[415] D. M. Manni, _Sigilli antichi_, xix. 127; xx. 39. Poccianti:
_Chronicon rerum s. ord. Servorum B. M. Virginis_, Flor. 1569, p. 3.
In Florence there are still a few memorials of the Laudesi. On the
Cathedral (formerly Sta. Reparata) is an inscription on the side turned
towards the Campanile: ‘S. Societatis Laudensium B. M. Virginis qui
congregantur in ecclesia Ste. Reparate, anno Dom. MCCCX. de mense
Novemb.’ (see _Firenze, antica e moderna illustrata_, ii. 112). In Via
dello Pappe, now Via Folco Portinari: ‘Questa casa è de la compagnia de
Laudesi di Sancta Maria che si raguna in Sancta Liperata.’ The chapel
of the Laudesi of Sta. Croce was where the splendid Niccolini chapel
began to be built in 1585 (F. Moisè, _Santa Croce di Firenze_ p. 198).
In the _Decameron_ (Giorn. vii. Nov. 1) the Laudesi of Sta. Maria
Novella and their good-natured superintendent, Gianni Lottaringhi,
is mentioned (D. M. Manni, _Istoria del Decamerone_, p. 460; Fr.
Sansovino, in his edition of the _Decameron_, Ven. 1549); see Fr.
Cionacci, _Rime sacre di Lorenzo de’ Medici_, 2nd edit. Bergamo, 1760,
p. xxi.

[416] _Laudi spirituali del Bianco da Siena povero Gesuato del sec.
XIV._ (edited by Telesforo Bini), Lucca, 1851. Feo Belcari’s _Vita del
B. Giovanni Columbini et di alcuni Jesuati_, composed in 1448, but
first printed towards 1480 (Gamba, _Testi di lingua_, 100 _seq._). On
the Jesuates, G. B. Uccelli, _I Convento di S. Giusto alla mura e i
Gesuati_, Flor. 1865; see ii. 163. The order was dissolved in 1668 by
Pope Clement IX.

[417] The most perfect collection of Lauds, especially of the
fourteenth century, including Belcari, Lorenzo de’ Medici and his
mother, &c., is called _Laude spirituali di Feo Belcari, di Lorenzo
de’ Medici, di Francesco d’Albizzo, di Castellano Castellani, e di
altri, comprese nelle quattro più antiche raccolte, con alcune inedite
e con nuove illustrazioni_ (by G. C. Galletti), Florence 1863, with
woodcuts. On the older editions, see Gamba, _Testi di Lingua_, 105
_seq._, 576 _seq._ The hymns of Ugo Panziera were printed by P. Fanfani
in the translation of Ozanam’s _Poëtes Franciscains_, Prato, 1854,
and C. Guasti, _I Cantici spirituali del B. Ugo Panziera da Prato de’
Frati Minori_, Prato 1861 (_Miscellanea Pratese_, No. iii.). Another
collection of hymns to the Virgin and the Saints, edited by Eug.
Cecconi: _Laudi di una Compagnia fiorentina del secolo XIV_, Florence
1870.

[418] D. Moreni, _Lettere di Feo Belcari_, Flor. 1825. The most
complete account of the mysteries, in the literature of which Feo
Belcari takes an important place, is given by Colombs de Batines,
_Bibliografia delle antiche rappresentazioni italiane sacre e profane
stampate nei secoli XV e XIV_ in P. Fanfani’s _Etruria_, ii. (Flor.
1852), 193. A copious collection of these mysteries was published by
Alessandro d’Ancona: _Sacre Rappresentazioni dei secoli XIV, XV, XVI_,
Flor. 1872, three vols.; see J. L. Klein, _Geschichte der Drama_, iv.
Leipsig, 1866.

[419] See Mazzuchelli, _Scrittori d’Italia_, vol. ii. div. ii. p. 860
_seq._ for list of his writings.

[420] Florence, November 1, 1530, in G. Milanesi’s edition of the
_Varchi_.

