The Lost House ....................................................................................................................................................1

Richard Harding Davis............................................................................................................................1

It was a dull day at the chancellery. His Excellency the American Ambassador was absent in Scotland,

unveiling a bust to Bobby Burns, paid for by the numerous lovers of that poet in Pittsburg; the First Secretary

was absent at Aldershot, observing a sham battle; the Military Attache was absent at the Crystal Palace,

watching a football match; the Naval Attache was absent at the Duke of Deptford's, shooting pheasants; and

at the Embassy, the Second Secretary, having lunched leisurely at the Artz, was now alone, but prepared with

his life to protect American interests. Accordingly, on the condition that the story should not be traced back

to him, he had just confided a State secret to his young friend, Austin Ford, the London correspondent of the

"I will cable it," Ford reassured him, "as coming from a Hungarian diplomat, temporarily residing in

Bloomsbury, while en route to his post in Patagonia. In that shape, not even your astute chief will suspect its

"What I dropped in to ask," he continued, "is whether the English are going to send over a polo team next

"The weekend parties to which you have been invited," Ford objected, "can wait. Tell me first what chance

"Polo," sententiously began the Second Secretary, who himself was a crackerjack at the game, "is a

proposition of ponies! Men can be trained for polo. But polo ponies must be born. Without good

James, the page who guarded the outer walls, of the chancellery, appeared in the doorway.

"Please, Sir, a person," he announced, with a note for the Ambassador says it's important."

"Yes, Sir," interrupted the page. "But 'e won't leave it, not unless he keeps the 'arfcrown."

"For Heaven's sake!" protested the Second Secretary, "then let him keep the halfcrown. When I say polo

James, although alarmed at his own temerity, refused to accept the dismissal. "But, please, Sir," he begged; "I

"Because, Sir," he stammered, "it was INSIDE the note when it was thrown out of the window."

Ford had been sprawling in a soft leather chair in front of the open fire. With the privilege of an old

schoolfellow and college classmate, he bad been jabbing the soft coal with his walkingstick, causing it to

burst into tiny flames. His cigarette drooped from his lips, his hat was cocked over one eye; he was a picture

of indifference, merging upon boredom. But at the words of the boy his attitude both of mind and body

underwent an instant change. It was as though he were an actor, and the words "thrown from the window "

were his cue. It was as though he were a dozing foxterrier, and the voice of his master had whispered in his

For a moment, with benign reproach, the Second Secretary regarded the unhappy page, and then addressed

"James," he said, "people do not communicate with ambassadors in notes wrapped around halfcrowns and

hurled from windows. That is the way one corresponds with an organgrinder." Ford sprang to his feet.

Without seeking permission, he ran past James, and through the empty outer offices. In two minutes he

returned, herding before him an individual, seedy and soiled. In appearance the man suggested that in life his

place was to support a sandwichboard. Ford reluctantly relinquished his hold upon a folded paper which he

"This man," he explained, "picked that out of the gutter in Sowell Street, It's not addressed to any one, so you

The soiled person coughed deprecatingly, and pointed a dirty digit at the paper. "On the inside," he suggested.

The paper was wrapped around a halfcrown and folded in at each end. The diplomat opened it hesitatingly,

"There's nothing in THAT," he exclaimed. He passed the note to Ford. The reporter fell upon it eagerly.

The note was written in pencil on an unruled piece of white paper. The handwriting was that of a woman.

"I am a prisoner in the street on which this paper is found. The house faces east. I think I am on the top story.

I was brought here three weeks ago. They are trying to kill me. My uncle, Charles Ralph Pearsall, is doing

this to get my money. He is at Gerridge's Hotel in Craven Street, Strand. He will tell you I am insane. My

name is Dosia Pearsall Dale. My home is at Dalesville, Kentucky, U. S. A. Everybody knows me there, and

knows I am not insane. If you would save a life take this at once to the American Embassy, or to Scotland

When he had read the note, Ford continue to study it. Until he was quite sure his voice would not betray his

"Because," returned the diplomat conclusively, "we got a note like that, or nearly like it, a week ago,

"There wasn't anything to tell," protested the diplomat. "We handed it over to the police, and they reported

there was nothing in it. They couldn't find the man at that hotel, and, of course, they couldn't find the house

"Their theory," continued the Secretary patiently, "is that the girl is confined in one of the numerous private

sanatoriums in Sowell Street, that she is insane, that because she's under restraint she IMAGINES the nurses

are trying to kill her and that her relatives are after her money. Insane people are always thinking that. It's a

Ford's eyes were shining with a wicked joy. "So," he asked indifferently, "you don't intend to do anything

"What do you want us to do?" cried his friend. "Ring every doorbell in Sowell Street and ask the

"Can I keep the paper?" demanded Ford. "You can keep a copy of it," consented the Secretary. "But if you

think you're on the track of a big newspaper sensation, I can tell you now you're not. That's the work of a

Ford was already seated at the table, scribbling a copy of the message, and making marginal notes.

"He drove away, did he?"' roared Ford. "And that was a week ago! Ye gods! What about Dalesville,

"We did not!" he answered. "If it wasn't true that her uncle was at that hotel, it was probably equally untrue

"But," retorted his friend, "you didn't forget to cable the State Department that you all went in your evening

"The State Department," returned the Secretary, with withering reproof, "does not expect us to crawl over the

roofs of houses and spy down chimneys to see if by any chance an American citizen is being murdered."

"Well," exclaimed Ford, leaping to his feet and placing his notes in his pocket, "fortunately, my paper expects

me to do just that, and if it didn't, I'd do it anyway. And that is exactly what I am going to do now! Don't tell

the others in the Embassy, and, for Heaven's sake, don't tell the police. Jimmy, get me a taxi. And you," he

commanded, pointing at the one who had brought the note, are coming with me to Sowell Street, to show me

On the way to Sowell Street Ford stopped at a newspaper agency, and paid for the insertion that afternoon of

the same advertisement in three newspapers. It read: "If hansomcab driver who last week carried note, found

in street, to American Embassy will mail his address to X. X. X., care of GLOBE, he will be rewarded."

From the nearest postoffice he sent to his paper the following cable: "Query our local correspondent,

Dalesville, Kentucky, concerning Dosia Pearsall Dale. Is she of sound mind, is she heiress. Who controls her

money, what her business relations with her uncle Charles Ralph Pearsall, what her present address. If any

questions, say inquiries come from solicitors of Englishman who wants to marry her. Rush answer.

Sowell Street is a dark, dirty little thoroughfare, running for only one block, parallel to Harley Street. Like it,

it is decorated with the brass plates of physicians and the red lamps of surgeons, but, just as the medical men

in Harley Street, in keeping with that thoroughfare, are broad, open, and with nothing to conceal, so those of

Sowell Street, like their hidingplace, shrink from observation, and their lives are as sombre, secret, and dark

Within two turns of it Ford dismissed the taxicab. Giving the soiled person a halfsmoked cigarette, he told

him to walk through Sowell Street, and when he reached the place where he had picked up the paper, to drop

the cigarette as near that spot as possible. He then was to turn into Weymouth Street and wait until Ford

joined him. At a distance of fifty feet Ford followed the man, and saw him, when in the middle of the block,

without apparent hesitation, drop the cigarette. The house in front of which it fell was marked, like many

others, by the brass plate of a doctor. As Ford passed it he hit the cigarette with his walkingstick, and drove

it into an area. When he overtook the man, Ford handed him another cigarette. "To make sure," he said, C4

go back and " drop this in the place you found the paper. For a moment the man hesitated.

"I might as well tell you," Ford continued, "that I knocked that last cigarette so far from where you dropped it

that you won't be able to use it as a guide. So, if you don't really know where you found the paper, you'll save

my time by saying so." Instead of being confused by the test, the man was amused by it. He laughed

appreciatively admitted. "You've caught me out fair, governor," "I Want the 'arfcrown, and I dropped the

cigarette as near the place as I could. But I can't do it again. It was this way," he explained. "I wasn't taking

notice of the houses. I was walking along looking into the gutter for stumps. I see this paper wrapped about

something round. 'It's a copper,' I thinks, 'jucked out of a winder to a organgrinder.' I snatches it, and runs. I

didn't take no time to look at the houses. But it wasn't so far from where I showed you; about the middle

Ford had never considered the man as a serious element in the problem. He believed him to know as little of

the matter as he professed to know. But it was essential he should keep that little to himself.

"No one will pay you for talking," Ford pointed out, "and I'll pay you to keep quiet. So, if you say nothing

concerning that note, at the end of two weeks, I'll leave two pounds for you with James, at the Embassy."

The man, who believed Ford to be an agent of the police, was only too happy to escape on such easy terms.

From Wimpole Street the amateur detective went to the nearest public telephone and called up Gerridge's

Hotel. He considered his first step should be to discover if Mr. Pearsall was at that hotel, or had ever stopped

there. When the 'phone was answered, he requested that a message be delivered to Mr. Pearsall.

He was informed that no one by that name was at the hotel. In a voice of concern Ford begged to know when

He was with you three weeks ago," Ford insisted. "He's an American gentleman, and there was a lady with

him. She ordered a ridinghabit of us: the same time he was measured for his clothes."

After a short delay, the voice from the hotel replied that no one of the name of Pearsall had been at the hotel

In apparent great disgust Ford rang off, and took a taxicab to his rooms in Jermyn Street. There he packed a

suitcase and drove to Gerridge's. It was a quiet, respectable, "old established" house in Craven Street, a

thoroughfare almost entirely given over to small family hotels much frequented by Americans.

