The only other person inthe apartment was Mary, their old cook, a negro from the south, who hadbeen a faithful and patient member of the Morton household for over tenyears. That she could have had a hand in placing this mysterious messagein Ruth's bedroom seemed incredible, not to be entertained for a moment. And yet, there was the message, appallingly simple, direct, threatening. "_Only twenty-nine days more!_" Mrs. Morton shuddered. 

She glanced about the room. How had the letter come there? Certainly notby means of the door. Yet it seemed equally out of the question that itcould have been brought in through one of the windows. 

There were two in the room, one facing to the front, and opening upon acourt, the other in the rear, overlooking the yards of the houses on thenext street. She went to the front window, which was raised only a fewinches, and gazed out. 

Below her stretched the wide court, flanked on one hand by the side ofthe apartment building, on the other by the blank wall of an adjoininghouse. The latter was some ten feet from where she stood, and _therewere no windows in it_! She turned to the window at the other side ofthe room. 

Here a fire escape led down to an alley at the rear of the building. Could it have been in this way that the letter had been delivered? Thething seemed impossible. Not only was the window closed, but she knewthat the ladders did not reach all the way to the ground, the lastsection being pulled up, to be dropped only in case of fire. With amystified look she returned to the center of the room. 

The letter grinned at her from the dresser, on which she had left it. Ruth must never hear of the matter, she knew. Taking it up, she placedit in the bosom of her dress along with the one which had arrivedearlier in the day. Then she sat down to decide what she had best donext. 

To trifle with so dangerous a situation was no longer to be thought of. One message, the first, might have been a foolish joke. The secondproved that the danger threatening her daughter was real, imminent. 

At first she thought of placing the matter in the hands of the postalauthorities, but would they, she wondered, concern themselves withthreats delivered in other ways than by mail? This second message hadnot come through any such channels. In desperation she put on her hat, placed the two letters in her handbag and set out to seek the advice ofone of her oldest and best friends. 

Her purpose took her to a private banking house in Broad Street, uponthe wide entrance doors of which was inscribed the name John Stapleton &Co. She asked to see Mr. Stapleton. John Stapleton was a man of wealthand influence in the financial world, and Mrs. Morton's husband had atone time been one of his most trusted employees. Now that Ruth hadbecome to some extent a capitalist, it was to Mr. Stapleton that thecare of her savings had been entrusted. Mrs. Morton felt the utmostconfidence in both his sincerity and his judgment. 

Mr. Stapleton received her almost at once, in his simply yet richlyfurnished private office, and rising from his huge flat-topped rosewooddesk, welcomed her warmly, and asked what he could do for her. 

Mrs. Morton felt confused. Her mission seemed, after all, a strange onewith which to come to a leader of finance. 

"I--I am in great trouble, Mr. Stapleton, " she began. 

"Yes?" He took her hand in his and led her to a chair. "Tell me allabout it. "

Mrs. Morton explained the circumstances surrounding the receiving of thetwo letters in detail, and then handed the documents to Mr. Stapleton. 

"Do you think I had better place the matter in the hands of the postalauthorities?" she said. Mr. Stapleton examined the two letters carefullythen he shook his head. 

"No. At least not at present. It seems to me that your daughter may bein grave danger, and under those circumstances, I think your wisestcourse would be to employ a private detective, an investigator ofmatters of this character, not only to ferret out those who areresponsible for these threats, but to take steps to protect yourdaughter from harm. "

"You think, then, that she is really in danger?" Mrs. Morton gasped. 

"I do not wish to alarm you, but I very much fear that she is. "

"But I don't know any private detectives, " Mrs. Morton began. 

Stapleton looked up from the letter. 

"When I spoke, " he said, "I had a certain man in mind. He is not adetective, in the usual sense of the word. You can find plenty of those, of course, but, while they are useful enough in the detection ofcriminals of the ordinary sort, they would probably have very littlesuccess in an affair such as this. The man I had in mind is a brilliantcriminal investigator, one whose services I have more than once beenobliged to make use of in matters of a personal nature. Some two yearsago, for instance, my child was kidnapped, in Paris, and held forransom. The entire police force of the French capital seemed powerlessto discover his whereabouts. At last I called in Richard Duvall, andwithin a few days my boy was returned to me, and the criminals who hadabducted him placed under arrest. It was a marvellous, a brilliant pieceof work. I am not likely to forget very soon the mystery of the changinglights. " He paused, and Mrs. Morton spoke up eagerly. 

"Give me Mr. Duvall's address, " she said, "and I will see him at once. "

"That, " Mr. Stapleton smiled, "is, of course, the great difficulty. Duvall, who is married, lives with his wife on their farm nearWashington. They both have plenty of money, and he has practicallyretired from professional work. "

"Then of what use is it to suggest his name?" asked Mrs. Morton, quickly. 

"He had already retired, " Stapleton rejoined, "at the time of my boy'skidnapping, but I prevailed on him to take up the case. His retirementmerely means that he is not in the active practice of his profession. But exceptional cases, cases which by reason of their novelty interesthim, he may be persuaded to undertake. I fancy this matter of yourdaughter's would prove attractive to him. It is unusual--bizarre. Istrongly advise you to see him. "

"To do that, I must go to Washington?"

"Yes. I will give you a letter which will insure you an interview, and, I hope, enlist his services in your behalf. " He pressed a button on hisdesk, summoning a stenographer. "I sincerely hope that you will besuccessful. "

Mrs. Morton sat in silence while the letter of introduction to RichardDuvall was being written. Then she rose to go. 

"I will leave for Washington this afternoon, " she announced. "I feelthat there is no time to waste. "

"You are quite right. And be sure to tell Mr. Duvall that you are aclose personal friend of mine, and that anything he can do for you Ishall appreciate to the utmost. "

Mrs. Morton went back to the apartment, and made her preparations tostart. She determined to take a train leaving at half past three, and asRuth would not return from the studio until later, she called her up onthe telephone, and told her of her sudden determination. 

"It is a matter of business, dear, " she explained. "I will be backto-morrow. Good-by. " The girl's cheerful voice reassured her. At leastnothing had happened up to now, to give cause for alarm. 

It was only when Mrs. Morton was about to leave for the train that hernerves were once more subjected to a severe shock. 

The telephone bell rang, and she went to answer it, thinking that Ruthmight for some reason have called her up. 

Over the wire came a thin, queer voice. 

"Beauty is only skin deep, " it said. "A breath may destroy it. " Afterthat, silence. 

Mrs. Morton made a frantic effort to learn the number of the stationfrom which she had been called, but without success. In a ratherdepressed state of mind, she made her way to the train. 

It was half past eight at night when she arrived in Washington, and sheat once called up Richard Duvall on the telephone. 

To her disappointment, she learned that he was out, and was not expectedback until late. There was nothing to do but wait until morning. Sheretired to her room, full of hope that the following day would bring anend to her fears. 

Immediately after breakfast she called again, and this time was moresuccessful. Duvall himself answered the telephone. 

"I am Mrs. Morton, from New York, " she said, eagerly. "I would like tocome out and see you. "

"What do you wish to see me about?" the detective inquired. 

"It is a personal matter. I will explain when I arrive. I prefer not todo so over the telephone. I have a letter to you from Mr. Stapleton. "

"Mr. John Stapleton, the banker?"

"Yes. "

"Come, then, by all means, at any hour that suits you. Mr. Stapleton isone of my best friends. "

Mrs. Morton hung up the receiver, after assuring him that she wouldstart at once. Then she went out and engaging an automobile, set out forDuvall's place. 

CHAPTER III

Richard Duvall and his wife, Grace, lingered rather later than usualover their breakfast that morning. 

It was a warm and brilliant day in May, and the blossoming beauty of thespring filled them both with a delightful sense of well-being. 

Duvall, however, seemed a trifle restless, and Grace observed it. 

"What's the matter, Richard?" she asked. 

"Oh, nothing. " Her husband picked up the morning paper. "They are stilllooking for the woman in that Marsden case, I see, " he remarked. 

"Do you know, my dear, " Grace said, "I sometimes think that you made amistake in coming down here to the country to live. Your heart is reallyin New York, and every time there is a murder case, or a bank robbery, or a kidnapping up there, you are restless as a hen on a hot griddleuntil the mystery is solved. Why don't you take up your professionalwork again?" Duvall laid down his paper and regarded his wife with alook of surprise. 

"Because, Grace, " he said, "you especially asked me, after that affairof the missing suffragette, to finally give up my detective work andcontent myself with a quiet existence here on the farm. You said, onaccount of the boy, that I ought not to take such risks. "

"Well--suppose I did. You agreed with me, didn't you?"

"Yes--I guess so. " Duvall once more picked up the newspaper. "But, naturally, I can't help feeling a certain interest in any striking andnovel case that I may read about. "

"And I haven't a doubt, " laughed Grace, "that you wish that you wereback in harness again a dozen times a day. Come now--'fess up. Don'tyou?"

"Sometimes, " granted her husband, with a smile. "You know I loved mywork. It always seemed to take me out of the dull routine of existence, and give me a new feeling of interest. I shouldn't mind if I had a noveland interesting case to work on right now. "

"Would you take one, if it were offered to you?" asked Grace quickly. 

"No--I guess not. I haven't forgotten my promise. "

"Well--I've decided to release you from that, Richard. I really thinkyou need a little mental exercise and diversion. All play and no work, you know----" She began to arrange the dogwood blossoms she had gatheredbefore breakfast, in a big vase on the table. 

Duvall laughed. 

"I'm getting along very well, " he said. "Don't forget I'm expecting tohave that corner lot planted in potatoes to-day. " He rose, and comingover to his wife, playfully pinched her cheek. "What's the matter, dear?" he asked. "Are you pining for a little trip to New York yourself?We don't need a murder mystery to make that possible, you know. "

Grace shook her head. As she did so, the telephone bell in the hallbegan to ring. "That may be your murder mystery now, " she said, with alaugh. 

"More likely the Clarks asking us over to dinner this evening, " hereturned, as he made his way into the hall. 

Grace continued to arrange her flowers. Presently Duvall re-entered theroom. There was a curious smile upon his face. "Well, " Grace remarked, glancing up. "Which was it? The murder case, or the Clarks?"

"Neither. A mysterious woman, this time, saying that she must see me atonce. I told her to come on out. "

"Ah! This _is_ serious, " his wife laughed. "A mysterious woman! Isuppose I ought to be jealous. Didn't she say what she wanted with you?"

"No. But we'll know soon enough. She'll be here at half past nine. Suppose we go and take a look at those Airedale pups. " Together theycrossed the veranda and made their way toward the barn. 

Richard Duvall had changed but little since the days when he had servedon the staff of Monsieur Lefevre, the Prefect of Police of Paris, andhad taken part in the stirring adventures of the Million Francs, theIvory Snuff Box and the Changing Lights. The same delightful spirit of_camaraderie_ existed between his wife, Grace, and himself, a spiritwhich had enabled them, together, to solve some of the most excitingmysteries in the annals of the French detective service. It had beennearly two years, now, since the affair of the Mysterious Goddess, thelast case in which Duvall had been concerned, and he was beginning tofeel that he would welcome with outstretched arms a chance to make useonce more of his exceptional talents as an investigator of crime. Hencehe had received Mrs. Morton's telephone call with more than ordinaryinterest. 

The latter had told him nothing of her reasons for interviewing him, contenting herself with the bare statement that she had a letter to himfrom Mr. Stapleton. This, however, had been enough to set Duvall'snerves to tingling and to cause him to conclude that the mysteriouswoman who desired to interview him in such a hurry came on no ordinarybusiness. Hence he waited with some impatience for the arrival of halfpast nine. 

A few moments after the half hour, a large automobile swept up thedrive, and Duvall, with a nod to his wife, went back to the house toreceive his guest. She was waiting in the library when he entered. 

"I am Mrs. Morton, of New York, " his caller began, handing him Mr. Stapleton's letter. 

Duvall read it, but it told him little. 

"Mr. Stapleton informs me, " he said, looking at his visitor, "that youare in some difficulty or other, and asks that, if I can possibly do so, I try to help you out of it. Did he not also say that I have for sometime past given up the active practice of my profession?"

Mrs. Morton nodded, then bent eagerly forward. 

"Yes, Mr. Duvall. He told me that. But he also said that, when you heardthe circumstances, you might be persuaded to assist me. I am in verydeep trouble, and I fear that there is not a moment to be lost. "

"What is the nature of your difficulty, madam?" Duvall asked. 

"It--it concerns my daughter. I am the mother of Ruth Morton. " She madethis announcement as though she fully expected Duvall to realize itssignificance at once, but the latter's face remained quite blank. 

"Yes?" he replied, vaguely. "And who is Ruth Morton?"

Mrs. Morton looked at him in pained surprise. The thought that anyonecould possibly be ignorant of her daughter's fame and success seemedunbelievable to her. Was not Ruth's name a household word among movingpicture "fans" from coast to coast? "Why--Ruth Morton--the motionpicture star, " she replied. "Surely you must have heard of her. "

Duvall smiled, but shook his head. 

"I never go to motion pictures, " he said. "But that is of no importance. What has happened to your daughter?"

"Nothing. At least I hope not--yet. It is what _may_ happen to her thatfrightens me so. " She took the two threatening letters from her handbagand gave them to the detective. "These came yesterday, " she said, simply. 

Duvall took the letters, and proceeded to read them with the utmostcare. When he looked up, his eyes were sparkling with interest. 

"The first letter, I observe, " he said, "was mailed night before last, at half-past six, at the general post office. How was the other letterdelivered?"

"I do not know. I found it, yesterday forenoon, upon the floor in mydaughter's bedroom, an hour or more after she had left the house. Shehas not seen it. I kept all news of it from her, as I did not wish herto be frightened. "

"That was wise, of course, " Duvall said. "But how could the letterpossibly have been placed where you found it, without your knowledge?Who, beside yourself, was in the apartment at the time?"

"No one but an old negro cook, who has been with me for years. I amquite certain that she had nothing to do with it. "

"And the maid of whom you speak?"

"She had left my daughter's room, and come into the dining room, where Iwas sitting, before Ruth left the bedroom. They went out together. Thenote could not have been in the bedroom then, or my daughter wouldcertainly have seen it. The thing seems almost uncanny. "

Duvall began to stroke his chin, a habit with him when he was more thanusually perplexed. Presently he spoke. 

"One thing I have learned, Mrs. Morton, after many years spent indetective work. There is no circumstance, however mystifying it may atfirst appear, which is not susceptible of some reasonable and often verycommonplace explanation. You find this letter on the floor in yourdaughter's bedroom. It was placed there, either by someone within theapartment, or by someone from without. Now you tell me that it could nothave been placed from within. Then I can only say that someone must haveentered the room, or at least managed to place the letter in the room, from outside. "

"That may be true, Mr. Duvall, " remarked Mrs. Morton, quietly, "but whenyou consider that our apartment is on the fourth floor, that one of thewindows of the room was closed, and the other only open a few inches, and that the blank wall of the opposite house is at least ten feet away, I fail to see how what you suggest is possible. "

Her words filled Duvall with surprise. If what his caller said was true, the case might have elements which would make it more than usuallyinteresting. 

"Has your daughter any enemy, who might envy her her success, and wishto deprive her of it?" he asked. 

"None, that I know of. But since these two letters came, I feelconvinced that someone, whom, I cannot imagine, _does_ feel that waytoward her, and that on account of it she is in the gravest danger. Don't you think so, Mr. Duvall?"

"I think it highly probable. And what, Mrs. Morton, would you like tohave me do in the matter?"

"Why--come to New York, take up the case, and find out who thesewretches are, so that they may be prevented from doing my daughter anyharm. There is no time to lose. They may carry out their threats at anymoment. You will observe that in the first letter they said that herbeauty would be destroyed '_within thirty days_. ' One of those days hasalready passed. To-day is the second. At most, we have but twenty-eightdays left in which to find out who is responsible for this outrage. Investigation may consume a great deal of time. I hope that you willconsent to come to New York and take charge of the matter at once. I amreturning this afternoon, as soon as I can get a train. Can you notreturn with me? As for the matter of expense, I place no limit upon it. There is nothing I would not sacrifice, to save my daughter from thefate they have threatened. Think what it would mean, Mr. Duvall. Ayoung, beautiful, innocent girl, scarcely more than a child, to gothrough life with her beauty taken from her, made hideous by somefiendish device, blinded and scarred by acid, her featurescrushed--gashed by some sudden blow. Can you imagine anything moreterrible?"

Duvall thought for moment of his own lovely child, now almost threeyears old, and shuddered. Bank burglaries, thefts of jewels, seemedrelatively of small importance compared with such a situation as this. His feelings of chivalry rose. He felt a strong desire to help thisyoung girl. 

"Here is her picture, " Mrs. Morton continued, taking a photograph fromher handbag and extending it to Duvall. 

The latter gazed at the charming features of the young actress, andnodded. 

"She is lovely--exquisite, " he murmured. "I don't wonder you feel as youdo. I did not intend to take up any detective work at this time, but Ihave decided to assist you in this matter in any way that I can. "

"Oh--thank you, Mr. Duvall. " There were tears in Mrs. Morton's anxiouseyes. "I can never repay you for your kindness--never. But if you cansave Ruth from these scoundrels, I will gladly spend----"

"Never mind about that, Mrs. Morton, " Duvall observed, with a friendlysmile. "It is scarcely a question of money with me. If I had not felt akeen interest in your daughter's welfare, I should not have agreed totake up the matter at all. As it is, you need not worry about theexpense. I am going to take the case largely because it has interestedme, and it will be a pleasure to work it out, not only on yourdaughter's account, but on my own. You know, to me, such matters are ofabsorbing interest, like the solving of some complex and bafflingpuzzle. "

"Then you will go back to New York with me this evening?"

"I can hardly do that, Mrs. Morton. But I can agree to call on you thereto-morrow. It will take me some hours to arrange matters here so that Ican leave. I do not think you need worry for a few days at least. Ifthese people had meant to act at once they would not have named theperiod of thirty days in their threats. "

"Very well. " Mrs. Morton rose, and held out her hand. "I will expect youto-morrow. Will it be in the morning?"

"Very likely. In any event, I will first telephone to you. " He enteredthe address in his notebook. "By the way, perhaps you had better let mekeep that photograph. "

"Certainly. " Mrs. Morton handed it to him, and he thrust it into hispocket. "The letters you already have?"

"Yes. "

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes. One thing. Do not tell your daughter that you have employed me inthis case. It--it might alarm her. "

"Certainly not. And that leads me to say that you, on your part, will ofcourse observe the utmost secrecy. Even with Mrs. Duvall. "

"That goes without saying, madam. My professional secrets I share withno one. Even between my wife and myself there is an unwritten law whichis never broken. Unless we are working on a case together--unless shecan be of service to me, she asks no questions. She would not speak tome, or even recognize me, were we to meet, while I am engaged in work ofthis sort. You need have no fear on that score. "

"I am very glad to know that. Were these people to suspect that I haveplaced the matter in the hands of a detective, they would be instantlyon their guard, and all means of tracing them might be lost. "

"That is undoubtedly true, and for that reason, I may appear in othercharacters than my own, from time to time, disguised perhaps, in such away that even you would not recognize me. Under those circumstances Iwill suggest a password--one that will not be known to anyone else. Should occasion arise in which I desire to acquaint you with myidentity, without making it known to others, I will merely repeat thewords--twenty-eight days, or twenty-seven or six or five, as the casemay be, on that particular day, and you will know that it is I, and actaccordingly. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Duvall. "

"Very well. Then we will leave further details until to-morrow. " Heshook hands with his caller, escorted her to her automobile, thenreturned to the library and began a careful study of the two notes whichMrs. Morton had left with him. Here Grace found him, half an hour later. 

"Well, " she said, coming up to him with a smile. "Shall I begin to packour things?"

Duvall put his arm about her. 

"Yes, dear, " he said. "We'll leave on the sleeper to-night. You can getMrs. Preston to come and take charge of the house while we are gone. Itmay be two weeks. That is, if you want to go along. "

"Want to go along? Why, Richard, I'm just dying for a trip to New York. I haven't been there since before Christmas, as you know, and I've gotto get a spring outfit. Of course I'm going. " She went gayly toward thehall stairs. 

"Then you must be ready right after lunch, " he called after her. 

"But why so soon, if we are taking the sleeper?"

"Because we are going up to town this afternoon and see a few movingpictures. "

"Moving pictures?" Grace paused at the door, an expression of the utmostastonishment upon her face. "Why, Dick, you never go to moving pictures. You've always said they didn't interest you. "

"We're going, just the same. "

"What's come over you?" Grace asked. 

"Nothing. I'm curious to see some of them, that's all. Never too old tolearn, you know. If I am not mistaken, I saw a new feature filmadvertised in the newspaper this morning. " He took a paper from the deskand glanced through it. "Here it is. Ruth Morton, in _The Miser'sDaughter_. Have you seen it?"

"No. But I've seen Miss Morton often--in pictures, I mean. She's alovely creature, and a splendid actress, too. "

"Then this film ought to be a good one, don't you think?"

Grace burst into a rippling laugh. 

"You're getting positively human, Richard, " she exclaimed. "Here I'vebeen telling you for months past what a lot you've been missing, and youonly made fun of me, and now you actually suggest going yourself. Wasthe lady who called interested in the motion picture business?"

Duvall laughed, but made no reply. 

"What's the mystery?" Grace went on, with an amused smile. "You haven'ttold me, you know. Has she lost her jewels, or only her husband?"

Duvall raised his hand. 

"No questions, my dear. This is a professional matter. But I don't mindtelling you this much, if I ever become a motion picture 'fan, ' you'llhave her to thank for it. "

"Really. Then I'm glad she came. I hate going alone. And it seems Ishall also have to thank her for a trip to New York. She has my eternalgratitude. Now I'm going up to pack. "

Duvall resumed his seat, and once more took up his examination of theletters Mrs. Morton had left with him, but they told him little. Therewere the usual individual peculiarities in the typewritten characters, but that was about all he could discover. The letter paper, while ofexcellent quality, was such as might be bought at any first-classstationery store. The death's head seal, of course, was highlyindividual, but to trace anyone by means of it presented almostinsuperable difficulties. To find the seal, one must of necessity firstfind its owner, and then the chase would be over. He replaced theletters in his pocket book, and went to his room to make ready for theirjourney. 

CHAPTER IV

Mrs. Morton returned to New York that afternoon, greatly pleased withthe results of her trip. That she had been able to enlist the servicesof Richard Duvall gave her a sense of security. She found Ruth at home, safe and well, with no further threats or warnings to disturb her peaceof mind. The girl was absorbed in her new rôle. The picture promised tobe the most successful of her career. 

The following morning Mrs. Morton rose early, in order to go through themail before Ruth had an opportunity to do so. The shock caused by thefirst threatening letter had passed from the girl's mind. The second sheknew nothing of. Mrs. Morton was determined that if any more arrived, she should not see those either. 

Trembling with eagerness she opened the pile of letters, but foundnothing. With a sigh of relief she turned away. Perhaps, after all shehad exaggerated the importance of the matter. Half an hour later, whileRuth was eating her breakfast, a messenger boy arrived with a telegram, addressed to Miss Ruth Morton. The maid, seeing no reason to dootherwise, brought it to the girl as she sat at the table. Mrs. Morton, who had been at the rear of the apartment, hurried in as she heard thesound of the doorbell, but by the time she had reached the dining room, Ruth had already opened and read the message. She sat staring at a bitof yellow paper, her face pale and drawn. 

"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Morton cried, hurrying to her side. 

Ruth picked up the telegram and handed it to her mother. 

"Another threat, " she said, quietly. "These people, whoever they are, seem to be in deadly earnest. "

Mrs. Morton took the telegram and hurriedly read it. 

"Even the beauty of the rose, " the message said, "cannot endure fortwenty-seven days. " There was no signature to the telegram. 

A look of the deepest apprehension crept into Mrs. Morton's eyes, butshe turned away, so that Ruth might not realize her fears. 

"Pay no attention to the matter, Ruth, " she said, in tones suddenlygrown a trifle unsteady. "It is certainly nothing more than a stupidjoke. "

"Well, mother, of course you may be right, but for my part, I have afeeling that it isn't a joke at all, but a real and very terriblethreat. What is to prevent these people, whoever they are, fromattacking me--sending me some infernal machine in the disguise of a boxor package, which, as soon as I open it, might burn or blind orotherwise disfigure me so that my life would be ruined?" She rose andglanced at herself in the mirror which hung over the mantel. Alreadythere were deep circles of anxiety beneath her eyes, while the lines ofher face, usually sweet and placid, were now those of an anxious andfrightened woman. The first threat had upset her far more than hermother had realized. The one just received had intensified the effect ahundredfold. 

"But you mustn't open any packages, my child. Be very careful aboutthat. And Robert must not stop the car, under any circumstances, ingoing to or from the studio. There, at least, I believe you are quitesafe. I will have a talk with Mr. Edwards to-day, and explain matters tohim. And here you cannot possibly be in any danger. Meanwhile, in spiteof what you say, I still beg you not to let this matter prey upon yourmind. I cannot, will not, take it seriously. " Poor Mrs. Morton, herselfthoroughly frightened, strove with all her might to convince Ruth thatshe had nothing to fear. She knew the girl's intense, high-strungnature, and feared that constant worry, ceaseless anxiety, might readilyso work upon her as to reduce her to a nervous wreck long before theexpiration of the thirty days named in the first threatening letter. Shefound herself wishing devoutly that Duvall would appear. 

As she finished speaking there came a ring at the doorbell, and Norastarted to answer it. Mrs. Morton stopped her. 

"Nora, " she said. "Listen to me. You are not, under any circumstances, to admit anyone--no matter who it is--until I have first seen and talkedwith them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand, " replied the girl, as she went out into thehall. 

A moment later Mrs. Morton, hearing a man's voice, hurried after her. Nora, with the door but slightly open, was speaking with a rough-lookingfellow, a workman, apparently, who stood in the hallway outside. He wasa man of thirty-five, with a reddish moustache, wearing working clothesand a cap. This he removed, as Mrs. Morton came to the door. 

"Is this Mrs. Morton's apartment?" he asked. 

"Yes. What do you want?" Mrs. Morton's voice and manner were far fromencouraging. 

"There seems to be a leak in the plumbing somewhere on this floor, " theman went on. "There's trouble with the ceilings in the apartment below. The superintendent wants me to go over the connections and see thateverything is all right. " He lifted a canvas bag containing his toolsfrom the floor, and made as though to enter. Mrs. Morton, however, didnot open the door any wider. 

"You can't come in now, " she said. "Come back later--in an hour. Mydaughter is not dressed yet. " She seemed ready to close the doorentirely, but the man again spoke. 

"Can't afford to wait, ma'am, " he said, with a significant smile. "I gotevery apartment in this building to go over before the end of the month, and there are _only twenty-seven days left_. " He emphasized hisconcluding words, at the same time looking Mrs. Morton squarely in theeye. The words, the man's look, brought sudden recognition. Mrs. Mortondrew open the door. 

"Very well, " she said. "Come in. " She realized that the supposed workmanwas no other than Duvall. 

The latter went quietly toward the kitchen at the rear of the apartment, and occupied himself by examining the connections of the sink. He seemedto work slowly, unconcernedly, whistling softly to himself as he movedabout. His eyes, however, were very bright and keen, and no detail ofthe room, the negro cook who occupied it, or the buildings in the rear, escaped his attention. 

Mrs. Morton came back presently and addressed him. 

"My daughter has gone, now, " she said. "You may look over the plumbingin the bathroom whenever you are ready. "

With a nod Duvall picked up his tools and followed her to the front ofthe apartment. As they left the kitchen, Mrs. Morton closed the doorleading from it to the hall. 

"I want you to stay here for the next hour, Sarah, " she said, as sheleft the kitchen. "If anyone rings, I will answer the bell. " A momentlater she and Duvall were in the library. 

The latter pretended to be busy inspecting the connections of the hotwater radiator. 

"Have you received any more threats?" he asked, in a low voice, withoutturning his head. 

Mrs. Morton took the telegram that Ruth had received a short timebefore, and placed it in his hand. 

"This came half an hour ago, " she said, without further comment. 

Duvall read it, then thrust it into his pocket. 

"Did your daughter see it?" he asked. 

"Yes. It had been delivered to her before I could prevent it. "

"That is too bad. Was she much upset?"

"Yes. The thing is beginning to get on her nerves. "

Duvall rose, and placed his tools in the kit. 

"Please take me to your daughter's bedroom, " he said. Mrs. Morton ledthe way. 

The room was a fairly large one, situated in an ell at the rear of thebuilding. Of its two windows, one, as has already been pointed out, overlooked the court between the apartment building and the house nextdoor. The other faced toward the rear. Duvall placed his kit of toolsupon the floor, and began an examination of the room. After a quickglance about, he turned to Mrs. Morton. 

"Where was the letter found--the one that did not come through themails?"

"Here. " Mrs. Morton indicated a spot on the floor near the smallenameled dressing table that stood against the east wall of the room. Its position was midway between the two windows. It was clear thatwhoever had entered the room might have done so through either of thewindows; at least, the position in which the dressing table stoodafforded no indication as to which one it might have been. 

"Which of the two windows was open, when you found the letter?" Duvallasked. 

Mrs. Morton indicated the one facing the court. 

"This one, " she said. "Not wide open. Perhaps six or eight inches. "

"The other was not fastened, I suppose?"

"No. Ruth always keeps it raised during the night, but usually closes itwhile dressing. "

Duvall went to the window, and opened it. It was well balanced and movedeasily. 

"Anyone coming up by way of the fire escape could, of course, haveraised the window from the outside, and closed it again after leavingthe room, " he said, more to himself than to Mrs. Morton. Then he got outon the fire escape and made a careful examination of its surface. 

"When was this ironwork painted?" he asked Mrs. Morton, through thewindow. 

"About ten days ago. "

"H--m. " Duvall examined the newly painted iron surface with rather ablank expression. That anyone had walked upon it since it had receivedits newly applied coat was, he felt, out of the question. The paint wasso new, so shiny, so yielding in its fresh glossiness that, eventreading as lightly as he could, the marks of his shoes were plainlyvisible. He leaned over and pressed the palm of his hand upon the gratediron floor. The pressure of his hand was sufficient to dull the freshlypainted surface. It seemed impossible that anyone, even in bare orstockinged feet, could have been upon the fire escape, without havingleft tell-tale marks upon it. He re-entered the room, and turned hisattention to the other window. 

Here the opportunities for entrance seemed even more unfavorable. Thewindow was situated on the fourth floor. There was still another floorabove, with a window similarly located. Anyone might, of course, havebeen lowered from this window above, to the sill of the one at which henow stood, and entered the room in that way. He examined with care thewhite woodwork of the window sill, also freshly painted. It showed nomarks. This, of course, was not conclusive. He determined to investigatethe occupants of the apartment on the top floor. 

The wall of the brownstone dwelling house next door, which formed theeast side of the narrow court, was of brick, covered with ivy. Therewere no windows in it whatever. Apparently it had once adjoined the wallof a similar house, where the apartment building now stood, and when thesecond house had been torn down to make way for the new building, thepartition wall had remained as originally built, without windows. 

Duvall examined this house next door with a great deal of interest. Itwas four stories high, with an attic, and rose to almost the same heightas the fifth floor of the apartment house, owing, no doubt, to itsceilings being somewhat higher. In the sloping roof of the attic werethree small dormer windows, facing the court, but the nearest one wasperhaps twenty feet from the window of Ruth's room, in a horizontaldirection, and some eight or ten feet above it. There was no way inwhich anyone could have passed from the attic window to that of Ruth'sroom, even supposing such a person to be an expert climber. Anyonelowered from this window by means of a rope would merely have foundhimself hanging against a bare brick wall, twenty feet from the windowof the girl's room. Duvall, accompanied by Mrs. Morton, made his wayback to the library. 

"You feel quite certain about the cook?" he asked. 

"Sarah?" Mrs. Morton smiled. "What do you think? You've seen her. "

"She certainly appears to be above suspicion, " Duvall replied. "But onecan never be sure. Suppose you send her out on some errand. I shouldlike to search her room. "

Mrs. Morton left him for a few moments, and presently the old coloredwoman passed down the hall and left the apartment. Then Duvall, accompanied by Mrs. Morton, made a thorough examination of the woman'sroom. 

His search disclosed nothing of interest, nor was a similar search ofthe room of Nora, the maid, productive of anything that could in any wayconnect her with the mysterious warnings. There remained only theoccupants of the fifth floor apartment. Duvall requested Mrs. Morton tosummon the janitor of the building, and explain to him, in a guardedway, that he wished to ask him certain questions. 

The janitor proved to be a good-natured fellow, who seemed extremelyanxious to please Mrs. Morton in every possible way. In answer to aquestion from the latter, he said that the apartment on the top floorwas vacant, and had been vacant for nearly two months. 

The family that had occupied it, he explained, had moved away, and hadrequested the management of the building to sublet it. This they had notyet succeeded in doing. 

"May I go up and look it over?" Duvall asked. 

"Sure you may, " the janitor replied, and he and Duvall went to theelevator, leaving Mrs. Morton waiting in the library. 

The apartment on the top floor had been newly done over, and smelt offresh varnish and paint. The shiny floors had scarcely been walked upon, since they had been refinished. The air was close and warm, by reason ofthe tightly closed windows. Duvall proceeded at once to the roomdirectly over Ruth's bedroom. 