[421] In _San Marco_. Inscription of the two graves:—

JOANNES IACET HIC MIRANDULA CETERA NORUNT ET TAGUS ET GANGES FORSAN ET
ANTIPODES. OBITT AN. SAL. MCCCCLXXXXIV. VIXIT AN. XXXIII. HIERONYMUS
BENIVENIUS NE DISIUNCTUS POST MORTEM LOCUS OSSA TENERET QUORUM IN
VITA ANIMOS CONJUNXIT AMOR HAC HUMO SUPPOSITA PONENDUM CUR. OBIIT AN.
MDILII. VIXIT AN. LXXXIX.

[422] See the oldest edition of the _Laudi di Feo Belcari_, Florence
1485, printed three years after Lucrezia’s death, and Fr. Cionacci’s
_Rime sacre di Lorenzo de’ Medici unitamente a quelle di Madonna
Lucrezia sua madre_, Flor. 1680 and Bergamo 1760, as well as the
Galletti collection before mentioned. Crescimbeni (_Della volgar
poesia_, ii. 277) is inclined to place Lucrezia above most, if not all,
poets of her time; but Crescimbeni is a weak critic. The _Lauds_ begin:
(I.) ‘Ecco ’l Messia’ (resembling the ‘Venite adoremus’ of the Church);
(II.) ‘Venite pastori’; (III.) ‘Contempla le mie pene o peccatore;’
(IV.) ‘Ecco il Re forte;’ (V.) ‘Vien il messagio;’ (VI.) ‘Ben venga
Osanna.’

                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.


closed the door, and followed her. Grace braced herself for a possible
attack, but none came.

"Sit down," her hostess said, indicating a chair.

"No. It is too late for that. If you care to subscribe anything----"

"But you must tell me more about your work."

"It is very simple. The money is expended by the Polish Relief
Committee, to relieve the starving and destitute sufferers in the war
zone."

"I see. It seems a worthy charity. I will think the matter over. Suppose
you call again."

Grace began to breathe more freely.

"I will do so, of course," she said, moving toward the door.

The woman preceded her.

"Let me open it," she said. "The catch has a habit of sticking." She
fumbled with the lock.

Grace was so completely deceived by the woman's actions that she
momentarily relaxed her guard. As her companion drew the door open,
Grace bade her good night and started to go. The instant her back was
turned, she felt a slender but muscular arm slide about her neck, and
she was instantly dragged backward, unable, on account of the pressure
upon her throat, to utter a sound.

Her attempt at a cry for help was smothered before it became audible.
She saw, as in a dream, the woman before her drive the door to with her
shoulder. Then she was whirled backward and thrown violently upon a low
couch.

She grasped the arm of her assailant and struggled with all her might,
but to no purpose. The woman bent over her, her hands at her throat.
Grace's brain reeled. Everything seemed black before her eyes. She
gasped, trying in vain to breathe, but the fingers upon her throat were
momentarily tightening. Then, almost before she realized it, the objects
in the room swam vaguely before her eyes, and she lost consciousness.

PART IV

CHAPTER XVII

Duvall, on his arrival with Mrs. Morton at her apartment, lost no time
in finding out from the clerk just what had happened. The story, pieced
together, confirmed his worst suspicions.

The woman, after escaping from the house at 162 West 57th Street, had
gone at once to Ruth's hotel, followed by Grace. Here she had
interviewed Mrs. Morton, represented herself as Grace Duvall, and
induced Mrs. Morton to leave the hotel by giving her a fictitious
message purporting to be from himself.

Returning, later, to the hotel, she had gone to Ruth Morton's room and
attacked her. The nature of that attack, the effect upon the girl, were
as yet uncertain. Ruth Morton was still unconscious.

Meanwhile, as he learned from the clerk, Grace had received a telephone
message and hurriedly left the hotel. The clerk did not know from whom
the message had come.

Duvall went to Ruth Morton's bedroom, and called the doctor aside.

"What is the exact nature of Miss Morton's injuries?" he asked.

"She has no injuries, at least in the sense I think you mean. She is
suffering solely from the effects of shock."

"What sort of shock?"

"I do not know, of course. Fright, of some sort, terrible fright, I
should say. I am informed that some woman, some enemy of hers, came to
this room, and was alone with her."