After he had registered and had left his bag in his room, Ford returned to the office, and in an assured manner

asked that a card on which he had written "Henry W. Page, Dalesville, Kentucky," should be taken to Mr.

In a tone of obvious annoyance the proprietor returned the card, saying that there was no one of that name in

the hotel, and added that no such person had ever stopped there. Ford expressed the liveliest distress.

"He TOLD me I'd find him here," he protested., "he and his niece." With the garrulousness of the American

abroad, he confided his troubles to the entire staff of the hotel. "We're from the same town," he explained.

"That's why I must see him. He's the only man in London I know, and I've spent all my money. He said he'd

give me some he owes me, as soon as I reached London. If I can't get it, I'll have to go home by Wednesday's

steamer. And, complained bitterly, "I haven't seen the nor the Tower, nor Westminster Abbey."

In a moment, Ford's anxiety to meet Mr. Pearsall was apparently lost in a wave of selfpity. In his

Real detectives and rival newspaper men, even while they admitted Ford obtained facts that were denied

them, claimed that they were given him from charity. Where they bullied, browbeat, and administered a third

degree, Ford was embarrassed, deprecatory, an earnest, ingenuous, wideeyed child. What he called his

"working" smile begged of you not to be cross with him. His simplicity was apparently so hopeless, his

confidence in whomever he addressed so complete, that often even the man he was pursuing felt for him a

pitying contempt. Now as he stood uncertainly in the hall of the hotel, his helplessness moved the proud lady

clerk to shake her cylinders of false hair sympathetically, the German waiters to regard his predicament with

respect; even the proprietor, Mr. Gerridge himself, was ill at ease. Ford returned to his room, on the second

In connecting Pearsall with Gerridge's, both the police and himself had failed. Of this there were three

possible explanations: that the girl who wrote the letter was in error, that the letter was a hoax, that the

proprietor of the hotel, for some reason, was protecting Pearsall, and had deceived both Ford and Scotland

Yard. On the other hand, without knowing why the girl believed Pearsall would be found at Gerridge's, it was

reasonable to assume that in so thinking she had been purposely misled. The question was, should he or not

dismiss Gerridge's as a possible clew, and at once devote himself to finding the house in Sowell Street? He

decided for the moment at least, to leave Gerridge's out of his calculations, but, as an excuse for returning

there, to still retain his room. He at once started toward Sowell Street, and in order to find out if any one from

the hotel were following him, he set forth on foot. As soon as he made sure he was not spied upon, he

He was acting on the supposition that the letter was no practical joke, but a genuine cry for help. Sowell

Street was a scene set for such an adventure. It was narrow, mean looking, the stucco housefronts,

sootstained, cracked, and uncaredfor, the steps broken and unwashed. As he entered it a cold rain was

falling, and a yellow fog that rolled between the houses added to its dreariness. It was now late in the

afternoon, and so overcast the sky that in many rooms the gas was lit and the curtains drawn.

The girl, apparently from observing the daily progress of the sun, had written she was on the west side of the

street and, she believed, in an upper story. The man who picked up the note had said he had found it opposite

the houses in the middle of the block. Accordingly, Ford proceeded on the supposition that the entire east side

of the street, the lower stories of the west side, and the houses at each end were eliminated. The three houses

in the centre of the row were outwardly alike. They were of four stories. Each was the residence of a

physician, and in each, in the upper stories, the blinds were drawn. From the front there was nothing to be

learned, and in the hope that the rear might furnish some clew, Ford hastened to Wimpole Street, in which the

houses to the east backed upon those to the west in Sowell Street. These houses were given over to furnished

lodgings, and under the pretext of renting chambers, it was easy for Ford to enter them, and from the

apartments in the rear to obtain several hasty glimpses of the backs of the three houses in Sowell Street. But

neither from this viewpoint did he gather any fact of interest. In one of the three houses in Sowell Street iron

bars were fastened across the windows of the fourth floor, but in private sanatoriums this was neither unusual

nor suspicious. The bars might cover the windows of a nursery to prevent children from falling out, or the

In a quarter of an hour Ford was again back in Sowell Street no wiser than when he had entered it. From the

outside, at least, the three houses under suspicion gave no sign. In the problem before him there was one

point that Ford found difficult to explain. It was the only one that caused him to question if the letter was

genuine. What puzzled him was this: Why, if the girl were free to throw two notes from the window, did she

not throw them out by the dozen? If she were able to reach a window, opening on the street, why did she not

call for help? Why did she not, by hurling out every small article the room contained, by screams, by

breaking the windowpanes, attract a crowd, and, through it, the police? That she had not done so seemed to

show that only at rare intervals was she free from restraint, or at liberty to enter the front room that opened on

the street. Would it be equally difficult, Ford asked himself, for one in the street to communicate with her?

Standing at the corner, hidden by the pillars of a portico, the water dripping from his raincoat, Ford gazed

long and anxiously at the blank windows of the three houses. Like blind eyes staring into his, they told no

tales, betrayed no secret. Around him the commonplace life of the neighborhood proceeded undisturbed.

Somewhere concealed in the single row of houses a girl was imprisoned, her life threatened; perhaps even at

that moment she was facing her death. While, on either side, shut from her by the thickness only of a brick

wall, people were talking, reading, making tea, preparing the evening meal, or, in the street below, hurrying

by, intent on trivial errands. Hansom cabs, prowling in search of a fare, passed through the street where a

woman was being robbed of a fortune, the drivers occupied only with thoughts of a possible shilling; a

housemaid with a jug in her hand and a shawl over her bare head, hastened to the nearby public house; the

postman made his rounds, and delivered comic postalcards; a policeman, shedding water from his shining

cape, halted, gazed severely at the sky, and, unconscious of the crime that was going forward within the

A hundred plans raced through Ford's brain; he would arouse the street with a false alarm of fire and lead the

firemen, with the tale of a smoking chimney, to one of the three houses; he would feign illness, and, taking

refuge in one of them, at night would explore the premises; he would impersonate a detective, and insist upon

his right to search for stolen property. As he rejected these and a dozen schemes as fantastic, his brain and

eyes were still alert for any chance advantage that the street might offer. But the minutes passed into an hour,

and no one had entered any of the three houses, no one had left them. In the lower stories, from behind the

edges of the blinds, lights appeared, but of the life within there was no sign. Until he hit upon a plan of

action, Ford felt there was no longer anything to be gained by remaining in Sowell Street. Already the answer

to his cable might have arrived at his rooms; at Gerridge's he might still learn something of Pearsall. He

decided to revisit both these places, and, while so engaged, to send from his office one of his assistants to

cover the Sowell Street houses. He cast a last, reluctant look at the closed blinds, and moved away. As he did

so, two itinerant musicians dragging behind them a small street piano on wheels turned the corner, and, as the

rain had now ceased, one of them pulled the oilcloth covering from the instrument and, seating himself on a

camp stool at the curb, opened the piano. After a discouraged glance at the darkened windows, the other, in

a hoarse, strident tenor, to the accompaniment of the piano, began to sing. The voice of the man was raucous,

"She sells seashells on the seashore," the vocalist wailed. "The shells she sells are seashells, I'm sure."

The effect was instantaneous. A window was flung open, and an indignant householder with one hand

frantically waved the musicians away, and with the other threw them a copper coin.

At the same moment Ford walked quickly to the piano and laid a halfcrown on top of it.

"Follow me to Harley Street," he commanded. "Don't hurry. Take your time. I want you to help me in a sort

He passed on quickly. When he glanced behind him, he saw the two men, fearful lest the promised fortune

might escape them, pursuing him at a trot. At Harley Street they halted, breathless.

"How long," Ford demanded of the one who played the piano, "will it take you to learn the accompaniment to

"You cannot," interrupted Ford. "I'm going to do the singing myself. Where is there a publichouse near here

Half an hour later, Ford and the pianoplayer entered Sowell Street dragging the piano behind them. The

amateur detective still wore his raincoat, but his hat he had exchanged for a cap, and, instead of a collar, he

had knotted around his bare neck a dirty kerchief. At the end of the street they halted, and in some

embarrassment Ford raised his voice in the chorus of a song well known in the musichalls. It was a very

good voice, much too good for "openair work," as his companion had already assured him, but, what was of

chief importance to Ford, it carried as far as he wished it to go. Already in Wimpole Street four coins of the

realm, flung to him from the highest windows, had testified to its power. From the end of Sowell Street Ford

moved slowly from house to house until he was directly opposite the three in one of which he believed the

Night had fallen, and, except for the gaslamps, the street was empty, and in such darkness that even without

his disguise Ford ran no risk of recognition. His plan was not new. It dated from the days of Richard the

Lionhearted. But if the prisoner were alert and intelligent, even though she could make no answer, Ford

believed through his effort she would gain courage, would grasp that from the outside a friend was working

toward her. All he knew of the prisoner was that she came from Kentucky. Ford fixed his eyes on the houses

opposite, and cleared his throat. The man struck the opening chords, and in a high barytone, and in a cockney

"The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home," he sang; "'tis summer, and the darkies are gay."

He finished the song, but there was no sign. For all the impression he had made upon Sowell Street, he might

The housefronts echoed back the cheering notes of "Dixie." Again Ford was silent, and again The silence

"They don't know them songs," he explained professionally. "Give 'em, 'Mollie Married the Marquis.'"

"I'll sing the first one again," said Ford. Once more he broke into the pathetic cadences of the "Old Kentucky

Home." But there was no response. He was beginning to feel angry, absurd. He believed he bad wasted

precious moments, and, even as he sang, his mind was already working upon a new plan. The song ceased,

"It's no use!" he exclaimed. Remembering himself, he added: "We'll try the next street."