To his disappointment the two windows were not only closed and fastened, but so tightly stuck on account of the fresh paint that it required thecombined efforts of the janitor and himself to open them. That they hadbeen opened, since the painting had been done, some ten days before, wasclearly out of the question. Duvall made up his mind at once thathowever the person who had placed the mysterious message in Ruth's roomhad effected his or her entrance, it had not been by way of theapartment on the top floor. 

Somewhat disappointed, he went to the floor below, and thanking thejanitor for his kindness, rejoined Mrs. Morton. 

"What have you discovered, Mr. Duvall?" the latter asked, eagerly. 

"Nothing, so far. I confess the thing is somewhat of a puzzle. "

"Someone _must_ have been in Ruth's room. "

"Not necessarily. "

"But--why not?"

"You will remember that you found the letter on the floor. That wouldseem to me to indicate rather the opposite. If anyone had actually been_in_ the room, they would have been far more apt to place the message onthe dressing table. That it was found upon the floor indicates to mymind that it was in some way inserted--thrown, perhaps--through thewindow from without. " He took the letter in question from his pocket, and sitting down, gazed intently at the surface of the envelope. Presently he passed it over to Mrs. Morton. "What do you make of that?"he said, indicating with his finger a curious row of indentations, extending in a semi-circular line about midway of one of the longeredges of the envelope. 

The marks were very faint, but by turning the letter about in the light, Mrs. Morton at last managed to make them out. What they were, how theyhad been placed there Duvall could not say. Yet their presence indicatedsomething of value, of that he felt sure. 

"I don't understand them at all, " Mrs. Morton replied, returning theletter to him. "It looks as though someone had held the letter in a--apair of pincers. "

The suggestion conveyed by her words interested Duvall greatly. The samethought had been forming in his own mind. 

He rose to his feet, his eyes shining with interest. Why could not sucha pair of pincers or forceps have been attached to a long pole, such asa fishing rod, and the letter in this way pushed through the window andreleased by pulling on a cord attached to one of the forceps' handles?The thing was perfectly practical, except for the fact that there seemedno place from which such a pole or rod might have been extended. Hegazed out of the library window, across the court to the row of dormerwindows in the house opposite. The distance from the nearest of them, toRuth's window was, as he had before observed, at least twenty feethorizontally, or some twenty-three feet on the diagonal. Then there wasthe distance from the window to the dressing table, at least eight feetmore, to be added, making necessary a rod over thirty feet long. And hesaw at a glance that even could a rod of this length be secured andhandled, the angle made by a line from the dormer window through Ruth'swindow was such that the end of the rod or pole would strike the flooronly a few feet beyond the windowsill, and in no possible way could itsfurther end be elevated sufficiently to deposit the letter in front ofthe dressing table. The thing was manifestly out of the question, evenhad the window of the girl's room been _wide open_. And Mrs. Morton hadassured him with the greatest positiveness that it had been open, at thetime the letter was found, _but a few inches_. He returned the lettersto his pocket and rose. 

"The thing is astonishing--remarkable, " he said to Mrs. Morton, who wasregarding him intently. "I confess that so far I am quite in the dark. Ifeel sure that whoever entered the room, or left the message, must havedone so by means of the fire-escape, and yet, how was it possible, without marks having been left upon the paint? I think I shall makeanother and even more careful examination, in the hope that some slightclues may have escaped me. " He once more made his way toward the girl'sroom, followed by Mrs. Morton. 

The room was precisely as they had left it. The window facing to therear was wide open, Duvall having omitted to close it after hisexamination of the fire escape. The window fronting on the court wasraised perhaps six inches. And yet, to the utter amazement of them both, there lay on the floor of the room, near its center, a square whiteenvelope, addressed in typewriting to Ruth Morton. 

Duvall sprang forward and seized it with an exclamation of astonishment. It bore the same seal, in the same black wax, and upon it was the samesemi-circular row of indentations. He tore the letter open. Itstypewritten message was brief but significant. "Only twenty-seven daysmore, " it read. The grinning death's head seal seemed to Duvall'sastonished eyes even more terrifying than before. 

With a bound he reached the rear window, and swung himself upon the fireescape. There was no one in sight. The gray surface of the ironworkshowed not the slightest scratch, save those made by his own heelsearlier in the day. The steps of the ladder leading up to the next floorwere glistening, immaculate. Those of the one to the floor below wereequally so. He re-entered the room, and going to the opposite window, threw it wide open. The three dormer windows of the adjoining house weregray, dusty, as though they had not been opened for years. He turned tohis companion with a look of amazement. 

"In all my experience, Mrs. Morton, " he said, "I do not think that Ihave ever encountered anything quite so astonishing. That letter musthave been placed there while I was in the apartment above. Your cook, your maid, are out. Certainly you did not place it there yourself. Andyet we know that someone has been in this room, or at least deliveredthe letter, during the past fifteen minutes. Had I not found it heremyself, I should have been almost tempted to disbelieve it, but I amforced to admit its truth. "

Mrs. Morton stood wringing her hands. 

"It--it seems almost supernatural, " she exclaimed. "Poor Ruth. What arewe to do?"

"There is nothing supernatural about the matter, madam, " Duvallremarked. "I don't doubt the explanation is simple enough, could we buthit upon it. But so far I confess I am unable to understand it. " He wentover to the wall which adjoined that of the house next door, and soundedit, inch by inch, with a small hammer he took from his bag of tools. Theoperation required several minutes. When he had completed it, he tossedthe hammer back into his kit in disgust. "Brick, of course, " he said, "and perfectly solid. " He turned toward the door. "What are you going todo now?" Mrs. Morton asked. 

"Try to find out something through this telegram. And also, investigatethe house next door. "

"But, you will come back? I am afraid. "

"I shall be at your call at all times, Mrs. Morton. If anything ofinterest occurs, notify me here. " He drew a card from his pocket andwrote upon it the name of his hotel. "Say nothing to your daughter aboutthese new threats. I shall probably see you again later in the day. "Shouldering his kit of tools, Duvall left the apartment. He was by nomeans satisfied with the results of his visit. In fact there hadapparently been no results at all. 

CHAPTER V

Duvall's first move, after leaving Mrs. Morton's apartment that morning, was to enter the taxicab which had been waiting for him at the door andreturn to his hotel. A light overcoat which he had in the vehicleconcealed his workman's disguise sufficiently to enable him to reach hisroom without exciting comment. Once there, he changed his clothes, putting on a professional looking frock coat, and adjusting a pair ofshell-rimmed eyeglasses to complete the slight disguise. Thus equipped, he once more set out. 

Grace had left a note for him, saying that she had gone shopping. Besideit lay the photograph of Ruth Morton, which he had, he remembered, lefton his chiffonier while putting on his workman's clothes that morning. At the foot of her hastily written note Grace had added a postscript. "Is _this_ the reason for your sudden interest in motion pictures?" itread. "Well, I'll admit she's a raving beauty, Richard, but I'll bet sheisn't half as nice as I am. " Duvall read the note with a smile. Gracewas always such a thoroughly good comrade. 

Leaving the hotel, he went to the telegraph office from which themessage to Ruth Morton had been delivered that morning. It was onColumbus Avenue, some four blocks from the Mortons' apartment. 

"Can you tell me where this telegram was sent from?" he asked. Themessage showed that it had been filed, as well as delivered, within thecity limits. 

The man behind the desk looked up his records. 

"It was sent from the main office on lower Broadway, at 8. 30, " he said, briefly. 

Duvall thanked him, then turned away. Although he realized that he couldscarcely hope to obtain even a scanty description of the sender of thetelegram from the main office, he determined to go there. First, however, he walked back toward the Mortons' apartment, and going up thesteps of the brownstone house adjoining, rang the doorbell. 

A neat maid-servant opened the door. Duvall favored her with a smile, atthe same time taking a notebook and pencil from his pocket. 

"I am making some corrections in the city directory, " he said. "Will youplease give me the names of all the persons living in this house. " Thegirl stared at him for a moment, but his prosperous appearance, hisbusinesslike manner, disarmed any suspicion she may have felt. 

"There's--there's Mr. William Perkins, " she said, "and Mrs. Perkins, andMr. Robert, that's Mr. Perkins' son, and--and Miss Elizabeth, althoughshe's away at boarding school, and--and Emily Thompson, the cook, and--and me. My name's Mary. Mary Wickes. "

"Thank you, Mary, " Duvall replied, entering the names carefully in hisnotebook. "And Mr. Perkins, the elder Mr. Perkins, I mean, is he thelawyer?"

"No, sir. It's Mr. Robert that's the lawyer, sir. Mr. William Perkins isin the leather business. "

"Ah, yes. I see. Thank you very much indeed. And there are no boarders, or other persons whatever living in the house?"

"No, sir. Not any, sir. "

Duvall closed his book and put it carefully in his pocket. 

"Now, Mary, " he continued. "Just one more question. Does any one sleepin the attic?"

"The attic, sir? Why, no sir. Cook and I sleep on the fourth floor, sir, but the attic isn't used, except for storage, sir. Are you going to putthat in the directory too, sir?" The girl regarded him with wonderingeyes. 

"No, Mary. Not in the directory. But we want to be sure not to omit anynames, and I thought that if there was anyone living in the attic----"he paused. 

"No one, as I've told you. Nobody ever goes up there, so far as I know. Is that all, sir?"

"Yes. That's all. Thank you. Good morning. "

Duvall went down the steps, and proceeded to the subway station, somewhat mystified. He had handled many curious cases in the past, manythat had been notable for their intricacy, their complexity of motiveand detail. But here, he felt, was a case of a very different sort, thepeculiarity of which lay in its astonishing lack of clues of any sort. Usually in the past there had been motives, evidence, traces of somekind or other, upon which to build a case. Here there was nothing, except the three mysterious letters, the one equally mysterioustelegram. He felt baffled, uncertain which way to turn. In rather adissatisfied frame of mind he made his way to the telegraph office inlower Broadway. There were several clerks engaged in receiving messages. He approached one of them. 

"This telegram, " he said, holding out the slip of yellow paper Mrs. Morton had given him, "was sent from this office at half past eight thismorning. Can you by any chance give me a description of the person whosent it?" He leaned over and addressed the clerk in a low tone. "I am adetective, " he said. "The telegram is part of a blackmailing scheme. "

The man looked at him for a moment, and then consulted with an olderman, evidently his superior. The latter came forward. 

"I received this message myself, sir, " he said. "I remember it, becauseof its peculiar wording. What is it you wish to know?"

"I would like a description of the person who sent it, " Duvall told him. 

The man thought for a moment. 

"I'm not able to tell you much, " he said. "It was a woman--I didn'tnotice particularly whether she was young or old. In fact, she didn'tgive me a chance, just laid the message and the money down and wentright out. She evidently knew the rate, for the amount she left wascorrect. I took the message and read it, without noticing herparticularly, and then, when I had finished reading it and looked up, she had gone. "

"Then you can't tell me anything about her?" Duvall asked, greatlydisappointed. 

"Not a thing. I remember it was a woman, and my general impression isthat she was rather young and small, but I can't be at all sure. Yousee, sir, a great many persons come in, during the day, and we haven'ttime to take note of them particularly. As I say, I read the telegramfirst, and counted the words. By that time she had left the office. "

Duvall thanked the man for his information and made his way to thestreet. Something at least had been gained. The person who was houndingRuth Morton was a woman. 

By this he was not at all surprised. He had felt for some time thatRuth's enemy was, in all probability, some jealous and envious movieactress who, herself unsuccessful, resented the youth and beauty of hersuccessful rival. He called a taxi and directed the driver to take himout to the studio of the company with which Ruth was connected. Here, inall probability, was to be found the woman he sought. 

The journey consumed considerably over an hour, and it was lunch timewhen he finally drew up before the entrance to the series of studiobuildings. Before entering he went to a nearby restaurant to get a biteto eat. 

It was a small and rather cheap place, but at this hour was crowded withthe employees of the big company. Duvall at first could not find a seat, but presently discovered one at a table not far from the door, at whichwere seated some young men, apparently stenographers or clerks. 

While waiting for his order of sandwiches and milk, the detectiveoccupied himself with a newspaper. He was not reading it, however, although he pretended to be deeply engrossed in its contents. He was inreality listening to the gossip of the studio, which rose in a chorusabout him. 

From a nearby table came the voice of a woman, evidently a great admirerof Ruth Morton. 

"I tell you, " she said, "that new film that she finished last week, AnAmerican Beauty, is going to be a knockout. She's the swellest thing onthe screen. Got 'em _all_ faded, _I_ think. "

"Think so?" questioned one of her companions. "I'm pretty strong forHelen Ward, myself. "

"Ruth Morton won't last, " remarked a third, in a petulant voice. 

"Course she'll last. Say--ain't that a bear of a title? An AmericanBeauty. She always seems like a beautiful big rose, to me. "

"Well, roses don't last, do they?" asked the petulant voice again. "Notvery long, anyway. "

Duvall turned suddenly in an effort to see the face of the speaker, buttry as he would, he was unable to do so. Two of the girls sat with theirbacks to him. He could not manage to catch a glimpse of either of them. Almost as he turned, the three rose and made their way to the street. For a moment he thought of following them, but the idea seemed absurd. These twelve dollar a week stenographers or clerks could have no part inthe plot against Miss Morton. And yet, there was something startling inthe young woman's words. "Roses don't last. " The telegram received byRuth Morton that morning had contained almost the same phrase. "Even thebeauty of the rose cannot endure. " Then he remembered the title of thenew film of which the girls had spoken, and smiled at his ownsuspicions. "An American Beauty. " It would be natural, perfectly naturalfor anyone to refer to Ruth as a rose, with that title for her latestpicture. He dismissed the matter from his mind, and proceeded to make ahasty lunch. 

[Illustration: He was watching, not only Ruth, but those about her]

At the entrance of the studio he explained that he was a writer ofspecial articles for the Sunday papers, and had come to "write up" thelife at the studios. He was promptly turned over to one of the officialswho, after a few inquiries, seemed delighted at the opportunity toobtain free publicity for his company and its stars. 

"I want particularly to give a sketch of Miss Ruth Morton, " he said. "She seems to be such a universal favorite. "

"A most delightful and charming woman, " his companion asserted, with apleased smile. "Come this way. You may be able to see her at work. " Heled Duvall down a long corridor, and into one of the big studio rooms. 

The first impression Duvall got was that of utter confusion. People weredarting here and there, in ordinary clothes, or in all sorts of makeups. Stage carpenters were creating a terrific racket, building a new scene. A tangle of electric light cables, a blinding glare from the arcs, aconfusion of voices, a wilderness of scenery and "props" all combined tocreate an impression quite the reverse of what he had expected. Here, hefelt, was something very different from the theater, something bigger, yet more elemental, in which vast sums were expended daily to amuse avaster indeed, a world-wide, audience. He sat down upon a box, andinspected the scene before him. 

"Miss Morton will be on in a few moments, " his guide said. 

Duvall nodded. His attention was fixed upon the little drama going onbefore him. He knew nothing of the plot of the play, but the mechanicalfeatures of the operation held his interest keenly. The brilliantelectric lights, the setting of the little room, the actors in theirghastly greenish makeups, the camera man, grinding stolidly away at hismachine, the director, hovering about like a hawk, watching everymovement, every gesture, with a superlatively critical eye, all spoke tohim of a new world, and one with which he was not in the least familiar. 

Suddenly he saw the lovely face of Ruth Morton, as the girl appearedfrom an open doorway. She did not take part in the picture at once, butstood chatting with the director, awaiting the moment when she wouldmake her entrance. Duvall watched her intently. Her face, he thought, was drawn, nervous, her expression one of fear. She seemed suspicious ofevery one who came near her, as though she suspected that every stagehand, every electrician or helper, had in his possession a bottle ofvitriol, which he only awaited the moment to hurl in her face. That thegirl's nervous manner, her strained and tense expression, was evident toothers as well as to himself, he realized from a remark his companionmade to him. 

"Miss Morton doesn't seem herself to-day, " he said. "She must havesomething on her mind. I shouldn't be surprised if she has been workingtoo hard lately. "

Duvall made no reply. He was watching, not only Ruth, but those abouther. In particular he observed the other women in the cast. It seemednot improbable that among them he would find the one whose envy had ledto the sending of the threats Ruth had been receiving. 

Presently the scene was finished, and Ruth, in response to a call fromDuvall's companion, came toward them. 

"Miss Morton, " the latter said, "let me present Mr. Richards. " This wasthe name Duvall had given. "He is anxious to meet you, and write you upfor one of the newspapers. "

Ruth gave him her hand with a smile which Duvall saw clearly enough wasforced. The girl was palpably worn, _distrait_. 

"I'm not going to interview you now, Miss Morton, " he said. "I canunderstand that you must be tired, after posing all the morning. Let mecome and see you sometime when you are more at leisure. "

[Illustration: "Come to my house some evening, and I'll tell you allabout being a 'movie' star"]

She thanked him with a smile, this time quite genuine. 

"I'm not feeling very well this afternoon, " she said. "Come to my homesome evening, or better still, on Sunday, and I'll tell you all I knowabout being a 'movie' star. So glad to have met you. " She was just aboutto turn away, when a small boy came up, carrying in his hand a flatpackage, wrapped in brown paper. Duvall observed that the package hadupon it a typewritten address. 

"Something for you, Miss Morton, " he said, and placed the package inRuth's hand. 

The girl looked at it for a moment in dismay. Then realizing that theeyes of the two men were bent curiously upon her, she recovered herselfand tore open the brown paper envelope. Duvall, with one eye on the boy, saw that he had disappeared through the door leading to the company'sexecutive offices. 

Suddenly Ruth, who had been examining the contents of the package, gavea faint cry, and swayed backward, as though about to fall. Duvall'scompanion sprang to her assistance, while Duvall himself snatched theobject which had so affected her from her hand and hastily examined it. 

It was a photograph of Ruth Morton herself, but Duvall, as he gazed atit, comprehended instantly the effect it had produced upon the girl'sover-wrought nerves. Some clever hand had been at work upon thephotograph, retouching it, changing its lovely expression, until theportrait, instead of being a thing of beauty, grinned up at him infrightful hideousness. The blank, sightless eyes, the haggard cheeks, the thin wasted lips, the protruding and jagged teeth, all created animpression shocking beyond belief. And yet, the result had been obtainedby the addition of but a few simple lines and shadows. 

Along the blank space at the bottom of the picture a line of typewrittencharacters had been placed. Duvall glanced at them. "As you will looksoon, " the words read. Below them was fixed the grinning Death's headseal. Unobserved in the confusion, Duvall thrust the photograph into hispocket, and turned to Ruth and the others. 

The girl had recovered herself by now, and was being conducted to herdressing room by a solicitous crowd. So far as Duvall would see, she hadsaid nothing to those about her as to the cause of her suddenindisposition, and with the exception of the man who had been Duvall'sguide, none of them had observed the opening of the package containingthe photograph, nor its immediate effect upon her. 

The latter, however, whose name was Baker, came over to Duvall andaddressed him. 

"What was it about that photograph that upset Miss Morton so?" he asked. "And what has become of it?"

Duvall drew him to one side. 

"Let us go to your office, Mr. Baker, " he said. "I have a most importantmatter to discuss with you. "

Baker regarded the detective for a moment in surprise, then, seeing thatDuvall was very much in earnest, he led the way to his private office. 

"I am not a newspaper writer, Mr. Baker, " Duvall said, as soon as theywere seated. "As a matter of fact, I am a detective, in the employ ofMrs. Morton, Ruth Morton's mother. "

"A detective?" he questioned. "Why has Miss Morton's mother employed adetective?"

"Because someone is persecuting the girl, by sending her threateningletters, saying that her beauty is to be destroyed. This photograph"--hedrew the hideous picture from his pocket--"is a sample of their work. "

Mr. Baker regarded the photograph for a moment in silence, then rosewith a growl of rage and struck his clenched fist upon the desk. 

"This is outrageous--damnable!" he cried. "It cannot go on. No wonderthe poor girl looked tired out. We will put the matter in the hands ofthe police. We will spend any amount of money----"

"Wait a moment, Mr. Baker, " Duvall interrupted, urging the angry manback into his chair. "Nothing is to be gained by giving any publicity tothis matter. The scoundrels who are at the bottom of it will at once bewarned, and then our chance of catching them will be small indeed. Sofar, not a soul knows that I am working on this case, outside of Mrs. Morton, and yourself. Even Miss Ruth does not know it. I have alreadyunearthed some very surprising things connected with the case, althoughI have been occupied with it only since this morning. Within a few days, I have no doubt, I shall be able to place my hands upon the person orpersons responsible for the trouble, but I must insist that I be given afree hand. "

"But, " Mr. Baker expostulated, "she may be in immediate danger. At anymoment something may happen that would ruin her beauty, andincidentally, ruin us as well. She is our star attraction. "

"I do not think the danger is immediate, " Duvall replied gravely. "Allthe threats so far received set thirty days as the period within whichthe attack is to be made. Only three days have passed, so far. And inaddition, Miss Morton is being very carefully guarded. "

"She certainly shall be while she is here at the studio, " Mr. Bakerexclaimed. "But, man, something ought to be done--at once. "

"The first thing to be done is to find out how that photograph gothere--who brought it--and when. It was not delivered by mail. Lookhere. " He handed the angry official the torn manilla envelope, whichRuth, in her excitement, had dropped upon the floor. 

Mr. Baker regarded it for a moment in angry silence, then pressed anelectric button upon his desk. A young woman responded. 

"Send Jim here, " he said. The girl nodded and withdrew. 

A few moments later a freckled-faced boy of twelve or fourteen came in. Duvall saw that it was the same boy who had brought in the photograph. 

"You sent for me, sir?" he asked. 

"Yes. Where did you get the package you delivered to Miss Morton alittle while ago?"

"From Mr. Curry, sir. "

"Good. " Mr. Baker rose and went toward the door. "Come with me, " he saidto Duvall, "and you too, Jim. " The three of them went along thecorridor, arriving presently at the main entrance to the building. Anelderly man sat at a high desk behind a wire grating. 

"Curry, " Mr. Baker burst out, "this boy tells me you gave him a packagefor Miss Morton a while ago. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Where did you get it?"

The man looked up in surprise. 

"Why, sir, someone left it here--on my desk. I don't know who, sir. Right after lunch, it was. You know people deliver things here all thetime. I didn't take any particular notice how it got here. It was justpushed through the window, I guess, same as usual. There was a lot ofmail in the rack, after lunch, and everybody asking for theirs as theycame in. In fact, I don't remember seeing the package handed in at all. Just found it lying on my desk, along with a lot of letters and things. Why, sir? Is anything wrong?"

Baker turned to Duvall in disgust. 

"No system here at all, " he grumbled. "The trail is lost, of course. Half a hundred people come through here every hour. That's all, Jim, " hesaid, turning to the boy, who disappeared at once. Accompanied byDuvall, Baker returned to the private office. 

"Well?" Mr. Baker asked. "What next?"

"How many typewriters have you in your offices, Mr. Baker? Machines, Imean, not operators. "

"About thirty, I guess. Or maybe thirty-five. Why?"

"I want you to get me a sample of the writing of each machine, withoutletting anyone know about it. Put each one on a separate sheet of paper, with a note added, stating whose machine it is--that is, in whoseoffice. "

Mr. Baker nodded. "I'll do it to-night, " he said. "Attend to it myself. I see your idea. You think this thing is the work of someone inside thestudio. "

"It may be, I don't know. But I mean to find out. "

"All right. Anything else?"

"Yes. Tell me something about this new film you've just gotten out. 'AnAmerican Beauty, ' I think it is called. "

Mr. Baker's manner became enthusiastic. 

"Greatest film Ruth Morton ever did, " he exclaimed. "A knockout. It isto be shown at the Grand, on Broadway, to-morrow night. First time onthe screen. You'd better look it over. "

"I probably shall. Now, tell me this. If I wanted to add anything tothat picture, put in an insert, I believe you call it, could I do so, ifI told you about it to-morrow?"

"Well--it might be done, " Mr. Baker replied, dubiously. "But we wouldn'twant to change the film any. It's perfect as it is. "

"I don't doubt that. I have no idea of improving it in any way. But itis just possible that I may have a scheme that will help us to catchthese people who are threatening Miss Morton. I'll tell you more aboutit, to-morrow. Meanwhile, don't forget about the typewriter samples. I'll see you in the morning. " He rose. "And for the present, I think itwould be best for you to keep what I have told you to yourself. "

Mr. Baker nodded. 

"I'll do that, " he said, putting out his hand. "For the present, atleast. But don't forget, Mr. Duvall, that this is a very vital matter toour company, and we can't afford to take any chances. "

"I realize that fully. You can depend on me. I intend to save MissMorton from any harm, not primarily on your company's account, but onher own. Good day. "

"Good day, and the best of luck. "

Duvall went toward the entrance, and in the corridor met Mrs. Morton. She was about to pass him, but he detained her. 

"Twenty-seven days more, " he whispered to her. She turned sharply, alook of fear upon her face, but as she recognized Duvall, her expressionchanged. 

"Oh--it's you, " she exclaimed. "I've just come down in the car, to takeRuth home. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, so far. At least no harm has come to your daughter. But I am sorryto say that she has received another warning. "

"Here?" Mrs. Morton started, and glanced about in alarm. 

"Yes. "

"What was it?"

"A photograph. " Duvall explained the contents of the mysterious package, but did not show the hideous picture to the girl's mother. 

"And you haven't found out anything yet?"

"Nothing definite. There has scarcely been time. But we will. You may besure of that. "

"Have you seen Ruth?" Mrs. Morton asked. 

"Yes. Mr. Baker introduced me to her. She thinks I am a newspaper man, who wants to write a special article about her for one of the Sundaypapers. She suggested that I call at your house some evening, orpossibly Sunday. If you are going back to town soon, I think it might bea good idea for me to drive back with you. "

"By all means. I shall feel much safer. Suppose you wait for us at theentrance. I shall not be long. "

Duvall nodded, and strolled toward the street, his mind busy with theevents of the day. He stood for quite a while near the door, watchingthe people who came in and out. Many of them were women. He wondered ifamong them was the woman who was responsible for the threats of the pastthree days. It seemed improbable, and yet, there were indications thatit was within the studio, rather than outside it, that the guilty personwas to be found. 

Mrs. Morton came out presently, accompanied by Ruth. The girl lookedpale and troubled. Duvall went up to her. 

"I have met your mother, Miss Morton, " he said, "and she has very kindlysuggested that I ride back to the city with you. "

The girl nodded, without particular interest. 

"We shall be very glad to have you, " she said, "but you will excuse me, I know, if I do not talk to you about my work. I am feeling rather badto-day, and I'm sure I couldn't tell you anything interesting. "

"I'm sure I would not expect it, under the circumstances, " Duvallreplied, as Miss Morton, accompanied by her mother, went toward theautomobile that stood near the entrance. "I don't doubt your work isfull of trying incidents. "

"Oh, it isn't my work, " the girl replied, as he assisted her into thecar. "I love my work. But there are other things. " She glanced towardher mother with a tired smile, then sank back upon the cushions. 

A moment later they were whirling toward the city. 

CHAPTER VI

Duvall's ride back to town with Mrs. Morton and Ruth was quiteuneventful. The latter, as she had explained, was ill, weak, indisposedto talk. Duvall and Mrs. Morton kept up a brisk conversation upon topicsof the day, but both knew that it was of the girl they were thinking, and their interest in the subjects they discussed was clearly forced. Both were glad when the car at last stopped before the apartmentbuilding, and the long ride was over. 

Mrs. Morton invited Duvall to come in and dine with them, and hepromptly accepted. Ruth seemed indifferent. Assisted by her maid, sheleft the car and on reaching the apartment, at once went to her room. 

"You will excuse me, I know, " she said to Duvall. "I am tired out, andthink I had better lie down at once. Nora will bring me some dinner, "she said, turning to her mother. 

Duvall and Mrs. Morton ate their dinner in silence. Some sense ofoppression, of impending evil, hung over them both. Mrs. Morton left thetable toward the close of the meal, and went to her daughter's room. With the solicitude of the typical mother she arranged the windows. Thatopening to the fire escape she raised to its full height. The one facingupon the court she left as it was, raised some six or eight inches. Then, having kissed her daughter good night, she returned to thelibrary, where Duvall sat smoking a cigar. 

"Ruth has gone to bed, " she told him. "Both the windows in her room areopen, the one on the fire-escape wide, the other partly raised. "

Duvall looked at her with an expression of doubt. 

"I think it would be better, for the present, " he said, "to close andfasten the one opening on the fire escape. We cannot tell to what dangeryour daughter may be exposed. "

Mrs. Morton rose and left the room. 

"I will do as you advise, " she said. Going to Ruth's bedroom she closedand fastened the window in question, then she went back to the library. 

"Have you hit upon any theory to account for the sending of theseletters?" she asked. 

Duvall shook his head. "The whole thing is very mysterious, " he said. "Of course it was easy enough for anyone to leave the photograph at thestudio this afternoon. In fact it might readily have been done by one ofthe other actresses, who might be jealous of your daughter's success. But if the thing was done by anyone employed at the studio, how can weaccount for the message left in the bedroom at half-past nine thismorning, the one we found on the floor? If the woman who is responsiblefor these threats was at the studio this morning, how could she arrangeto have the note left in your daughter's bedroom here at the same hour?That would seem to imply a confederate. I confess that the entire matteris for the moment beyond me. "

"Were you able to find out anything concerning the telegram which camethis morning?"

"Nothing, except that it was sent by a woman. I was not surprised tolearn that. Naturally I should expect that a woman was responsible forthese threats. But what woman? That is the question. " He sat for a longtime, thinking, his eyes fixed upon the floor. 

Suddenly there came a ring at the doorbell. Mrs. Morton, without waitingfor the maid, sprang to the hall, with Duvall close at her heels. As shethrew it open, they saw a man standing in the doorway. Duvall was thefirst to recognize their caller. 

"How do you do, Mr. Baker, " he said, holding out his hand. 

Mr. Baker came in, and greeted Mrs. Morton. 

"I didn't expect to find Mr. Duvall here, " he said. "In fact, I came toyou to get his hotel address. Luckily I won't need it, now. "

"Anything new?" Duvall asked, as they returned to the library. 

"Nothing much. I got those samples of the writing of the varioustypewriters, as you requested, " Baker replied, "and I thought thatinstead of waiting until to-morrow, it would be better to bring them toyou to-night. " He took a sheaf of papers from his pocket. "There arethirty-two in all. What are you going to do with them?" He placed thepapers in Duvall's hand. 

The latter sat down at the library table and placed the sheets of paperbefore him. 

"Of course you know, " he said to Baker, "that every typewriting machinehas its unmistakable peculiarities. It is almost impossible to find amachine that has been used at all, that has not developed certainindividual defects, or qualities, found in no other machine. Now let ustake for instance the letters that Miss Morton has received during thepast few days. They have all been written on the same machine, and I amof the opinion that it is a fairly old one. While going down to thestudio this afternoon, I worked out and wrote down in my notebook theparticular features which appear in all these letters. " He took a smallleather-covered book from his pocket. 

"In the first place, " he said, "the letter 'a' throughout the severalcommunications is always found to be out of line. The key bar isdoubtless a trifle bent. Let us, therefore, see if, in any of thesamples you have brought me, there exists a similar defect. "

He took the samples of writing, one by one, and after scrutinizing themcarefully, passed them over to Baker, who likewise subjected them to acritical examination. When their work was completed, it was found thatof the thirty-two samples, the displacement of the letter "a" occurredin but three, and in one of these it was so slight as to be scarcelynoticeable. Duvall laid the three pages to one side. "A second faultshown in the typewriting of the letters, " he said, "is to be found inthe capital 'W. ' Its lower right-hand corner has been worn or brokenoff, so that it invariably fails to register. " He handed one of theletters to Baker. "See here, and here. The corner of the 'W' instead ofbeing clear and distinct, is blunt and defective. Let us see whether asimilar fault is to be found in any one of these three samples. " Hepicked up the three sheets of paper that he had placed to one side. 

As he examined them, Mr. Baker and Mrs. Morton saw a shadow ofdisappointment cross his face. He handed the three pages to Baker. 

"The threatening letters were not written on any machine at yourstudio, " he said. 

Baker took the pages and looked them over carefully. 

"No, " he said at length. "You are right. None of these show the seconddefect you have named. "

"Well, " observed Duvall cheerfully, "we have accomplished something, atleast. We know that these letters were not written at the studio, and itseems reasonably certain that the woman we are looking for has atypewriter in her rooms, or wherever she may live. Of course she mighthave had the typewriting done by some public stenographer, but Iconsider it unlikely. A person sending threats of this character wouldnot be apt to entrust so dangerous a secret to a third person. We musttherefore make up our minds to find a woman who has a typewritingmachine, and knows how to use it. "

"There are probably a hundred thousand such women in New York, " Bakerobserved, gloomily. 

"No doubt. But we have more information than that about the person whosent these letters. "

"What, for instance?" asked Baker and Mrs. Morton in a breath. 

"Well, in the first place, this woman was able to secure possession of aphotograph of Miss Morton. " He took the hideously distorted picture fromhis pocket. "Do either of you know where this photograph was made?"

Mrs. Morton examined the picture with a shudder. Then she rose, went toa cabinet at the other end of the room, and took out an album. Returningto the table, she placed the book before her, and began to turn thepages. In a few moments she found what she was looking for, a duplicateof the likeness which lay before them, with the exception, of course, ofits frightful distortions. 

"This picture was made by Gibson, on Fifth Avenue, " she said, referringto the photograph in the book. Both Baker and Duvall saw at once that onthe retouched picture, the name of the photographer had been scratchedoff. 

"How many of them were made, and what became of them?" Duvall askedquickly. 