"There is no evidence of any violence?"

"None whatever. But the effects of shock are often worse than those of
actual physical violence. They have frequently been known to cause
death."

"You do not, I hope, anticipate anything of the sort in this case."

"I cannot say." The doctor shook his head. "She must have been very
weak. Her system is responding very slowly."

Duvall glanced over to where Mrs. Morton hung in agonized silence over
her daughter's bed, then went out into the sitting room. It seemed to
him well nigh incredible that the woman responsible for all this had
been able to move about, to elude pursuit, to carry out her threats,
apparently without the least hesitation or fear of capture. His
professional pride had received severe shock.

Two means of finding the woman, he felt, were still open to him. One was
to trace her through Miss Ford. He did not doubt that, after what he had
said to the latter, she would make an immediate attempt to warn her
confederate of the danger that threatened her. Of course, the Ford girl
might communicate with her companion by telephone, in which event the
tracing would be difficult, if not impossible.

The other hope of tracing the woman lay in Grace. Why had she left the
hotel so suddenly? He did not of course know the source of the telephone
message, and could only surmise that Grace had in some way been able to
pick up the woman's trail.

Leaving Mrs. Morton with a few words of encouragement, he made his way
to his hotel. There was no news there of Grace, however, and he realized
that it was now too late to accomplish anything by returning to the
house on 57th Street. Marcia Ford would either have long since retired,
or else would have left the house to communicate with the woman who had
been with her earlier in the evening. Considerably upset by the events
of the past three hours, Duvall retired to his room, and sat down to
think the whole matter over.

Proceeding on the assumption that the woman in question, and Miss Ford
were acting together, all the events at the studio, the fake telegram,
the missing photograph, became intelligible. But the delivery of the
letters in Ruth Morton's apartment, the strange attack upon him while
searching the Ford girl's room, were by no means so clear. Once more his
thoughts reverted to the attic room, the roof of the adjoining house,
the problem of effecting an entrance to the Morton apartment through
either of the two windows.

And then, as he revolved the problem in his mind, a sudden light came to
him. He sprang from his chair with an exclamation of satisfaction. A
solution of the whole matter flashed through his brain, a solution at
once so simple, and so ingenious, that he wondered he had not thought of
it before.

He glanced at his watch. It was midnight. Too late, perhaps, to test the
accuracy of his deductions. Nor did he feel at all easy in his mind
regarding Grace. Something must have happened to her, he feared, to keep
her out so late, with no word to him concerning her movements. He went
to the 'phone, and calling up the office, inquired whether anything had
been heard of Mrs. Duvall.

"No," the night clerk informed him. Mrs. Duvall had not been heard from,
nor had she sent any message. But a note had just been left for her. He
would send it up.

Duvall awaited the arrival of the note with the utmost impatience. A
message for Grace. From whom? What could it mean? A few moments later
one of the bellboys thrust into his hand a letter, written on the note
paper of the hotel.

He regarded the scrawling and ill-written superscription with
apprehension, then tore open the envelope and proceeded to read the
contents of the note.

"Dear Madam," it said. "I waited till nearly midnight. When you did not
come, I thought you must have gone out some other way, so came back to
the hotel. I hope I did right. Respectfully yours, Martin Leary." Duvall
stared at the words before him with a look of alarm. Who was Martin
Leary? And where had he waited for Grace until nearly midnight? And,
above all, why had she not returned? Had some accident, some danger
befallen her? The circumstances made it seem highly probable.

There was but one thing to do--to question the night clerk, and find
out, if possible, who Leary was. He rushed to the elevator and made his
way to the lobby with all speed.

"Who left this note for Mrs. Duvall?" he asked of the clerk.

"Why,"--the man paused for a moment--"one of the cabmen, I believe."

"Is his name Leary--Martin Leary?"

"Yes. It was Leary, come to think of it. Nothing wrong, I hope, Mr.
Duvall."

"I'll know later. Where is Leary now?"

"Couldn't say, sir. You might ask the cab starter?"

Almost before the clerk had finished speaking, Duvall had darted across
the lobby and made his way to the taxicab office at the door.