But even as he spoke he leaped forward. Coming apparently from nowhere, something white sank through

the semidarkness and fell at his feet. It struck the pavement directly in front of the middle one of the three

houses. Ford fell upon it and clutched it in both hands. It was a woman's glove. Ford raced back to the piano.

He shouted out the chorus exultantly, triumphantly. Had he spoken it in words, the message could not have

Ford now believed he had found the house, found the woman, and was eager only to get rid of his companion

and, in his own person, return to Sowell Street. But, lest the man might suspect there was in his actions

something more serious than a practical joke, he forced himself to sing the new songs in three different

streets. Then, pretending to tire of his prank, he paid the musician and left him. He was happy, exultant,

tingling with excitement. Goodluck had been with him, and, hoping that Gerridge's might yet yield some

clew to Pearsall, he returned there. Calling up the London office of the REPUBLIC, he directed that one of

his assistants, an English lad named Cuthbert, should at once join him at that hotel. Cuthbert was but just out

of Oxford. He wished to become a writer of fiction, and, as a means of seeing many kinds of life at first hand,

was in training as a "Pressman." His admiration for Ford amounted to almost heroworship; and he regarded

an "assignment" with his chief as a joy and an honor. Full of enthusiasm, and as soon as a taxicab could bring

him, he arrived at Gerridge's, where, in a corner of the deserted coffeeroom, Ford explained the situation.

Until he could devise a way to enter the Sowell Street house. Cuthbert was to watch over it.

"The number of the house is forty," Ford told him; "the name on the doorplate, Dr. Prothero. Find out

everything you can about him without letting any one catch you at it. Better begin at the nearest chemist's.

Say you are on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and ask the man to mix you a sedative, and recommend a

physician. Show him Prothero's name and address on a piece of paper, and say Prothero has been

recommended to you as a specialist on nervous troubles. Ask what he thinks of him. Get him to talk. Then

visit the tradespeople and the publichouses in the neighborhood, and say you are from some West End

shop where Prothero, wants to open an account. They may talk, especially if his credit is bad. And, if you find

out enough about him to give me a working basis, I'll try to get into the house tonight. Meanwhile, I'm going

to make another quick search of this hotel for Pearsall. I'm not satisfied he has not been here. For why should

Miss Dale, with all the hotels in London to choose from, have named this particular one, unless she had good

Cuthbert was at the door when he remembered he had brought with him from the office Ford's mail and

"Wait," he commanded. "This is about the girl. You had better know what it says." The cable read:

"Girl orphan, Dalesville named after her family, for three generations millowners, father died four years

ago, Pearsall brotherinlaw until she is twentyone, which will be in three months. Girl well known,

extremely popular, lived Dalesville until last year, when went abroad with uncle, since then reports of

melancholia and nervous prostration, before that health excellentno signs insanitynone in family. Be

careful how handle Pearsall, was doctor, gave up practice to look after estate, is prominent in local business

For the benefit of Cuthbert, Ford had been reading the cable aloud. The last paragraph seemed especially to

interest him, and he read it twice, the second time slowly, and emphasizing the word "doctor."

"A doctor!" he repeated. "Do you see where that leads us? It may explain several things. The girl was in good

"Beware libel," laughed Ford nervously, his own eyes lit with excitement. "Suppose," he exclaimed, "he has

been using arsenic? He would have many opportunities, and it's colorless, tasteless; and arsenic would

account for her depression and melancholia. The time when he must turn over her money is very near, and,

suppose he has spent the money, speculated with it, and lost it, or that he still has it and wants to keep it? In

three months she will be of age, and he must make an accounting. The arsenic does not work fast enough. So

what does he do? To save himself from exposure, or to keep the money, he throws her into this private

Ford had been talking in an eager whisper. While he spoke his cigar had ceased to burn, and to light it, from a

vase on the mantel he took a spill, one of those spirals of paper that in English hotels, where the proprietor is

of a frugal mind, are still used to prevent extravagance in matches. Ford lit the spill at the coal fire, and with

his cigar puffed at the flame. As he did so the paper unrolled. To the astonishment of Cuthbert, Ford clasped

it in both hands, blotted out the tiny flame, and, turning quickly to a table, spread out the charred paper flat.

After one quick glance, Ford ran to the fireplace, and, seizing a handfull of the spills, began rapidly to unroll

them. Then he turned to Cuthbert and, without speaking, showed him the charred spill. It was a scrap torn

from the front page of a newspaper. The half obliterated words at which Ford pointed were DALESVILLE

"His torn paper!" said Ford. "The DALESVILLE COURIER. Pearsall HAS been in this hotel!" He handed

"From that one," said Ford, "we get the date, December 3. Allowing three weeks for the newspaper to reach

London, Pearsall must have seen it just three weeks ago, just when Miss Dale says he was in the hotel. The

Ford rang for a waiter, and told him to ask Mr. Gerridge to come to the smokingroom.

"It seems you've been lying to the police and to me. Unless you desire to he an accessory to a murder, You

An hour later Ford passed slowly through Sowell Street in a taxicab, and, finding Cuthbert on guard,

signalled him to follow. in Wimpole Street the cab drew up to the curb, and Cuthbert entered it.

He then related to Cuthbert what had happened. Gerridge had explained that when the Police called, his first

thought was to protect the good name of his hotel. He had denied any knowledge of Pearsall only because he

no longer was a guest, and, as he supposed Pearsall had passed out of his life, he saw no reason, why, through

an arrest and a scandal, his hotel should be involved. Believing Ford to be in the secret service of the police,

he was now only too anxious to clear himself of suspicion by telling all he knew. It was but little. Pearsall

and his niece had been at the hotel for three days. During that time the niece, who appeared to be an invalid,

remained in her room. On the evening of the third day, while Pearsall was absent, a call from him had come

for her by telephone, on receiving which Miss Dale had at once left the hotel, apparently in great agitation.

That night she did not return, but in the morning Pearsall came to collect his and her luggage and to settle his

account. He explained that a woman relative living at the Langham Hotel had been taken suddenly ill, and

had sent for him and his niece. Her condition had been so serious that they had remained with her all night,

and his niece still was at her bedside. The driver of a fourwheeler, who for years had stood on the cabrank

in front of Gerridge's, had driven Pearsall to the Langham. This man was at the moment on the rank, and

The cabman remembered Pearsall, and having driven him to the Langham, for the reason that immediately

after setting him down there, and while "crawling" for a fare in Portland Place, a whistle from the Langham

had recalled him, and the same luggage that had just been taken from the top of his cab was Put back on it,

and he was directed by the porter of the hotel to take it to a house in Sowell Street. There a man servant had

helped him unload the trunks and had paid him his fare. The cabman did not remember the number of the

house, but knew it was on the west side of the street and in the middle of the block.

Having finished with Gerridge and the cabman, Ford had at once gone to the Langham Hotel, where, as he

anticipated, nothing was known of Pearsall or his niece, or of any invalid lady. But the hallporter

remembered the American gentleman who had driven up with many pieces of luggage, and who, although it

was out of season, and many suites in the hotel were vacant, had found none to suit him. He had then set forth

on foot, having left word that his trunks be sent after him. The address he gave was a house in Sowell Street.

The porter recalled the incident because he and the cabman had grumbled over the fact that in five minutes

"It is pretty evident," said Ford, what Pearsall had in mind, but chance was against him. He thought when he

had unloaded his trunks at the Langham and dismissed the cabman he had destroyed the link connecting him

with Gerridge's. He could not foresee that the same cabman would be loitering in the neighborhood. He

should have known that fourwheelers are not as plentiful as they once were; and he should have given that

particular one more time to get away. His idea in walking to the Sowell Street house was obviously to prevent

the new cabman from seeing him enter it. But, just where he thought he was clever, was just where he

tripped. If he had remained with his trunks he would have seen that the cabman was the same one who had

brought them and him from Craven Street, and he would have given any other address in London than the

"And now," said Ford, "that we have Pearsall where we want him, tell me what you have learned about

Cuthbert smiled importantly, and produced a piece of paper scribbled over with notes.

"Prothero," he said, "seems to be THIS sort of man. If he made your coffee for you, before you tasted it,

"Prothero," said Cuthbert, "is a man of mystery. As soon as I began asking his neighbors questions, I saw he

was of interest and that I was of interest. I saw they did not believe I was an agent of a West End shop, but a

detective. So they wouldn't talk at all, or else they talked freely. And from one of them, a chemist named

Needham, I got all I wanted. He's had a lawsuit against Prothero, and hates him. Prothero got him to invest in

a medicine to cure the cocaine habit. Needham found the cure was no cure, but cocaine disguised. He sued

for his money, and during the trial the police brought in Prothero's record. Needham let me copy it, and it

seems to embrace every crime except treason. The man is a Russian Jew. He was arrested and prosecuted in

Warsaw, Vienna, Berlin, Belgrade; all over Europe, until finally the police drove him to America. There he

was an editor of an anarchist paper, a blackmailer, a 'doctor' of hypnotism, a clairvoyant, and a professional

bigamist. His game was to open rooms as a clairvoyant, and advise silly women how to invest their money.

When he found out which of them had the most money, he would marry her, take over her fortune, and skip.

In Chicago, he was tried for poisoning one wife, and the trial brought out the fact that two others had died

under suspicious circumstances, and that there were three more unpoisoned but anxious to get back their

money. He was sentenced to ten years for bigamy, but pardoned because he was supposed to be insane, and

dying. Instead of dying, he opened a sanatorium in New York to cure victims of the drug habit. In reality, it

was a sort of highpriced opiumden. The place was raided, and he jumped his bail and came to this country.