"Ordinarily I could not answer such a question, " Mrs. Morton replied, "for Ruth has had many photographs taken, and we have not of course kepta record of them, or what has become of them, but in this particularcase I happen to remember that she did not like the pose particularly, and ordered but half a dozen. I do not think that she gave any of themaway. If I am right in my supposition, there should be five more here inthe apartment. " Closing the book, Mrs. Morton went to the cabinet again, and took out a portfolio containing numberless photographs of herdaughter in all sorts of poses. 

After some searching, she produced a brown-paper envelope, containing anumber of pictures, all taken by the same photographer, at the sametime. There were in the envelope four copies of the photograph, thefifth of which was contained in the album. 

"Evidently one has been given away, " Duvall exclaimed. "Now if we canonly find out to whom, our search for the writer of these letters may bevery quickly ended. "

Mr. Baker regarded them both with a puzzled look. 

"I have seen that picture before, " he said, "and of course I could nothave done so, had I not seen the one that is missing. " He sat for awhile in silence, searching his recollection for a solution of theproblem. Suddenly he spoke. "There was a picture like that in my office, at one time, " he exclaimed. "Miss Morton sent a number down, foradvertising purposes, and I am positive that this one was among them. Iremember distinctly the pose of the head, the unusual arrangement of thehair. That photograph should be in our files. The fact that it has beentaken out shows that the person who has been writing these letters is amember of our own staff, or at least has access to our files. "

"That does not necessarily follow, " observed Duvall. 

"Why not?"

"Because the picture might have been obtained from the photographer. "

"But they are not allowed to dispose of the portraits of others, withoutthe sitter's permission. "

"I know that, but they sometimes do so, especially in the case of anyoneso well known as Miss Morton. She has become a sort of public character. 

"Well, " remarked Duvall, "we can readily find out, in the morning. You, Mr. Baker, can go through your files, and should you find the photographto be there, I will take the matter up with the photographer. If, on thecontrary, the picture is missing, it will be fairly conclusive evidencethat the person or persons we are looking for are in some way connectedwith the studio. "

"I will make an investigation the first thing in the morning, " Mr. Bakerannounced, rising. "Do you expect to be at the studio early, Mr. Duvall?"

"Yes. Quite early. "

"Then we had best leave matters until then. Good night. Good night, Mrs. Morton. " He turned and started toward the door. 

He had proceeded but a few steps, when the three occupants of the roomwere startled by a series of sudden and agonizing cries. From the rearof the apartment came a succession of screams so piercing in theirintensity, so filled with horror, that they found themselves for amoment unable to stir. Then Mrs. Morton gave a cry of anguish, anddarted out into the hall, closely followed by Duvall and Mr. Baker. 

The screams continued, filling the entire apartment with their clamor. That the voice which uttered them was that of Ruth Morton none of thethree doubted for a moment. With sinking hearts they went on, preparedfor the worst. Duvall found himself dreading the moment when they shouldreach the bedroom door, and face the girl, her beauty, perhaps, disfigured beyond all recognition. 

There was a sharp turn, at the end of the hall, into a shorter crosshall, at the end of which was the door of Ruth's bedroom. It was closed, but as though in response to Mrs. Morton's agonized appeals, it suddenlyopened as they reached it, and Ruth Morton, pale as death, appeared. 

With wide open eyes staring straight ahead, she half stepped, half fellthrough the doorway, her slender figure clothed only in her night dress. "Ruth, " Mrs. Morton screamed, as she caught sight of her daughter. 

The girl tried to say something, but her tongue failed her. Then, with afaint moan, she lurched forward and fell limply into her mother's arms. 

PART II

CHAPTER VII

When Duvall, Mr. Baker, of the motion picture company, and Mrs. Mortonrushed down the hallway of the latter's apartment in response to thescreams from Ruth's bedroom, they were one and all convinced that thegirl had suffered some terrible injury--that the mysterious threats todestroy her beauty which had been made during the past few days had beenconverted into some frightful reality. 

One glance at the girl's white face as she fell fainting into hermother's arms told the detective that their fears had been, to thatextent at least, groundless. The girl's lovely features, although drawnand contorted by fear, showed no signs of the disfigurement they feared. 

Leaving the girl to her mother's care, Duvall, closely followed byBaker, dashed into the bedroom, and at once switched on the lights. Theplace, to the intense surprise of both, presented a picture of perfectquiet and order. The bed clothing was slightly disarranged, but this ofcourse was but natural, since Ruth had sprung up under the influence ofsome terrible fear, and rushed from the room. Everything else seemed inits place. 

Duvall's first act was to examine the window. The one fronting on thefire escape was closed and tightly fastened. It was perfectly clear thatno one had entered the room in that way. 

The other window, facing on the court, was raised a few inches, just asMrs. Morton had left it half an hour before. Duvall turned to hiscompanion with a puzzled frown. 

"I had supposed, Mr. Baker, " he said, "that someone had entered thisroom, and frightened Miss Morton while she was asleep, but that isimpossible. The windows have not been disturbed. "

Baker glanced at the one which faced the court. 

"That one may have been, " he said, indicating it with a nod. "Someonemay have come in that way, raising the window to effect an entrance, andlowering it again after leaving. "

"I admit that what you say would be possible, were there any way inwhich the window might be reached from outside, " Duvall replied, "but ifyou will look out, and tell me how anyone could make an entrance fromthe court, I will agree to the possibility you suggest. "

Baker raised the window, and glanced out. 

"The apartment above, " Duvall went on, "is unoccupied, and the windowabove is closed and fastened. The little attic in the adjoining house isunused, although that is not important, since no one could reach thiswindow from it, in any event. Can you suggest any other way?"

Mr. Baker shook his head. 

"She must have been frightened by some terrible nightmare, " he said. "Ido not wonder at it. She has gone through enough to upset anybody'snerves. Suppose we go back and question her. "

"Just a moment, " exclaimed Duvall. Then he dropped upon his knees besidethe disordered bed, and began to examine the surface of the counterpanewith minute care. 

"What is it?" Baker asked, joining him. 

"I don't know--yet, " returned Duvall, as he took a magnifying glass fromhis pocket and proceeded to scrutinize with the greatest interest somemarks upon the counterpane's surface. Presently he rose, replaced theglass in his pocket, and turned to his companion. 

"There is something very astonishing about this whole affair, " heexclaimed. "What do you make of those?" He indicated a series of darksmudges upon the bedspread, arranged in little groups. 

Baker bent over and examined the marks with an exclamation of surprise. 

"Why--they look like finger prints, " he cried. "Large finger prints. "

"It is impossible to say whether they are finger prints or not, " Duvallreplied. "As you see, there are a great many of them, very confusinglyarranged. But there is something else, that you have not noticed. Whatdo you suppose could have made a mark like this?" He pointed to a longstraight dark line, which extended half way across the counterpane, andpointed directly toward the window which faced upon the court. The linewas very faint, but clearly defined, as though someone had laid a thindusty stick across the bed. 

"I can't make anything of it, " Baker exclaimed, gazing toward thewindow. 

"Nor can I, " said Duvall. "At one time, because of certain indentationson the letters found in this room, I had thought that they might havebeen introduced through the partly opened window by means of a long rod, a fishing pole, perhaps. This mark on the counterpane appears to bearout that theory. The smudges which look like finger prints may have beenmerely the points at which the end of the pole, or whatever was attachedto the end of the pole, came in contact with the bed. All that isperfectly supposable. But you can see for yourself that if a long polewere thrust through the window, raised as the latter was but a trifleabove the level of the bed, the other end of such a pole must ofnecessity have been held at approximately the same level, and the onlypoint outside the window from which it could have been so held is _inthe air, forty feet above the bottom of the court_! The thing isabsurd. "

"There is, of course, the window of the apartment below, " Bakersuggested. "Might not it have been used?"

"I thought of that, " Duvall replied. "You can see for yourself that evena tall man standing on the window sill below, would find not only hishands, but even his head, far below the sill of this window, nor couldanyone so support themselves, without something to hold on to. But allthat is beside the question. The people in the apartment below arefriends of Mrs. Morton's, a middle-aged man and his wife, with two youngchildren. They are eminently respectable people, and quite abovesuspicion. "

"Then I give the thing up, " exclaimed Baker. "Suppose we have a talkwith Miss Morton. "

They found the girl lying on a couch in the library, with her mothersitting beside her. She seemed very weak and quiet, but in fullpossession of her faculties. Duvall drew up a chair, and asked her ifshe felt able to tell them what had occurred. 

"Yes, " she replied in a faint voice, her face still showing evidences ofher fright. "I will try to tell you exactly what happened. "

"I had taken some medicine to make me sleep, before I got into bed, because I was very nervous and upset. When mother came back to fix thewindows I was already drowsy, and just remember that she turned out thelights, and then I must have dozed. 

"All of a sudden I heard a strange rasping noise, and I woke up, withthe feeling that there was someone in the room. I don't know just why Ifelt so sure of that, whether it was merely a sense of someone'spresence, or the sound of someone moving about near my bed. I think, however, that it was the latter. 

"The room was dark, of course, but enough light came through the windowsto make a moving object distinguishable. I looked about, terriblyfrightened, but for a moment I saw nothing. The noise I had heard atfirst continued. Then without the least warning, a hand seemed to clutchat the bedclothes, and I saw above me, bending over me, a terrible darkface, exactly like the grinning death's head on those letters I've beengetting. 

"I lay perfectly still, frozen with horror, and in a moment the face haddisappeared, and then I began to scream. Right after that I sprang fromthe bed and threw open the door, and found mother and Mr. Baker andyourself standing in the hall. That is all I know. "

Duvall looked at her for a moment, puzzled. 

"Are you sure you really saw someone leaning over you? Might it not havebeen an illusion, the result of your nervous condition?"

"No. I am certain someone was there--someone quite tall, I should say, and with a terrible, evil face. "

"It might have been a mask, of course, " Duvall suggested. "Someonewearing a mask. "

"Yes. It might have been. It was too dark for me to tell, of course. ButI remember the eyes, for I saw them distinctly. They were only a fewinches from my own. " She put her hands to her face and shuddered. "Itwas terrible, terrible. I shall never sleep in that room again. "

"There--there, dearie, " Mrs. Morton whispered in a soothing voice. "Youneed not sleep there. You can lie right here, for the rest of the night, and I will stay with you and see that no one harms you. "

"That would be best, Mrs. Morton, " Duvall remarked. "And to-morrow Isuggest that you and your daughter move, temporarily at least, toanother location. Some quiet hotel, where you will not be subject tothese terrible annoyances. I cannot imagine how it is done, but in someway, some almost superhuman way, it seems, someone can apparently eitherenter your daughter's room, or at least reach it from without, at will. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked Ruth, somewhat mystified. 

"I mean this, Miss Morton. I do not believe that there was anyone inyour room to-night. I do not believe that there has ever been anyonethere. But I _do_ believe that the two letters we found there wereintroduced from without, in some mysterious way, at the end of a longpole, or rod. And I think that what frightened you so to-night wasmerely a mask, a grotesque representation of the seal used on theletters, and pushed toward you in some way, as you lay in bed for thepurpose of terrifying you. "

"But--why--why?" the girl cried. 

"I cannot say. But it has occurred to me that these people, whoever theyare, that are trying to injure you, may not intend any physical violenceat all, at least for the present, but may be depending solely upon theterrible and insidious power of suggestion. You must bear thispossibility in mind, and try to control your fears. I can readilybelieve that thirty days of this sort of persecution, and you would be aphysical and mental wreck. But we shall stop it. You need have no fearson that score. " Mrs. Morton turned to her daughter with a few words ofexplanation. 

"Mr. Richards, or rather, Mr. Duvall, is not a newspaper man, Ruth, buta detective, who is trying to bring the wretches who are annoying you tojustice. I feel every confidence in him. "

Ruth turned toward Duvall a very white and pathetic face. 

"I hope you will succeed, Mr. Duvall, " she said, in a weak voice. "Icannot stand much more. "

"I shall, Miss Morton. And now, " he turned to Mr. Baker, "I think we hadbetter go, and let Miss Morton get some rest. I will come here in themorning, Mrs. Morton, " he continued, addressing the girl's mother, "andwe will consider further the question of your moving to a hotel. Meanwhile I do not think you have anything further to fear this evening. Good night. "

Before leaving the apartment he made another examination of the marksupon the bedclothes, then closed and fastened both windows, and lockedthe door of the room. 

Mr. Baker left him at the corner. 

"You will come to the studio to-morrow, of course. "

"By all means. I shall come down with Miss Morton and her mother. Thatwill give us an opportunity to investigate further the matter of themissing photograph, and also to talk over that plan I had in mindconcerning the new film you are to show at the Grand to-morrow night. Itis barely possible that, by means of a plan I have in mind, we may beable to locate the person or persons responsible for all this trouble. "

"I certainly hope so, " said Baker, as he took his leave. "This thing isgetting on _my_ nerves, too. "

Duvall made his way back to his hotel, as much mystified as ever. He hadthought for a moment of spending the night on the sidewalk in front ofthe Mortons' apartment, watching the windows facing on the court, buthis experience told him that it would be useless. The alarm which Ruthhad made, the closing of the windows of her bedroom, the locking of thedoor, all made it highly improbable that any further attempt would bemade to annoy her during the night. He walked along in a state ofintense preoccupation, trying to discover some reasonable explanation ofthe astonishing events of the day. 

Once he had an impression, a feeling, that he was being followed, butwhen he turned around, there was no one in sight but a slightly tipsyman, and a couple of young girls, far down the street. He dismissed thethought from his mind, and proceeded to his hotel. 

It was not yet eleven o'clock, and Grace was waiting for him in thelittle parlor of their suite. 

"Well, Richard, " she remarked, as he came in, "you've had quite a day ofit. "

"Yes, quite, " he replied, throwing himself into a chair. "What have_you_ been doing with yourself?"

"Shopping, mostly. I found it rather dull. I went to a moving picturethis afternoon. Saw your friend Ruth Morton. She certainly is a verybeautiful girl. "

"Yes--very, " Duvall replied, absently. 

"Have you seen her to-day?" Grace went on, with a smile. 

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh--nothing. I was just thinking. "

Duvall burst into a laugh, and rising, went over to his wife and kissedher. 

"For heaven's sake, Grace, " he said, "don't be silly. I'm not interestedin motion picture actresses. "

"You weren't, I'll admit, nor in motion pictures either, until recently, but perhaps you have changed. I could understand any man beingfascinated by a girl like Ruth Morton. "

Duvall did not pursue the question. It was a hard and fast rule betweenthem not to discuss his professional work. And Mrs. Morton had made it apoint that he should confide in no one, not even his wife. 

"Well, " he said, picking up an evening paper, "I'm not fascinated yet. No letters for me to-day, I suppose. "

"None. " Grace went on with her sewing. 

They sat for a while in silence. Presently there came a knock on thedoor, and a boy appeared, bearing a telegram, Duvall opened itcarelessly, thinking it some word from the overseer of his farm. He satup with sudden astonishment as he read the contents of the message. 

"Keep out, " the telegram read, "or you will find that we can strikeback. "

Duvall placed the telegram in his pocket with a frown. So it appearedthat in spite of all his care, his connection with the case was known. How this was possible he could not imagine. His first visit to theMorton apartment that day had been in the guise of a workman. Hissubsequent appearance at the studio, and later, at the apartment, hadbeen in the character of a newspaper man. There was only oneexplanation. Someone had watched him while he was making his examinationof Ruth Morton's room, and, subsequently, had followed him from theapartment to his hotel. He began to realize that he was dealing with ashrewd brain, and one that acted with almost uncanny quickness andprecision. He determined that, if Mrs. Morton and her daughter changedtheir place of residence the following day, he would do the same. Hesaid nothing of his intentions to Grace, however. It was more than evernecessary that he preserve secrecy in this case. 

"No bad news, I hope, Richard, " Grace remarked, glancing up from hersewing. 

"No. Nothing serious. Have you heard anything from home?"

"Yes. Everything is going along quite smoothly. The boy is well andhappy, and Mrs. Preston says to stay as long as we want to. "

"Well, " said Duvall, rising and throwing down his newspaper, "if thingsdon't go better than they have been going to-day, I may have to be heresome time. I've got a queer case on, Grace. I'd like to tell you aboutit, but I can't. But it is quite unusual. Some features to it that Ihave never met before. "

"Oh--I wish I might help you, " Grace exclaimed. "You know how often Ihave done so in the past. "

"I know, dear. But I am bound to secrecy, for the present at least. Suppose we turn in now. I've got to get up early. "

"All right, " Grace said. "But if you need my help, don't hesitate to askme. To tell you the truth, I'm having an awfully slow time. "

CHAPTER VIII

Duvall made his appearance at the Morton apartment the following morningin his ordinary guise. It was his intention, when the time came, todisappear from the case in his normal person, to reappear in it, later, in a complete disguise. But that time, he felt, had not yet arrived. 

Mrs. Morton received him in fairly good spirits. Her daughter, she said, had had a restful night, in spite of her terrible experience. When Ruthrose from the breakfast table to greet him, he was gratified to findthat she showed no great traces of the fright of the evening before. 

"I'm feeling almost myself again, Mr. Duvall, " she said. "I've made upmy mind not to let these people frighten me again. "

"Nothing further occurred last night, of course, " Duvall asked. 

"Nothing, " replied Mrs. Morton. "I could almost believe the whole thinga horrible dream. " They did not touch on the question of going to ahotel, during the short interval that elapsed before they set out forthe studio. Duvall was anxious to see Mr. Baker. He hoped sincerely thatby means of the photograph which had been in the company's files, sometrace of the persons responsible for the threats might be obtained. 

The trip to the studio was made most uneventfully, and Ruth started inwith her work in very good spirits. Duvall, leaving the girl with hermother, sought out Mr. Baker in the latter's private office. 

"Hello!" Baker cried, grasping the detective's hand warmly. "Anythingnew?"

"Not a thing. How about the photograph we were going to trace?"

Mr. Baker frowned. 

"It's a curious thing, " he replied. "Most curious. The picture inquestion was, I find, taken from the files by Mr. Moore, our president, and placed on his desk. He always admired it, and kept it there, alongwith a number of others, to show to persons calling upon him. Now, itseems, it has disappeared. There is not the slightest trace of it. ""But, " Duvall objected, "who could have taken it?"

"A dozen people. Half a hundred, I guess. You see, Mr. Moore's office isa big room, just beyond here. " He rose, and led the detective through ashort corridor. "Here it is, " he went on, throwing open the door. "Thisis where Mr. Moore receives his callers. It is his reception room, andno private papers are kept here. Those are all in the smaller officeadjoining. This room is open at any time. After Mr. Moore leaves in theevening, and he often leaves early, anyone might come in here. And whenthe offices are closed, at night, I suppose any employee of the companymight look in, if he cared to do so, without anyone objecting. You see, this is a sort of public room. The inner office is always kept locked, but there has never seemed to be any good reason for locking this one. "

"Still, although you cannot tell who has taken the picture, it seemsclear enough that it must have been removed by some one employed in thestudio. "

"Even that is by no means certain. So many people come here every day. All sorts of visitors, writers, actors, and the like. After businesshours I don't doubt any number of persons enter this room, to look atthe pictures of our great successes that hang on its walls. And thenthere are the caretakers, the scrub-women, and their friends. I findthat they, many of them, bring in outsiders, after working hours, tolook at the studio, and the famous offices. Of course it should not be, and it will not be, in the future, but up to now we have rather welcomedpeople from outside. It seemed good advertising. "

Duvall followed his companion back to his office. 

"Then this clue, like all the others in this singular case, " heremarked, "seems to end in a blind alley. "

"It seems so, " assented Mr. Baker, gloomily. "What was your plan aboutthe new film we're going to show to-night?"

Duvall was about to speak, but before he could do so, they heard aslight commotion in the hall outside. Then someone rapped violently onthe door. 

Both he and Baker sprang to their feet. 

"Come in, " the latter cried. 

The door was flung open, and Mr. Edwards, the director, who was makingthe picture upon which Ruth Morton was working, strode hastily into theroom. "Mr. Baker!" he exclaimed, then paused upon seeing Duvall. 

"What is it?" Baker replied. 

"Will you look here a minute, please?"

Baker went up to him, his face showing the greatest uneasiness. 

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Anything wrong?"

"Yes. Miss Morton was going through the scene in the first part, whereshe gets the telegram, you know, and when she opened the message, andread it, she fainted. "

"Fainted? What was in the telegram to make her faint?"

"Well, it ought to have read, 'Will call for you to-night, with marriagelicense--Jimmy. ' That was the prop message we had prepared. But somebodymust have substituted another one for it. This is what she read. " Hehanded Baker a yellow slip of paper. "I can't make anything out of it. "

Baker snatched the telegram from his hand with a growl of rage, and readit hastily. Then he passed it over to Duvall. 

"What do you think of that?" he asked. Duvall gazed at the telegram witha feeling of helpless anger. 

"Twenty-six days more, " it read. "When you appear in your new picture atthe Grand to-night, it will be your last. I shall be there. " The grinningdeath's head seal was appended in lieu of a signature, as before. 

A feeling of resentment swept over the detective. It seemed that thesepeople acted as they saw fit, with supreme indifference to the fact thathe was on their trail. Never before had he felt his skill so flouted, his ability made so light of. And yet, as usual, the message hadapparently been delivered in such a way as to make tracing itimpossible. 

"Still at it, it seems, " Mr. Baker remarked. "This thing has got tostop, and at once. I don't propose to let anybody make a monkey of me. "

Duvall turned to the director, Mr. Edwards. 

"Who prepared the original telegram?" he asked quickly. 

Mr. Edwards looked at the detective in surprise, evidently wonderingwhat this stranger had to do with the matter. 

"Answer, Edwards. It's all right, " snapped Mr. Baker. 

"I prepared the property telegram, " the director answered. 

"When?"

"Last night. I knew it would be needed to-day. "

"What did you do with it?"

"I left it on my desk. This morning I took it into the studio, and whenthe moment arrived, I gave it to the actor who took it to Miss Morton. "

"Was he out of your sight, after you gave him the telegram?"

"No. He took it and walked right on the scene. "

"Then he couldn't have substituted another for it?"

"No. It would have been impossible, unless he used sleight of hand. "

"Before you gave the man the telegram where was it?"

"In my coat pocket. "

"No chance, I suppose, of anyone having taken it out and substitutinganother. "

"None. "

"Then it is clear that the substitution must have been effected betweenthe time you left your office last night, and your arrival here thismorning. "

"Yes. "

"Was this possible?"

"Undoubtedly. I left my office last night about six. It is never locked. The caretakers, the women who clean the offices, were in there later, and from seven to nine this morning it would also have been a simplematter for anyone to enter and make the change. "

Duvall turned to Mr. Baker. 

"It's the same story, " he said. "Someone who works in the building isresponsible for this thing, or else is able to bribe one or more of youremployees to act for them. But we won't get very far looking for theguilty person, with several hundred people to watch and no clueswhatever to go on. Suppose we go back to your office, and I will tellyou what I had in mind about this evening. "

"Is Miss Morton able to go on with the scene?" Baker asked, as Edwardsstarted away. 

"No. She seems all broken up. I don't think she is very well. Her motheris going to take her home, as soon as she feels better. "

"Will you ask Mrs. Morton to wait a little while, Mr. Edwards? Tell herthat Mr. Duvall will join her presently, and go back to the city withher. " Mr. Edwards nodded, and withdrew, and Duvall and Mr. Baker retiredto the latter's private office. 

"What did you have in mind about that new film we're going to releaseto-night?" Mr. Baker asked. 

"I'll explain that presently. First, tell me how long it will take youto make a short section of film, say enough to show for about tenseconds?"

"Oh--not long. But what of?"

"I'll explain that presently. But you could make such a section of film, develop and print it, and insert it in the picture you are going to showto-night, if you had to, couldn't you?"

"Yes--if we had to. But what's the idea?"

Duvall took a bit of paper from his pocket and handed it to Baker. 

"I want you to make a picture of this, and have it inserted in the filmat any convenient point--say at the beginning of the second part. Andyou had better have the cutting and pasting-in done by some trustedperson, under your personal supervision. "

"But, " said Baker, gazing in amazement at the bit of paper Duvall hadhanded him. "What's the idea of putting this in our picture? It wouldn'tdo at all. "

"Look at that telegram Mr. Edwards just gave you. The writer says in it, 'I shall be there. ' Now if the person who is causing all this trouble isgoing to be in the audience at the Grand Theater to-night, it is ourbusiness to find her. I say her, because I am convinced the guiltyperson is a woman. "

A look of comprehension began to dawn upon Mr. Baker's face. 

"By George!" he exclaimed. "You figure out that this will cause her todisclose herself--make some sign?"

"I feel certain of it. "

"Then we will put it in. " He laid the square of paper on his desk. "Iwill have the section of film made privately, and at once. I shall nottell even the other officers of the company about it. I suppose theywill give me the devil, until after they know the reasons for it, butthen, of course, it will be all right. "

Duvall rose and put out his hand. 

"You will be there to-night, of course?"

"Of course. And you?"

"Oh, I'll be on hand all right, although you may not recognize me. Goodday. " With a quick hand-shake he left the room, and went to look forRuth and her mother. He found them in the girl's dressing-room, ready todepart. Ruth was pale and terrified, showing the most intensenervousness in every word and movement. Mrs. Morton, scarcely lessaffected, strove with all her power to remain calm, in order that herdaughter might not break down completely. Duvall did his best to cheerthem up. 

"You must not let this thing prey on your mind, Miss Morton, " he said. "We are going to put a stop to it, and that very soon. "

"I hope so, Mr. Duvall, " the girl replied. "If you don't, I'm afraid Ishall break down completely. "

"I think we had better go home at once, " Mrs. Morton said. "Ruth is inno condition to do any more work to-day. "

"I quite agree with you about going, Mrs. Morton, but not home. " Helowered his voice, as though fearing that even at that moment some toolof the woman who was sending the letters might be within earshot. "Isuggest that you let me take your daughter to some quiet hotel. You canfollow, with her maid and the necessary baggage, later on. But we mustbe certain to make the change in such a way that our enemies, who areundoubtedly watching us, will not know of it. We will all leave here inyour car, giving out that we are going to your home. No one will suspectanything to the contrary. On our arrival in the city, your daughter andI will leave the car, and drive to the hotel in a taxicab. When, lateron, you follow with the baggage, take a taxi, sending your own car tothe garage. I know your confidence in your chauffeur, but in this affairwe can afford to trust no one. Your daughter and yourself can remainquietly in the hotel, under an assumed name, for a few days, until sherecovers her strength. Meanwhile, I have every expectation that thepersons at the bottom of this shameful affair will have been caught. "

The plan appealed to Mrs. Morton at once, and she told the detective so. 

"But where shall we go to--what hotel?" she asked. 

Duvall leaned over and whispered in her ear the name of an exclusive andvery quiet hotel in the upper part of the city. 

"Do not mention the name to anyone, " he said, "not even to the taxicabdriver, when you leave the house. Tell him to put you down at thecorner, a block away, and do not proceed to the hotel until you see thathe has driven off. And keep your eyes on your maid. I do not suspecther, I admit, but there seems to be a leak somewhere, and we must stopit. "

Mrs. Morton nodded, and rose. 

"We had better start, then, " she said. "I understand perfectly. HaveRuth register in the name of Bradley. And I think, Mr. Duvall, if youcan do so, you had better arrange to stop there as well. "

"I had intended to do so, " the detective replied. 

"That will be better. " Mrs. Morton led the way to the street. 

"You did not intend to go to the showing of your new film at the Grandto-night, did you?" Duvall asked Ruth, after they had started away fromthe studio. 

"Yes, I had intended to go, " she replied. "I always go to my firstreleases. But to-night I do not feel able to do so. "

"I think it is just as well. What you need most now is rest. "

The girl looked at herself in a small mirror affixed to the side of thecar. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed. "I look terrible. These people are right, it seems. Three more weeks of this persecution and my looks would be quite gone. Mr. Edwards told me only this morning that he had never seen me look sobad. " There were tears in her eyes. 

Duvall realized that she spoke the truth. The effect of the strain uponher nervous system, the brutal shocks of the past two days, the horrorof the experience of the night before, had wrought havoc with the girl'sbeauty. Her face, gray, lined, haggard, her eyes, heavy and drawn, madeher the very opposite of the radiant creature that had created such afurore in motion picture circles. The methods of her persecutors, ifunchecked, would beyond doubt wreck her strength and health in a shorttime, and in addition, there was the danger that at any moment aphysical attack, a swiftly thrown acid bomb, an explosive mixtureconcealed in an innocent-looking package, might destroy both her beautyand her reason in one blinding flash. With the fear in her great browneyes constantly before him, Duvall determined more than ever to free herfrom this terrible persecution. 

They separated in the neighborhood of 30th Street, Duvall and MissMorton taking a taxicab that stood before one of the smaller FifthAvenue hotels. He made a pretense of entering the hotel, and did notsummon the taxi until Mrs. Morton's car was well out of sight up theAvenue. Then he instructed the driver to proceed first to his hotel. 

Their stop here was but momentary. Duvall went to his room, threw a fewarticles of clothing into his grip, left a note for Grace, telling herthat he would be absent for several days, then rejoined his companionand drove uptown to the hotel opposite the park, the name of which hehad mentioned to Mrs. Morton. He felt perfectly certain that they hadnot been followed. 

Upon arriving at the hotel, he entered their names, including that ofMrs. Morton, upon the register, using the pseudonym which that latterhad suggested. Then, sending Ruth to her room, he asked to see themanager, and had a brief conference with him in private. Immediatelythereafter, he went up to his own apartment. 

As he had arranged, it adjoined the suite selected for the Mortons. Hetapped lightly on the communicating door. 

"Are you all right, Miss Morton?" he called. 

"Yes, " came the girl's voice from the opposite side. "All right, thankyou. "

CHAPTER IX

Grace Duvall said good-by to her husband that morning with very littleenthusiasm. She was not jealous of him, she was too sensible a woman, and trusted him too fully for that. But his sudden interest in RuthMorton, the charming motion picture star, seemed rather incomprehensibleto her. Of course she suspected he was working on a case which concernedthe girl although Duvall had neither affirmed nor denied it. But shefelt lonely, and perhaps a trifle out of sorts, and found her solitarybreakfasts, luncheons, dinners, a little trying. So often before, sheand Richard had worked together. Why, she wondered, did he so pointedlyexclude her from this case? She would have liked to talk it over withhim. 

She sat rather disconsolately in her room most of the forenoon, andabout one o'clock made ready for a lonely luncheon. She was just aboutto leave the apartment when the telephone bell rang. Grace hastened toit at once, hoping that the call might be from her husband. A woman'svoice, low, firm, determined sounded in her ears. 

"I want to speak with Mr. Duvall, " the voice said. 

"Mr. Duvall is out. This is Mrs. Duvall. "

"Very well, Mrs. Duvall. If you want to keep your husband from veryserious harm, you had better tell him to steer clear of Ruth Morton'saffairs in future. A word to the wise, you know. Good day. " The speakersuddenly rang off. 

Grace turned from the telephone, her brain in a whirl. What dangerthreatened her husband? Ought she not to tell him of the message as soonas possible, so that he might be on his guard? And what did thismysterious reference to "Ruth Morton's affairs" mean. Did it imply thatRichard was in any way involved--but that was preposterous. She put thethought from her mind, and went down in the elevator to a lonely and notvery enjoyable meal. 

As she left the dining-room, and passed through the lobby, she thoughtshe saw ahead of her a familiar figure. A moment later she realized thatit was Richard himself, walking very rapidly toward the main entrance, his satchel in his hand. Was he leaving the hotel? And if so, ought shenot to make an attempt to give him the message she had just received, before he did so? She walked quickly after him, but his pace was sorapid that she reached the sidewalk only in time to see him swinghimself into a waiting taxi, baggage in hand, and drive quickly off. Butwhat Grace saw, in addition to this, filled her with queer misgivings. Beside her husband in the cab was a woman--very beautiful woman, whomGrace had no difficulty whatever in identifying as Ruth Morton. And shealso noticed, in the brief moment that elapsed before the taxi shottoward the Avenue, that the woman seemed to be in tears, and thatRichard leaned over with the utmost solicitude and affection and claspedher hand in his. For the first time in her life, Grace Duvall wasactually jealous. 

Thoughts of possible danger to her husband, however, were paramount inher mind. Without an instant's hesitation she stepped into a secondtaxi, whose driver was trying to attract her attention, and told him tofollow the car containing the man and woman which had just driven off. 

The chauffeur grinned knowingly, nodded, and started his car. His grindrove from Grace's mind her sudden and unaccustomed jealousy. She knewthat Richard must be going away with this girl for some reason connectedwith his professional work. Of course that work did not usually includeconsoling beautiful damsels in distress, but there must be extenuatingcircumstances. She put her unpleasant thoughts from her mind, andproceeded on her mission, to give her husband the warning message shehad just received, with a reasonably calm mind. 

After a drive of some fifteen minutes, she saw the cab ahead of thembegin to slow up, and observed that her chauffeur did likewise. Presently the first cab stopped before the doors of a big, imposinglooking hotel, and Richard and Miss Morton hurriedly entered. 

Grace did not at once get out. She knew that her husband might resenther having followed him, and did not care to put him to any disadvantageby appearing so unexpectedly upon the scene. She waited, therefore, forseveral minutes, until he would have had time to go to his room, andthen, paying off her cabman, she strolled quietly into the hotel lobby. 

There were a few persons sitting about, but Richard was not amongstthem. Going to the clerk at the desk, she asked to see Mr. RichardDuvall. 