"Taxi, sir?" the man asked. "Do you know a chauffeur named Martin
Leary?" exclaimed Duvall.

"Yes, sir. One of our regular men, sir."

"Where is he?"

The starter glanced along the row of taxicabs.

"He's turned in for the night, sir. Left for the garage some time ago.
He's been on duty since early this morning."

"Where is the garage?"

"On Lexington Avenue, sir, near 30th Street."

"Does Leary sleep there?"

"No, sir. I don't think so, sir. They would know at the garage, I
guess."

"Very well. Get me a cab. I want to be taken there at once."

The starter called to one of the drivers, and a few moments later Duvall
was being driven at a rapid rate toward the garage.

His inquiries, on his arrival there, developed the fact that Leary had
left for his home, on Second Avenue, some little time before. Duvall
secured the address, and once more set out.

He felt greatly alarmed at Grace's failure to put in an appearance.
Something must have happened to her. Clearly the case was going very
much against him--the woman's second escape--the attack on Ruth
Morton--now the disappearance of Grace. He felt that the time had come
for action of a quick and drastic nature.

Leary lived with his wife and two children on the third floor of a
Second Avenue tenement. Hastily climbing the two flights of dark steps,
Duvall rapped on the door. He was overjoyed when it was opened by a man
whom he judged to be the chauffeur himself.

"Are you Martin Leary?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, choking
down a bit of cold supper he had been eating, before turning in.

"I am Richard Duvall. You drove my wife uptown, somewhere, did you not?"

"Yes, sir. To Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, sir. Won't you
come in?"

"No. There isn't time. I want you to put on your coat and come along
with me. Mrs. Duvall has not returned, and I am afraid something has
happened to her."

The man turned and called to someone inside the flat.

"Gimme my hat and coat, Kitty," he said, then turned again to Duvall. "I
suppose I should have waited, sir, but after two hours went by, I made
up my mind that Mrs. Duvall didn't need me any longer."

"What is the building at Columbus Avenue and 96th Street?" Duvall asked,
as the man, pulling on the coat his wife handed him, strode down the
hall.

"An apartment building, sir."

"And why did Mrs. Duvall go there?"

"Well, sir, we was following a woman, sir. She went to a hotel on
Seventy-second Street, and Mrs. Duvall told me to watch for her. I did,
and tracked her to the place at 96th Street. Then I telephoned to Mrs.
Duvall to come, and she did."

"What time was that?"

"About half-past nine, sir."

"All right. Go on."

"Mrs. Duvall came, sir, in another taxi. I pointed out the place where
the woman went in, and Mrs. Duvall went in after her. She didn't say I
was to wait, but I guess she expected me to, because she had sent the
other cab away. I waited over two hours, and then, when she didn't come
out, I supposed she had returned to her hotel, so I came back, too. She
wasn't there, though. That's why I left the note."

"How did you think Mrs. Duvall could have gotten back to her hotel, if
you were watching the door of the apartment house all the time?"

"I wasn't watching it all the time, sir. I went into the drug store
once, sir, and got a cigar. And then, later on, I went to a saloon a
piece down the Avenue and got a glass of beer. Mrs. Duvall didn't say I
was to watch the place, sir. I thought when she got through what she had
to do, she would come back to the cab. But she didn't. Do you think I
ought to have waited, sir?" The man seemed greatly distressed.

"No use talking about that now," Duvall remarked, shortly. "I want to
drive there at once. Get on the box, with the chauffeur, and point out
the place to him."

"Yes, sir." A moment later they had started on their way uptown.

Knowing as he did Grace's impetuous nature, Duvall could only conclude
that her pursuit of the woman had led her into some trap. What danger
she might at this moment be facing, he could only surmise. The apartment
building, when they finally reached it, presented a grim and forbidding
appearance. Not a light broke the darkness of any of its windows. The
drug store on the opposite corner, too, was closed for the night. The
whole locality was dark and silent.

"There's the place, sir," Leary exclaimed, as they drew up to the
corner.

"Tell the driver to stop a few doors up the block--not right in front of
the building."

Leary nodded. Presently the cab stopped, and he and Duvall got out.