Now he is running this private hospital in Sowell Street. Needham says it's a secret rendezvous for dope

fiends. But they are very highclass dope fiends, who are willing to pay for seclusion, and the police can't get

at him. I may add that he's tall and muscular, with a big black beard, and hands that could strangle a bull. In

Chicago, during the poison trial, the newspapers called him 'the Modern Bluebeard."'

For a short time Ford was silent. But, in the dark corner of the cab, Cuthbert could see that his cigar was

"Your friend seems a nice chap," said Ford at last. " Calling on him will be a real pleasure. I especially like

"I have a plan," began the assistant timidly, "a plan to get you into the houseif you don't mind my making

"Get me into the house by all means; that's what we're here for. The fact that I'm to be poisoned or strangled

"I thought," said Cuthbert, "I might stand guard outside, while you got in as a dope fiend."

"You certainly do not," he exclaimed regretfulIy. "But it's the only plan I could think of."

"It seems to me," said his chief testily, "that you are not so very healthylooking yourself. What's the matter

"But I wouldn't know what to do after I got inside," complained the assistant, "and you would. You are so

"I might do this," he said. "I might pretend I was recovering from a heavy spree, and ask to be taken care of

until I am sober. Or I could be a very good imitation of a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I haven't

been five years in the newspaper business without knowing all there is to know about nerves. That's it!" he

cried. "I will do that! And if Mr. Bluebeard Svengali, the Strangler of Paris person, won't take me in as a

patient, we'll come back with a couple of axes and BREAK in. But we'll try the nervous breakdown first, and

we'll try it now. I will be a naval officer," declared Ford. "I made the roundtheworld cruise with our fleet

as a correspondent, and I know enough sea slang to fool a medical man. I am a naval officer whose nerves

have gone wrong. I have heard of his sanatorium through" "How," asked Ford sharply, "have I heard of

"You saw his advertisement in the DAILY WORLD," prompted Cuthbert. "'Home of convalescents; mental

"And," continued Ford, "I have come to him for rest and treatment. My name is Lieutenant Henry Grant. I

arrived in London two weeks ago on the MAURETANIA. But my name was not on the passengerlist,

because I did not want the Navy Department to know I was taking my leave abroad. I have been stopping at

my own address in Jermyn Street, and my references are yourself, the Embassy, and my landlord. You will

telephone him at once that, if any one asks after Henry Grant, he is to say what you tell him to say. And if any

"I do not," said Ford. "But, if he takes me in, I must make a bluff of sending for my things. No; either I will

be turned out in five minutes, or if he accepts me as a patient I will be there until midnight. If I cannot get the

girl out of the house by midnight, it will mean that I can't get out myself, and you had better bring the police

Until twelve I want a chance to get this story exclusively for our paper. If she is not free by then it means I

have fallen down on it, and you and the police are to begin to batter in the doors."

The two young men left the cab, and at some distance from each other walked to Sowell Street. At the house

of Dr. Prothero, Ford stopped and rang the bell. From across the street Cuthbert saw the door open and the

figure of a man of almost gigantic stature block the doorway. For a moment he stood there, and then Cuthbert

saw him step to one side, saw Ford enter the house and the door close upon him. Cuthbert at once ran to a

telephone, and, having instructed Ford's landlord as to the part he was to play, returned to Sowell Street.

There, in a state nearly approaching a genuine nervous breakdown, he continued his vigil.

Even without his criminal record to cast a glamour over him, Ford would have found Dr. Prothero, a

disturbing person. His size was enormous, his eyes piercing, sinister, unblinking, and the hands that could

strangle a bull, and with which as though to control himself, he continually pulled at his black beard, were

gigantic, of a deadly white, with fingers long and prehensile. In his manner he had all the suave insolence of

the Oriental and the suspicious alertness of one constantly on guard, but also, as Ford at once noted, of one

wholly without fear. He had not been over a moment in his presence before the reporter felt that to

Prothero opened the door into a little office leading off the hall, and switched on the electric lights. For some

short time, without any effort to conceal his suspicion, he stared at Ford in silence.

Ford had already given his assumed name and profession, and he now ran glibly into the story he had

planned. He opened his cardcase and looked into it doubtfully. "I find I have no card with me," he said; but I

am, as I told you, Lieutenant Grant, of the United States Navy. I am all right physically, except for my

nerves. They've played me a queer trick. If the facts get out at home, it might cost me my commission. So I've

"I saw by your advertisement," said the reporter, "that you treated for nervous mental troubles. Mine is an

illusion," he went on. "I see things, or, rather, always one thinga battleship coming at us head on. For the

last year I've been executive officer of the KEARSARGE, and the responsibility has been too much for me."

"A phantom battleship," Ford explained, "a sort OF FLYING DUTCHMAN. The time I saw it I was on the

bridge, and I yelled and telegraphed the engineroom. I brought the ship to a full stop, and backed her. But it

was dirty weather, and the error was passed over. After that, when I saw the thing coming I did nothing. But

each time I think it is real." Ford shivered slightly and glanced about him. "Some day," he added fatefully, it

In silence, Prothero observed his visitor closely. The young man seemed sincere, genuine. His manner was

At this point, had Ford, regardless of terms, exhibited a hopeful eagerness to at once close with him, the Jew

would have shown him the door. But Ford was on guard, and well aware that a lieutenant in the navy had but

few guineas to throw away on medicines. He made a movement as though to withdraw.

Ford adopted opposite tactics. He was never without ready money. His paper saw to it that in its interests he

was always able at any moment to pay for a special train across Europe, or to bribe the entire working staff of

a cable office. From his breastpocket he took a blue linen envelope, and allowed the Jew to see that it was

I would give almost any price to the man who can cure me." The eyes of the Russian flashed avariciously.

"I will arrange the terms to suit you," he exclaimed. "Your case interests me. Do you See thismirage only at

"In any open place," Ford assured him. "In a park or public square, but of course most frequently at sea."

"I will remove the illusion," he said, "and give you others more pretty." He smiled meaningfullyan evil,

leering smile. "When will you come?" he asked. Ford glanced about him nervously.

"I shall stay now," he said. " I confess, in the streets and in my lodgings I am frightened. You give me

confidence. I want to stay near you. I feel safe with you. If you will give me writingpaper, I will send for my

For a moment the Jew hesitated, and then motioned to a desk. As Ford wrote, Prothero stood near him, and

the reporter knew that over his shoulder the Jew was reading what he wrote. Ford gave him the note,

"Tomorrow," he said, "I will call up our Embassy, and give my address to our Naval Attache.

From now you are in my hands, and you can communicate with the outside only through me. You are to have

absolute rest no books, no letters, no papers. And you will be fed from a spoon. I will explain my treatment

later. You will now go to your room, and you will remain there until you are a well man."

Ford had no wish to be at once shut off from the rest of the house. The odor of cooking came through the hall,

"I smell food," he laughed. "And I'm terrifically hungry. Can't I have a farewell dinner before you begin

The Jew was about to refuse, but, with his guilty knowledge of what was going forward in the house, he

could not be too sure of those he allowed to enter it. He wanted more time to spend in studying this new

patient, and the dinnertable seemed to offer a place where he could do so without the other suspecting he

"My associate and I were just about to dine," he said. "You will wait here until I have another place laid, and

He departed, walking heavily down the hall, but almost at once Ford, whose ears were alert for any sound,

heard him returning, approaching stealthily on tiptoe. If by this maneuver the Jew had hoped to discover his

patient in some indiscretion, he was unsuccessful, for he found Ford standing just where he had left him, with

his back turned to the door, and gazing with apparent interest at a picture on the wall. The significance of the

incident was not lost upon the intruder. It taught him he was still under surveillance, and that he must bear

himself warily. Murmuring some excuse for having returned, the Jew again departed, and in a few minutes

Ford heard his voice, and that of another man, engaged in low tones in what was apparently an eager

Only once was the voice of the other man raised sufficiently for Ford to distinguish his words. "He is an

Ford guessed that the speaker was Pearsall, and that against his admittance to the house he was making

earnest protest. A door, closing with a bang, shut off the argument, but within a few minutes it was evident

the Jew had carried his point, for he reappeared to announce that dinner was waiting. It was served in a room

at the farther end of the hall, and at the table, which was laid for three, Ford found a man already seated.

Prothero introduced him as "my associate," but from his presence in the house, and from the fact that he was

Pearsall was a man of fifty. He was tall, spare, with closely shaven face and gray hair, worn rather long. He

spoke with the accent of a Southerner, and although to Ford he was studiously polite, he was obviously

greatly ill at ease. He had the abrupt, inattentive manners, the trembling fingers and quivering lips, of one

who had long been a slave to the drug habit, and who now, with difficulty, was holding himself in hand.

Throughout the dinner, speaking to him as though, interested only as his medical advisers, the Jew, and

occasionally the American, sharply examined and crossexamined their visitor. But they were unable to trip

When the dinner was finished, the three men, for different reasons, were each more at his ease. Both Pearsall

and Prothero believed from the new patient they had nothing to fear, and Ford was congratulating himself

"I think," said Pearsall, "we should warn Mr. Grant that there are in the house other patients who, like

himself, are suffering from nervous disorders. At times some silly neurotic woman becomes hysterical, and

"That's all right!" Ford reassured him cheerfully. " I expect that. In a sanatorium it must be unavoidable."