The clerk regarded her with a supercilious stare, consulted his recordsin a bored way, then informed her that no such person was registeredthere. 

Grace was completely taken aback. 

"But I saw him come in, only a few moments ago, " she protested. 

"No such person here, Miss. " With a frigid smile the clerk turned away, watching her, however, out of the corner of his eye, as though heconsidered her a suspicious character. 

Grace leaned over and examined the register. There were three entriesupon it, in a handwriting clearly that of her husband. "Mrs. Bradley andmaid, " the first entry said. "Miss Bradley, " the second. They had beenassigned a suite of rooms. The third and last entry was "John Bradley. "His room adjoined the suite. All three were set down as hailing fromBoston. 

Grace puzzled for a long time over this mysterious series of entrieswithout arriving at any definite conclusion regarding them. Where wasthe so-called Mrs. Bradley? And why had her husband assumed the samename? Was he posing as Ruth Morton's brother, and if so, for whatreason? She could not make head or tail of the matter, and wonderedwhether she had better send up her card, or write Richard a note andleave it for him, telling of the warning. While she was debating thematter in her mind, she suddenly saw him emerge from one of theelevators at the opposite side of the lobby, and come toward the desk. 

Grace approached him at once, glad that the matter had been so simplyarranged. 

"Richard, " she said, in a low voice. "I want to speak to you. "

The gentleman she had addressed regarded her with a frown. 

"My name is not Richard, madam, " he said, pointedly. "I am John Bradley. You must have made a mistake. " With a polite bow he passed on. 

Grace was completely taken aback. She knew that between them thereexisted a tacit understanding never to address each other, in public, during the progress of a case, unless requested to do so by some sign. But she felt that she had important information to give her husband, andthen, she _had_ been a trifle jealous and annoyed. The thought that shehad committed an error filled her with chagrin. Without a word, she leftthe hotel. 

At a nearby corner she stepped into a telephone booth, and calling upthe hotel, asked to speak to Mr. John Bradley. In a few moments sheheard Richard's familiar tones. 

"This is Grace, " she said quickly. "I'm sorry I spoke to you, just now, but I wanted to tell you that some woman telephoned the hotel to-day, and left a warning to the effect that if you did not keep out of MissMorton's affairs, you would be in serious danger. "

"How did you know where I was?" Duvall asked. 

"I saw you leave the hotel, and followed you. "

"You should not have done so. "

"But I wanted to give you the message. I thought you ought to know. "

"I understand that, but I wished my presence here to be unknown toanyone. You made a serious mistake. I only hope that no harm will comeof it. "

"But--how could harm come of it?"

"You drove here in one of the hotel's regular cabs, I suppose?"

"Yes. "

"Then the people I am trying to avoid may trace me here, through thedriver of that cab. "

"Oh--Richard--I'm so sorry. Isn't there anything I can do?"

"Nothing, now, except to make no further attempt to communicate with mehere. Good-by. "

Grace returned to her hotel, very thoroughly dissatisfied with what shehad done. It seemed to her that by trying to warn Richard of possibledanger, she might only have brought it upon him. Apparently he had lefttheir hotel, to avoid the very persons who had telephoned the warningmessage to her. She arrived at the door, got out of the cab in which shehad made the journey, and looked about, hoping that the cabman who haddriven her uptown might now be at his usual stand. To her delight, shesaw that he was. 

She went up to the man, a slim, keen looking young Irishman, and engagedhim in conversation. 

"Do you remember driving me uptown an hour or so ago?" she asked. 

"Sure I do, Miss, " answered the man, touching his cap. 

"Then please forget completely where you went, will you?" She handed theman a ten dollar bill. "It is barely possible that someone may try tofind out, through you, where I went. Be sure that you give them noinformation. "

"They'll get nothing out of me, Miss, " the man replied, pocketing thebill with a pleased grin. 

"And if anybody _does_ try to find out, get their name, if you can, andif not, a description of them. "

"I'll do my best, Miss. "

"I am stopping here. My name is Duvall, Mrs. Duvall. "

"Very good, ma'am. I'll attend to it, ma'am. "

Grace went up to her room, satisfied that she had remedied her mistake, and began to look through an afternoon paper she had bought. Thereseemed nothing better to do, during the evening, than to go to thetheater. Glancing down the list of attractions, she suddenly saw thename of Ruth Morton, in large letters, billed in a new feature play, _AnAmerican Beauty_, opening at the Grand Theater that night. She at oncemade up her mind to go. Since yesterday, her interest in Miss Morton hadperceptibly increased. And in spite of all, Richard _had_ held her hand. 

She was just finishing her dinner, when a page came through the room, calling her name. She got up at once and followed him to the lobby. 

"I am Mrs. Duvall, " she said. 

The boy looked up. 

"There's a chauffeur outside wants to see you, ma'am, " he said, "TomLeary. "

Grace understood at once, and made her way to the sidewalk. The cabdriver of the morning stood near the entrance. 

"I beg pardon, ma'am, for calling you out, " he said, "but I couldn'tcome in, and there was something I felt you ought to know. "

"What is it?"

"A lady came here to see me a while ago, " he said. "A smallish lookingwoman, not pretty, with light hair. She had on a dark brown suit. Notvery good style, ma'am. She asked me if I knew anybody in the hotelnamed Duvall. I said I did. I find she'd been asking all the othercabmen, and had been to the desk, before that. I guess she must havebeen inquiring for your husband, ma'am. "

"Yes--yes--very likely, " Grace hastily replied. "What then?"

"Well, ma'am, she then asked me if I knew Mrs. Duvall. I said I did. Then she wanted to know if I'd driven either you or your husband to anyother hotel to-day, and I said I hadn't, but that I usually did driveyou, when you went anywhere. I took the liberty of saying that, ma'am. "

"Yes. I'm glad you did. Go on. "

"Then she hands me five dollars, and says that if I _did_ drive you toany other hotel, I was to let her know which one it was. "

"Where?" Grace asked, eagerly. 

The man fished from his pocket a small bit of cardboard upon which wasscrawled with a pencil "Alice Watson, General Delivery. "

Grace stared at the bit of paper in surprise. Had she, by some luckychance, discovered the very person for whom Richard was seeking? Ofcourse the name was probably a fictitious one, and the address "GeneralDelivery, " meant nothing, and yet, it provided a clew by means of whichthis woman might be found. 

"You have acted very wisely, Leary, " she said. "I am greatly obliged toyou. "

"Do you want me to send her any word, ma'am?"

"I may. I am anxious to get hold of this woman, or, to be more exact, myhusband is. I will consult with him first, however. It may be that hewill want you to write her a letter, giving her some such information asshe desires, and then, by going to the general delivery window at thepost office and watching, identify her when she comes for it. Do youthink you could arrange to get off and do this?"

"Well, ma'am, even if I can't arrange to get off, you could of coursehire my cab, and----"

"Of course, " Grace interrupted. "Very well. I will let you know furtherabout the matter a little later. Meanwhile, here is something more foryour trouble. " She gave the man another bill. "Now drive me to the GrandTheater. "

CHAPTER X

Duvall, after having satisfied himself that Ruth Morton was safelyinstalled in her suite of rooms at the hotel, came down to the lobby toawait the arrival of Mrs. Morton. 

The unexpected meeting with Grace caused him the utmost anxiety. Heappreciated fully her reasons for having come to see him, and yet hedeeply regretted her coming. The enemies of Ruth Morton were far tooclever, too shrewd, he feared, not to take advantage of her mistake, andby means of it, trace him at once to his present address. A completedisguise became an immediate necessity. He decided to assume one, assoon as Mrs. Morton had arrived. 

The latter came in about ten minutes later accompanied by Nora. Duvallexplained matters to the clerk at the desk, and the supposed Mrs. Bradley was conducted to her rooms at once. Duvall accompanied her. 

They found Ruth resting quietly, but her joy at her mother's arrival wasvery apparent. She feared to be left alone, and seemed to expect herpersecutors to appear from every closet, through every door or window. 

"Oh, mother, I'm so glad to see you, " she exclaimed. 

"I'm glad to find you safe, " Mrs. Morton returned. 

"I advise you to stay right here with your daughter throughout theevening, Mrs. Morton, " said Duvall, as he made ready to go to his ownroom. "Have your meals sent up. Admit no one. Open no packages. I haveevery hope that before the night is over, I may have some most importantand satisfactory news for you. I shall probably not see you again untilafter the performance to-night, but if anything vital occurs, I will ofcourse communicate with you by telephone. Good-by, and good luck. "

When he reached his own room, he proceeded to the business of divestinghimself completely of all resemblance to Richard Duvall. It was clearthat the persons he was seeking knew him by sight, and hence hisopportunities to accomplish anything against them were very greatlylessened. The threatening telephone message received by Grace did notworry him at all, but the fact that those people were so constantly uponhis heels did. He determined to disappear completely as Duvall, andreappear in the person of John Bradley, using all his skill in thematter of disguise to create for himself a totally differentpersonality. 

Taking a makeup box from his grip, he proceeded first to give his darkbrown hair a very decided and natural looking touch of gray, over thetemples and at the sides. Then he fitted into place a short pointedgrayish beard, and a mustache with waxed ends. These were products ofthe skill of one of the best wig-makers in Paris, and so cleverly madethat they would defy detection, even in broad daylight. A pair ofgold-rimmed eyeglasses completed the facial disguise. Duvall might nowhave passed anywhere for a well-groomed professional man of fifty-fiveor sixty. 

The impression was heightened by his frock coat and silk hat. He feltquite sure that, in his present disguise, the plotters against RuthMorton's welfare could not possibly recognize him. 

He went down to the theater very early, after a hasty dinner, and foundMr. Baker in the box office. The moving picture man did not recognizehim, of course, and Duvall, after drawing him aside, had some littledifficulty in convincing him of his identity. Once it had beenestablished, however, Mr. Baker conducted him to a dressing room behindthe scenes, and motioned him to a chair. 

"We can talk here without being seen or heard, " he said. "Is thereanything new?"

"Nothing. I have taken Mrs. Morton and her daughter to a hotel, where Ifeel sure they will be quite safe from further annoyance. Ruth will notcome to the studio for a few days, until we have gotten to the bottom ofthis affair. I am staying in an adjoining room, so as to be on hand atonce in case of any trouble. I suppose you have everything fixed forto-night?"

"Yes. " Mr. Baker's tone was dubious. "I have inserted in the film thematerial you gave me. It will appear just at the end of Part I. I hopeit will not spoil our picture. "

"I think not. As a matter of fact, when the reasons for its introductionbecome known, I imagine it will give you a lot of very valuableadvertising. "

"Possibly so, " Mr. Baker granted. "But after all, I begin to feel verydoubtful as to the results. This woman, whoever she is, that ispersecuting Miss Morton seems to be mighty clever. She may not beaffected in the way you think, by what she sees on the screen. "

"I realize that. It is only a chance. But don't you think that, underthe circumstances, it is a chance worth taking?"

"Most certainly; otherwise I should not have consented to it. But, as Isay, I doubt very much its success. "

"Well--we can only try. You will remember what I said about the lights, and the call for a doctor, if one appears to be needed. "

"Yes. I have all that in mind. Miss Morton is not coming to-night, Ipresume. "

"No. I advised against it. "

"I'm glad of that. "

Duvall sat in silence for a moment. 

"By the way, " he said presently. "There is one important matter that Ihave overlooked. Do you give your employees passes for these openingperformances?"

"No--not regularly, that is. But any member of our organization whowishes to see the performance would of course be admitted. We reserve asection of the house for that purpose. A number of our people usuallycome over. "

"Good! That's just what I had hoped for. Where is this section?"

"The last five rows on the left-hand side of the house. But why?"

"Don't you see? All the evidence points to the fact that the person whois responsible for these threats either works in your studio, or is insome way able to gain access to it at any time. Witness the stolenphotograph--the substituted telegram of this morning. In the latter itwas definitely stated that the woman in the case would be in theaudience to-night. I am hoping sincerely that she will not have thecleverness to enter as one of the public, but will come in as one ofyour people, and sit in the section of the house reserved exclusivelyfor your employees. In that event, I think we shall discover who she isbeyond a doubt. "

"I certainly hope so, " sighed Mr. Baker. "This thing has got us all upin the air. Our President had a long conference with me this afternoonabout Miss Morton. He seems to think she is going to pieces, andrecommended trying to get Joan Clayton away from the Multigraph peopleto take her place. He says that she is losing her good looks. I told himnothing, of course, but it worried me a lot. I am very fond of RuthMorton, and I don't want to see her lose her place. "

"She won't lose it, " asserted Duvall. "When we get through, her positionwith your company will be stronger than it has ever been before. Shallwe go out in the lobby and take a look at the crowd as it comes in?"

Mr. Baker assented, and the two men stationed themselves near the boxoffice. 

Without appearing to do so, Duvall inspected the various members of theincoming crowd. His scrutiny was careful, comprehensive, but the onlyperson he recognized was Grace. 

That she also recognized him he knew. She had seen the disguise he wore, many times, and was familiar with it. She did not betray herself, however, by so much as a glance, but proceeded at once to her seat. 

When the moment arrived for the beginning of the performance, the housewas filled. Duvall, with Baker at his side, stationed himself back ofthe left-hand section of seats, so that the rows reserved for theemployees of the company were directly in front of him. He occupiedhimself, during the interval before the lights were switched off, bynoting carefully all the women in the last five rows, but none of themattracted his attention particularly. 

Soon the performance began. Ruth Morton, the American Beauty, steppedupon the screen, a compelling vision of loveliness. The audiencefollowed eagerly her exciting adventures. Duvall himself, in spite ofhis preoccupation, found himself absorbed by the charm and action of thepicture. In the opening scenes, Ruth appeared as a poor girl, trying tomake her way in the great world of the theater. Her struggles, hersacrifices, her failures, were almost vividly portrayed. When at last, through her marvelous beauty, she succeeded in gaining recognition fromthe critics, he applauded with those about him, completely under thespell of her charm. 

The final scene of the first part was a view of Ruth, as Catherine Grey, the American Beauty, refusing the dubious offers made her by a rich NewYorker. With a faith in herself by no means assumed, Catherine turnedfrom his picture of luxury, of steam yachts, of country estates, ofunlimited bank accounts, with a smile which showed her confidence in herbeauty, her talents. The audience watched her, spellbound, as she stoodon the sidewalk before the theater, looking with grave inscrutable eyesafter the costly limousine that had just driven away without her. In nopicture heretofore taken of the girl had she appeared to betteradvantage. Every line of her lovely face seemed responsive to the effectof the lighting, the situation, the motives which inspired her. Theaudience drew itself back, ready to register its approval of the firstpart of the film with hearty applause. 

And then, something happened. The lovely, smiling face of Ruth Mortonfaded from view, and in its place came with brutal suddenness thepicture of a huge grinning death's head, amazing in its suggestion ofhorror. The audience sat in utter silence, wondering what could be thereason for this sudden apparition. Beneath the death's head appeared inhuge letters the words:

 "We know the woman. "

The thing had come as a complete surprise. The tension throughout thehouse was electric. Duvall saw his wife rise from her seat on the aisle, a few rows away, and come quickly to the rear of the house. She, atleast, realized that a moment of importance had arrived. 

And then, without warning, the stillness of the theater was broken by asudden cry, and a woman, sitting some three rows from where Duvallstood, but on the opposite side of the aisle from the seats indicated byMr. Baker, rose to her feet, turned, and fell heavily against the backof the seat ahead of her. At almost the same moment the lights wereswitched on, and a voice was heard calling. "Is there a doctor in thehouse?"

It was Mr. Baker, and Duvall, who stood beside him, sprang forward atonce. 

"I am a doctor, " he cried, and approached the place where the woman sat. 

"Can I be of any assistance?" Grace asked. "I am a trained nurse. "

"Yes, " replied Duvall, quickly. "Get this woman to the ladies' dressingroom at once. "

Grace sprang forward. There was a bustle among the audience, a suddenrising, a craning of necks. Everyone seemed to be looking for the personwho had uttered the sudden cry. Before anyone fully realized what hadhappened, Grace had reached the fainting woman's side, and supportingher with an arm about her waist, was leading her toward the rear of thehouse. 

Almost at once the theater became dark, and the second part of thepicture was flashed upon the screen. The lovely face of Ruth Morton oncemore greeted the eyes of the audience. The interruption had occupiedless than a minute. 

Duvall, standing at the entrance to the aisle, watched Grace comequickly toward him, supporting the fainting woman. The latter seemedcompletely overcome, and Grace was obliged almost to carry her. 

"Keep her there, in the dressing room, until I return, " he said in aquick whisper. Then with a nod to Mr. Baker, who stood close by, he wenttoward the street. A taxicab drew up, awaiting a fare. Duvall signaledto it. 

"Wait for me here, " he said to the driver. "I will be back in a moment. "Then he re-entered the theater. 

Grace meanwhile had conducted the woman to the ladies' dressing room, and placed her upon a couch. 

She was a frail, insignificant looking creature, not at all the sort ofperson one would associate with threats of the kind that Ruth Morton hadbeen receiving. She appeared to be greatly ashamed of her suddencollapse, and kept insisting, in spite of her evident weakness, that shewas quite all right again, and wanted to go. 

Grace, however, paid no attention to her protestations, but insistedthat she remain quiet. 

"The doctor will be here in a moment, " she said. "You must wait quietlyuntil he comes. "

The woman, however, seemed determined to leave, and it was with a sighof relief that Grace welcomed her husband's return. 

Duvall came in hurriedly, as he did so taking a small brown bottle fromhis waistcoat pocket. 

"Get me a glass of water, " he said to the negro maid. The woman broughtone at once. 

Duvall took a tablet from the bottle and placed it in the glass, stirring the water about with the end of a lead pencil until the tabletwas dissolved. Then he went up to the woman on the couch. 

"Here--drink this, " he commanded. "It will quiet your nerves. "

The woman took the glass, her eyes regarding him with suspicion. Duvall, in his character of a physician, turned aside, and addressed a few wordsto Grace, fearing that in some way the woman might succeed inrecognizing him. As a result both failed to see that instead of drinkingthe medicine he had given to her, the girl swiftly poured it upon thefloor. When he again turned to her, she held the empty glass in herhand. 

Duvall took it from her, and handed it to Grace. 

"Come with me, Miss, " he said. "I will see you home. "

"It isn't necessary, " the woman gasped. "I--I'm all right now. "

"You have had a severe shock, Miss. As a physician, it is my duty to seethat you arrive home safely. I have already engaged a cab. Come. " Hetook the woman by the arm and in spite of her objections, raised herfrom the couch. 

Suddenly her opposition vanished. She seemed glad of his assistance, and, leaning on his arm, made her way from the theater. Duvall was inhigh spirits. He fully believed that his plan had succeeded, that thewoman at his side was the one who was responsible for the threats whichhad made Ruth Morton so wretched for the past few days. 

The cab that he had engaged stood waiting at the door. He put the womaninside. She seemed very weak and helpless. "Drive to the ---- Hotel, "Duvall called to the chauffeur, then entered the cab and seated himselfat the woman's side. He saw Mr. Baker standing upon the sidewalk, andnodded. Then they drove off. 

The woman lay, in a state of apparent collapse, in one corner of thecab, her face pale, her eyes closed. Duvall, inspecting her as well ashe could in the faint light, began to feel grave doubts as to whetherafter all he had been successful in his ruse. She seemed so little thetype of woman he would have associated with the brutal campaign ofterror that had been directed against Miss Morton. 

She clutched a black leather satchel tightly in one hand. Duvallregarded it with interest. If he was right in his assumption that thiswas the woman he sought, it seemed highly probable that within thatsatchel lay evidence that might convict her. At least there would besome clue as to who she was, and that in itself would be valuable. 

The woman seemed to grow weaker and weaker. Her closed eyes, her slowbut regular breathing, indicated that the drug he had given her hadbegun to take effect. Stealthily Duvall's hand reached toward the smallblack satchel. With eager fingers he pressed the catch, and as the bagopened, began to draw out its contents. 

The woman, however, seemed far less helpless than he had supposed. Shepulled the satchel toward her, her fingers seeking to close it. Duvalldiscontinued his efforts at once. It would be time enough, he felt, whenthey had reached the hotel, and the woman had been safely conducted to aroom there. He had made his plans carefully in advance, and arrangedmatters with the hotel manager. There was nothing to do, now, but wait. 

Presently the woman, who had been regarding him, unnoticed, from beneathlowered lids, uttered a groan, as though in great pain, and clutched herbreast. Duvall turned to her at once, speaking in a soothing voice, andassuming a professional manner. 

"Is anything wrong, Miss? I had hoped you were feeling better. "

"No, doctor. I'm not. I feel terrible--terrible. "

"In what way?"

"My--my heart. It is in awful shape. I need some stimulant. The--themedicine you gave me made me feel very ill. "

Her words surprised Duvall. He had given her a simple drug, the effectof which should have been to make her drowsy, to quiet her nerves. Thatshe had not taken it, he of course did not know. His greatest fear hadbeen that she would refuse to enter the cab with him. Now that she haddone so, he was prepared to use even force, if necessary, to retain herin his custody until he had either obtained the evidence he desired, orforced from her a confession. What he particularly hoped to find was theseal with which the death's head impression had been made. He feltcertain that, if this was the woman he sought, she would have this sealsomewhere about her person. It was far too significant a bit of evidenceto be left lying about at home. 

But there was always the chance that this woman, who had been soinstantly affected by the ghastly apparition on the screen, thesignificant words beneath it, might not, after all, be the right one, the one he sought. There was always the possibility that the realcriminal, although present in the audience, had made no sign, and thathis companion in the cab might be entirely innocent. As he had toldBaker, it was a chance--a long chance, yet something seemed to say tohim that he had made no mistake in taking it. Now, however, a newsituation had arisen to upset his plans. His prisoner, instead of havingbeen quieted by the drug he had administered, was apparently becomingmore and more agitated and nervous every minute. Her groans, as she layhuddled up in the corner of the cab, puzzled him, filled him with vaguealarm. Was it possible that she had a weak heart? Had the sedative hehad given her, harmless as he knew the dose would be to a normal person, affected her in so unfavorable a way? He took her wrist in his hand, andfelt her pulse. It was quick, indicative of nervous excitement, butcertainly not weak. 

"Oh--doctor, doctor, won't you _please_ give me something to make mefeel a little better?" the woman gasped. "It's my heart, I tell you. I--I can't breathe. I'm suffocating. I must have something at once--somearomatic spirits of ammonia--some brandy--anything, to make me feel alittle better. "

Her earnestness, her trembling voice, her excited manner, all served toconvince Duvall that his companion was really in need of a stimulant ofsome sort. He decided to humor her. A dose of aromatic spirits, hereflected, could do no harm, and would doubtless serve to lessen herexcitement. He leaned out, and directed the driver of the cab to stop atthe nearest drug store. 

"Oh--thank you--thank you, " the woman gasped. "Tell him to hurry, please. " Then collapsing in the corner of the seat, she closed her eyesand sat so silent that Duvall began to wonder whether she had lostconsciousness. 

The taxicab, meanwhile, had drawn up in front of a drug store on SixthAvenue. Duvall took a look at the apparently unconscious woman, thenspoke quickly to the chauffeur. 

"Stay here until I return, " he said. "Don't go away under anycircumstances. I shall be gone but a moment. "

The man nodded. 

"I'll stay, sir, " he said. "Don't worry. "

Duvall went quickly into the store. Going up to the soda counter, heinstructed the clerk to prepare him a dose of aromatic spirits ofammonia as quickly as possible. While waiting for it, he watched the cabthrough the store window. 

The preparation of the dose required but a few moments. Then, explainingmatters to the clerk, Duvall took the glass in his hand and went back tothe cab. He smiled to himself at his anxiety, as he passed through thedoor. The woman was far too ill, he reflected, to entertain any thoughtsof escape. 

"Here, " the detective said, opening the door of the cab. "Drink this. "

There was no response. Duvall stuck his head into the vehicle with somemisgivings. Then he experienced a sudden and most mortifying shock. There was no fainting woman huddled against the cushions in the farcorner. There was no woman at all. _The cab was empty!_

CHAPTER XI

Richard Duvall had had charge of many unusual and intricate cases, inthe past, and he prided himself upon the fact that he had handled themwith skill and discretion, and that the results which had followed hadbeen both quick and decisive. But in all his career he had not, so faras he could remember, ever felt quite so chagrined, as he did when hethrew open the door of the cab and found that the woman he had leftthere had disappeared. 

The fault was his, he knew that well--entirely and unmistakably his. This woman was evidently far more clever, more subtle than he hadimagined. He realized now that she had in all probability not taken thedrug he had given her in the dressing room of the theater, that she hadseen his effort to examine the contents of her handbag, that herweakness, her call for a stimulant of some sort had been but cleveracting, and that she had purposely sent him into the drug store in orderthat she might escape. He blamed himself, utterly and completely, forhis amazing stupidity in not realizing that the woman, instead ofordering the cabman to drive away, had only to slip out through the dooron the opposite side of the vehicle, and vanish in the darkness. 

And this she had quite evidently done. The door of the cab opposite himstood open. No doubt she had purposely refrained from closing it, fearing that the click of the lock might attract the driver's attention. The latter with his eyes following Duvall, as the detective entered thestore, had remained serenely unconscious of his passenger's movements, her clever escape. 

At least three or four minutes had elapsed. Duvall glanced up and downthe street, but no sight of the vanished woman greeted his anxious gaze. She had had ample time to reach the next corner, and disappear in thedarkness. Thoughts of pursuit entered his mind, but he realized at oncethe fruitlessness of such an attempt. His captive might have fled eastor west, at either of the streets north or south of where he stood. Orshe might have entered some restaurant, some motion picture house, orother convenient doorway along the Avenue. She might even have boarded aSixth Avenue car, or hailed a passing cab. He looked up at thechauffeur, who still sat at his steering wheel, totally unaware of theflight of one of his passengers. 

"The woman has gone, " Duvall exclaimed, nodding toward the vacant cab. 

The man turned in complete surprise. He seemed scarcely able to creditthe evidence of his senses. 

"I--why sir--she was here just a moment ago, sir, " he gasped, gazinginto the interior of the cab as though he expected its recent occupantto suddenly materialize in the flesh. 

"She got out on the other side, while I was in the store, " Duvallremarked, shortly, then taking an electric searchlight from his pocket, made a thorough examination of the interior of the cab. He scarcelyexpected to find anything, although it flashed through his mind that thewoman, in her hurry to escape, might have left her bag, her gloves, orsomething that might afford him a clue to her identity. 

At first he saw nothing. Then, as his eyes became more accustomed to thebrilliant glare of the electric torch, he observed a bit of whitecardboard lying on the floor. It looked like a visiting card, and hesnatched it up, devoutly hoping that it had fallen from the woman's bagduring the attempt he had made to rifle it. 

Under the light of his pocket lamp he made a quick examination of hisfind. It proved a lamentable disappointment. It was in fact a visitingcard, or to be more correct, the torn half of one, but what was engravedupon it afforded him not the least clue to either the identity or theaddress of the woman he sought. On the first line were the words, "MissMar"--then came the torn edge of the card. On the second line there wasbut the figure 1, and then the break. 

Was the name so tantalizingly suggested by the letters before him "MissMary" something or other? Or "Miss Margaret?" Or was it "Miss Martin, "or "Miss Marvin, " or "Miss Marbury, " or any one of a score of othernames beginning with the letters "Mar?" And what was the missingaddress? What numbers followed the figure 1, on that part of the cardthat had been torn off? And what was the name of the street? He realizedat once that while what he had found might, under certain circumstances, act as a suggestion, it would not serve to get him very far, unlessreinforced by other and more definite evidence. He thought for a momentof securing from Mr. Baker a list of the women employees of the studio. It was true, he remembered, that his prisoner had not been seated inthat particular section of the house reserved for the company'semployees, but that might have readily come from the fact that thesection was fully occupied when she arrived. Then, as more namesbeginning with "Mar" occurred to him, the futility of the idea becameapparent. Apart from any possible number of Marys, and Margarets therewere Martha, Maria, Marcia, Marian, Marcella--others perhaps. Of coursehe would be able to recognize the woman, if he saw her, but she would betoo clever to return to her place in the studio the following day, if byany chance she worked there, knowing, as she must inevitably know, thatshe would be identified at once. 

Still, there was of course the chance that Mr. Baker might haverecognized her. He presumably knew all the employees of his company bysight. Duvall got into the cab with a mortifying sense of having made avery foolish blunder, and directed the cabman to drive him back to theGrand Theater. 

Mr. Baker was waiting in the lobby when the detective arrived, and at anod from the latter the two men retired to the dressing room in whichthey had had their previous consultation. The moving picture man's facewas eager, expectant, as he waited for Duvall to speak, and the latterfelt his chagrin increase by the moment. 

When he had at last finished his account of the affair, Mr. Baker lookedexceedingly grave. 

"Too bad--too bad, " he muttered, "to have had her in our hands likethat, and then, to lose her. "

"Did you ever see the woman before?" Duvall questioned. 

"No. Of course she might be in our employ, but I doubt it, although Icould not be expected to know by sight every girl who works in theplant. There are stenographers, film cutters and pasters, dozens ofothers, that I do not engage directly, and never see. Let me look at thecard. "

Duvall handed the torn bit of pasteboard to him. 

"Not much to go on, " he said, quietly. 

"No. Not much. "

"Of course, " the detective went on, "the evening has not been entirelywasted. We know the woman by sight, and that is a great deal. As for hername, I have made a careful study of this card, and assuming it to havebeen of the usual length in comparison to its width, the name followingthe 'Miss, ' if it was a first name, points to a very short one, such asMary, and not a long one, such as Margaret. "

"How do you make that out?"

"Simply enough. The entire name would of course have been placed in thecenter of the card, which was, it appears, torn almost exactly in half. On the left-hand side, which we have in our possession, there are, inthe word 'Miss, ' four letters, and in 'Mar' three, or seven in all. Weshould correspondingly expect to find seven letters on the right ormissing half of the card. But were the first name Margaret, or Marcella, which each contain eight letters, or five to be added to the 'Mar' wealready have, it would leave but two letters for the woman's last name, and names of that length, or rather shortness, are so rare as to benegligible. It is far more probable that we have but to add a 'y' to the'Mar, ' or one letter, leaving six for the last name. This would give us'Miss Mar-y Gordon, ' with the name evenly divided by the tear. Or, if bychance, the first name is such a one as Marian, containing six letters, we need add but the 'ian, ' or three letters, to the left-hand side ofour card, leaving us four letters for the last name. Thus, Miss MarianKent. The full name on the card should have just fourteen letters, provided the card is, as I conclude, torn exactly in half. "

"Why do you conclude that?"

"Because visiting cards of this sort are usually made in standard sizes. I happen to have a woman's card--Miss Morton's, in fact, in my pocket. Its width is the same as that of the torn card, and if the latter was ofthe same length, you can readily see that it was torn exactly in half. "He took a card from his wallet and laid the torn bit of pasteboard uponit. Their widths were identical. The whole card was just twice thelength of the torn one. 

"That is a most interesting deduction, " Baker exclaimed. "What use canwe make of it?"

"I will tell you. You have your car here, have you not?"

"Yes. "

"Then I suggest that we run down to the studio at once, get your list ofemployees, examine the name of every woman upon it, and see if we cannotfind one of fourteen letters, including the 'Miss, ' of which the firstname begins with 'Mar. ' The chances are that we will be able to locatethe name immediately. "

"Yes, " Mr. Baker exclaimed, rising in some excitement, "but, as you havebefore said, the woman, if she works for us, will not dare to appear inthe morning, for fear that she will be recognized at once. "

"That is true, but you will no doubt have on your books her homeaddress. If we hurry, we can get there and back by midnight, and we maybe able to place our hands on the woman before she can have time toescape. "

Mr. Baker reached the door in two steps. 

"Come along, " he said. "We'll burn up the roads. "

The two men said little, during their long ride. When they reached theentrance to the dark and silent studio building, only the night watchmanappeared to greet them. 

Inside the building, however, there were more signs of life. Some stagecarpenters were busy, working overtime on a piece of scenery. In thedeveloping and drying departments were also signs of activity. Mr. Bakerled the way to his office. "It happens, " he said, "that as I am obligedto O. K. The payroll each week, I have a list of our employees in mydesk. " As he spoke, he took his keys, opened a drawer, and drew out asmall red book. 

"Here is the list, with the home addresses, " he said. "How shall we goto work?"

"Read me all the women's names, in which the first name begins with'Mar, '" Duvall said. "I will put them down on a sheet of paper. " He drewa pad toward him, took out his pencil, and the two set to work. 

When they had at last reached the end of the book, both Duvall and Mr. Baker were surprised to find that the names they had picked out were sofew. In all there were but eight, as follows:

 Miss Mary Sollenberger, Miss Mary Green, Miss Margaret Schwartz, Miss Maria Rosenheim, Miss Martha Simmons, Miss Marcia Ford, Miss Marian Greenberg, Miss Mary King. 

Duvall ran his pencil down the list of names. "There is but one thatfulfills the requirements, " he announced. "The sixth name, that of MissMarcia Ford, contains in all fourteen letters. None of the others do. Two, those of Miss King and Miss Green, come the nearest. Miss King'sfull name contains twelve letters, Miss Green's, thirteen. Any one ofthe three _might_ be the one we seek. "

"I can answer for Miss King at once, " said Mr. Baker, quietly. "She ismy stenographer, and most certainly _not_ the woman who was in thetheater to-night. "

"That leaves then, Miss Green and Miss Ford. What do they do, and whatare their addresses?"

Mr. Baker referred to his book. 

"Miss Green is a telephone operator. Her address is given here as 310Gold Street, Brooklyn. Miss Ford is a film cutter, and lives at 122 West9th Street, New York. "

"Neither sounds particularly promising, " Duvall remarked, with a frown. 

"No. But of course we are assuming that the woman in question works inthe studio. If she does _not_, our whole fabric falls to pieces. " Duvalltook the torn piece of card from his pocket and glanced at it. 

"The address given here begins with the number 1, " he said, significantly. "It may be that Miss Marcia Ford, of 122 West NinthStreet, is the woman we are looking for, although I confess I shouldhave suspected some rival motion picture star, rather than a filmcutter. "

"By George, I forgot the fact that the card had an address on it, " Bakerexclaimed. "I think we had better look up Miss Ford at once. "

"I agree with you, " Duvall said. A few moments later they were drivingat top speed back toward New York. 

It was five minutes to twelve when they reached the corner of FifthAvenue and Ninth Street and turned west. Duvall realized that they werefollowing a very slim clue, but it seemed for the moment the onlypromising one they had. 

The house, No. 122, proved to be a typical high stooped, brownstoneboarding house of this section of the city. It was for the most partdark, although one or two of the upper windows showed lights. 

Accompanied by Baker, Duvall quickly mounted the steps and rang thebell. At first there was no answer, although they could hear the soundof the bell tinkling mournfully inside. A second summons brought nogreater response. At the third, a woman's head appeared in one of theupper windows, and they heard a shrill and not over pleasant voiceasking them what they wanted. 

"I have an important message for Miss Marcia Ford, " Duvall repliedpleasantly. "I must see her at once. "

"Miss Ford moved away from here three months ago, " the woman snapped. 

"Will you please give me her present address?" the detective exclaimed, somewhat taken aback. 

"I don't know it. She didn't say where she was going. Good night!" Amoment later the window above them was closed with a slam. 

The two men stood staring at each other in the utmost disappointment. They had expected a more favorable outcome of their expedition. 

"How long has she been with you?" Duvall asked, turning to hiscompanion. 

"I don't know. Certainly over three months, or we shouldn't have thisaddress on our books. I suppose, when she changed it, she omitted tonotify us. What are we going to do now?"

"There isn't anything we can do, until morning. If Miss Marcia Fordreports for work to-morrow, and you see that she is the woman whofainted in the theater to-night, have her arrested at once. If shedoesn't report for work, at least we shall know that she is the woman weare after. "

"That isn't much consolation, " Mr. Baker grumbled. 

"I don't agree with you. Having the woman's name, knowing herappearance, we are certain to catch her, sooner or later. And in themeanwhile, I do not think that she will attempt anything further so faras Miss Morton is concerned. We are too close on her trail, for that. "

"I hope you are right, " said the motion picture man. "Well, I guess I'llgo along home. I'll be at the studio first thing in the morning, however, and I suppose you will be there too. "

"By all means. I am most curious to see whether our reasoning to-nighthas been correct. "

"Shall I take you to your hotel in my car?"

"No, thanks. I'll take a taxi. Good night. "

"Good night. "

A few moments later, Duvall was speeding up Fifth Avenue, his brainstill puzzling over the curious contradictions which the events of thenight had developed. On one point he felt secure, however. He wascertain that the woman who had so narrowly escaped him earlier in theevening would not soon again attempt anything against Ruth Morton. 

Arrived at his hotel, he asked for his key. The man behind the desk, with a queer look, handed him along with it a slip of paper. On it waswritten: "Mrs. Bradley wishes Mr. John Bradley to come to her room atthe moment he returns. "

"When was this message left?" the detective asked. 

"Oh--nearly two hours ago. The time is stamped on the back of it, sir. "

Duvall turned the card over, and saw from the stamp on the other sidethat Mrs. Morton had sent for him at half past ten. 

"The message was phoned down by the lady herself, " the clerk added, byway of explanation. 

Duvall went up in the elevator, and a few moments later, was knocking atthe door of Mrs. Morton's suite. 

The latter herself appeared in the doorway. She was pale and agitated. "Come in, Mr. Duvall, " she said. 

The detective entered, closing the door behind him. 

"What is wrong, Mrs. Morton?" he asked. 

"There has been another warning--a dreadful one, " the older womanexclaimed, her voice trembling. "It came a little after ten. "

"What was it?" Duvall's voice was almost as strained as that of thewoman before him. Her words came to him as a complete surprise. Had allthe work of the evening, then, been wasted?

"At a little after ten, " Mrs. Morton said slowly, "I sent my maid Noraout for some medicine for my daughter. She went to a drug store somethree blocks away. As she returned to the hotel, she saw a young womanstanding near the entrance, apparently watching those who went in andout. As soon as the maid came up to the doorway, the woman stepped up toher, and thrusting a package into her hands, said quickly, 'Give this toMiss Ruth Morton. It is from the studio. ' Then she walked away at once. 

"Nora, as she tells me, did not know just what to do. You will rememberthat while she realizes from our presence here under an assumed name, that something is wrong, she knows little or nothing of thecircumstances surrounding Ruth's terrible persecution. Hence shefoolishly took both the medicine and the package the woman had givenher, to my daughter. "

"Yes--yes--go on, " Duvall exclaimed, seeing Mrs. Morton pause. 

"Ruth opened them both. I was in the next room at the moment. Suddenly Iheard a cry, and on rushing in, found her standing in the center of theroom, holding a small bottle in one hand, and staring at it in theutmost consternation. In her other hand was a sheet of paper, which, asI subsequently found, had been wrapped around the bottle, inside theouter brown-paper cover. 

"The bottle was labeled 'carbolic acid. ' Here is the sheet of paper. "Mrs. Morton, with trembling fingers, extended a half sheet of note-papertoward the detective. 

Duvall took it and read the typewritten words upon it. 

"We gave you thirty days. Now we give you seven. Drink this, and saveyourself from a horrible fate. " The death's head signature ended themessage. "Ruth has been very ill ever since, " Mrs. Morton addeddrearily. "If she is not better in the morning, I shall call in adoctor. She felt herself absolutely safe, here, and was recovering hercheerfulness. Now all her fears have returned with redoubled force. I amterribly worried about her--terribly worried. " Taking out herhandkerchief, the poor woman wiped the tears from her eyes. "How couldthese people have known we were here?" she whispered, in an awed voice. "It seems like the work of fiends. "

There was little that the detective could say in reply. Even to hissober judgment, there came a suggestion of the uncanny, thesupernatural. The woman in the cab had escaped at half past nine, presumably quite ignorant of the location of Mrs. Morton's retreat. Halfan hour later, the campaign of intimidation was renewed with greatervigor than before. 

"I'm afraid, Mrs. Morton, " he said, "that it will be necessary for youto remain with your daughter every minute of the time, for a day or two. By then, I am convinced that we shall have laid our hands on the guiltyparties. Good night. "

Duvall rose very early the following morning, and drove at once to thestudio, but early as he was, Mr. Baker was there before him. 

The latter was seated in his office, poring over a mass of reports, whenDuvall entered. He glanced up, rose, shook hands nervously, thenmotioned to a chair. 

"Nothing new yet, " he said. "My stenographer, Miss King, is here. Neither Miss Green nor Miss Ford have yet arrived, but it is still alittle early. Miss King came before her usual time, as she had somereports to get out that she could not complete last night. We have atleast fifteen minutes to wait. "

Duvall told him to proceed with his work, and drawing a newspaper fromhis pocket, made an effort to interest himself in it. In this, however, he was not very successful. Time after time his mind would wander fromthe printed sheet before him to the strange events of the night before. The thing that puzzled him most was, how did the persecutors of MissMorton discover her new address so soon? Was the woman who had handedthe package to Nora, the maid, the same one that had vanished from thecab? He remembered that it had been about nine o'clock when they leftthe Grand Theater, and perhaps half-past when he had gone into the drugstore in Sixth Avenue to get the aromatic spirits of ammonia. Had thewoman gone directly from the cab to the hotel? She must have done so, without much loss of time, in order to reach there by ten o'clock. Howhad she known the address? He knew very well that he had given it to thecabman, when they started away from the theater. Had the supposedlyfainting woman overheard his words? If she had, and had so promptlyacted upon them, she was far more clever and determined than herappearance would seem to warrant. He revolved the matter endlessly inhis mind, waiting for Mr. Baker to announce that the time had come, whenMiss Ford's or Miss Green's arrival or non-arrival would indicate whichof the two, if either, was the woman they sought. 

Suddenly the bell of the telephone on Mr. Baker's desk ran sharply. Heanswered it, then turned to Duvall. 

"Miss Green, the telephone operator, is at her desk, " he said. "Wouldyou like to take a look at her?"

"Yes. " The detective arose, and followed Mr. Baker into the corridor. The switchboard of the building was located at the end of the hall, in asmall bare room. When they reached it, Mr. Baker spoke to a dark-haired, rather stout, woman who sat at the desk. 

"Miss Green, " he said, "if any calls come in for Mr. Duvall, he will bein my office. " Then he went back along the corridor. 

"She certainly isn't the woman we are after, " he remarked to Duvall, assoon as they were out of earshot. 

"No. It must be Miss Ford, " the detective replied. 

"Suppose we go to the developing and finishing department, " Bakersuggested. "It is time all our people were on hand. Mr. Emmett, who isin charge there, can tell us about Miss Ford. "

They crossed to the other side of the building, and entered a smalloffice. A bald-headed man sat at a littered desk. 

"Mr. Emmett, " Baker said, "shake hands with Mr. Duvall. He is lookingfor a young woman in the finishing department. Miss Marcia Ford. Has shecome in yet?"

"No, " replied the bald-headed man, gravely shaking hands. "She is nothere this morning. It is rather surprising, too, for she usually is ontime. "

"What sort of a looking woman is she?" Duvall inquired. 

"Oh--a rather insignificant looking girl of about twenty-five. Small, slender, not very prepossessing, but clever--enormously clever. One ofthe best film cutters we have. I should be sorry to lose her. "

"Light blue eyes, and light hair, " Duvall questioned. "And a thin, rather cruel mouth?"

"Exactly. But why? Has she gotten into any trouble?"

"No--I hope not. I merely wanted to see her. "

"Well--of course she may show up later, although as I say she hasusually been very punctual. I shouldn't be surprised if she is sick. She's been acting rather peculiarly, the past few days. "

"How so?" asked Duvall, quickly. 

"I can't say--exactly. I got the impression from her manner that she wasnervous, excited, out of sorts. Merely an impression, but such thingscount. "

"Telephone me, Emmett, " Mr. Baker said, "if she comes in during the nexthour. Come along, Mr. Duvall, you can wait in my office. "

They returned to the other side of the immense building, and Duvall satdown to wait. He felt sure that they were on the right track, and wasimpatient to get back to New York and try to locate the missing woman. The description given by Mr. Emmett left little doubt in his mind thatshe and Miss Marcia Ford were one and the same. He sat in Mr. Baker'soffice, reading the paper, waiting anxiously for the hour the latter hadspecified to pass. 

After what seemed an interminable wait, Mr. Baker glanced at his watch, then rose. 

"It is ten o'clock, Mr. Duvall, " he announced. "Miss Ford has not come, or Mr. Emmett would have notified me. I do not see that there isanything further to be accomplished here. "

As he spoke, the telephone bell rang sharply. Mr. Baker picked up thereceiver, listened intently for a few moments, then slammed the receiverback upon the hook. 

"Hell!" he ejaculated softly. 

"What is it?" Duvall asked. 

"Miss Ford has just reported for work!"

PART III

CHAPTER XII

The announcement, made by Mr. Baker, that Miss Marcia Ford, the filmcutter, had reported for work, filled Duvall with astonishment. He hadexpected nothing of the sort, so convinced was he that the girl inquestion was the one they were looking for, the one who had beenpersecuting Ruth Morton, the motion picture star, with her threats. 

He rose from his seat, in Mr. Baker's office at the studio, and turnedtoward the door. "If Miss Ford has reported for work, " he said, "I hadbetter take a look at her at once. If she is the woman who escaped fromthe cab, last night, I shall have no difficulty in recognizing her. ButI am afraid it is out of the question. Knowing that both you and I hadseen her, when she fainted at the theater, she would not dare to put inan appearance here to-day. The thing is utterly incomprehensible. 

"Still, she might suppose that we would not suspect her, that she couldcarry on her work in the studio without anyone being the wiser. I seldomgo into that part of the building, myself, and she would certainly notexpect to see you. In fact, it may not have occurred to her that wesuspect one of our employees, in spite of the stolen photograph or thefake telegram. "

"Suppose we take a look at her at once. That will settle the wholequestion, " Duvall urged. 

"Very well. " Mr. Baker closed his desk and the two men crossed thecorridor and made their way into that part of the studio buildingdevoted to the developing and finishing of the films. 

Mr. Emmett, the head of the department, was seated at his desk when theyarrived. 

"So the Ford girl is here, " Baker said at once. 

"Yes, sir. She came in about ten minutes ago, explaining her lateness bysaying that she was ill, when she got up this morning, and was not surethat she could get here at all. Shall I send for her?"

"No, " Duvall interposed quickly. "Pardon me, Mr. Baker, " he turned tothe latter, "but if we send for this girl, it will arouse hersuspicions. Of course I do not think she is the woman we are lookingfor, but she may be in league with her. Would it not be better to haveMr. Emmett and yourself conduct me through the room in which she works, as though I were a visitor to the studio? You can readily point her outto me as we pass, and that will give me ample opportunity to recognizeher, in case I have ever seen her before. "

"I think that a very good idea, " returned Baker. He said a few words toMr. Emmett, and the three men set out to go through the rooms in whichthe film cutting and pasting were done. 

At one of the tables a girl of about twenty was at work. As they passed, Mr. Emmett turned his head and nodded. The girl did not look up, and thethree men continued their way through the room. 

When they again reached the hall, Mr. Baker turned to Duvall. 

"Well?" he questioned. 

"It is not the woman, " the detective said. "I did not suppose it wouldbe. There is some slight resemblance, of course. The color of the eyesand hair is the same, and the features are somewhat alike. However, I amvery much afraid, Mr. Baker, that I have wasted both your time and mine. And yet, I cannot get over my original impression, that the personresponsible for these threats is connected, in some way, with yourcompany. "

Baker, puzzled and disappointed as well, led the way back to his office. Duvall, however, when they reached it, did not enter. 

"I shall not remain any longer, at present, " he said. "I have an ideathat I can accomplish more in town. Perhaps I may discover somethingthere--some clue, that will enable us to make progress. I have a planthat may result in something. "

"What is it?" Mr. Baker asked. 

"I prefer not to say yet. If anything develops, I will let you know. Good day. "

The taxicab in which he had made the trip down was still waiting forhim. An hour later he had reached his hotel. 

The disguise of the night before he had discarded. The woman in the cabhad penetrated it. His presence, and that of Mrs. Morton, at the uptownhotel, was known. There seemed to be no further purpose, for thepresent, in attempting to preserve his incognito. He went to his room atonce, and knocked on the door which separated it from the apartment ofMrs. Morton and her daughter. The door was opened by the maid, whoushered him into the little parlor. 

"I will tell Mrs. Morton that you are here, " the girl said, and wentinto the next room. 

Mrs. Morton came out presently, her face pale and drawn. Duvall knew atonce that she had been up all night, watching, no doubt, beside herdaughter. 

"How is Miss Ruth?" he asked. 

"She is better. She had a fairly good night's rest, and her fever hasleft her. "

"I am glad to hear that. I hope there have been no further threats. "

"No. Not yet. But I never know at what moment something may happen. Itis terrible--terrible, living under a shadow like this. "

As she spoke, the telephone bell rang. 

"You answer it, Mr. Duvall, " she said, turning quickly to the door bywhich she had entered, and closing it. "I do not think I can standanything more at present. "

Duvall took down the receiver. Someone was asking for Mr. John Bradley. 

"This is Mr. Bradley, " he said, then suddenly recognized his wife'svoice. "Is this you, Richard?" she asked. 

"Yes. What is it?"

"If you have time, to-day, come down and see me. I have something I wantto tell you. Something important. "

"Very well. I will be there in half an hour. Good-by. " He hung up thereceiver. 

"Was it anything--anything _more_, Mr. Duvall?" asked Mrs. Morton. 

"No. Nothing of that sort. Well, I must go along now. I merely looked into ask after your daughter. There is one thing I want you to do, however, and that is, let me have a key to your apartment on 57thStreet. "

Mrs. Morton took the key from her purse, and handed it to him. 

"Haven't you any good news, yet?" she asked, somewhat pathetically. 

"Not yet--at least nothing very definite. I know the woman who isannoying your daughter by sight, however, and I think I can safelyassure you that she will be under arrest before very long. Matters ofthis sort take time, Mrs. Morton. Remember that I have had charge of thecase but three days, and these people we are looking for are shrewd, leaving few clues. But I feel that I shall have something definite toreport very soon now. "

"I hope so, I'm sure. Good day. "

"Good day. " Duvall left the room, and taking a taxi, drove down to seeGrace. 

He found her sitting at the writing desk, in the reception room of theirsuite, apparently busy over a letter. She pushed the sheet of paperaside, when her husband entered, and threw her arms about his neck. 

"Richard!" she exclaimed, "I'm so glad to see you. It has been ages. What's the matter with you? You look dreadfully blue. "

Duvall threw himself into a chair. 

"I'm a bit disgusted with myself, " he said. 

"What about? I may ask you now, may I not? Is it about that wretchedMorton case? I must talk to you about that. May I? You see, you rathergot me into it, last night, and I got myself into it, too, by coming upto your hotel to see you, and now you've got to tell me how thingsturned out, after you left the theater, or I shall not know just what todo. "

"About what?"

"I'll tell you that, after I hear about last night. "

Duvall laughed, although a trifle grimly. 

"I'm not particularly proud of last night, " he said. 

"Wasn't the woman who fainted the one you were after?" asked Grace. 

"Yes. I'm sure she was. But unfortunately, she got away from me. " Heoutlined to Grace the circumstances which led up to the woman's escapefrom the cab. 

"You say she was a small, slight woman, with light hair?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Then I may know something about her. "

"What?"

"I'll tell you. You remember that, when I came up to see you at thehotel yesterday afternoon, you were greatly put out, because you wereafraid that I might have been followed, thus disclosing the name of yourhotel to these people you are trying to avoid?"

"Yes. I was afraid of it. And the people in question did find out insome way where I had taken Miss Morton and her mother, as I discoveredlast night. "

"They did not discover it through me. "

"How do you know?"

"It came about in a curious way. After you told me, over the telephone, that you feared I might have been followed, I looked up the taxi driverwho took me uptown, and asked him if anyone had tried to question him. Ithought that possibly this hotel might have been watched, and, if so, the person who was watching it might have noticed the number of my car, or the driver, and later, applied to him for information. I saw him assoon as I returned. No one had done so. "

"That is all very well, but they might have asked him, and found outwhere he drove you, later. "

"They did ask him, later. Why is it, Richard, that you seem to forgetthat I have done detective work before, too? I suspected that he mightbe approached, and I subsidized him--gave him ten dollars, andinstructed him to let me know, in case anyone questioned him about me. 

"Well, late yesterday afternoon, a woman, answering the description yougive, did apply to the cabman to find out where he had driven me. Naturally he told her nothing. Then, thinking, I suppose, that I mightrepeat my visit, she gave him five dollars, and told him to let her knowin case I drove from here to any other hotel. She figured, no doubt, that being your wife, I was certain to go and see you. "

Duvall sat forward in his chair, an eager look upon his face. 

"You did splendidly, Grace, " he said. "Much better than I have done. Butthe important point is this. How was the cabman to let her know, andwhere? Did she give him her name and address?"

"She gave him a name and address. It is about that, that I wanted to seeyou. "

"What was it?"

"Alice Watson. General Delivery. He was to write her a letter. "

Duvall sank back in his chair with a disappointed look. 

"An assumed name, of course, " he said. "I'm afraid it won't be of muchservice to us. "

"But why? I was going to write this woman a letter, giving her the nameof some other hotel--any one would do. Then, she would come there tofind you, we could have the cabman, Leary, on watch to point her out, and in that way identify her and perhaps follow her to her home. " Duvallshook his head. 

"It would have worked splendidly, my dear, " he said, "except for thefact that in some way the woman has already discovered the name of myhotel. She will not go to the general delivery window at the post officeto get it, now, for she already knows it. And if she did, she wouldrealize as soon as she read your letter that you were not telling herthe truth. Is that what you have been so busy about?" He glanced at thehalf-finished letter that lay on his wife's desk. 

"Yes. " Grace looked at him rather sheepishly. "I am terriblydisappointed, " she said. "I really hoped that I had discovered somethingthat would help you. " She took from the desk the piece of paper thatcontained Alice Watson's address, and tearing it into bits, dropped themslowly into the waste basket. 

Duvall observed her action. 

"What are you tearing up?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothing. Merely the bit of paper that contained the woman's assumedname and address. It is of no use any longer. " She glanced at a scrap ofthe paper, about half an inch square, that remained between her fingers, then started. "There must have been something on the other side, " sheexclaimed. "There's a part of a name here--printed or engraved. It lookslike 'Ford. '"

Duvall sprang from his chair and made a dive for the scrap basket. 

"Ford!" he exclaimed. "That's queer! We must get every scrap of thatcard at once. "

It took the two of them several minutes to gather from the basket thetiny pieces into which Grace had torn the bit of paper. Then they fittedthem together. Duvall saw at once, as soon as he picked up the firstscrap, that the address had been written on a card. When the severalpieces had at last been assembled upon the top of the desk, it becamequite clear that the Watson name and address had been hastily scrawledupon the torn half of a visiting card. Slowly and carefully Duvallturned the bits over. The words engraved upon the opposite side filledhim with delight. 

There were first the letters "cia, " followed by the name "Ford. " Beneathwere two figures, a "6" and a "2, " and after them, West 57th Street. 

Duvall gazed at the result in surprise, then taking from his pocketbookthe torn half of the card he had found the night before in the cab, helaid it beside the fragments on the desk. The two fitted exactly. Thename and address were both plain. Evidently the woman who hadinterviewed the cabman, Leary, and the woman who had escaped from thecab were one and the same. She had taken a card from her purse, torn itin half, written the "Alice Watson" address that she gave the cabman onone half, and thrust the other back into her handbag. Later, when Duvallhad attempted to examine the contents of the bag, the bit of card hadfallen to the floor. All that was sufficiently clear. 

Grace, looking over her husband's shoulder, read the completed name andaddress. 

"Miss Marcia Ford, " she exclaimed. "162 West 57th Street. Why, Richard, there is the name and address of the woman you want. "

"It may be her address, " her husband remarked, gloomily, "but itcertainly isn't her name. "

"But--Why not?"

"Because I saw Marcia Ford this morning, and _she isn't the woman_!"

Grace looked at him in astonishment. "Are you sure?" she cried. 

"Perfectly. Marcia Ford is not the one we are after. "

"Then how do you explain the woman having a card with that name on it?"

"I don't explain it--unless, " he paused for a moment in thought. "Unlessthis Ford woman, and the other one, are in league with each other, whichmight account for the latter having her card in her purse. "

"And the address! Is that where Marcia Ford lives?"

"I don't know. It may be where they both live, for all I can tell. Ionly hope it is. " He rose and took up his hat. 

"Where are you going?" Grace asked. 

"To 162 West 57th Street. " Suddenly he took his wallet from his pocket, snatched a second card from it, and after looking at it for a moment, gave an exclamation of delighted surprise. 

"What is it?" Grace asked quickly. 

He thrust the card into her hand. Grace glanced at it, without quiteunderstanding what it meant. 

"I don't see what you mean, " she exclaimed. "The thing is clear enough. The card I have just given you belongs to Miss Ruth Morton. "

"I see that, but----"

"Then surely you must see that Miss Morton's apartment also is onFifty-seventh Street, and just two doors from the address of Miss MarciaFord!"

CHAPTER XIII

Duvall, upon discovering that the address of Miss Marcia Ford was onWest 57th Street, but two doors from the building in which the Mortonapartment was located, began to feel that he was on the right track. Hehad known, ever since his first day upon the case, that the mysteriousmessages found in Ruth Morton's bedroom had been placed there by someingenious but perfectly natural means. The apparition that had sostartled the girl upon her last night at the flat was capable, ofcourse, of some reasonable explanation. When he left Mr. Baker in themorning his plan had been to go to Mrs. Morton's apartment and once moreinvestigate all possible means of entrance, hoping that, by finding outhow the messages were delivered, he might also be able to find out bywhom. It was for this reason that he had asked Mrs. Morton for the keyto the apartment. 

Now the question seemed in a fair way to being answered for him. Thefact that this girl's room was located so near to the Mortons' apartmentcould not be a mere coincidence. There must be, between her room and theMorton flat some means of communication, although of what nature hecould not now surmise. Fully convinced, however, that he might very soonfind out, he hurried up to Fifty-seventh Street and walked along untilhe reached No. 162. 

The house was, like that which immediately adjoined the apartmentbuilding, an old-fashioned one, of brown stone, with a high front stoop. It presented an appearance which, if not exactly dilapidated, was yet instrong contrast to the neat appearance of its neighbors. A printed cardin one of the lower front windows indicated that roomers were wanted. 

It was just the sort of place that Duvall had expected to find--just thesort of place in which a working girl like Marcia Ford would live. Located in a very excellent neighborhood, surrounded by apartmentbuildings and houses of the best type, it still could afford to rentrooms at the moderate figure that one of her class could pay. He went upthe front steps and rang the bell. "Is Miss Ford in? Miss Marcia Ford?"he asked. 

The servant who came to the door, a neatly dressed German girl, shookher head. 

"No, Miss Ford is not in. She usually gets back about half past six. "

Duvall glanced at his watch. It was not yet three o'clock. He realizedthat he had a long wait before him. 

"Will you leave any message?" the girl asked. 

"No. It is not important. I will come back. " Descending the steps hewalked slowly in the direction of the apartment building, two doorsaway. 

Entering, he made his way to Mrs. Morton's apartment. The place was justas they had left it, two days before. The windows had all been tightlyclosed and fastened, and there were no further mysterious messages lyingabout. Once more Duvall went to Ruth Morton's room, and opening the twowindows looked out. 

His investigations, however, told him no more than he had learnedbefore. The three dormer windows in the home next door gazed vacantlydown at him, their windows covered with cobwebs and dust. Theimpossibility of anyone making their way from even the nearest of them, to the window where he stood, was manifest. And that a long rod or polecould have been utilized to introduce the letters into the girl's roomwas even more impossible. He shook his head, then turned to the otherwindow, that facing upon the fire escape. 

Here, as on the occasion of his previous examination, the smooth glossysurface of the freshly dried paint showed no marks, except those he hadhimself made during his former visit. And yet, as his eyes searched thegrated surface, he saw that there was something there, something thathad not been there before. He reached out and picked it up. 

It was a woman's handkerchief, a tiny square of lace-edged linen, of aninexpensive variety. But it was not the mere presence of thehandkerchief that so interested him. It might readily have belonged toMiss Morton herself, and have been accidentally dropped from the window. There were two things about this particular handkerchief, however, thatmarked it as a clue of the utmost value. One was the fact that in itscorner was embroidered an initial, the letter "F. " The other was thattwo of the corners of the handkerchief were knotted together, as thoughit had been tied about someone's wrist, for what reason, he could notimagine. 

The latter feature puzzled the detective greatly. He could not form anyhypothesis to account for it. If the Ford woman, as indicated by thepresence of the handkerchief, marked with an "F, " had been on thefire-escape, why were there no tell-tale marks to indicate it? And ifshe had not been there, why was her handkerchief found there, knotted inthis peculiar way? Had it formed part of some apparatus, some device, made of a pole and a cord, for inserting the threatening letters throughthe window? If so, it might, of course, have become detached while thedevice was being used. Duvall remembered that he had not examined thefire escape on the night when the astonishing apparition had appearedbeside Ruth Morton's bed, _because the window opening on the fire escapehad been closed and locked_. Had the handkerchief been left there then?He sat for a long time in the deserted library, trying to hit upon somereasonable theory to explain the matter, but his efforts resulted infailure. Not the least confusing feature of the affair was the fact thatthe woman, Marcia Ford, _was not the woman he was seeking_. He had seenher at the studio that morning, and knew that she was not the one whohad escaped from the cab the night before. Were there then two workingtogether? If so, he would, through the Ford girl, in all probability beable to trace her confederate. He waited patiently until the waningafternoon light told him that it was time to begin his watch before thehouse at number 162. 

Across the street a residence, closed for the summer, its front entranceboarded up, afforded him a convenient place to wait. He sat down uponthe steps, and pretended to be occupied with a newspaper. His eyes, however, sought constantly the doorway opposite. 

A number of persons entered the place, during the next two hours, butMarcia Ford was not amongst them. As the darkness began to approach, andlights in the streets and houses flared up, Duvall rose, crossed thestreet, and stationed himself at a nearer point, from which he might themore certainly identify anyone entering the house. Miss Ford, however, failed to appear. 

From the sign in the window, to the effect that roomers were wanted, Duvall concluded that the Ford girl did not take her meals in the house. His watch showed him that it was nearly seven. Doubtless she hadarranged to dine before returning home. In a flash it came to him thathis opportunity to make an examination of her room was now at hand. 

To secure entrance to the room by the usual channels was clearly out ofthe question. The people at the boarding house would, of course, notpermit it. But could he discover the means of communication, whateverthey were, between Miss Morton's apartment and the girl's room, he mightbe able to enter the latter unknown and unobserved. He had thought ofattempting this during the afternoon, but realized that he could nothope to accomplish it, in broad daylight, without being seen by theoccupants of the neighboring buildings, and perhaps arrested as aburglar or sneak thief. 

With a last glance down the street, he hastened back to the apartmentbuilding and made his way to Mrs. Morton's flat. Passing quickly throughRuth Morton's bedroom, he climbed out upon the fire escape and lookedabout. 

Below him were the rear yards of the houses fronting on the next street. To the right he could see the bulk of the apartment building, blockinghis view of the avenue beyond. To the left were the rear buildings ofthe adjoining houses. It was quite dark, the sky was starless, but allabout him gleamed the lights in the windows of the neighboringbuildings. 

Neither to the right, nor to the left was there any possible way bywhich access to the point where he now stood could be gained. Frombelow, it was possible, although his previous examination had showed himboth the fact that the newly painted surface of the fire escape wasunmarred, and that the ladder at the lower floor was drawn up some nineor ten feet from the ground. He felt certain that Miss Ford had notreached Ruth's room in that way. 

He glanced upward. The fire escaped stopped at the level of the floorabove. To ascend from it to the roof was impossible. 

Remembering that the top apartment was vacant, Duvall re-entered thebuilding and hunting up the janitor, told him that he desired to get outon the roof. 

The man remembered him, from his first visit, and the inquiries he hadthen made about the tenants of the apartment above. 

"I am making some special inquiries on Mrs. Morton's behalf, " heexplained. "You can go with me, if you like, to see that I do nothing Ishouldn't. "

The janitor joined in his laugh. 

"I'm not worrying, " he rejoined, "but I'll go along, just the same, toshow you the way. " He led the detective up one flight of stairs and, going to the end of the outer hall, unlocked and opened a small doorbeside the elevator shaft. A short spiral staircase was disclosed. 

Snapping on an electric light, the man ascended the steps, and, afterfumbling for a moment with the catch, threw open a trapdoor leading tothe roof. In a moment both he and Duvall had climbed out upon the tiledsurface. Duvall went to the edge which overlooked the house adjoining, and peered down. He at once saw something that interested him. 

The house with the dormer windows consisted, as has been previouslymentioned, of four stories and an attic. Its roof rose several feetabove the level of the window of Ruth's room, which was on the fourthfloor of the apartment building. But Duvall saw at once that thiselevation of the adjoining house did not extend all the way back, but, in fact, stopped a little beyond the point where it joined theapartment. From here to the rear of the lot the building had no attic, its rear extension being but four stories high. In this position on theapartment-house roof, the roof of the back building was at least fifteenfeet below him. 

Another thing that he noticed at once was the fact that the secondhouse, No. 162, was of almost the same design as the first, that is, itconsisted of a main building with an attic, and a rear extension, reaching to the same level as that of the house between. It was clearthat if anyone living in the second house could obtain access to theroof of the back building, he would be able to walk across that of thefirst or adjoining house, and reach a point directly beneath where hestood. 

But, granting the possibility of this, of what use would it be? A personon the roof below him would in no conceivable way be able to reacheither of the windows of Ruth Morton's room. Was it possible that anopening had been made through the wall of the apartment building itself?He thought it unlikely, but determined to investigate. 

"I must get down on that roof below, " he informed his companion. Thejanitor grinned. 

"How are you going to do it?" he asked. 

"Haven't you a ladder--a rope?"

The man thought a moment. 

"I've got a short ladder in the cellar, only about eight feet long, Iguess. I'm afraid it would not do. "

"Yes it would, " replied Duvall, pointing to the roof of the atticportion of the house below. "I'll get down to the roof of the main partof the house first, and from there to the roof of the back building. Aneight-foot ladder will be long enough for that. Bring it up, will you?"

The man hesitated. 

"I don't just like this idea of going on other people's roofs, " he said. 

"You don't need to go. I've got to. I'm a detective, and I'm working forMrs. Morton on a most important case. " As he spoke, he took a bill fromhis pocket and pressed it into the man's hand. 

The janitor responded at once. 