As he spoke, as though by a signal prearranged, there came from the upper portion of the house a scream,

It was the voice of a woman, raised in appeal , in protest, shaken with fear. Without for an instant regarding

it, the two men fastened their eyes upon the visitor. The hand of the Jew dropped quickly from his beard, and

slid to the inside pocket of his coat. With eyes apparently unseeing, Ford noted the movement.

"He carries a gun," was his mental comment, "and he seems perfectly willing to use it." Aloud, he said:

Prothero nodded gravely, and turned to Pearsall. "Will you attend her?" he asked.

"You will come with me," he directed, "and I will see you settle in your apartment. Your bag has arrived and

The room to which the Jew led him was the front one on the second story. It was in no way in keeping with a

sanatorium, or a restcure. The walls were hidden by dark blue hangings, in which sparkled tiny mirrors, the

floor was covered with Turkish rugs, the lights concealed inside lamps of dull brass bedecked with crimson

tassels. In the air were the odors of stale tobaccosmoke, of cheap incense, and the sickly, sweet smell of

opium. To Ford the place suggested a cigardivan rather than a bedroom, and he guessed, correctly, that

when Prothero had played at palmistry and clairvoyance this had been the place where he received his dupes.

But the American expressed himself pleased with his surroundings, and while Prothero remained in the room,

On leaving him the Jew halted in the door and delivered himself of a little speech. His voice was stern, sharp,

"Until you are cured," he said, "you will not put your foot outside this room. In this house are other inmates

who, as you have already learned, are in a highly nervous state. The brains of some are unbalanced. With my

associate and myself they are familiar, but the sight of a stranger roaming through the halls might upset them.

They might attack you, might do you bodily injury. If you wish for anything, ring the electric bell beside your

He closed the door, and Ford, seating himself in front of the coal fire, hastily considered his position. He

could not persuade himself that, strategically, it was a satisfactory one. The girl he sought was on the top or

fourth floor, he on the second. To reach her he would have to pass through Well lighted halls, up two flights

Of stairs and try to enter a door that would undoubtedly be locked. On the other hand, instead of wandering

about in the rain outside the house, he was now established on the inside, and as an inmate. Had there been

time for a siege, he would have been confident of success. But there was no time. The written call for help

had been urgent. Also, the scream he had heard, while the manner of the two men had shown that to them it

was a commonplace, was to him a spur to instant action. In haste he knew there was the risk of failure, but he

He wished first to assure himself that Cuthbert was within call, and to that end put out the lights and drew

aside the curtains that covered the window. Outside, the fog was rolling between the housefronts, both rain

and snow were falling heavily, and a solitary gaslamp showed only a deserted and dripping street.

Cautiously Ford lit a match and for an instant let the flame flare. He was almost at once rewarded by the sight

of an answering flame that flickered from a dark doorway. Ford closed the window, satisfied that his line of

communication with the outside world was still intact. The faithful Cuthbert was on guard.

Ford rapidly reviewed each possible course of action. These were several, but to lead any one of them to

success, he saw that he must possess a better acquaintance with the interior of the house. Especially was it

important that he should obtain a line of escape other than the one down the stairs to the front door. The

knowledge that in the rear of the house there was a means of retreat by a servants' stairway, or over the roof

of an adjoining building, or by a friendly fire escape, would at least, lend him confidence in his adventure.

Accordingly, in spite of Prothero's threat, he determined at once to reconnoitre. In case of his being

discovered outside his room, he would explain his electric bell was out of order, that when he rang no servant

had answered, and that he had sallied forth in search of one. To make this plausible, he unscrewed the cap of

the electric button in the wall, and with his knife cut off enough of the wire to prevent a proper connection.

The upper part of the house was, sunk in silence, but rising from the diningroom below, through the opening

made by the stairs, came the voices of Prothero and Pearsall. And mixed with their voices came also the sharp

hiss of water issuing from a siphon. The sound was reassuring. Apparently, over their whiskeyandsoda the

two men were still lingering at the dinnertable. For the moment, thenso far, at least, as they were

Stepping cautiously, and keeping close to the wall, Ford ran lightly up the stairs to the hall of the third floor.

It was lit brightly by a gasjet, but no one was in sight, and the three doors opening upon it were shut. At the

rear of the hall was a window; the blind was raised, and through the panes, dripping in the rain, Ford caught a

glimpse of the rigid iron rods of a fireescape. His spirits leaped exultantly. If necessary, by means of this

scaling ladder, he could work entirely from the outside. Greatly elated, he tiptoed past the closed doors and

mounted to the fourth floor. This also was lit by a gasjet that showed at one end of the hall a table on which

were medicinebottles and a tray covered by a napkin; and at the other end, piled upon each other and

blocking the hallwindow, were three steamer trunks. Painted on each were the initials, "D. D." Ford

"Dosia Dale," he muttered, "I have found you!" He was again confronted by three closed doors, one leading

to a room that faced the street, another opening upon a room in the rear of the house, and opposite, across the

hallway, still another door. He observed that the first two doors were each fastened from the outside by bolts

and a spring lock, and that the key to each lock was in place. The fact moved him with indecision. If he took

possession of the keys, he could enter the rooms at his pleasure. On the other hand, should their loss be

discovered, an alarm would be raised and he would inevitably come under suspicion. The very purpose he

had in view might be frustrated. He decided that where they were the keys would serve him as well as in his

pocket, and turned his attention to the third door. This was not locked, and, from its position, Ford guessed it

Confident of this, he opened it, and found a dark, narrow landing, a flight of steps mounting from the kitchen

below, and, to his delight an iron ladder leading to a trapdoor. He could hardly forego a cheer. If the

trapdoor were not locked, he had found a third line of retreat, a means of escape by way of the roof, far

Ford stepped into the landing, closing the door behind him and though this left him in complete darkness, he

climbed the ladder, and with eager fingers felt for the fastenings of the trap. He had feared to find a padlock,

but, to his infinite relief, his fingers closed upon two bolts. Noiselessly, and smoothly, they drew back from

their sockets. Under the pressure of his hand the trap door lifted, and through the opening swept a breath of

Ford hooked one leg over a round of the ladder and, with hands frees moved the trap to one side. An instant

later he had scrambled to the roof, and, after carefully replacing the trap, rose and looked about him. To his

satisfaction, he found that the roof upon which he stood ran level with the roofs adjoining its to as far as

Devonshire Street, where they encountered the wall of an apartment house. This was of seven stories. On the

fifth story a row of windows, brilliantly lighted, opened upon the roofs over which he planned to make his

"Before long," he assured himself, I will be visiting the man who owns that flat. He will think I am a burglar.

He will send for the police. There is no one in the world I shall be so glad to see!"

Ford considered that running over roofs, even when their pitfalls were not concealed by a yellow fog, was an

awkward exercise, and decided that before he made his dash for freedom, the part of a careful jockey would

be to take a preliminary canter over the course. Accordingly, among party walls of brick, rainpipes,

chimneypipes, and telephone wires, he felt his way to the wall of the apartment house; and then, with a

clearer idea of the obstacles to be avoided, raced back to the point whence he had started.

Next, to discover the exact position of the fireescape, he dropped to his knees and crawled to the rear edge

of the roof. The light from the back windows of the fourth floor showed him an iron ladder from the edge of

the roof to the platform of the fireescape, and the platform itself, stretching below the windows the width of

the building. He gave a sigh of satisfaction, but the same instant exclaimed with dismay. The windows

opening upon the fireescape were closely barred. For a moment he was unable to grasp why a fireescape

should be placed where escape was impossible, until he recognized that the ladder must have been erected

first and the iron bars later; probably only since Miss Dale had been made a prisoner.

But he now appreciated that in spite of the iron bars he was nearer that prisoner than he had ever been.

Should he return to the hall below, even while he could unlock the doors, he was in danger of discovery by

those inside the house. But from the fireescape only a windowpane would separate him from the prisoner,

and though the bars would keep him at arm'slength, he might at least speak with her, and assure her that her

call for help had carried. He grasped the sides of the ladder and dropped to the platform. As he had already

seen that the window farthest to the left was barricaded with trunks, he disregarded it, and passed quickly to

the two others. Behind both of these, linen shades were lowered, but, to his relief, he found that in the middle

window the lower sash, as though for ventilation, was slightly raised, leaving an opening of a few inches.

Kneeling on the gridiron platform of the fireescape, and pressing his face against the bars, he brought his

eyes level with this opening. Owing to the lowered windowblind, he could see nothing in the room, nor

could he distinguish any sound until above the drip and patter of the rain there came to him the peaceful

ticking of a clock and the rattle of coal falling to the fender. But of any sound that was human there was none.