"I'll fetch it up, sir, " he said. "Wait for me here. "

Duvall occupied the few moments consumed by the janitor's absence inexamining, by means of his pocket electric torch, the surface of theroof on which he stood. The smooth flat terra cotta tiles showed nodistinguishing marks. Here and there spots of paint, marred byfootprints, indicated where the painters at work on the building had settheir buckets, no doubt while painting the wooden portions of thetrapdoor, and the metal chimney-pots on the roof. 

The man returned in a few moments with the ladder, and Duvall, loweringit to the level of the main portion of the adjoining house, saw that itwas of sufficient length to permit his descent. In a moment he hadslipped off his shoes, and was cautiously descending the ladder. 

Once on the surface of the main roof of the house, he had intended totake down the ladder and, by means of it, descend the remaining six orseven feet to the roof of the back building, but he found that means forthis descent already existed. A rough but permanent wooden ladder ledfrom the higher level to the lower. Duvall judged that it had beenplaced there to provide easy communication between the upper roof andthe lower. Leaving the ladder where it stood, he made his way down tothe roof of the back building. It was covered with tin, and he walkedsoftly in his stockinged feet to avoid being overheard. 

His first act was to go to the wall of the apartment house which facedhim, and make a thorough examination of it by the light of his electrictorch. He judged that in the position in which he now stood he was abouton a level with the floor of Ruth's room. The brick wall of theapartment building facing him was blank, that is, it contained nowindows. After a minute examination, Duvall was forced to the conclusionthat no entrance to the girl's bedroom had been made through it. Thebricks were solid, immovable, the cemented joints firm and unbroken. Amoment later he turned to the left. 

Here the rising wall of the attic story of the house faced him, reachingto a point above his head. Two dusty and long unopened dormer windows, similar to those facing on the court, confronted him. He remembered thatthe servant of the house next door had informed him, earlier in theweek, that the attic was, and long had been, unoccupied. 

Whether the attic was tenanted or not, however, had no bearing on theproblem which confronted him. The windows might serve as a means wherebyanyone could reach the roof of the back building from the house proper, but they did not suggest any means whereby anyone might reach thewindows of Ruth's bedroom. And by ascending to the point on the atticroof where his ladder stood, the problem was no nearer a solution, for aperson standing there was on the edge of the court between thebuildings, seven feet or more above the girl's bedroom window, and asmany away from it. He turned away, and approaching the rear edge of theback building, looked over. 

To his left, some eight feet away, was the fire escape before the rearwindow of the girl's bedroom. Standing on that sharp edge, he realizedthat in no way could he reach the railing of the fire escape, except byjumping, a feat that an expert gymnast might have hesitated to attempt, at that height above the ground. And could it be done successfully, whatabout the crash, the noise which must inevitably result from such aperformance? What about the damage to the paint upon the fire escape'siron surface? And yet it would seem that a young girl had accomplishedthis feat, without noise, without making the least mark to register herpassage. He thought of the tell-tale handkerchief, which he had found onthe fire escape earlier in the evening, then turned back with a feelingof annoyance. The thing was, he realized, an impossibility. 

A sudden sense of the passage of time made him hurry to the roof of therear building of the house at No. 162. Like its neighbor, it was builtwith an attic story, and in the rear were two dormer windows opening inthe same way upon the lower roof. Could these windows, by any chance, bethose of the room of Marcia Ford? It seemed highly probable, since, ifshe had operated from the roof, they could afford an easy way to reachit. Very cautiously he crept up to the nearer of the two windows andlooked in. 

The room before him was in total darkness, and the very faint radiancefrom without was not sufficient to enable him to distinguish anythingwithin it. The window, however, he saw to his delight was open, and theopening, although small, was quite large enough to enable him to crawlin. Holding his electric torch in one hand, he crept into the room. 

The beam of light from his torch, although powerful, was, of course, very concentrated. He swept it about the room, to make sure that it wasunoccupied. It was a small room, long and narrow, with the single dormerwindow, by which he had just entered, at one end, and a similar one atthe side, in the slanting mansard roof. It contained a small bed, achiffonier and dresser, a table, some chairs and a trunk. It was awoman's room; one glance at the dresser told him that, and ahandkerchief lying crumpled on the latter's top proved to be identicalwith the one he had found on the fire escape, both in its generalcharacter, and in the initial "F" in one of its borders. Beyond anydoubt, he was now in Marcia Ford's room. 

Had he been inclined to doubt it, two photographs upon the wall wouldhave convinced him. One was a picture of the Ford girl herself. Theother was a portrait of the woman of the cab, the one that Duvall fullybelieved to be the author of the attacks upon Ruth Morton. 

He examined the various articles about the room with the utmost care, but nothing of any interest rewarded his search. It had been his hopethat he might find something of definite value--the typewriter, perhaps, upon which the threatening letters had been written, the black sealingwax, used in making the death's-head seals, the paper employed by thewriter. None of these things was in evidence; there was no typewriter, the table contained a small bottle of ink, a couple of pens, and somecheap envelopes and a writing tablet of linen paper quite different fromthat upon which the warning letters had been written. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, in the place to connect its occupant with thesending of the letters, except the room's location, in such closeproximity to that of Ruth Morton, and the photograph of the woman of thecab, hanging upon the wall. 

Duvall, greatly disappointed, was about to take his departure, when heobserved at the far end of the room a door. Whether it led to anotherroom, or to a bathroom, or merely to a closet, he did not, of course, know. There was danger, he fully realized, that Marcia Ford might returnat any moment. There was equal danger that, upon opening the door, hemight find himself in another room, possibly an occupied one. He thoughtat one time that he heard sounds on the far side of the door, but whenhe paused and stood listening he could distinguish nothing, andconcluded that he had been mistaken. Shutting off the light of hispocket torch for the moment, in order that, should the entrance lead toanother room, its rays might not betray his presence, Duvall grabbed thedoor knob, and, turning it softly, opened the door. 

For a moment he had a glimpse of a black cavern, and then, withincredible swiftness, something struck him a heavy blow in the face. What it was he was too much surprised and stunned to realize. Hiselectric lamp fell from his hand, and clattered to the floor. 

Realizing his helplessness in the almost total darkness, he bent down, groping about in an unsuccessful effort to recover the searchlight. Andthen, with a loud cry, a heavy body projected itself upon him, graspingwildly at his hair. An arm, clothed in some silken material, encircledhis throat. He felt himself choking. And at the same moment a strangeand irrational terror seized him. He seemed in the grasp of somethinguncanny, something inhuman, in spite of its very human cries. With ashudder he sprang to his feet, unable to locate the missing electrictorch, and shaking the shrieking figure from him, plunged toward thewindow by which he had entered. It was not alone the surprise, thenameless terror of the thing, that sent Duvall headlong from the room. He fully realized that the noise of the encounter, the shrieks of hisassailant, would quickly bring the other inmates of the house to theroom. He had no wish to be discovered there--his entrance had been tooirregular, too illegal, for that. With extraordinary rapidity he flunghimself through the window and without waiting to observe the results ofhis intrusion, sped swiftly across the roofs of the two buildings, upthe steps to the attic roof, and from there, by means of the ladder, tothe roof of the apartment building. The janitor sat where he had lefthim, smoking a pipe. Duvall looked back. Lights were visible in the roomhe had just left. He saw a figure, one that closely resembled MarciaFord, cross the lighted area of the window. There was a second figurewith her--smaller, shorter, he thought. Who--what was it that hadattacked him? He stood in a daze, unable to grasp the meaning of theexperience through which he had just passed. 

The janitor took his pipe from his mouth and rose. 

"Find what you were looking for?" he asked with a grin. Duvall shook hishead. 

"No, " he said. "Not exactly. But I'm on the track of it. "

"Want the ladder any more?"

"No, not to-night. " He assisted the man to draw it up to the roof. 

A few moments later he had reached the sidewalk. He glanced at hiswatch. It was just eight o'clock. As he walked toward the entrance ofthe house at No. 162, the front door opened, and a woman came out. 

Duvall quickened his pace, but the woman was also apparently in a greathurry. She ran swiftly across the sidewalk, and sprang into a cab whichstood beside the curb. Duvall was able to get but a fleeting glance ather, but that glance was enough to convince him that she was themysterious prisoner who had so neatly given him the slip while in thecab the night before. He sprang forward with a cry, but before he hadcome within ten feet of the cab, the vehicle dashed off and proceeded ata rapid rate up the street. 

A second cab came along at almost the same moment. Duvall hailed it, butthe driver shook his head, indicating that he had a fare. In a momentthe second cab had passed, apparently in hot pursuit of the first. Therewere no other cabs in sight. With a growl of anger and annoyance Duvallturned back to the door of No. 162. 

Should he ring the bell and ask for Miss Ford? he wondered. Of what usewould it be, to request an interview? Yet there seemed to be nothingelse that he could do. Miss Ford had not left the house, although theother woman, apparently her confederate, had done so. He stood in theshadow of the apartment building, trying to decide what move he shouldmake next. 

CHAPTER XIV

Grace Duvall, on being left at the hotel by her husband, spent a longand very tiresome afternoon. She had expected Richard back long before, with news, perhaps, of a successful investigation of the woman, MarciaFord, whose address was so near that of the Mortons. But when sixo'clock came, and went, with no news of her husband, Grace came to theconclusion that he had probably struck a long trail, and being anormally healthy person, with an excellent appetite, she went to thedining room and ordered dinner, leaving word at the desk where she wouldbe, in case Richard returned. 

Her lonely meal was over by seven, and, not knowing what to do next, Grace went out on the sidewalk, with the intention of looking for herfriend of the evening before, the taxicab driver, Leary. It was possiblethat the man might have something more to report. As she reached thedoor, she saw him descend from his cab. He came forward at once, tippinghis cap. 

"Taxi, ma'am, " he asked. 

"No, I don't think so, Leary. Anything new?"

"Not a thing, ma'am. Haven't seen that party since. Can't I take you fora drive, ma'am?"

Grace was on the point of refusing, when a sudden idea came to her. Shehastily opened her pocketbook, tore out the pieces of the visiting cardthat Duvall had left upon the table, and fitted them together. 

"Drive me to 162 W. 57th Street, " she directed, and stepped into thecab. 

Leary touched his cap, and in a few moments they were speeding up theAvenue. 

"Don't go right up to the address, " Grace told him through the speakingtube. "Stop a little below, but in a place where I can see the door. "

The man nodded, and a little later they turned into 57th Street and drewup alongside the curb. 

"Do you think you would recognize the woman who gave you the card, lastnight?" Grace asked. 

"Yes, ma'am. I think I should, ma'am. "

"Very well. Watch the doorway of number 162. If she goes in let me know. If she comes out, follow her. I shall probably recognize her myself, ifshe is the woman I think. I saw her for a few moments at the GrandTheater last night. But she may not be the same one. We'll know thatlater. "

Leary nodded, and they began a long wait. After what seemed to Grace aninterminable time, they saw a taxicab come rapidly down the street, execute a turn, and draw up before the door of number 162. 

Grace, as soon as she realized the cab's destination, sprang to thesidewalk and strolled carelessly along in the direction of the house. The cab came to a standstill just before she reached it, and two womengot out. One of them Grace had never seen before. The other sherecognized at once. It was the woman who had fainted in the theater theprevious night. 

Neither of the women paid any attention to her, but directing the cabmanto wait, passed quickly into the house. 

Grace went back to her cab and got in. 

"The woman I am looking for has just driven up in that cab, " she said. "She has gone into the house. The cab is to wait. When she comes outagain, follow her. " Leary nodded, and the two of them settled down forwhat they supposed would be a long wait. To their surprise, scarcely tenminutes had passed before the door of No. 162 was suddenly opened, andthe woman whom Grace had recognized dashed down the steps and spranginto the waiting cab. At almost the same moment Grace saw her husbandstart forward from the direction of the apartment building, as though inpursuit of her. 

There was no time, however, to wait for him. The cab ahead had alreadystarted off, and Leary, true to his instructions, was speeding after it. In a moment both vehicles had turned into Seventh Avenue and weredriving rapidly uptown. 

As minute after minute sped by, Grace began to realize that the chasemight prove a long one. They had already crossed to Central Park West, and were now speeding northward again in the neighborhood of 72ndStreet. Then, to Grace's surprise, the cab ahead swerved into a sidestreet, and drew up before the entrance of the hotel at which RuthMorton and her mother were stopping. The cab had no sooner stopped thanthe woman sprang out and entered the lobby. 

Grace followed her without a moment's hesitation, ordering Leary towait. The woman hurried up to the desk and, taking a blank card from it, scribbled a few words upon it in pencil, and handed it to the clerk. Grace was unable to hear what she said to him, but the man nodded, andhanded the card to a bellboy. The woman sat down in a nearby chair. 

Grace, having nothing else to do, and being somewhat afraid that thewoman might recognize her, crossed at once to the opposite side of thelobby and, going to the news stand, spent some time in selecting andpurchasing a magazine. She stood with her back to the woman, screened bya large palm, but at the same time managed to keep a fairly close watchupon her. 

It was several minutes before anything happened. Then an elderly ladyemerged from one of the elevators, and under the guidance of a bellboyapproached the woman Grace had been following. Grace did not rememberhaving ever seen the older woman before, but she had a distinctimpression that it might be Mrs. Morton. She strolled over to the desk, and addressed the clerk in a low voice. 

"Is that Mrs. Morton--the elderly lady in black?" she asked. The clerkstared at her, but his reserve melted before her charming smile. 

"No, Miss, " he said. "That is Mrs. Bradley. "

"Thank you. " Grace gave a sigh of relief, and turned away. 

Looking once more toward the two women, she saw that the older one wasaddressing her companion with something of reserve, as though she hadnever met her before. The younger woman spoke quickly, smilingly, for afew moments, shook hands with her companion, and turned away. Grace sawthat she was about to leave, and at once followed her, although at alittle distance, so as not to excite her suspicions. When she reachedthe sidewalk the other woman had already entered her cab, and seemedabout to drive off. 

The cab, however, merely moved to a position a little further down thestreet, and by the time Grace had entered her own vehicle the other hadagain become stationary. 

This maneuver struck Grace as extremely peculiar. She told Leary toremain where he was, and with some misgivings, awaited the woman's nextmove. 

After a time she saw Mrs. Bradley, who had gone toward the elevators asGrace left the lobby, come out, signal for a taxicab, and drive quicklyoff. Leary was obliged to draw up with his machine, in order to leave aclear space before the door. 

A few seconds later Grace saw the woman she had been following springfrom her cab, come rapidly along the sidewalk, and once more enter thelobby. Grace again followed her, just in time to see that instead ofapplying at the desk, as before, she went directly to one of theelevators, entered, and was whisked out of sight. 

Grace's heart almost stood still with fear. She had not appreciated themeaning of the woman's actions before. Now they were only too clear. Shehad evidently gotten Mrs. Morton, whom Grace suddenly remembered hadbeen registered under an assumed name, out of the way on some pretext orother, and had gone to Ruth's room, with the intention, no doubt, ofcarrying out her previous threats. The situation was frightful. It wouldadmit of no delay. Grace dashed to the desk and began to speak rapidly, in a frightened voice, to the clerk. 

"That woman"--she exclaimed--"the one who just went up in theelevator--she is going to Miss Ruth Morton's room--you must stopher--there is no telling what she may not do--send up, quick--quick!Miss Morton is in the greatest danger. "

The clerk looked at her, his mouth half open with surprise. 

"I--what do you mean, Miss? I don't understand you. We have no MissMorton here. " He regarded Grace apprehensively, and out of the corner ofhis eye looked toward the cashier, as though he contemplated calling onhim for assistance in case this apparently mad woman became violent. 

Grace gave a groan of despair. 

"The daughter of the elderly lady, about whom I asked you before. Hername is Morton. Her daughter Ruth is staying here under an assumedname--Bradley, you say it is. Oh--please be quick. I know what I amtalking about. That woman who came here a while ago is a dangerouscharacter. She gave Mrs. Morton some message or other to get her out ofthe way, and as soon as she had gone came back into the hotel and wentupstairs in the elevator. Didn't you see her?"

"Yes, Miss, I saw her. She was a friend of Mrs. Bradley's, she said, andI supposed Mrs. Bradley had told her to go upstairs. "

"I tell you, that woman who just went upstairs means harm--terribleharm, to Miss Bradley--Miss Morton. Oh--don't stand there wasting time. Come up with me at once, and you will see that I am right----"

"But--who are you, Miss? What have you to do with the matter?"

"What difference does that make, if what I say is true? If you mustknow, I am a detective employed by Mrs. Morton----"

"Employed by Mrs. Morton! And yet you didn't know her when you saw her!My dear woman, your story does not hang together----"

"It is my husband, Mr. Duvall, who is employed by her. He was registeredhere under the name of Bradley, too. I am trying to help him. "

"Oh!" The clerk seemed somewhat more inclined to accord her seriousattention. "Very well. I will go to the room with you, and see ifeverything is all right. "

"And hurry, please--hurry. " Grace started toward the elevators. 

Then a sudden thought came to her. Suppose the woman was to make herescape, coming down in one of the elevators, while she and the clerkwere going up in another. There had been ample time, she knew, for herto have murdered Ruth, were that her plan, and have already left theroom. 

"Wait just a moment, " she cried to the clerk, who had said a few wordsto one of his assistants and was leaving the desk to join her. "I mustspeak to my cabman, but I'll be back in a moment. " She dashed throughthe entrance doors and hurried to the point where Leary sat at hissteering wheel. 

"Wait here, " she whispered to him, "until I come back, unless the womanwe have been following comes out. If she does come out, and drive away, follow her, and find out where she goes. Then telephone me here. I willleave my name at the desk, and wait until I hear from you. "

Leary nodded, and Grace quickly re-entered the lobby and joined thewaiting clerk. 

"Instruct your telephone operators, " she said to him, "to let me know, in case anyone calls up Mrs. Duvall. "

The clerk gave the necessary instructions, and the two then entered oneof the elevators and quickly made their way to the seventh floor, uponwhich Mrs. Morton's apartment was located. 

There was no one in the corridor when they left the elevator, and theclerk, who knew the location of the suite, hastened to it at once. 

They reached the door. Grace was conscious of a feeling of apprehension, a sense of impending disaster. Her heart pounded violently as she waitedfor the answer to the clerk's knocks. She waited in vain. Only silence, grim, terrible, rewarded his efforts. 

"Something _has_ happened, " Grace whispered, as the clerk again rappedupon the door, this time more loudly than before. 

Again there was no reply, no evidence of the presence of anyone in thegirl's rooms. 

"Open the door!" Grace cried. "Something terrible must have occurred!"

The clerk took the pass key with which he had provided himself, andinserted it in the lock. A moment later the door swung open, and the twoof them entered the room. 

It was in total darkness. Grace clutched at her heart, fearing what shebelieved the switching on of the lights would reveal. The clerk, withoutloss of time, pressed the push button near the door. The room was atonce flooded with light. 

Grace glanced about, then gave a momentary sigh of relief. The room, thesmall parlor of the suite, was quite vacant. At its further end the doorto Ruth Morton's bedroom stood ajar. 

With the clerk beside her, Grace hurriedly crossed the room. With aprayer in her heart she pushed open the bedroom door. Her companion atthe same moment felt along the door-jamb for the electric switch. In aninstant the bedroom lights were turned on. 

Then Grace saw that her fears had been fully justified. On the floor, halfway between the door and the bed, lay Ruth Morton, apparentlylifeless. Her face was the color of chalk, her eyes were closed. With acry, Grace fell on her knees beside the unconscious girl and withtrembling fingers felt her heart. The clerk, a weak-faced young man, stood gazing at the scene before him in amazed horror. 

"She isn't dead!" Grace exclaimed, turning an excited face to him. "Herheart is still beating. Send for a doctor, quick!" Then, taking theunconscious girl in her arms, she lifted her to the bed. 

CHAPTER XV

Richard Duvall, realizing that the woman he sought had once more eludedhim, was for the moment unable to decide what to do next. He wasoppressed by a sense of failure. Apparently this enemy of Ruth Morton'swas far more resourceful than he had supposed. She had gotten clearaway, and there appeared no means by which he could trace her. That thesecond cab, the one he had hailed, contained Grace, did not of courseoccur to him. The trail appeared to be hopelessly lost. 

Still, his investigations in Miss Ford's room had not been entirelyfruitless, although they had also added a startlingly new element to themystery of the case. Who was the person who had attacked him from thecloset? Was it the woman who had just left the house? He did not thinkso. Nor was it Miss Ford herself. There had been something uncanny aboutthe whole experience; he was by no means certain that his assailant hadbeen a human being at all. And yet, its cries--its fingers, tearing athis throat. He was unable to account for the experience at all, anddetermined, as soon as possible, to repeat his visit, and sift thematter to the bottom. 

He remembered that he had seen two persons in the Ford girl's room, after his hasty retreat. Two women, he thought, outlined against thelighted square of the window. One of these had already left the house. The other, Miss Ford herself, was still there. He determined tointerview her at once. 

Of course, he told himself, to do so would put her on her guard, but hisvisit to her room had already done that, and doubtless accounted for hercompanion's hasty flight. And there was something to be gained, byletting her realize that she was under suspicion. She would at once tryto communicate with, to warn, her confederate, and it was in just suchways as this, Duvall's experience told him, that criminals so oftenbetrayed themselves. If, by frightening Miss Ford, he could cause her toflee--to join her companion--the tracing of the latter would becomecomparatively simple. He went up to the door of No. 162 and rang thebell. 

The same woman answered his summons as had answered before. She seemedsomewhat uneasy--disturbed. 

"I want to see Miss Marcia Ford, " Duvall told her. 

"Very well, sir. Come in. I will tell Miss Ford. What name, please?"

"Say that Mr. Bradley is calling. "

The girl ushered him into a dark parlor, lighted by a single lowered gasjet, and suggestive of the gloom of ages, in its walnut furniture, itsdismal pictures and ornaments. He took a seat, and waited for theappearance of Miss Ford. 

She arrived in a few moments, a slender, ordinary-looking girl, in whiteshirtwaist and black skirt. 

"You are Mr. Bradley?" she asked, regarding the detective with a look ofinquiry. 

"Yes. I came to see you about a matter of importance. "

"What is it?"

"Who was the woman who just left here--the woman who had just come inwith you?" Miss Ford favored the detective with a glassy stare. 

"I do not understand you, " she exclaimed. "I came home alone. What isthe purpose of these questions?"

Duvall felt that he had a shrewd opponent to deal with. 

"Are you acquainted with Miss Ruth Morton?" he asked. 

"Why--certainly--that is, I know her by reputation, She works for thesame company as I do. Why do you ask?"

"Miss Morton has recently been the subject of a shameful persecution. The woman who just left this house is concerned in it. Who is she?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, " the girl exclaimed, angrily. "I know nothing about any woman. You must pardon me, Mr. Bradley, if Idecline to be questioned in this way any further. " She moved toward thedoor. 

"Then you wish me to understand that the woman who just left this housedid not come here with you?"

"Understand anything you please. I decline to be questioned anyfurther. " With a look of anger she left the room. 

Duvall made his way back to the sidewalk, thoroughly satisfied with theresults of his visit. The Ford woman, in the first place, had lied. Theother woman had been with her, beyond a doubt. Duvall thought of herpicture on the wall of Miss Ford's room. The latter's reason for lyingwas equally clear. She and the woman with her were guilty. 

In the second place, Miss Ford now realized fully that she was underdirect suspicion. If, this being the case, she failed to take some stepthat would be fatal to both her confederate and herself, Duvall feltthat he would be very much surprised. He made up his mind to keep closewatch upon the house. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that Grace might be of immense service tohim at this juncture. She could follow the Ford girl, unknown, unrecognized, while he himself could not. He decided to call her up atonce, and ask her to join him. 

At the corner, the lights of a saloon glowed brilliantly. With a finalglance at the dark doorway of No. 162, he walked quickly down the streetHe felt that, if he hurried, he need not be away from his post more thana few moments. 

The call to his hotel developed the fact that Grace was not in. Therewas a lady asking for him, however, the clerk said, an elderly woman, who gave her name as Mrs. Morton. She had just come in, and seemedgreatly agitated at not having found him. 

The name, Mrs. Morton, filled Duvall with sudden apprehension. 

"I'll speak to her, please, " he said. A moment later, he recognized thevoice of Mrs. Morton over the 'phone. 

"Is this Mr. Duvall?"

"Yes. "

"This is Mrs. Morton. Your wife came to me, a little while ago, and saidthat you wanted to see me at your hotel at once. She explained that itwas of the utmost importance. Why are you not here?"

"I sent no such message. "

"No such message! Then who did?"

"I do not know. You left your daughter alone?"

"Yes. "

"Then, Mrs. Morton, I am afraid you have been imposed upon. Wait whereyou are. I will join you at once. "

"Hurry, then, Mr. Duvall. If what you say is true, we do not know whatmay have happened. "

"I will be with you in fifteen minutes. "

The astonishing news given to him by Mrs. Morton filled Duvall withalarm. Clearly the supposed message from him had been part of a schemeto get her away from the hotel, to leave Ruth there alone. He scarcelydared think of the consequences. The following of Miss Ford now became amatter of secondary importance. Fearing the worst, he signaled to apassing taxicab, and drove as rapidly as possible to his hotel. 

Mrs. Morton awaited him in the lobby. She was in a state of the utmostexcitement. 

"We must go back to the hotel at once, " she cried. "Ruth is there allalone. "

"Where is her maid, Nora?"

"I let her go out, this evening. "

"Then you should not have left the hotel. "

"I would not have done so, but for this imperative message from you. "

"What was the message?"

"Your wife, or at least a woman claiming to be your wife, came to see mea little after eight o'clock. She said you had arrested the woman whohas been sending these threats to my daughter, and that you needed me atonce, to make a charge against her at the police station. I naturallycame here immediately. "

"The woman who told you this--she couldn't have been my wife. Describeher. "

"She was slight, small, neatly but not expensively dressed, with lighteyes and hair. "

"That was not Mrs. Duvall, but it answers very well the description ofthe woman we are seeking. What did she do, when you left the hotel?"

"I thought she also left. "

"You are not sure of this?"

"No. "

"Then we have no time to lose. Come. " He escorted Mrs. Morton to ataxicab, and instructed the chauffeur to drive to her hotel at topspeed. 

Mrs. Morton had very little to say on the way uptown. She was naturallyin a state of greatest excitement. Duvall, too, was greatly concerned. He knew that the false message had not been given by Grace. What purposehad the woman in mind, in getting rid of Mrs. Morton? The realization ofwhat might have happened to Ruth alarmed him beyond measure. 

The drive to the hotel occupied but a few moments, but to Duvall itseemed hours. When they at last drew up before the hotel door, he sprangto the sidewalk, ordered the chauffeur to wait, and with Mrs. Morton athis side, hurried into the lobby. 

"Give me my key, " Mrs. Morton cried, pausing for a moment at the desk. Then, with Duvall at her heels, she rushed to the elevator. 

As soon as they arrived at the door of the suite, it was apparent thatsomething was wrong. The door stood open. The clerk, with one of themaids, occupied the little parlor. Through the open door of the bedroomDuvall caught a glimpse of Ruth, lying in bed, the figure of aheavily-set, bearded man bending over her. 

"Mrs. Bradley!" the clerk exclaimed, as soon as he caught sight of Mrs. Morton. "I'm so glad you have come. Your daughter has had an--anaccident!"

Mrs. Morton paid scant attention to his words. She, too, had seenthrough the doorway the figure of her daughter lying in the bed. With acry, she passed the clerk unnoticing, and went toward the bedroom door. 

"Ruth!" she exclaimed, in an agonized voice, then rushed into the roombeyond. 

CHAPTER XVI

When Grace Duvall, accompanied by the hotel clerk, found Ruth Mortonlying on the floor in the parlor of her suite, her first act had been tocall for a doctor. 

Her second was to gather the unconscious girl in her arms, and carry herinto the adjoining bedroom. 

That Ruth was alive, filled Grace with joy. She had feared something farworse might have befallen the girl. Yet it was clear that some terribleshock had operated to reduce her to the condition in which she had beenfound. What this shock was, Grace could only surmise. 

She placed the girl upon the bed, and proceeded to remove her clothing. By the time she had gotten her beneath the sheets, the clerk came in, accompanied by the hotel physician. 

The latter, after a hasty examination, turned to Grace with a gravelook. "The young woman has experienced a terrible shock of some sort, "he said. "She is very weak, and her heart action is bad. " He took sometablets from a bottle in his medicine case, and called for a glass ofwater. "Severe nerve-shock of this sort is a serious matter, " heexclaimed. "Sometimes it is fatal, at others the mind may be permanentlyaffected. The young lady must be kept absolutely quiet, of course. Wewill hope for the best. Give her a tablespoonful of this solution everyhour. Force her to take it, even if she does not regain consciousness. Iwill look in again in an hour or two. But be sure that she is keptabsolutely quiet. "

Grace sat beside the unconscious girl for a long time in silence. Onceshe went into the next room and called up her hotel, thinking thatRichard might have returned, but he had not. She felt that she couldonly wait where she was, until some word came from Leary. 

The clerk, as soon as Ruth was attended to, had hastened down to thelobby, only to learn that the woman who had gone to Miss Bradley's roomhad not been seen. 

It must have been almost an hour before Grace was informed by one of thebellboys that someone wished to speak to her on the telephone. She didnot take the message in Ruth's room, the management having giveninstructions that no calls were to be transmitted there for fear ofarousing the unconscious girl. She went quickly downstairs in theelevator, and repaired to a booth in the lobby. One of the maids hadbeen left to watch over Ruth. 

The message was from Leary, as Grace had anticipated. 

"Is this you, Mrs. Duvall?" the cabman asked. 

"Yes. What have you discovered?"

"The lady got into her cab a little while after you left me, and droveaway. I followed, as you told me to do. She drove to an apartment on96th Street, left her taxicab, and entered. The cab drove away. I'mwaiting across the street, in a drug store. The apartment is on thecorner, 96th Street and Columbus Avenue. Shall I stay here?"

"Yes. Wait until I come. " Grace left the booth, and hunting up theclerk, told him that she was obliged to go out at once. 

"Mrs. Morton should be back very soon, " she said. "One of the maids issitting with Miss Ruth. Hadn't you better stay with her, as well?"

The clerk nodded, then saw the doctor coming through the lobby. 

"Here's Dr. Benson, " he said. "I'll send him up. The young lady will bequite safe, until her mother comes. "

Grace bowed to the doctor, then hurried out of the hotel, and jumpinginto a taxi, ordered the driver to take her to Columbus Avenue and 96thStreet. She felt overjoyed, to know that the woman Duvall had beenseeking had at last been run to earth. She should, Grace determined, notescape a second time. 

At 96th Street, she found Leary, impatiently waiting for her in thedoorway of the corner drug store from which he had telephoned. He sawher as soon as she left the cab and, tipping his cap, came forward andjoined her. 

"She's in there yet, Miss, " he whispered, jerking his thumb toward thebuilding on the opposite corner. 

Grace glanced in the direction indicated. A somewhat dingy-lookingapartment house stood upon the corner; its lower floor occupied by aflorist's shop. The entrance was on 96th Street. Leaving Leary on theopposite corner, she crossed the street and entered the vestibule of thebuilding. 

The mail boxes on either side contained five names each, indicating thatthere were ten apartments in the building. Grace looked over theaddresses in them carefully, but none of them meant anything to her. None was at all familiar. The name on the torn card had been Ford, butthere was no such name among those before her. How was she to tell towhich apartment the woman had gone? The situation presented aninteresting problem. 

Making a list of the names upon a visiting card, Grace determined to trythem each in turn. She had observed that the building contained noelevator. She rang one of the bells, and almost at once the clicking ofthe catch told her that the front door was unlocked. She turned the knoband entered. 

The occupants of the two ground floor apartments were named Weinberg andScully, respectively. Grace tried both doors in succession, asking forMrs. Weinberg at the one, and for Mrs. Scully at the other. In each casethe woman who appeared bore no resemblance to the one she sought, andshe was obliged to pretend that she had made a mistake. The doors wereat once closed in her face. 

It was not until she reached the fourth floor that success rewarded herefforts. The left-hand apartment on this floor had as its tenant a MissNorman. To Grace's delight, she had scarcely rung the bell, when thewoman she had been following appeared, wearing a flowered kimono. 

She looked at Grace keenly, suspiciously, but with no sign ofrecognition. Whether she did not know her, or merely pretended not to doso, Grace was unable to say. After all, it made little difference. Having now located the woman, it was only necessary to get away, uponsome pretense or other, and telephone to Richard. She felt highlyelated. 

"What do you want?" the woman asked, quickly. 

"Are you Miss Norman?"

"I am. "

"Miss Norman, I have come to try to interest you in the work we aredoing on behalf of the suffering people of Poland. The war, as youknow----" Grace reeled off this appeal, feeling quite certain that thewoman would reject it at once, and thus leave her free to go. But as itturned out, Miss Norman did nothing of the sort. 

"I am always interested in worthy charities, " she remarked, with apeculiar smile. "Won't you come in?" She held wide the door. 

Grace found herself in a quandary. Was this a plot to get her inside theapartment, or was the woman in earnest? It seemed unlikely, and yet, Grace feared the danger, now that she had gone so far, of arousing theother's suspicions by a refusal. 

"I--I will come in for a moment, " she said, and an instant later foundherself in a small, rather poorly furnished living room. The womanclosed the door, and followed her. Grace braced herself for a possibleattack, but none came. 

"Sit down, " her hostess said, indicating a chair. 

"No. It is too late for that. If you care to subscribe anything----"

"But you must tell me more about your work. "

"It is very simple. The money is expended by the Polish ReliefCommittee, to relieve the starving and destitute sufferers in the warzone. "

"I see. It seems a worthy charity. I will think the matter over. Supposeyou call again. "

Grace began to breathe more freely. 

"I will do so, of course, " she said, moving toward the door. 

The woman preceded her. 

"Let me open it, " she said. "The catch has a habit of sticking. " Shefumbled with the lock. 

Grace was so completely deceived by the woman's actions that shemomentarily relaxed her guard. As her companion drew the door open, Grace bade her good night and started to go. The instant her back wasturned, she felt a slender but muscular arm slide about her neck, andshe was instantly dragged backward, unable, on account of the pressureupon her throat, to utter a sound. 

Her attempt at a cry for help was smothered before it became audible. She saw, as in a dream, the woman before her drive the door to with hershoulder. Then she was whirled backward and thrown violently upon a lowcouch. 

She grasped the arm of her assailant and struggled with all her might, but to no purpose. The woman bent over her, her hands at her throat. Grace's brain reeled. Everything seemed black before her eyes. Shegasped, trying in vain to breathe, but the fingers upon her throat weremomentarily tightening. Then, almost before she realized it, the objectsin the room swam vaguely before her eyes, and she lost consciousness. 

PART IV

CHAPTER XVII

Duvall, on his arrival with Mrs. Morton at her apartment, lost no timein finding out from the clerk just what had happened. The story, piecedtogether, confirmed his worst suspicions. 

The woman, after escaping from the house at 162 West 57th Street, hadgone at once to Ruth's hotel, followed by Grace. Here she hadinterviewed Mrs. Morton, represented herself as Grace Duvall, andinduced Mrs. Morton to leave the hotel by giving her a fictitiousmessage purporting to be from himself. 

Returning, later, to the hotel, she had gone to Ruth Morton's room andattacked her. The nature of that attack, the effect upon the girl, wereas yet uncertain. Ruth Morton was still unconscious. 

Meanwhile, as he learned from the clerk, Grace had received a telephonemessage and hurriedly left the hotel. The clerk did not know from whomthe message had come. 

Duvall went to Ruth Morton's bedroom, and called the doctor aside. 

"What is the exact nature of Miss Morton's injuries?" he asked. 

"She has no injuries, at least in the sense I think you mean. She issuffering solely from the effects of shock. "

"What sort of shock?"

"I do not know, of course. Fright, of some sort, terrible fright, Ishould say. I am informed that some woman, some enemy of hers, came tothis room, and was alone with her. "

"There is no evidence of any violence?"

"None whatever. But the effects of shock are often worse than those ofactual physical violence. They have frequently been known to causedeath. "

"You do not, I hope, anticipate anything of the sort in this case. "

"I cannot say. " The doctor shook his head. "She must have been veryweak. Her system is responding very slowly. "

Duvall glanced over to where Mrs. Morton hung in agonized silence overher daughter's bed, then went out into the sitting room. It seemed tohim well nigh incredible that the woman responsible for all this hadbeen able to move about, to elude pursuit, to carry out her threats, apparently without the least hesitation or fear of capture. Hisprofessional pride had received severe shock. 

Two means of finding the woman, he felt, were still open to him. One wasto trace her through Miss Ford. He did not doubt that, after what he hadsaid to the latter, she would make an immediate attempt to warn herconfederate of the danger that threatened her. Of course, the Ford girlmight communicate with her companion by telephone, in which event thetracing would be difficult, if not impossible. 

The other hope of tracing the woman lay in Grace. Why had she left thehotel so suddenly? He did not of course know the source of the telephonemessage, and could only surmise that Grace had in some way been able topick up the woman's trail. 

Leaving Mrs. Morton with a few words of encouragement, he made his wayto his hotel. There was no news there of Grace, however, and he realizedthat it was now too late to accomplish anything by returning to thehouse on 57th Street. Marcia Ford would either have long since retired, or else would have left the house to communicate with the woman who hadbeen with her earlier in the evening. Considerably upset by the eventsof the past three hours, Duvall retired to his room, and sat down tothink the whole matter over. 

Proceeding on the assumption that the woman in question, and Miss Fordwere acting together, all the events at the studio, the fake telegram, the missing photograph, became intelligible. But the delivery of theletters in Ruth Morton's apartment, the strange attack upon him whilesearching the Ford girl's room, were by no means so clear. Once more histhoughts reverted to the attic room, the roof of the adjoining house, the problem of effecting an entrance to the Morton apartment througheither of the two windows. 

And then, as he revolved the problem in his mind, a sudden light came tohim. He sprang from his chair with an exclamation of satisfaction. Asolution of the whole matter flashed through his brain, a solution atonce so simple, and so ingenious, that he wondered he had not thought ofit before. 

He glanced at his watch. It was midnight. Too late, perhaps, to test theaccuracy of his deductions. Nor did he feel at all easy in his mindregarding Grace. Something must have happened to her, he feared, to keepher out so late, with no word to him concerning her movements. He wentto the 'phone, and calling up the office, inquired whether anything hadbeen heard of Mrs. Duvall. 

"No, " the night clerk informed him. Mrs. Duvall had not been heard from, nor had she sent any message. But a note had just been left for her. Hewould send it up. 

Duvall awaited the arrival of the note with the utmost impatience. Amessage for Grace. From whom? What could it mean? A few moments laterone of the bellboys thrust into his hand a letter, written on the notepaper of the hotel. 

He regarded the scrawling and ill-written superscription withapprehension, then tore open the envelope and proceeded to read thecontents of the note. 

"Dear Madam, " it said. "I waited till nearly midnight. When you did notcome, I thought you must have gone out some other way, so came back tothe hotel. I hope I did right. Respectfully yours, Martin Leary. " Duvallstared at the words before him with a look of alarm. Who was MartinLeary? And where had he waited for Grace until nearly midnight? And, above all, why had she not returned? Had some accident, some dangerbefallen her? The circumstances made it seem highly probable. 

There was but one thing to do--to question the night clerk, and findout, if possible, who Leary was. He rushed to the elevator and made hisway to the lobby with all speed. 

"Who left this note for Mrs. Duvall?" he asked of the clerk. 

"Why, "--the man paused for a moment--"one of the cabmen, I believe. "

"Is his name Leary--Martin Leary?"

"Yes. It was Leary, come to think of it. Nothing wrong, I hope, Mr. Duvall. "

"I'll know later. Where is Leary now?"

"Couldn't say, sir. You might ask the cab starter?"

Almost before the clerk had finished speaking, Duvall had darted acrossthe lobby and made his way to the taxicab office at the door. 

"Taxi, sir?" the man asked. "Do you know a chauffeur named MartinLeary?" exclaimed Duvall. 

"Yes, sir. One of our regular men, sir. "

"Where is he?"

The starter glanced along the row of taxicabs. 

"He's turned in for the night, sir. Left for the garage some time ago. He's been on duty since early this morning. "

"Where is the garage?"

"On Lexington Avenue, sir, near 30th Street. "

"Does Leary sleep there?"

"No, sir. I don't think so, sir. They would know at the garage, Iguess. "

"Very well. Get me a cab. I want to be taken there at once. "

The starter called to one of the drivers, and a few moments later Duvallwas being driven at a rapid rate toward the garage. 

His inquiries, on his arrival there, developed the fact that Leary hadleft for his home, on Second Avenue, some little time before. Duvallsecured the address, and once more set out. 

He felt greatly alarmed at Grace's failure to put in an appearance. Something must have happened to her. Clearly the case was going verymuch against him--the woman's second escape--the attack on RuthMorton--now the disappearance of Grace. He felt that the time had comefor action of a quick and drastic nature. 

Leary lived with his wife and two children on the third floor of aSecond Avenue tenement. Hastily climbing the two flights of dark steps, Duvall rapped on the door. He was overjoyed when it was opened by a manwhom he judged to be the chauffeur himself. 

"Are you Martin Leary?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir. " The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chokingdown a bit of cold supper he had been eating, before turning in. 

"I am Richard Duvall. You drove my wife uptown, somewhere, did you not?"

"Yes, sir. To Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, sir. Won't youcome in?"

"No. There isn't time. I want you to put on your coat and come alongwith me. Mrs. Duvall has not returned, and I am afraid something hashappened to her. "

The man turned and called to someone inside the flat. 

"Gimme my hat and coat, Kitty, " he said, then turned again to Duvall. "Isuppose I should have waited, sir, but after two hours went by, I madeup my mind that Mrs. Duvall didn't need me any longer. "

"What is the building at Columbus Avenue and 96th Street?" Duvall asked, as the man, pulling on the coat his wife handed him, strode down thehall. 

"An apartment building, sir. "

"And why did Mrs. Duvall go there?"

"Well, sir, we was following a woman, sir. She went to a hotel onSeventy-second Street, and Mrs. Duvall told me to watch for her. I did, and tracked her to the place at 96th Street. Then I telephoned to Mrs. Duvall to come, and she did. "

"What time was that?"

"About half-past nine, sir. "

"All right. Go on. "

"Mrs. Duvall came, sir, in another taxi. I pointed out the place wherethe woman went in, and Mrs. Duvall went in after her. She didn't say Iwas to wait, but I guess she expected me to, because she had sent theother cab away. I waited over two hours, and then, when she didn't comeout, I supposed she had returned to her hotel, so I came back, too. Shewasn't there, though. That's why I left the note. "

"How did you think Mrs. Duvall could have gotten back to her hotel, ifyou were watching the door of the apartment house all the time?"

"I wasn't watching it all the time, sir. I went into the drug storeonce, sir, and got a cigar. And then, later on, I went to a saloon apiece down the Avenue and got a glass of beer. Mrs. Duvall didn't say Iwas to watch the place, sir. I thought when she got through what she hadto do, she would come back to the cab. But she didn't. Do you think Iought to have waited, sir?" The man seemed greatly distressed. 

"No use talking about that now, " Duvall remarked, shortly. "I want todrive there at once. Get on the box, with the chauffeur, and point outthe place to him. "

"Yes, sir. " A moment later they had started on their way uptown. 

Knowing as he did Grace's impetuous nature, Duvall could only concludethat her pursuit of the woman had led her into some trap. What dangershe might at this moment be facing, he could only surmise. The apartmentbuilding, when they finally reached it, presented a grim and forbiddingappearance. Not a light broke the darkness of any of its windows. Thedrug store on the opposite corner, too, was closed for the night. Thewhole locality was dark and silent. 

"There's the place, sir, " Leary exclaimed, as they drew up to thecorner. 

"Tell the driver to stop a few doors up the block--not right in front ofthe building. "

Leary nodded. Presently the cab stopped, and he and Duvall got out. 

The detective's first move was to ascertain whether or not the buildinghad any rear exit, by which Grace might have left, without being seen byLeary. He walked down the avenue to its rear wall, only to find that itabutted against the wall of the next building. There was no rearentrance. 

If, then, Grace had not left the place during the past hour, she muststill be in one of the ten flats that formed the five floors of thebuilding. But which one? That, apparently, was the problem he had tosolve. 

It would be useless, he felt, to inquire at the doors of the variousapartments at this hour of the morning. Admission, at least on the partof those he sought, would certainly be refused. Yet he felt that therewas no time to be lost. 

Stationing Leary before the front door, with instructions to keep acareful watch, Duvall went into the vestibule, and by means of hispocket light, inspected the names of the occupants of the building, asGrace had done a short time before. The hallway inside was dark, withthe exception of a dim light at the foot of the stairs. Apparently theplace boasted no elevator or hall-boy service. 

The ten names on the boxes in the vestibule meant nothing to him. Howwas it possible to determine which one was that of the woman he sought?Weinberg--Scully--Martin--Stone--he ran down the list, trying to findsome distinguishing mark, some clue, that would guide him. 

Suddenly he paused, allowing the light from his torch to rest upon thecard bearing the name of one of the tenants on the fourth floor. 

This card had attracted his attention, because it was different from anyof the others in the two racks. They were either engraved or printedvisiting cards, stuck inside the brass frames provided for them, or thenames were written or printed by hand upon blank cards. But this card, bearing simply the inscription E. W. Norman, was neither engraved norprinted, nor written by hand. On the contrary, it was _typewritten_. 

This in itself at once attracted Duvall's attention, owing to the factthat the various letters received by Ruth Morton had also all beentypewritten. If the name, Norman, was an assumed one, as Duvallconcluded it to be, what more natural than that it should be_typewritten_ on a blank card, especially when a regular printed orengraved card was not available; when to have it written in long handwould have been a disclosure of identity, and when, above all, the womanin question possessed, and knew how to operate, a typewriter. 

There was more than this, however, about the name on the card, toconvince Duvall that E. W. Norman was the woman he sought. He recalledwith distinctness the two salient features of the typewriting in all theletters sent to Miss Morton, the misplaced "a, " and the broken lowerright-hand corner of the capital "W. " He looked closely at the twoletters in the name before him. The "a" was misplaced, the "W" minus itslower right-hand corner. The evidence seemed to be complete. 

The next thing to be considered was, how could he first obtain entranceto the apartment building, and, subsequently, to the flat of the womanposing as E. W. Norman? Were he to ring the latter's bell, he felt quitesure she would not respond by unfastening the front door, but she wouldon the contrary be warned, and even if unable to escape, might destroythe evidence he hoped to find in her possession. 

On the other hand, to ring the bell of one of the other apartments mightresult in the unlatching of the front door, but might involveexplanations, difficult, in the circumstances, to make. There was nohelp for it, however. Duvall pressed the bell belonging to the familynamed Scully. 

It was a long time before there was any response. Duvall had almostbegun to despair of getting one, when he heard the clicking of theelectric latch, and found that he could turn the knob and enter thehallway. 

He had barely done so, when at big, burly-looking man, who might havebeen a bartender, or a head waiter, appeared in the door of one of theground floor apartments, clad only in his night clothes. 

"Well--whatcha want?" he growled. 

Duvall stepped up to him quickly, and spoke in a pleasant voice. 

"I'm mighty sorry, " he said. "I rang your bell by mistake. Pardon me. "

The man glared at him, suspicion blazing from his eyes. 

"That's an old one, " he retorted. "How do I know you ain't a burglar?"

"Do I look like one?" Duvall asked. 

The man ignored this question. 

"Rang my bell by mistake, did you? Who do you want to see?"

"I have some business with a lady on the fourth floor. " He went closerto the man, and lowered his voice. "I'm a detective, my friend, " hewhispered confidentially. "I'm here on a very important case. "

The big man's eyes widened. 

"Th' hell you are!" he exclaimed. "Central office?"

"No. Private. "

"H--m. " The man nodded slowly. "All right. But I guess I'll keep my eyeon you, just the same. " He leaned against the door jamb and watchedDuvall as he ascended the stairs. 

The detective reached the fourth floor at top speed. He was panting, when he arrived opposite the door of the apartment he sought. Oncethere, he paused for a moment, listening intently. Not a sound came fromthe interior of the flat. 

The problem of obtaining access to the place now confronted him. Thedoor was of oak of stout construction. He doubted his ability to breakit in, nor did he wish to attempt to do so, if it could be avoided. Breaking into private apartments, without a warrant, was a seriousmatter. There was a chance that this might not be the right place, afterall. He hesitated. Yet Grace might be within, in danger, perhaps, of herlife. It was imperative that he should find out the truth at once. 

Stepping up to the door, he knocked sharply upon it, then waited for areply. He scarcely expected one, but felt that he should at least givethe persons within a chance. 

A long silence ensued. Duvall was about to rap again, when, to hisamazement, the door slowly and noiselessly swung inward, as thoughimpelled by some unseen hand. 

The room beyond was shrouded in darkness. Duvall could see no one. Whoever had opened the door must now be concealed behind it. No oneeither greeted or challenged him. The door swung three-quarters open, and stood still. Not a sound was to be heard. The room was as silent asa tomb. 

Duvall stood on the threshold for a few seconds, listening intently. Hewas greatly astonished by what had occurred. Why had the door been sosilently opened? Was someone waiting within, ready to attack him themoment he made a step forward?

Whether this was the case or not, nothing, he reflected, was to begained by remaining where he was. Drawing an automatic pistol from hispocket, he held it in readiness in his right hand, then, raising hisleft arm, he flung his entire weight against the partly opened door. 

The door yielded to his attack. Then there came a dull thud, as thoughsome heavy body had fallen to the floor, and immediately after thehallway resounded with a series of unearthly screams. Duvall still movedforward. Then, to his utter surprise, there appeared in the darkness agrotesque figure, which immediately hurled itself upon him and began toclutch frantically at his throat. 

CHAPTER XVIII

It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Grace Duvall when, after having traced the mysterious woman who had attacked Ruth Morton, to the flat at Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, she hadfoolishly entered the place, and allowed herself to be attacked. 

The woman's onslaught had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Grace wasentirely unable to offer any defense. 

Her cries for help had been smothered at once and with the woman's thinbut muscular fingers clutching at her throat, she found herself forcedviolently back upon a low couch that stood immediately behind her. 

For a few moments she struggled violently, striving with both her handsto break her assailant's hold upon her, but her efforts were in vain. Slowly she realized that she was being choked into unconsciousness. Theobjects in the room, the woman's set face, whirled dimly before hereyes, and then everything became blank. 

When she once more recovered consciousness, she found herself stilllying upon the couch. Her throat ached fearfully, and there was a dullroaring in her head. 

She opened her eyes and looked about. The room was quite dark. Only avery faint glow came through the windows at its further end--the dimreflection of the lights in the street. So far as she could determine, she was alone. 

She tried to move her arms, her feet, but found them bound fast. Amoment later she realized that a piece of cloth of some sort, tightlyrolled, had been forced into her mouth. She could not utter a sound. 

There was no one in the room, but from the one which adjoined it in therear came the murmur of voices. 

By twisting her head about she was able to learn that the doorconnecting the two was ajar, and through the narrow opening came a thinribbon of light. 

As her senses became clearer, she realized that two persons were in theroom beyond her, and from the sounds they made, the words which fromtime to time came to her ears, it appeared that they were engaged in theoperation of packing. 

At first the words that filtered through the partly open doorway weremere fragments of conversation--words spoken here and there in aslightly higher key, and therefore distinguishable to her. She made outthat her captors supposed her to be still unconscious--that they werepreparing to leave the place. 

"There's no hurry, " she presently heard one of the women say, in asomewhat louder voice. "If she had had friends waiting outside for her, they would have come to her rescue long ago. I'm sure nobody knows whereshe is. "

"And her husband had gone, long before I left the house. I was watching, and he first went to a saloon on the corner, and then drove off in ataxicab. So I couldn't have been followed here. "

"No. But I think we ought to get away as soon as possible. When doesthat train go?"

"Not until half past five. "

"We'll have to wait in the station, then. "

"Why not here?"

"Because that woman's husband, when she fails to return to-night, iscertain to look for her. She probably came in a cab, and he might traceher that way. My advice is to leave here as soon as possible. Have youfinished packing that suit case?"

"No, not quite. What do you propose to do with Jack?"

"I was going to take him with me. "

"I don't see how you can do that. "

"Why not?"

"Because, if any attempt is made to follow us, he would be a certainmeans of identification. "

There was silence for a time. Grace heard the sounds of drawers beingopened and shut, as the two women hurried through their task. Who wasJack, she wondered? There had been no sounds to indicate the presence ofa third person in the next room. 

Presently she heard the voices again. 

"I think the whole affair has been a mistake, anyway, " one of them saidpetulantly. "I don't see what you have gained by it. "

"I've gotten my revenge on that baby-faced Morton girl. The stuck-upthing. I'll bet she won't act again in a hurry. What right has she to begetting a thousand a week, when they wouldn't give me a chance at anyprice. I may not be as good-looking as she is, but I'm a better actress. I hate her. I believe she told the director I wouldn't do--that's why Ididn't get the job. And after running down to the studio every day forthree weeks, too. I hate her, I tell you. I hope she's never able to actagain. " The woman spoke with an intensity, a violence that made Graceshudder. 

"How do you ever suppose they came to connect _me_ with the matter?" theother woman said after a time. "They didn't know my address, at thestudio. And even if they had, I have never been seen with you. I don'tsee why they ever suspected me. "

"I don't know. That man Duvall is pretty shrewd, though. I _did_ manageto get away from him, the other night. I'd like to have seen his face, when he got back to the cab and found me gone. "

"His wife followed you here, from the hotel, I suppose. You took anawful chance. "

"I don't understand how she traced me. I knew she was following me, andwhen she saw me go up in the elevator, at the hotel, I expected her tocome, too. I was afraid they might prevent me from coming down, whilethey were coming up, so I walked down. I watched, from the stairs, andsaw her and the clerk get out of the elevator on the floor where thatgirl's apartment was. Then I came down the stairs and went out the sideentrance. I knew she was upstairs, when I left, and I don't see how shetraced me. "

"Perhaps she had her taxi driver do it. "

"That's just about it. And if he did, like as not he's waiting for heryet. "

The other woman laughed. 

"Nice wait he'll have, " she said. 

"That's all very well, but won't he see us going out?"

"Suppose he does. Anyway, it's dark, and we'll wear veils. And we won'tgo out together. But I don't think he'll wait so long. "

"If he doesn't, he'll go back to the hotel and report, and then thewoman's husband will be up here in no time. I think we'd better get outnow. You'll have to leave the trunk. There's nothing much in it. "

Again there was a long silence. Then Grace heard the door open, and thetwo women came into the room, carrying their suitcases. She closed hereyes and pretended to be still unconscious. One of the women pausedbeside her. 

"If they don't find out where she is, " she whispered to her companion, "she's likely to stay here and starve to death. "

"I shouldn't be sorry, " the other snarled. "But if you feel badly aboutit, it's easy enough to telephone to-morrow and tell the janitor to lether out. No chance of a cab, I guess. "

"No. Not at this hour. We'll take the car down to Forty-second Street, and cross over. Are you ready?"

"Yes. I'd better put out the light, though. "

"All right. " The first woman moved to the door, while the secondreturned to the bedroom and snapped off the light. A moment later Gracesaw her ghostly figure pass the couch, and then the snapping of the doorcatch told her that she was alone. 

The thought was anything but a pleasant one. If Richard did not happento remember Leary--she knew she had mentioned him in connection with theaddress on the torn card he had given her--it was by no means impossiblethat she might lie where she was, helpless, for days. And in that event, starvation, or what was worse, thirst, might very readily serve tofulfill the woman's predictions. She shivered at the thought of spendinghours, days, in this place alone. 

But was she alone? Until now, she had supposed so, in spite of thewoman's remarks about "Jack, " for she had heard not the slightest sound. Presently she became aware of a slow, regular scraping sound, thatseemed to come from one of the rear rooms. It suggested something alive, something moving about with stealthy footsteps. Then, all of a sudden, there came a loud crash. 

Grace gave an involuntary cry, or what would have been a cry, had shenot been so effectually gagged. The knowledge that she lay helpless, unable to protect herself from attack, frightened her. She turned herhead, straining her eyes into the semi-darkness. Something, some figure, was moving toward her from the bedroom, gliding along with swaying, noiseless steps. What it was, she could not determine; from itsappearance against the darkness of the doorway it looked like a crawlingfigure in black. 

Presently she heard the sound of breathing, and with it a mumblingnoise, as though the apparition were talking to itself. Two eyes seemedto gleam through the darkness. There was a hissing yet guttural sound, human in quality, yet horrible to her ears. 

And then, without warning, the figure sprang toward her, and flung itsarms about her neck. 

With a gasp of fear, Grace turned and buried her face in the pillows. Fingers seemed clutching at her hair. An arm, wearing a silken sleeve, brushed her cheek, lay across her throat. A low voice mutteredunintelligibly in her ear, filling her with horror. She felt her sensesreeling. She thought herself about to faint. 

Then, in a moment, the creature was gone, and she heard it movingnoisily about the further end of the room. 

From time to time there came a crash, as though in the darkness it hadupset something. Then would follow long, uncanny periods of stillness, broken only by the horrible muttering. She lay with her head buried inthe pillows, wondering at what instant the figure would again appear ather side. 

For a long time she remained thus, straining her ears to keep track ofthe creature's movements. And as the moments passed, she began to takecourage, to hope that since no harm had as yet been offered her, the_thing_ in the room, whatever it was, might not come near her again. 

It appeared to have crept to the door, and from it came a low, quitehuman whimpering, as though it were in great grief. Perhaps, Gracethought, this was caused by the absence of the two women. She lay quitestill, trying vainly to free her hands from their encircling bands, praying silently that Richard would come to her assistance. Her nerveswere badly shaken. She contemplated hours, even days of such a situationwith terror. At least, however, the coming of the dawn would bring onerelief. She would be able to see what this uncanny thing was that sharedher captivity. 

Suddenly she became aware that some one was ascending the stairs in thehall outside. Could it be Richard coming to her assistance? She strainedher ears, fearing that it might be only one of the tenants of theapartment above, returning home at a late hour. 

The creature at the door had apparently also heard the approachingsound, for its whimperings ceased. Grace could tell by its movementsthat it had risen. There was a faint sound of fingers sliding over thepolished surface of the door. The steps outside came to a halt. 

With all her force Grace tried to cry out, but the gag prevented herfrom uttering a sound. Then there came a sharp knocking at the door. 

The figure before it seemed to be fumbling noiselessly with the catch. In a moment Grace felt, rather than saw, that the door had been opened. Another interval of silence came, and then the person outside flunghimself heavily forward. 

The silence of the room was broken by a fall, a succession of unearthlyscreams. Grace saw a dark body go hurtling through the air, and thencame the sharp, vicious crack of a pistol. The next thing she saw washer husband, bending over her, flashing an electric torch in her face. With frightened eyes she looked up at him and tried to smile. 

CHAPTER XIX

The first thing that Duvall did, after releasing Grace from her bonds, was to take her in his arms and kiss her. Then he found the electricswitch upon the wall and turned on the lights. 

"What--what was it?" Grace asked, staring before her in horror. 

"What was what?" he questioned. 

"That--that thing that was locked in here with me. "

"Poor creature. A monkey. I'm sorry I had to shoot it. " He pointed to acrumpled figure on the floor dressed in a gay costume of red silk. 

"But--what was a monkey doing here?"

"I'll explain all that later. Where is the woman?" He glanced toward thesilent bedroom. 

"They have gone?"

"They?"

"Yes. There were two. "

"Ah! The Ford girl. I might have known. Where did they go?"

"I--I don't know. To the station, I think. They said something aboutwaiting there for a train. "

"What station?"

"They didn't say. But they spoke of taking a car to 42nd Street, andcrossing over. It must have been the Grand Central. "

"Or possibly the West Shore. We'll have to try both. Are you able toleave now?"

Grace straightened out her stiffened limbs. 

"Yes--I--guess so. "

"Then come along. "

As they started to leave the place, two men confronted them at the door. One was Mr. Scully, he of the ground-floor apartment, the other a short, thickset man, who at once announced himself as the janitor of thebuilding. 

"What's going on up here?" he questioned. "I heard a shot. "

Duvall pointed to the crumpled heap on the floor. 

"I had to shoot it, though I'm sorry now that I did. It attacked me inthe dark. I couldn't afford to take any chances. My wife was locked inhere, and was, so far as I knew, in grave danger. "

"Your wife?" The man glanced at Grace. 

"Yes. "

"But--where is Miss Norman? And how did that monkey get in here?"

"Miss Norman left here some time ago. Another woman, by the name ofFord, was with her. She brought the monkey. "

"What for?"

"I imagine she didn't want to leave it at her rooms. She did not expectto return there. "

"And Miss Norman's gone, you say?"

"Yes. "

"Where to?"

"I don't just know, but I mean to find out at once. She has been guiltyof a grave offense, on account of which I have been trying to lay myhands on her for several days. My wife tells me she took most of herbelongings with her in her flight. "

"Flight, eh?" the man growled. "And she owes us a month's rent. I hopeyou find her. "

"I think I shall. Meanwhile, suppose you wait here in the apartment, incase, for any reason, she comes back. If I find her I shall bring herhere at once, and unless the place is open I couldn't very well get in. "

"All right. " The man glanced about the disordered room. "That damnedmonkey has smashed a lamp and a lot of ornaments that somebody's got topay for. Miss Norman rented this place furnished. "

Duvall made no reply, but nodding to Grace, led the way to the hall. 

"I'll be back soon, whether I find the woman or not, " he said. "I've gotsome investigations to make here. "

Accompanied by Grace, he descended to the cab. Leary seemed overjoyed torealize that Grace was safe, and began a long apology for hiscarelessness in not waiting for her earlier in the evening, but Duvallcut him short. 

"Good thing you didn't, " he said. "By coming back to the hotel andleaving the note for Mrs. Duvall, you made it possible for me to findher, and if I hadn't"--he paused and looked at Grace with a troubledface--"there's no knowing what might have happened. Tell the chauffeurto drive to the Grand Central Station. "

It was three o'clock when the cab drew up at the curb. In spite of thelateness of the hour, there were a good many persons moving in and outof the station. Duvall got out and motioned to Grace and Leary to do thesame. 

"We will all go in by different doors, " he explained, "and meet in thegeneral waiting-room. If the women are not there, Mrs. Duvall will lookthrough the women's room. If you see them, and they make no effort toescape, wait for me to join you. If they do try to get away, detain themuntil I come. "

It was Duvall himself, however, who first caught sight of the objects oftheir pursuit. They sat, both apparently asleep, on a bench in onecorner of the main waiting room. The detective was not certain of theiridentity, heavily veiled as they were, until he had gone quite close upto them. Then he saw that they were Miss Ford and the woman who hadescaped from him while in the cab the night before. 

He leaned over and tapped the Ford girl on the shoulder. 

"Wake up, Miss Ford, " he exclaimed. 

The girl shivered, then struggled to her feet. Her companion appeared tobe too dazed to move, although she opened her eyes and stared at himwith a vague and terrified face. 

"Will you come with me quietly, " he said, "or shall I call a policemanand have you put under arrest for the attack upon my wife?" He addressedhimself more particularly to the woman who was sitting. 

She now rose and made a movement as though to attempt to escape. Duvallgrasped her by the arm. 

"It will be quite useless to attempt it, Miss Norman, " he said. "I havehelp close at hand in case it is needed. " He glanced toward Grace andLeary, who were now approaching. "I do not wish to use any violence, ofcourse, but you and your friend are going back to the apartment onNinety-sixth Street with me. "

His voice, his manner, made it apparent to the two women that escape washopeless. They seemed suddenly to realize it, to give up further ideasof resistance. 

"Very well, " Miss Norman said, "we will go. "

"Good. " Duvall turned to Leary. "Take those two suit cases, Leary, andget another cab. " In silence the little party made its way to thestreet. The two women said nothing on the way back to the apartment, andDuvall did not question them. There was time enough for that, hereflected, after they reached their destination. Within less than anhour from the time of their departure, their entire party was back inthe woman's apartment. 

The janitor was still there on guard, but the body of the dead monkeyhad been removed. Duvall, requesting Leary to remain, closed the door. The janitor rose and came toward them. 

"Look here, Miss Norman, " he began, "who's going to pay for that brokenlamp and them vases and ornaments?"

The woman regarded him with a stare, but said nothing. 

"Never mind about those things now, " Duvall said. "They can remain. Ihave some questions of much greater importance to ask these ladies. Youneed not wait. In fact, I should prefer that you did not. The matter isa private one. " The janitor took his departure, grumbling to himself, and Duvall closed and bolted the door. Then he requested the two womento be seated. They obeyed without a word. 

"Why did you send those threatening messages to Miss Morton?" hesuddenly asked, addressing himself to Miss Norman. 

She faced him defiantly. 

"I'll answer no questions, " she flung at him. "You can't prove I sentanybody any messages. "

"Do you deny it, then?"

"Yes!"

Duvall turned to Grace. 

"You saw this woman enter Miss Morton's hotel to-night and go up in theelevator, did you not?"

"Certainly!"

"Do you deny that?" The detective once more addressed Miss Norman. 

"No. What of it? How do you know I went to Miss Morton's room?" Herdefiance was in no way lessened. Duvall saw that she meant to deny herguilt utterly. He turned to Leary. 

"This woman came to you, did she not, with a request that you spy on mywife's movements, and inform her concerning them?"

The chauffeur nodded. 

"Yes, sir. She did. "

Again Miss Norman spoke. 

"Suppose I did. What then?"

"You will admit, I presume, that you fainted at the theatre the othernight when the picture of the death's-head seal was thrown on thescreen, and that later you escaped from the cab in which I had placedyou?"

"Certainly I will admit it. The hideous thing startled me. As forescaping from the cab, I had every reason to do so. You had not onlyattempted to drug me, but after that you tried to steal the contents ofmy purse. You are the one who ought to be arrested, not I. "

The woman's attitude began to annoy Duvall, especially as, so far, herealized fully that the evidence against her was entirely circumstantialand vague. He turned away, and began to search the rooms. 

The search, although he conducted it with the utmost minuteness, wasquite unproductive of results. If the woman possessed a typewriter, shehad apparently made away with it. The scrap basket contained nothing buta few torn bits of paper of no value. There was no stationery on thesmall desk in the living room, no black sealing wax, such as had beenused to make the seals. Duvall began to realize that the case againsthis prisoner was far from complete. Returning from a fruitless search ofthe bedroom, Duvall's eye fell upon the two suitcases that the women hadcarried in their flight. He bent over to them at once, and proceeded toopen them, one after the other. 

"Search them, please. " He nodded to Grace. 

The latter did so with the utmost care, but found nothing of anincriminating nature. The two women sat in stony silence, showing littleinterest in the proceedings. Duvall went over to them. 

"Show me your rings, " he said to Miss Norman. 