That the room was empty, and that the girl was in the front of the house was possible, and the temptation to

stretch his hand through the bars and lift the blind was almost compelling. If he did so, and the girl were

inside, she might make an outcry, or, guarding her, there might be an attendant, who at once would sound the

alarm. The risk was evident, but, encouraged by the silence, Ford determined to take the chance. Slipping one

hand between the bars he caught the end of the blind, and, pulling it gently down, let the spring draw it

upward. Through an opening of six inches the room lay open before him. He saw a door leading to another

room, at one side an iron cot, and in front of the coal fire, facing him, a girl seated in a deep armchair. A

The girl was young, and her face, in spite of an unnatural pallor and an expression of deep melancholy, was

one of extreme beauty. She wore over a nightdress a long loose wrapper corded at the waist, and, as though

in readiness for the night, her black hair had been drawn back into smooth, heavy braids. She made so sweet

and sad a picture that Ford forgot his errand, forgot his damp and chilled body, arid for a moment in sheer

A movement on the part of the girl brought him to his senses. She closed the book, and, leaning forward,

rested her chin upon the hollow of her hand and stared into the fire. Her look was one of complete and

hopeless misery. Ford did not hesitate. The girl was alone, but that at any moment an attendant might join her

was probable, and the rare chance that now offered would be lost. He did not dare to speak, or by any sound

attract her attention, but from his breast pocket he took the glove thrown to him from the window, and, with

a jerk, tossed it through the narrow opening. It fell directly at her feet. She had not seen the glove approach,

but the slight sound it made in falling caused her to start and turn her eyes toward it. Through the window,

For a moment, partly in alarm, partly in bewilderment, she sat motionless, regarding the glove with eyes

fixed and staring. Then she lifted them to the ceiling, in quick succession to each of the closed doors, and

then to the window. In his race across the roofs Ford had lacked the protection of a hat, and his hair was

plastered across his forehead; his face was streaked with soot and snow, his eyes shone with excitement. But

at sight of this strange apparition the girl made no sign. Her alert mind had in an instant taken in the

significance of the glove, and for her what followed could have but one meaning. She knew that no matter in

what guise he came the man whose face was now pressed against the bars was a friend.

With a swift, graceful movement she rose to her feet, crossed quickly to the window, and sank upon her

That her first thought was of his safety gave Ford a thrill of shame and pleasure.

Until now Miss Dosia Dale had been only the chief feature in a newspaper story; the unknown quantity in a

problem. She had meant no more to him than had the initials on her steamer trunk. Now, through her

beauty, through the distress in her eyes, through her warm and generous nature that had disclosed itself with

her first words, she became a living, breathing, lovely, and lovable woman. All of the young man's chivalry

leaped to the call. He had gone back several centuries. In feeling, he was a knighterrant rescuing beauty in

distress from a dungeon cell. To the girl, he was a reckless young person with a dirty face and eyes that gave

confidence. But, though a knighterrant, Ford was a modern knighterrant. He wasted no time in

"In two minutes," he whispered, " I'll unlock your door. There's a ladder outside your room to the roof. Once

we get to the roof the rest's easy. Should anything go wrong, I'll come back by this fireescape. Wait at the

The girl answered with an eager nod. The color had flown to her cheek. Her eyes flashed in excitement. A

The knighterrant ran up the fireescape, pulled himself over the edge of the roof, and, crossing it, dropped

through the trap to the landing of the kitchen stairs. Here he expended the greater part of the two minutes he

had allowed himself in cautiously opening the door into the hall. He accomplished this without a sound, and

Slowly he drew back the bolts. Only the spring lock now barred him from her. With thumb and forefinger he

At the same instant from behind him, within six feet of him, he heard the staircase creak. A bomb bursting

could not have shaken him more rudely. He swung on his heel and found, blocking the door, the giant bulk of

"Go back!" commanded Prothero. His voice was low and soft, and apparently calm, but his face showed

Ford had recovered from the shock of the surprise. He, also, was in a ragea rage of mortification and bitter

The sound of leaping footsteps and the voice of Pearsall echoed from the floor below.

Prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his pistol. When Pearsall was at his side, without turning his head,

"Never mind what you told me," said the Jew. "What shall we do with him? He knows!"

Ford's mind was working swiftly. He had no real fear of personal danger for the girl or himself. The Jew, he

argued, was no fool. He would not risk his neck by open murder. And, as he saw it, escape with the girl might

still be possible. He had only to conceal from Prothero his knowledge of the line of retreat over the

"Of course I know," he taunted. He pointed to his dripping garments. "Do you know where I've been? In the

street, placing my men. I have this house surrounded. I am going to walk down those stairs with this young

"And I will blow your brains out!" interrupted the Jew. It was a most unsatisfactory climax.

"You have not been in the street," said Prothero. "You are wet because you hung out of your window

signalling to your friend. Do you know why he did not answer your second signal? Because he is lying in an

"YOU lie," retorted the Jew quietly, "when you say your men surround this house. You are alone. You are

NOT in the police service, you are a busybody meddling with men who think as little of killing you as they

did of killing your friend. My servant was placed to watch your window, saw your signal, reported to me.

Ford felt the story was untrue. Prothero was trying to frighten him. Out of pure bravado no sane man would

boast of murder. Butand at the thought Ford felt a touch of real fearwas the man sane? It was a most

unpleasant contingency. Between a fight with an angry man and an insane man the difference was

appreciable. From this new viewpoint Ford regarded his adversary with increased wariness; he watched him

"I found him," he recited, as though testing the story he would tell later, "prowling through my house at night.

Mistaking him for a burglar, I killed him. The kitchen window will be found open, with the lock broken,

Exactly !" he cried. "The man outside, who is not down an area with a knife in him, but who at this moment

"What they may say he expected to find here, I can explain away later. The point is that I found a strange

man, hatless, dishevelled, prowling in my house. I called on him to halt; he ran, I fired, and unfortunately

"An English jury," said Ford briskly, "is the last thing you want to meet It isn't a Chicago jury."

"Ah!" he purred, "you know that, too, do you?" The purr increased to a snarl. "You know too much!"

For Pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarming meaning. He sprang toward Prothero, and laid both hands

"For God's sake," he pleaded, "come away! He can't hurt you not alive; but dead, he'll hang youhang us

both. We must go, now, this moment." He dragged impotently at the left arm of the giant. "Come!" he

Whether moved by Pearsall's words or by some thought of his own, Prothero nodded in assent. He addressed

"I don't know what to do with you," he said, "so I will consult with my friend outside this door. While we

talk, we will lock you in. We can hear any move you make. If you raise the window or call I will open the

With a quick gesture, he swung to the door, and the spring lock snapped. An instant later the bolts were

Outside the locked door the voices of the two men rose in fierce whispers. But Ford regarded them not at all.

With the swiftness of a squirrel caught in a cage, he darted on tiptoe from side to side searching the confines

The girl nodded and, in pantomime that spoke of failure, shrugged her shoulders.

"Scissors," she said; "but they found them and took them away." Ford pointed at the open grate.

The man gave her a quick, pleased glance, then turned his eyes to the door that led into the room that looked

"No," the girl told him. "But the door from it into the hall is fastened, like the other, with a spring lock and

Ford cautiously opened the door into the room adjoining, and, except for a bed and washstand, found it

empty. On tiptoe he ran to the windows. Sowell Street was deserted. He returned to Miss Dale, again closing

"The nurse," Miss Dale whispered, "when she is on duty, leaves that door open so that she can watch me;

when she goes downstairs, she locks and bolts the door from that room to the hall. It's locked now."

The girl gave a shudder that seemed to Ford sufficiently descriptive. Her lips tightened in a hard, straight line.

"She's not human," she said. "I begged her to help me, appealed to her in every way; then I tried a dozen

She bent suddenly forward and, with her hand on his shoulder, turned the man so that he faced the cot.

"The mattress on that bed," she whispered, rests on two iron rods. They are loose and can be lifted. I planned

to smash the lock, but the noise would have brought Prothero. But you could defend yourself with one of

Ford had already run to the cot and dropped to his knees. He found the mattress supported on strips of iron

resting loosely in sockets at the head and foot. He raised the one nearer him, and then, after a moment of

"That's fine!" he whispered. "Good as a crowbar.'" He shook his head in sudden indecision. "But I don't just

know how to use it. His automatic could shoot six times before I could swing that thing on him once. And if I

have it in my hands when he opens the door, he'll shoot, and he may hit you. But if I leave it where it is, he

In complete disapproval the girl shook her head. Her eyes filled with concern. "You must not fight him," she

ordered. I mean, not for me. You don't know the danger. The man's not sane. He won't give you a chance.

He's mad. You have no right to risk your life for a stranger. I'll not permit it"

Ford held up his hand for silence. With a jerk of his head he signified the door. "They've stopped talking," he

Straining to hear, the two leaned forward, but from the hall there came no sound. The girl raised her

In answer to his doubt a smart rap, as though from the butt of a revolver, fell upon the door. The voice of

Before answering, Ford drew Miss Dale and himself away from the line of the door, and so placed the girl

with her back to the wall that if the door opened she would be behind it. "Yes," he answered.

"Pearsall and I" called Prothero, "have decided how to dispose of youof both of you. He has gone below to

make preparations. I am on guard. If you try to break out or call for help, I'll shoot you as I warned you!"

"And I warn you," shouted Ford, "if this lady and I do not instantly leave this house, or if any harm comes to

"My friends," retorted Ford. "They know I am in this house. They know WHY I am here. Unless they see

Miss Dale and myself walk out of it in safety, they will never let you leave it. Don't be a fool, Prothero!" he

shouted. "You know I am telling the truth. You know your only chance for mercy is to open that door and let

After another minute of silence, Ford turned and gazed inquiringly at Miss Dale.

Again for a full minute he waited and again called, and then, as there still was no reply, he struck the door

sharply with his knuckles. On the instant the voice of the Jew rang forth in an angry bellow.

"Now, why the devil didn't he answer?" he whispered. "Was it because he wasn't there; or is he planning to

steal away and wants us to think that even if he does not answer, he's still outside?" The girl nodded eagerly.

"This is it," she whispered. "My uncle is a coward or rather he is very wise, and has left the house. And

Prothero means to follow, but he wants us to think he's still on guard. If we only KNEW!" she exclaimed.

"Don't speak to me again," he warned. "If you do, I'll not answer, or I'll shoot!"