The woman held out her hand. 

"Take them off. "

She stripped from her finger three rings. One was a gold seal with amonogram upon it, another a cheap affair set with pearls, the third atwisted gold band. None of the rings contained the mysteriousdeath's-head seal, or could in any way have concealed it. 

An examination of Miss Ford's stock of jewelry produced no betterresults. 

"Let me see the contents of your purse, " Duvall said, indicating aleather bag the Norman woman carried on her wrist. 

She handed the bag over with an almost imperceptible smile. Duvallexamined it but without result. The seal was not inside. Nor did MissFord's purse, a silver one, contain anything worthy of his notice. Hehanded the two back. 

"Anything else you would like to see?" Miss Norman asked with cuttingirony. 

Duvall walked over to the window and looked out. It was still quitedark. The woman's assurance puzzled him. It was quite clear now thatunless he could find the typewriter, the letter paper, the missing seal, and could connect this woman with them, there remained but a single wayin which she could be connected with the attacks upon Miss Morton, andthat would be by the direct testimony of the motion-picture actressherself, concerning the woman's visit to her room. But suppose the visithad been made in disguise. It would have been simple enough to have puton a mask on entering the room and subsequently have thrown it away. AndMiss Morton, frightened as she had been, might be totally unable toidentify her assailant. She had covered her tracks well. Was she then togo free?

The matter of the typewriter Duvall put aside for the moment. The womanmight readily have a friend who possessed one--a hotel stenographer, perhaps, who had permitted her to make use of her machine. But the sealwas a matter of more importance. His examination of the severalimpressions had shown him that it was extremely well carved--a decidedlyexpensive piece of work. Of course, the woman might have thrown it awayduring her flight, but it seemed unlikely. What had she done with it?The question was one to which he felt he must find an answer. 

Again, with Grace's assistance, he examined the articles in the women'ssuitcases, testing the backs of hairbrushes, the contents of powderboxes, the interior of a cake of soap, a bottle of shoe blackening, butthe search was as unproductive of results as before. Duvall was forced, against his will, to the conclusion that the woman had made away withthe seal, rather than run the risk of its being found upon her person. 

"Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked, when he hadagain closed the suitcases. "If not, my friend and I would like to go. "She rose as though to take her departure. 

"Yes. There is one thing more. You will have to go to Mrs. Morton'shotel with me, so that her daughter may have an opportunity to identifyyou. But it is far too early to start now. I will send out presently andhave some breakfast brought in. "

It was beginning to grow light now. Duvall suggested to Grace that shehad better go out into the little kitchenette at the rear of theapartment and see if she couldn't find the materials for preparing somecoffee. He himself sat down at the little writing desk, and proceededonce more to examine its varnished surface with the greatest care. Hehad thought, if the letters had been sealed here, there would in allprobability be some tiny spots of the black sealing wax upon the desktop, but he could discover nothing. Presently he heard Grace calling tohim from the kitchen. 

Directing Leary to keep an eye on the two women, he joined her at once. 

"What is it?" he asked. "Have you discovered anything?"

"No, not exactly. But--what does that mean?" She pointed to a candlewhich stood in a tin holder on the table. "Do you notice the spots ofblack wax on the candlestick?"

Duvall took the candlestick up and looked at it. There were largesplashes of sealing wax all over the bottom of the tin tray, not minutespots, such as might have been made by the dropping of bits of the hotwax in making a seal, but circular splotches half an inch or more indiameter, as though a great quantity of the material had been melted. 

"What do you make of it?" Duvall asked. 

"I don't know. Looks as though she had melted up the whole stick, forsome reason or other. Possibly to destroy it. "

"Hardly that. It would have been far easier to have simply thrown it outof the window. And besides, the mere possession of a stick of sealingwax, black or otherwise, could not be regarded as evidence. This womanis smart, very smart and shrewd. She did not melt that wax up fornothing. I think I have an idea of her purpose, although I cannot, ofcourse, be sure, yet. Did you find some coffee?"

"Yes. I'll have it ready very soon. What do you make of this woman'sattitude?"

"It is simple enough. She believes that she can bluff this thing outwithout it being possible to prove her the author of the letters. Andshe may be right. Certainly, unless Miss Morton can identify her, or wecan discover the death's-head seal in her possession, she stands a verygood chance of getting away scot free. "

The coffee which Grace presently brought in was drunk by the whole partyin silence. Duvall seemed unusually preoccupied. His eyes scarcely leftMiss Norman; he appeared to be studying her, watching her every movementwith extraordinary interest, although he strove, by assuming a carelessindifference, to disguise his scrutiny. Grace, who knew his methods, realized that the sealing wax in the candlestick had suggested some clueto him, which he was trying his best to work out. 

At about seven o'clock Leary was sent out to fetch some breakfast. Byhalf past eight they were ready to go to see Mrs. Morton. 

Before doing so, Duvall thought it wise to call the latter up and makearrangements about their coming. He presently got Mrs. Morton on thewire. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Morton. How is your daughter?" he asked. 

"Much better, " the reply came. "Very much better. I am going to take herback to the apartment at once. "

"The apartment?"

"Yes. She will be more comfortable there, and safer, too, I think. Wecame here on your advice so that we might escape this fearfulpersecution. But since the persons who have been threatening my daughterhave discovered our whereabouts, I see no reason for remaining anylonger. Do you?"

"No. I was going to suggest that you should return. I think I can quitesafely assure you that there will be no recurrence of the threats. "

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I think the woman who has been making them is now in my hands. I will bring her to the apartment a little later in the morning so thatyour daughter may identify her. Will eleven o'clock suit you?"

"Yes, very well. "

"Then I will come at that hour. Good-by. " He hung up the receiver andturned to speak to Grace. His eyes, however, sought the figure of MissNorman. She had not anticipated his quick scrutiny, and had for themoment ceased to be on her guard. Duvall smiled to himself. The theorywhich the spots of sealing wax had suggested had in that moment receivedan unexpected confirmation. 

CHAPTER XX

Ruth Morton had received a fearful shock the evening before, but by themorning she had recovered from the immediate effects of it, although shestill felt extremely weak. 

When Duvall and his little party arrived at the apartment onFifty-seventh Street, they were received in the library by Mrs. Morton. 

She greeted both Grace and Duvall cordially, but it was evident, fromher manner, that she found the presence of the Norman woman and MissFord highly distasteful to her. 

Duvall drew her to one side, leaving the two women in charge of Learyand Grace. 

"How is your daughter now, Mrs. Morton?" he asked. 

"Better, I think. "

"May I see her for a few moments?"

"Yes. She is expecting you. Come this way, please. She is occupying myroom at present. She still has a fear of the other one--the one sheformerly used. "

"I see. But she need not have it now. There will be no further trouble. "He followed Mrs. Morton into her bedroom. 

Ruth, looking very haggard and white, was sitting in an easy chair bythe window. Duvall was amazed to note how terribly the shock of thenight before had affected her. 

"How do you do, Miss Morton, " he said, offering his hand. "I am glad tofind you almost yourself again. "

The girl looked up with a faint smile. 

"Thank you, Mr. Duvall. I am much better. I understand that you havefound out who has been causing me all this trouble. "

"I think I have. But before I go ahead I want you to give me a littleassistance. Do you think you would know the woman who came to your roomslast night, in case you should see her again?"

Miss Morton shuddered. 

"I--I don't know. I do not think I saw her face. It was all so verysudden----"

"Tell me about it, " Duvall said. "It may help me to get at the facts. That is, if you feel able to do so. "

"I think I do. What shall I tell you?"

"Just describe, in a few words, what happened. "

"Well, as you know, I had been feeling rather better yesterday, and hadbegun to rather laugh at my fears. Mother was with me constantly, andNora as well, and I began to feel quite cheerful again, especially as Iknew that you were making splendid progress and had found the woman whohad been writing me. Mother told me that you expected to arrest herbefore the day was over. She said your wife had been helping you, too. 

"After dinner Nora, who had been in the hotel all day, asked permissionto go out for awhile and mother told her she might go. The poor girl hadbeen almost a prisoner since we arrived at the hotel. That was abouteight o'clock. 

"About half past eight a boy came to the room with a card, upon whichwas written your wife's name, and a note asking if she might see motherfor a few moments. We both looked at the card and then mother decided togo down and see her. She instructed me to lock the door while she wasout, and of course I did so. 

"In a few minutes mother came back. She seemed greatly excited, saidthat she had seen Mrs. Duvall and that you had sent a message to theeffect that you had arrested the woman who had been threatening me andwanted mother to come to your hotel at once to appear against her incourt. It was necessary, the woman who pretended to be your wife said, that mother should come at once, as otherwise the woman couldn't beheld. 

"We talked the matter over for a few moments and I told her that Ithought she ought to go. She seemed rather afraid to leave me alone, butI promised to keep the door locked, and anyway, as I pointed out to her, if the woman was arrested I had nothing further to fear. 

"At last mother decided she would go, and left me. I locked the door assoon as she went out. 

"It seemed to me a very few moments before I heard some one rapping. Atfirst I supposed that mother had come back for some reason or other. Then I thought it might be Nora who had said she was only going out fora breath of air. So, suspecting nothing, I unlocked the door and openedit. 

"A woman came in, very quickly, before I realized it. She was not tall, and rather slight, and I think she had light hair. I couldn't see herface well because she had twisted a black veil across it, hiding hereyes and the upper part of her features. She turned as soon as she gotin the room and locked the door. 

"I was too surprised for a moment to speak, then I asked her what shewanted. 

"'I want you, ' she said in a terrible voice, and I saw that she wastaking a bottle from her handbag. 

"I was so frightened that I could not cry out, although I tried. Yousee, the warnings I had received had gotten me so worked up that mynerves were all on edge, and as soon as I saw the bottle, I concludedthat the woman was about to throw vitriol in my face. So I put my handsto my eyes and ran into the bedroom. 

"The woman came behind me, saying that my looks would soon be gone, thatmy days as an actress were over, and other things like that which Iscarcely heard I was so frightened. When she got to me she caught holdof my arm and pulled me around, facing her. 

"I couldn't keep my eyes closed now, for I simply _had_ to see what shewas doing. It seemed worse not looking at her, and then I thought Imight take the bottle away from her and save myself in that way. So Itook my hands from my face and rushed toward her. 

"Then she raised the bottle and dashed something into my face. 

"It seemed hot, stinging, and made my eyes burn frightfully. I was sureit was vitriol, and the thought was too much for me I guess, for I feltmyself falling and--well, that's all I remember until I woke up andfound the doctor and mother there. It was a terrible experience. I couldscarcely believe them, when they told me, after I came to, that I wasn'treally hurt at all. "

Duvall looked at the girl's face. It showed no signs of injury, althoughher eyes were red and inflamed. 

"Then it wasn't vitriol after all?" he asked, wondering. 

"No, it apparently wasn't. The doctor said he thought it must have beenammonia. "

"Remarkable!" Duvall muttered to himself. "Why should she have gone toall that trouble, just to frighten you?"

"That's apparently all she intended to do from the start. Do you know, Mr. Duvall, I've been thinking this thing over, and I believe her wholeplan from the beginning was merely to ruin me in my work by _fear_. AndI must say that she very nearly succeeded. "

"Very nearly, " said Duvall, with a frown. "If this thing had kept up foranother week or two, you would have been a complete nervous wreck. "

"I am now, I'm afraid, " Miss Morton said, sadly. "I don't feel as thoughI could act again for a long time. "

"Oh, yes, you will. You have youth, and that is everything. And now, tell me, do you think if you took a look at this woman you mightrecognize her?"

The girl shuddered. 

"Is she--here?" she asked. 

"Yes. In the library. "

"You think it would be quite safe?"

"Quite. She can do you no harm while I am here. "

"Very well. I will see her if you wish it, but I am very much afraidthat I shall not be able to identify her. " Duvall held out his hand. 

"Come, " he said. "I will take you in. "

Miss Morton rose, and walking slowly and with considerable effort, wentwith him into the front room. Standing in the doorway, with thedetective beside her, she confronted the two women. They regarded herwith stony indifference. 

"Miss Morton, " Duvall said, "do you recognize either of these two womenas the one who attacked you in your rooms last night?"

The girl gazed helplessly from Miss Ford to her companion and backagain. Then she slowly shook her head. 

"No, " she said. "It might have been either of them. They look somewhatalike. But as for saying which one it was, if it _was_ either of them, I'm afraid I can't. The woman was veiled. The room was not brightlylighted. And I was very much frightened. "

The look of disappointment in Duvall's face was reflected in that ofboth Grace and Mrs. Morton. The two women, on the contrary, seemedvastly relieved. Miss Norman's mouth curled in rather an ironical smile. 

"Are you through with this inquisition now?" she asked. "For if you are, my friend and myself would like to continue our journey. You have had noright to bring us here in the first place, and I am strongly consideringmaking a complaint against you for having done so. " She grasped firmlythe umbrella she had held in her hand all the morning, and turned asthough to go. Leary, however, stood before the door. 

"You apparently have forgotten, " Duvall remarked, going toward her, "that I still have a charge against you for attacking my wife. "

"Very well; make it. I can prove that your wife forcibly entered myapartment under false pretense, saying that she was collecting money forthe war sufferers in Poland. If I attacked her, it was in self-defense. "

"That isn't true, " cried Grace. "You sprang at me----"

"My word is as good as yours, " Miss Norman interrupted. "And my friendhere will bear out what I say. " She nodded to Miss Ford. "You also, " sheagain faced Duvall, "broke into my apartment without warrant and killedmy pet monkey. You will have to answer for that as well. You haveaccused me of sending threatening letters to this girl here. I defy youto prove it. "

Duvall, who had been coming nearer the woman all the time, reached outand snatched from her hands the umbrella she held. The others in theroom regarded him with astonishment. The woman herself gave a cry ofanger, and starting forward tried to recover her lost property. 

Duvall yielded it to her at once, but not before he had torn from thehandle two small round balls covered with knitted silk that hung from itby a heavy silken cord. 

Miss Norman, seeing what he had done, drew back with a cry of anger. Afew incoherent words trailed from her lips. Duvall, paying no attentionto her, ripped open one of the silk-meshed coverings and extracted fromit a small, round black object about the size of a hickory nut. 

He gazed at it for a moment, then going quickly to the table in thecenter of the room brought the thing down smartly upon its surface. 

There was a crackling sound, and bits of some black substance flew inevery direction. A moment later the detective raised in his hand aglittering bit of metal and held it up so that the others might see it. 

"The death's-head seal, " he said, quietly. 

Miss Norman fell on her knees before Ruth Morton, her hands upraised. 

"Forgive me--forgive me!" she sobbed. 

CHAPTER XXI

"In reconstructing the case from the beginning, " Duvall said, later inthe day, "one fact stands out with especial prominence--the almost totalabsence of any definite clues. "

He was sitting in the library of the Morton apartment, and with him werehis wife, Mrs. Morton and Ruth. 

"The thing was certainly very cleverly done, " Mrs. Morton remarked. "Istill do not understand it in the least. How, for instance, were theletters placed in my daughter's room?"

"I am coming to that, " replied Duvall. "But first I will run over thecase in the light of Miss Norman's confession to me so that you mayunderstand it thoroughly and decide what action you wish to take againsther and her sister, Miss Ford. "

"Her sister?"

"Yes. The woman's name is not Norman. It is Ford--Jane Ford. Norman isan assumed name. 

"The two of them came to New York about a year ago from somewhere up thestate--a small town near Rochester, I believe. One secured employment inthe motion picture studio--the other, the one calling herself MissNorman, worked as a stenographer. 

"Her interest in motion pictures having been aroused by her sister'sstories of the life in the studio, she became an ardent picture 'fan, 'and spent every evening watching the films. 

"Her attention was particularly devoted to the pictures in which yourdaughter appeared, owing to the stories her sister told her about MissMorton's marvelous salary, her beauty, the ease with which she hadbecome famous. 

"These stories naturally inflamed her sister's mind. Working for tendollars a week, she began to compare her state with that of a girl ofher own age earning a hundred times as much, and gradually the ideabegan to possess her that she could become a motion-picture starherself. 

"At first she admired Miss Morton immensely and never missed anopportunity to see the pictures in which she appeared. Then, convincedof her own ability as an actress, she made application at the studio atwhich her sister worked for a position. 

"It seems she haunted the studio for several weeks without getting anyencouragement. Then, more to get rid of her than for any other reason, one of the directors offered her a place as extra woman in a pictureMiss Morton was doing--a very minor part, in which she had to appearmomentarily as a saleswoman at a counter in a department store. 

"Unfortunately, when Miss Morton saw her she happened to say to thedirector that she would have preferred a woman of a different type, dark, taller, so as to provide a more effective foil to her own type ofbeauty. As a result, the girl did not get the position. "

"I am so sorry, " Ruth cried. "I hadn't the least idea who the girl was, and, of course, I wouldn't have done her any harm for the world. "

"I know that, " Duvall replied, "but _she_ did not. She is mentallyrather erratic, and she at once conceived the idea that you had singledher out for persecution; that, in fact, you were envious of herabilities and meant to prevent her from getting a chance. 

"The thing preyed on her mind, and I fancy, unbalanced it a little. Sheconceived a violent hatred for you, and with her sister began to plotrevenge. 

"Her first move was to persuade her sister to move to the house onFifty-seventh Street, close to your apartment. It took them some time tofind the place--to secure a room situated as Miss Ford's was, but atlast they managed it. Then they went to work. 

"The letters were all typewritten on a machine belonging to a publicstenographer whom the girls knew. Jane Ford would stop in at thiswoman's place late in the afternoon and asking permission to use one ofthe machines would type the threatening letters. The paper she used wasprocured especially for her by her sister at a stationery storedowntown. 

"The seal, a curious thing, had belonged to the girls' father, and sheconceived the idea of signing the letters with it to add to the grimnessof her threats. As a matter of fact, I do not think she ever had theleast intention of carrying them out. It was to be solely a campaign offear. She probably thought that she could so frighten you, Miss Morton, that your health would be broken down, and your work consequentlyinterfered with to such an extent that you would lose your position. AsI say, I think she is mentally somewhat unbalanced. I cannot account forsome of her actions, otherwise. 

"The mailing of the first letter, the telephone messages, werecomparatively simple. It was the delivery of those at the apartment thattaxed her ingenuity. Yet the method was simple enough. 

"The girls' father, I am told, had been an animal trainer in a circus, and one of his bequests to his daughters was a pet monkey named Jack, that had been taught to do all sorts of tricks. The girls brought thismonkey to New York with them after their father's death. When thequestion arose of delivering the letters in your room, Miss Morton, shedecided to make use of the animal. 

"Creeping out of Marcia Ford's bedroom to the roof of the back building, and taking the monkey with her, she crossed the roof of the second houseand reached the wall of the apartment. From here she was in a positionto reach either of your bedroom windows in the following manner. 

"The monkey was led by means of a long, thin rope, attached to a sort ofharness about his neck and shoulders. By going to the rear edge of theback building they could readily swing him over to the fire-escape, while by ascending to the top of the attic roof overlooking the court, they could in the same way enable him to reach the other window. Themonkey had been trained to carry objects in his mouth. This accounts forthe row of indentations on the letters found in your room. I hadsupposed they came from some mechanical device, fastened to the end of along pole, but as a matter of fact, they were made by the monkey'steeth. 

"The animal being light in weight, and the pads of his feet being, ofcourse, soft, no traces of his presence were left on the newly paintedsurface of the fire-escape. The handkerchief that I found there had beenknotted about his neck as the collar to which the rope was fastened hadseemed a bit weak. In some way it became detached, probably when thegirls jerked on the cord to summon him back after he had completed histask. 

"In crossing the roofs of the two houses, the monkey's paws, as well asthe rope, became covered with dust. This explains the spots which seemedto be finger marks upon the counterpane of your bed, and the long, darkstraight line across the bed, which I thought might have been left by arod or pole. As a matter of fact, it was made by a tightly stretchedrope. 

"The sending of the monkey on the night when you were lying in bed musthave been a mistake. You will remember that, contrary to your usualhabit, you retired that night very early--a little after eight o'clock, if I remember correctly. The girls, coming over the room, saw that yourroom was dark, and naturally supposed that no one was in it. Thegrinning face of the monkey standing on the bed beside you, was thedeath's head apparition you thought you saw. At your cries the two womenat once jerked on the cord, and the monkey hastened back to them throughthe partly raised window, leaving no trace of his presence except theblack smudges of which I have spoken. 

"I have no doubt that Jane Ford followed me back to my hotel after oneof my early visits to your apartment, and thus learned my name andaddress. Her supposition that I was engaged in an attempt to ferret outthe writer of the letters was a shrewd guess. 

"The photograph was stolen from the studio by Marcia Ford who, being anemployee, had ample opportunity to stroll about the place after officehours without exciting suspicion. She also arranged the subsequentdelivery of the photograph and the substitution of the fake telegram. 

"Even when I made my night visit to Marcia Ford's room, and was attackedin the dark by the monkey, I did not suspect what it was. The room waspitch dark, and in the gloom I got the impression of a much largerobject--a person, in fact, and this impression was heightened by thefact that the animal wore a silken jacket, and I felt the sleeve of itagainst my throat. I only regret that the noise, the cries he made, singularly human in quality, made it necessary for me to leave the placeso precipitately. 

"The Ford girl and her sister had evidently just come in, and rushing tothe room found evidences of some one having been there. The monkey hadbeen shut in a closet, and by opening the door I had, of course, released it. Fearing discovery, they arranged to flee at once. Jane Fordwent uptown. Her sister remained to pack up her belongings. 

"The visit to your hotel, the attack on you, was a crazy inspiration ofthe moment. Not knowing that my wife was following her, and having seenme on the sidewalk on Fifty-seventh Street as she drove away, MissNorman naturally felt that if she could get you, Mrs. Morton, out of theway, she would be perfectly safe in going up to your rooms. 

"Even when alone with your daughter, she did not attempt to do her anyserious bodily injury, but contented herself with hurling the ammonia inher face, counting, no doubt, upon the effect of the shock that wouldresult. As I have said, the woman is mentally a little unbalanced. Thethings she does are not normal. "

"Nevertheless, they came very near being fatal, " Mrs. Morton remarkedgrimly. "The doctor informed me that the fright, the shock of herexperience, might readily have caused Ruth's death, or upset herreason. "

"I do not doubt it, " replied Duvall. "The woman has all the cunning ofan insane person. She showed it when, overcome by the sight of thedeath's-head seal I had flashed upon the screen at the theater, she soquickly recovered herself that she was able to deceive me completelyregarding her condition, and subsequently to make her escape. 

"Both she and her sister realized that it had become necessary for themto leave the city. Marcia Ford, taking the monkey with her in a cab, hastened uptown to join her sister at the latter's apartment. She knewthat I was not following her, for she had seen me drive off to join you, Mrs. Morton, at my hotel. They both thought themselves quite safe, andable to leave the city without interference. 

"The arrival of my wife at their apartment caused them to hasten theirplans. They realized that we were close upon their heels. Jane Ford knewthat the ring containing the death's-head seal was about the onlyevidence that existed against her, yet she hesitated to throw it away, as it had belonged to her father, and she prized it highly. With thecunning that she had exhibited throughout, she conceived the idea ofhiding it in one of the tassels upon the handle of her umbrella. 

"These tassels, as you perhaps know, are usually made of round bits ofwood, enclosed in a covering of knitted silk. The girl removed one ofthe wooden balls, and having embedded the ring in a ball of blacksealing wax, put it in place of the wooden one. It was a most ingenioushiding place, and one extremely unlikely to be discovered. "

"How did you happen to discover it, Mr. Duvall?" Mrs. Morton asked. 

"In this way. When my wife called my attention to the spots of black waxon the tray of the candlestick, I saw at once that a far larger amountof the wax had been melted than would have been required in making anordinary seal. The impressions on the warnings the woman sent were verysmall and flat, so as to readily be inserted in the envelopes containingthe letters without being bulky, or becoming broken while passingthrough the mails. But here were spots of the wax that had dripped downas large as a silver quarter and larger. What, I wondered, had causedthe woman to melt so large a quantity of wax?

"I attempted to put myself in her place and to think what she would doto hide the seal ring. The idea of embedding it in a ball of the waxoccurred to me. But, having done this, what would she do with the ball?It was not an easy thing to hide; in her purse, her satchel, it wouldhave attracted attention at once. Then I noticed the round blackornaments hanging from her umbrella, with their silken cords andtassels. What better place to hide the ball of wax?

"In order to test my theory, I twice attempted to take the umbrella fromher on our way here, as though to relieve her of the trouble of carryingit. In both instances she drew back at once, and refused to allow theumbrella to leave her possession. This action on her part convinced methat my guess had been a correct one. The subsequent finding of the ringbroke down her assurance. As you know, she has made a completeconfession. "

"Poor woman, " Ruth Morton remarked. "What are you going to do with her?"

"That rests with you, Miss Morton. If you decide to prosecute you canreadily do so. The penalty for sending threatening letters through themails is not a light one. And her attack upon you, under thecircumstances, is a very serious matter indeed. "

Ruth turned to her mother. 

"I think we ought to let them go, " she said. 

"And have the same trouble over again, " Mrs. Morton replied. "I couldnever feel safe with that woman at large. "

"I do not think she will trouble you again, Mrs. Morton, " remarkedDuvall. "She is thoroughly frightened. All her assurance hasdisappeared. She begs that she and her sister be allowed to return homeat once. It seems that some relative in Rochester has offered them ahome there, and they were going to join her when we intercepted them. "

"Then let them go, " Ruth Morton exclaimed. "I certainly do not wish tocause them any harm, especially as you tell me the woman who originatedthe whole thing is mentally not quite right. "

"She is certainly unbalanced, so far as her grievance against you isconcerned. But I feel sure that were you to explain matters to her, andlet her understand that your action in losing her the position at thestudio was quite impersonal on your part, she will realize the folly ofwhat she has done, and come to her senses. "

"I will do it, " said Ruth. "I don't want to injure her any more. Letthem go home in peace. "

"Very well. " Duvall rose to go. "Permit me to say, Mrs. Morton, that Iadmire your daughter's generosity very much. Good morning. " He and Gracebade their hosts good-by and took their leave. 

"She's a lovely girl, " Grace remarked, as they drove to their hotel. "Ilike her immensely. "

"Then you aren't jealous of me any more, because I so suddenly became amotion-picture 'fan'?"

"Richard!" she laughed. "Don't be silly. I suppose I shall always bejealous of you when a girl, as beautiful as Ruth Morton, is concerned. After all, to be jealous is only a woman's way of paying tribute toanother woman's charms. "

Duvall laughed. 

"It was Miss Ford's way, too, " he said, "but as a means of showing one'sappreciation it had its faults. "

THE END. 

THE NOVELS OF

MARY ROBERTS RINEHART

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

"K. " Illustrated. 

K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. Sheis in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their younglove are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has madethe author famous. 

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. 

Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. 

An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the"Man in Lower Ten. " The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's successare found in this book. 

WHEN A MAN MARRIES. 

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that hisaunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the familyincome and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domesticupheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and mostentertainingly told. 

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. By Lester Ralph. 

The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of ArnoldArmstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Followingthe murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is wovena plot of absorbing interest. 

THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. 

Illustrated (Photo Play Edition. )

Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenlyrealizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitiousdoctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together withworld-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love andslender means. 

B. M. BOWER'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. 

CHIP OF THE FLYING U. Wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della Whitmanare charmingly and humorously told. 

THE HAPPY FAMILY. A lively and amusing story, dealing with theadventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. 

HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. Describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange acottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house. 

THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly story. 

THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the experience of anEastern author among the cowboys. 

THE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and the recollectionof a pair of large brown eyes upset "Weary" Davidson's plans. 

THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the freeoutdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story. 

GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch. 

FLYING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and his pals. 

THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND. An amusing account of Chip and the other boysopposing a party of school teachers. 

THE UPHILL CLIMB. A story of a mountain ranch and of a man's hard fighton the uphill road to manliness. 

THE PHANTOM HERD. The title of a moving-picture staged in New Mexico bythe "Flying U" boys. 

THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The "Flying U" boys stage a fake bank robberyfor film purposes which precedes a real one for lust of gold. 

THE GRINGOS. A story of love and adventure on a ranch in California. 

STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and adventure. 

THE LOOKOUT MAN. A Northern California story full of action, excitementand love. 

Transcriber's Notes:

Typographical errors in original have been corrected as follows:

Chapter III

"Would you take one, if it were offered to you, " asked Grace quickly. Changed to: "Would you take one, if it were offered to you?" asked Gracequickly. 

"No one, but an old negro cook, who has been with me for years. Changed to: "No one but an old negro cook, who has been with me foryears. 

I am going to take the case largely bceause it has interested me, changed to: I am going to take the case largely because it hasinterested me, Chapter IV

Duvall examined this house next door with a great deal of interestchanged to: Duvall examined this house next door with a great deal ofinterest. 

"Nothing, so far. I confess the thing is somewhat of a puzzle. Changed to: "Nothing, so far. I confess the thing is somewhat of apuzzle. "

Chapter V

. .. Eyes of the two men were tent curiously upon her, changed to: . .. Eyes of the two men were bent curiously upon her, Why, sir. Is anything wrong?"changed to: Why, sir? Is anything wrong?"

Chapter VI

Dora will bring me some dinner, " she said, changed to: Nora will bring me some dinner, " she said, She has become a sort of public character. "changed to: She has become a sort of public character. 

Chapter VII

Duvall turned to his companion with a juzzled frown. Changed to: Duvall turned to his companion with a puzzled frown. 

. .. His head, far below the sill of this window. Nor could anyone. .. Changed to: . .. His head, far below the sill of this window, nor couldanyone. .. 

. .. May have to be here some time, I've got a queer case. .. Changed to: . .. May have to be here some time. I've got a queer case. .. 

Chapter VIII

"Nothing, replied Mrs. Morton. Changed to: "Nothing, " replied Mrs. Morton. 

"This is where Mr. Moore receives his callers:changed to: "This is where Mr. Moore receives his callers. 

. .. At the Grand to-night, It will be your lastchanged to: . .. At the Grand to-night, it will be your last. 

"Last night I knew it would be needed to-day. "changed to: "Last night. I knew it would be needed to-day. "

. .. When the moment arrived, I gave it to the actor who took it to MissMorton:"changed to: . .. When the moment arrived, I gave it to the actor who tookit to Miss Morton. "

. .. Duvall asked Ruth, after they had had started away from the studio. Changed to: . .. Duvall asked Ruth, after they had started away from thestudio. 

Chapter IX

With a polite bow he passed no. Changed to: With a polite bow he passed on. 

Chapter X

Duval, after having satisfied himself that. .. Changed to: Duvall, after having satisfied himself that. .. 

The lovely face of Ruth Morton once more greeted the eyes of theaudiencechanged to: The lovely face of Ruth Morton once more greeted the eyes ofthe audience. 

. .. The water about with the end of a leadpencil until the tablet. .. Changed to: . .. The water about with the end of a lead pencil until thetablet. .. 

Chapter XI

. .. Sent him into the drag store in order that she. .. Changed to: . .. Sent him into the drug store in order that she. .. 

. .. Provided the card is, as I conclude, torn exactly in half. Changed to: . .. Provided the card is, as I conclude, torn exactly inhalf. "

. .. Begins with 'Mar, ' Duvall said. I will put them down on a sheet ofpaper. "changed to: . .. Begins with 'Mar, '" Duvall said. "I will put them down ona sheet of paper. "

It may be that Miss Marcia Ford, . .. Changed to: "It may be that Miss Marcia Ford, . .. 

. .. Extended a half sheet of none-paper toward the detective. Changed to: . .. Extended a half sheet of note-paper toward the detective. 

. .. He said, "that it will, be necessary for you to remain. .. Changed to: . .. He said, "that it will be necessary for you to remain. .. 

Mr. Emmett, who is in charge there, can tell as about Miss Ford. "changed to: Mr. Emmett, who is in charge there, can tell us about MissFord. "

Chapter XII

The thing is utterly incomprehensible. "changed to: The thing is utterly incomprehensible. 

What's the matter with you. Changed to: What's the matter with you?

. .. In case anyone questioned him about me. "changed to: . .. In case anyone questioned him about me. 

She gave him a name and address. Changed to: "She gave him a name and address. 

Chapter XV

"Yes. I came to see you about a matter of importance. Changed to: "Yes. I came to see you about a matter of importance. "

Chapter XVI

. .. Been following appeared, wearing a flowered kimona. Changed to: . .. Been following appeared, wearing a flowered kimono. 

Chapter XVII

"Very well Get me a cab. Changed to: "Very well. Get me a cab. 

He was overjoyed, when it was opened by a man. .. Changed to: He was overjoyed when it was opened by a man. .. 

He doubted his ability to break it in. Nor did he wish. .. Changed to: He doubted his ability to break it in, nor did he wish. .. 

Chapter XIX

"'Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked, changed to: "Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked, Chapter XX

"I am glad to find you almost yourself again. Changed to: "I am glad to find you almost yourself again. "

Chapter XXI

It seems she haunted the studio for several weeks without. .. Changed to: "It seems she haunted the studio for several weekswithout. .. 

. .. And thus learned by name and address. Changed to: and thus learned my name and address. 

What better place to hide the ball of wax. Changed to: What better place to hide the ball of wax?

Permit me to say, Mrs. Morton, that I. .. Changed to: "Permit me to say, Mrs. Morton, that I. .. 

B. M. Bower's Novels

THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud be two families, anda. .. Changed to: THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud betweentwo families, and a. ..