Flattened against the wall, close to the hinges of the door, Ford replied flippantly and defiantly:

There was a bursting report, and a bullet splintered the panel of the door, flattened itself against the fireplace,

Ford pressed his lips tightly together. Whatever happy retort may have risen to them was forever lost. For an

Ford still resisted any temptation to reply. He grinned apologetically at the girl and shrugged his shoulders.

Ford glanced at the bullethole in the panel of the door. It was on a line with his heart. He looked at Miss

Dale; her shoulder was on a level with his own, and her eyes were following his.

"In case he does that again," said Ford, "we would be more comfortable sitting down."

With their shoulders against the wall, the two young people sank to the floor. The position seemed to appeal

"To a spectator," whispered Ford encouragingly, "we MIGHT appear to be getting the worst of this. But, as a

matter of fact, every minute Cuthbert does not come means that the next minute may bring him."

"No," said Ford. "I believe Prothero found him, and I believe there may have been a fight. But you heard

what Pearsall said: 'The man outside will tell.' If Cuthbert's in a position to tell, he is not down an area with a

He was interrupted by a faint report from the lowest floor, as though the door to the street had been sharply

The report did not suggest to him the slamming of a door, but he saw no reason for saying so to the girl.

With his fingers locked across his knees, Ford was leaning forward, his eyes frowning, his lips tightly shut.

At his side the girl regarded him covertly. His broad shoulders, almost touching hers, his strong jaw

projecting aggressively, and the alert, observant eyes gave her confidence. For three weeks she had been

making a fight singlehanded. But she was now willing to cease struggling and relax. Quite happily she

placed herself and her safety in the keeping of a stranger. Half to herself, half to the man, she murmured: "It

"No such luck," he corrected grimly. "That young man was given a choice. The moment he was willing to

marry the girl he could have walked out of the room free. I do not recall Prothero's saying I can escape death

"No," she said; "you are not at all like that young man. He stumbled in by chance. You came on purpose to

"It was not," returned Ford. "My motive was absolutely selfish. It was not to help you I came, but to be able

to tell about it later. It is my business to do that. And before I saw you, it was all in the day's work. But after I

saw you it was no longer a part of the day's work; it became a matter of a life time."

The girl at his side laughed softly and lightly. "A lifetime is not long," she said, "when you are locked in a

"Whether it lasts an hour or many years, said Ford, "it can mean to me now only one thing" He turned

The girl did not avoid his eyes, but returned his glance with one as steady as his own. "You are an amusing

person," she said. "Do you feel it is necessary to keep up my courage with pretty speeches?"

"I made no pretty speech," said Ford. "I proclaimed a fact. You are the most charming person that ever came

into my life, and whether Prothero shoots us up, or whether we live to get back to God's country, you will

The girl pretended to consider his speech critically. "It would be almost a compliment," she said, "if it were

"I know this much of you, " returned Ford, calmly; "I know you are fine and generous, for your first speech to

me, in spite of your own danger, was for my safety. I know you are brave, for I see you now facing death

He was again suddenly halted by, two sharp reports. They came from the room directly below them. It was no

They waited breathlessly for what might follow: an outcry, the sound of a body falling, a third pistolshot.

"If you really think we are in such danger," declared Miss Dale, "we are wasting time!"

"We are NOT wasting time," protested Ford; "we are really gaining time, for each minute Cuthbert and the

police are drawing nearer, and to move about only invites a bullet. And, what is of more importance," he

went on quickly, as though to turn her mind from the mysterious pistolshots, "should we get out of this

alive, I shall already have said what under ordinary conditions I might not have found the courage to tell you

in many months." He waited as though hopeful of a reply, but Miss Dale remained silent. "They say,"

continued Ford, "when a man is drowning his whole life passes in review. We are drowning, and yet I find I

can see into the past no further than the last halfhour. I find life began only then, when I looked through the

With the palm of her hand the girl struck the floor sharply. "This is neither the time," she exclaimed, "nor the

"I did not choose the place," Ford pointed out. "It was forced upon me with a gun. But the TIME is excellent.

"You certainly have a strange sense of humor," she said, "but when you are risking your life to help me, how

"Of course you can't," Ford agreed heartily; "you could not be so conventional."

"But I AM conventional!" protested Miss Dale. "And I am not USED to having young men tell me they have

'come into my life to stay'certainly not young men who come into my life by way of a trapdoor, and

without an introduction, without a name, without even a hat! It's absurd! It's not real! It's a nightmare!"

"The whole situation is absurd!" Ford declared. "Here we are in the heart of London, surrounded by

telephones, taxicabs, policeat least, hope we are surrounded by police and yet we are crawling around the

floor on our hands and knees dodging bullets. I wish it were a nightmare. But, as it's not"he rose to his

"You, navy officer!" he panted. "Come to the door! Stand close to it so that I needn't shout. Come, quick!"

Ford made no answer. Motioning to Miss Dale to remain where she was, he ran noiselessly to the bed, and

from beneath the mattress lifted one of the iron bars upon which it rested. Grasping it at one end, he swung

the bar swiftly as a man tests the weight of a baseball bat. As a weapon it seemed to satisfy him, for he

smiled. Then once more he placed himself with his back to the wall. "Do you hear me?" roared Prothero.

"I hear you!" returned Ford. "If you want to talk to me, open the door and come inside."

"Listen to me," called Prothero. "If I open the door you may act the fool, and I will have to shoot you, and I

have made up my mind to let you live. You will soon have this house to yourselves. In a few moments I will

leave it, but where I am going I'll need money, and I want the banknotes in that blue envelope." Ford swung

"Don't trifle with me!" roared the Jew, "I may change my mind. Shove the money through the crack under the

"If, in one minute," shouted Prothero, "I don't see the money coming through that crack, I'll begin shooting

Resting the bar in the crook of his elbow, Ford snatched the banknotes from the envelope, and, sticking

them in his pocket, placed the empty envelope on the floor. Still keeping out of range, and using his iron bar

as a croupier uses his rake, he pushed the envelope across the carpet and under the door. When half of it had

An instant later there was a scream of anger and on a line where Ford would have been, had he knelt to shove

At the same moment the girl caught him by the wrist. Unheeding the attack upon the door, her eyes were

fixed upon the windows. With her free hand she pointed at the one at which Ford had first appeared. The

blind was still raised a few inches, and they saw that the night was lit with a strange and brilliant radiance.

The storm had passed, and from all the houses that backed upon the one in which they were prisoners lights

blazed from every window, and in each were crowded many people, and upon the rooftops in silhouette

from the glare of the street lamps below, and in the yards and clinging to the walls that separated them, were

hundreds of other dark, shadowy groups changing and swaying. And from them rose the confused,

inarticulate, terrifying murmur of a mob. It was as though they were on a racetrack at night facing a great

grandstand peopled with an army of ghosts. With the girl at his side, Ford sprang to the window and threw up

the blind, and as they clung to the bars, peering into the night, the light in the room fell full upon them. And

in an instant from the windows opposite, from the yards below, and from the housetops came a savage,

exultant yell of welcome, a confusion of cries' orders, entreaties, a great roar of warning. At the sound, Ford

"Cuthbert has raised the neighborhood!" shouted Ford jubilantly. "Or else"he cried in sudden

The girl stopped him with a low cry of fear. She thrust her arms between the bars and pointed. In the yard

below them was the sloping roof of the kitchen. It stretched from the house to the wall of the back yard.

Above the wall from the yard beyond rose a ladder, and, face down upon the roof, awry and sprawling. were

the motionless forms of two men. Their shining capes and heavy helmets proclaimed their calling.

"The police!" exclaimed Ford. "And the shots we thought were for those in the house were for THEM! This

is what has happened," he whispered eagerly: " Prothero attacked Cuthbert. Cuthbert gets away and goes to

the police. He tells them you are here a prisoner, that I am here probably a prisoner, and of the attack upon

himself. The police try to make an entrance from the streetthat was the first shot we heardand are driven

back; then they try to creep in from the yard, and those poor devils were killed."

As he spoke a sudden silence had fallen, a silence as startling as had been the shout of warning. Some fresh

attack upon the house which the prisoners could not see, but which must be visible to those in the houses

"Perhaps they are on the roof,"' whispered Ford joyfully. "They'll be through the trap in a minute, and you'll

She also spoke in a whisper, as though she feared Prothero might hear her. And with her hand she again

pointed. Cautiously above the top of the ladder appeared the head and shoulders of a man. He wore a

policeman's helmet, but, warned by the fate of his comrades, he came armed. Balancing himself with his left

hand on the rung of the ladder, he raised the other and pointed a revolver. It was apparently at the two

"Standstill!" commanded Ford. "He knows who YOU are! You heard that yell when they saw you? They

know you are the prisoner, and they are glad you're still alive. That officer is aiming at the window BELOW

From the window directly beneath them came the crash of a rifle, and from the top of the ladder the revolver

of the police officer blazed in the darkness. Again the rifle crashed, and the man on the ladder jerked his

hands above his head and pitched backward. Ford looked into the face of the girl and found her eyes filled

"Where is my uncle, Pearsall?" she faltered. "He has two riflesfor shooting in Scotland. Was that a rifle

Even as he spoke the voice of the Jew rose in a shriek from the floor below them, but not from the window

below them. The sound was from the front room opening on Sowell Street. In the awed silence that had

suddenly fallen his shrieks carried sharply. They were more like the snarls and ravings of an animal than the

Each word was punctuated by the report of his automatic, and to the amazement of Ford, was instantly

With Miss Dale at his side, he ran into the front room, and, raising the blind, appeared at the window. And

instantly, as at the other end of the house, there was, at sight of the woman's figure, a tumult of cries, a shout

of warning, and a great roar of welcome. From beneath them a man ran into the deserted street, and in the

glare of the gaslamp Ford saw his white, upturned face. He was without a hat and his head was circled by a

bandage. But Ford recognized Cuthbert. "That's Ford!" he cried, pointing. "And the girl's with him!" He

turned to a group of men crouching in the doorway of the next house to the one in which Ford was

"The girl's alive!" The words were caught up and flung from window to window, from housetop to

Below them, Sowell Street, glistening with rain and snow, lay empty, but at either end of it, held back by an

army of police, were black masses of men, and beyond them more men packed upon the tops of taxicabs and

hansoms, stretching as far as the streetlamps showed, and on the roofs shadowy forms crept cautiously from

chimney to chimney; and in the windows of darkened rooms opposite, from behind barricades of mattresses

and upturned tables, rifles appeared stealthily, to be lost in a sudden flash of flame. And with these flashes

were others that came from windows and roofs with the report of a bursting bomb, and that, on the instant,

"They're taking flashlight photographs" he cried jubilantly. "Well done, you Pressmen!" The instinct of the

reporter became compelling. "If they're alive to develop those photographs tonight," he exclaimed eagerly,

"Cuthbert will send them by special messenger, in time to catch the MAURETANIA and the REPUBLIC will

have them by Sunday. I mayn't be alive to see them," he added regretfully, "but what a feature for the Sunday

As the eyes of the two prisoners became accustomed to the darkness, they saw that the street was not, as at

first they had supposed, entirely empty. Directly below them in the gutter, where to approach it was to invite

instant death from Prothero's pistol, lay the dead body of a policeman, and at the nearer end of the street, not

fifty yards from them, were three other prostrate forms. But these forms were animate, and alive to good

purpose. From a publichouse on the corner a row of yellow lamps showed them clearly. Stretched on pieces

of board, and mats commandeered from hallways and cabs, each of the three men lay at full length, nursing a

rifle. Their belted gray overcoats, flat, visored caps, and the set of their shoulders marked them for soldiers.

"For the love of Heaven!" exclaimed Ford incredulously, "they've called out the Guards!"

As unconcernedly as though facing the butts at a riflerange, the three sharpshooters were firing

pointblank at the windows from which Prothero and Pearsall were waging their war to the death upon the

instruments of law and order. Beside them, on his knees in the snow, a young man with the silver hilt of an

officer's sword showing through the slit in his greatcoat, was giving commands; and at the other end of the

street, a brother officer in evening dress was directing other sharpshooters, bending over them like the coach

of a tugofwar team, pointing with whitegloved fingers. On the side of the street from which Prothero was

firing, huddled in a doorway, were a group of officials, inspectors of police, fire chiefs in brass helmets, more

officers of the Guards in bearskins, and, wrapped in a fur coat, the youthful Horne Secretary. Ford saw him

wave his arm, and at his bidding the cordon of police broke, and slowly forcing its way through the mass of

people came a huge touringcar, its two blazing eyes sending before it great shafts of light. The driver of the

car wasted no time in taking up his position. Dashing halfway down the street, he as swiftly backed the

automobile over the gutter and up on the sidewalk, so that the lights in front fell full on the door of No. 40.

Then, covered by the fire from the roofs, he sprang to the lamps and tilted them until they threw their shafts

into the windows of the third story. Prothero's hidingplace was now as clearly exposed as though it were

held in the circle of a spotlight, and at the success of the maneuver the great mob raised an applauding

cheer. But the triumph was brief. In a minute the blazing lamps had been shattered by bullets, and once more,

save for the fierce flashes from rifles and pistols, Sowell Street lay in darkness.

"Those men below," he said, "are mad. Prothero's always been mad, and your Pearsall is mad with drugs.

And the sight of blood has made them maniacs. They know they now have no chance to live. There's no fear

or hope to hold them, and one life more or less means nothing. If they should return here"

"I'm going to try to break down the door and get to the roof," explained Ford. "My hope is that this attack will

"They may take it into their crazy heads to do that, anyway," protested Ford, "so the sooner I get you away,

the better. I've only to smash the panels close to the bolts, put my arm through the hole, and draw the bolts

back. Then, another blow on the spring lock when the firing is loudest, and we are in the hall. Should

anything happen to me, you must know how to make your escape alone. Across the hall is a door leading to

an iron ladder. That ladder leads to a trapdoor. The trap door is open. When you reach the roof, run

"I am not going without you," said Miss Dale quietly; "not after what you have done for me."

"I haven't done anything for you yet," objected Ford. "But in case I get caught I mean to make sure there will

He pulled his pencil and a letter from his pocket, and on the back of the envelope wrote rapidly: "I will try to

get Miss Dale up through the trap in the roof. You can reach the roof by means of the apartment house in

In the groups of officials half hidden in the doorway farther down the street, he could make out the bandaged

head of Cuthbert. "Cuthbert!" he called. Weighting the envelope with a coin, he threw it into the air. It fell in

the gutter, under a lamppost, and full in view, and at once the two madmen below splashed the street around

it with bullets. But, indifferent to the bullets, a policeman sprang from a dark areaway and flung himself upon

it. The next moment he staggered. Then limping, but holding himself erect, he ran heavily toward the group

of officials. The Home Secretary snatched the envelope from him, and held it toward the light.

In his desire to learn if his message had reached those on the outside, Ford leaned far over the sill of the

window. His imprudence was all but fatal. From the roof opposite there came a sudden yell of warning, from

directly below him a flash, and a bullet grazed his forehead and shattered the windowpane above him. He

was deluged with a shower of broken glass. Stunned and bleeding, he sprang back.

"It's nothing!" stammered Ford. "It only means I must waste no more time." He balanced his iron rod as he

With the bar raised high, his muscles on a strain, he stood alert and poised, waiting for a shot from the room

below to call forth an answering volley from the housetops. But no sound came from below. And the

Ford's muscles relaxed, and he lowered his weapon. He turned his eyes inquiringly to the girl. "What's THIS

"They're short of ammunition," said the girl, in a tone as low as his own; "or they are coming HERE."

With a peremptory gesture, Ford waved her toward the room adjoining and then ran to the window.

The girl was leaning forward with her face close to the door. She held the finger of one hand to her lips. With

"Some one is moving in the hall," she whispered. "Perhaps they are escaping by the roof? No, "she corrected

herself. "They seem to be running down the stairs again. Now they are coming back. Do you hear?" she

asked. " It sounds like some one running up and down the stairs. What can it mean?"

From the direction of the staircase Ford heard a curious creaking sound as of many light footsteps. He gave a

"The police!" he shouted jubilantly. "They've entered through the roof, and they're going to attack in the rear.

He sprang away from the door and, with two swinging blows, smashed the broad panel. And then, with a cry,

he staggered backward. Full in his face, through the break he had made, swept a hot wave of burning cinders.

Through the broken panel he saw the hall choked with smoke, the steps of the staircase and the stairrails

"The house is on fire!" he cried. "They've taken to the roof and set fire to the stairs behind them!" With the

full strength of his arms and shoulders he struck and smashed the iron bar against the door. But the bolts held,

and through each fresh opening he made in the panels the burning cinders, drawn by the draft from the

windows, swept into the room. From the street a mighty yell of consternation told them the fire had been

discovered. Miss Dale ran to the window, and the yell turned to a great cry of warning. The air was rent with

frantic voices. "Jump!" cried some. "Go back!" entreated others. The fire chief ran into the street directly

below her and shouted at her through his hands. "Wait for the life net!" he commanded. "Wait for the

Through the jagged opening in the door he thrust his arm and jerked free the upper bolt. An instant later he

had kicked the lower panel into splinters and withdrawn the second bolt, and at last, under the savage

onslaught of his iron bar, the spring lock flew apart. The hall lay open before him. On one side of it the

burning staircase was a well of flame; at his feet, the matting on the floor was burning fiercely. He raced into

the bedroom and returned instantly, carrying a blanket and a towel dripping with water. He pressed the towel

across the girl's mouth and nostrils. "Hold it there!" he commanded. Blinded by the bandage, Miss Dale could

see nothing, but she felt herself suddenly wrapped in the blanket and then lifted high in Ford's arms. She gave

a cry of protest, but the next instant he was running with her swiftly while the flames from the stairwell

scorched her hair. She was suddenly tumbled to her feet, the towel and blanket snatched away, and she saw

Ford hanging from an iron ladder holding out his hand. She clasped it, and he drew her after him, the flames

But an instant later the cold night air smote her in the face, from hundreds of hoarse throats a yell of welcome

At the same moment the lifting fireladder reached the sill of the thirdstory window, and a fireman,

shielding his face from the flames, peered into the blazing room. What he saw showed him there were no

lives to rescue. Stretched on the floor, with their clothing in cinders and the flames licking at the flesh, were

A bullethole in the forehead of each showed that self destruction and cremation had seemed a better choice

On the roof above, two young people stood breathing heavily and happily, staring incredulously into each

other's eyes. Running toward them across the roofs, stumbling and falling, were many bluecoated, helmeted

"How can I tell you?" whispered the girl quickly. "How can I ever thank you? And I was angry," she

exclaimed, with self reproach. "I did not understand you." She gave a little sigh of content. "Now I think I

The young man seemed to have lost his confidence. For a moment he was silent. "The name's all right!" he

said finally. His voice was still a little shaken, a little tremulous. "I only hope you'll like it. It's got to last you