The detective's first move was to ascertain whether or not the building
had any rear exit, by which Grace might have left, without being seen by
Leary. He walked down the avenue to its rear wall, only to find that it
abutted against the wall of the next building. There was no rear
entrance.

If, then, Grace had not left the place during the past hour, she must
still be in one of the ten flats that formed the five floors of the
building. But which one? That, apparently, was the problem he had to
solve.

It would be useless, he felt, to inquire at the doors of the various
apartments at this hour of the morning. Admission, at least on the part
of those he sought, would certainly be refused. Yet he felt that there
was no time to be lost.

Stationing Leary before the front door, with instructions to keep a
careful watch, Duvall went into the vestibule, and by means of his
pocket light, inspected the names of the occupants of the building, as
Grace had done a short time before. The hallway inside was dark, with
the exception of a dim light at the foot of the stairs. Apparently the
place boasted no elevator or hall-boy service.

The ten names on the boxes in the vestibule meant nothing to him. How
was it possible to determine which one was that of the woman he sought?
Weinberg--Scully--Martin--Stone--he ran down the list, trying to find
some distinguishing mark, some clue, that would guide him.

Suddenly he paused, allowing the light from his torch to rest upon the
card bearing the name of one of the tenants on the fourth floor.

This card had attracted his attention, because it was different from any
of the others in the two racks. They were either engraved or printed
visiting cards, stuck inside the brass frames provided for them, or the
names were written or printed by hand upon blank cards. But this card,
bearing simply the inscription E. W. Norman, was neither engraved nor
printed, nor written by hand. On the contrary, it was _typewritten_.

This in itself at once attracted Duvall's attention, owing to the fact
that the various letters received by Ruth Morton had also all been
typewritten. If the name, Norman, was an assumed one, as Duvall
concluded it to be, what more natural than that it should be
_typewritten_ on a blank card, especially when a regular printed or
engraved card was not available; when to have it written in long hand
would have been a disclosure of identity, and when, above all, the woman
in question possessed, and knew how to operate, a typewriter.

There was more than this, however, about the name on the card, to
convince Duvall that E. W. Norman was the woman he sought. He recalled
with distinctness the two salient features of the typewriting in all the
letters sent to Miss Morton, the misplaced "a," and the broken lower
right-hand corner of the capital "W." He looked closely at the two
letters in the name before him. The "a" was misplaced, the "W" minus its
lower right-hand corner. The evidence seemed to be complete.

The next thing to be considered was, how could he first obtain entrance
to the apartment building, and, subsequently, to the flat of the woman
posing as E. W. Norman? Were he to ring the latter's bell, he felt quite
sure she would not respond by unfastening the front door, but she would
on the contrary be warned, and even if unable to escape, might destroy
the evidence he hoped to find in her possession.

On the other hand, to ring the bell of one of the other apartments might
result in the unlatching of the front door, but might involve
explanations, difficult, in the circumstances, to make. There was no
help for it, however. Duvall pressed the bell belonging to the family
named Scully.

It was a long time before there was any response. Duvall had almost
begun to despair of getting one, when he heard the clicking of the
electric latch, and found that he could turn the knob and enter the
hallway.

He had barely done so, when at big, burly-looking man, who might have
been a bartender, or a head waiter, appeared in the door of one of the
ground floor apartments, clad only in his night clothes.

"Well--whatcha want?" he growled.

Duvall stepped up to him quickly, and spoke in a pleasant voice.

"I'm mighty sorry," he said. "I rang your bell by mistake. Pardon me."

The man glared at him, suspicion blazing from his eyes.

"That's an old one," he retorted. "How do I know you ain't a burglar?"

"Do I look like one?" Duvall asked.

The man ignored this question.

"Rang my bell by mistake, did you? Who do you want to see?"

"I have some business with a lady on the fourth floor." He went closer
to the man, and lowered his voice. "I'm a detective, my friend," he
whispered confidentially. "I'm here on a very important case."

The big man's eyes widened.

"Th' hell you are!" he exclaimed. "Central office?"

"No. Private."

"H--m." The man nodded slowly. "All right. But I guess I'll keep my eye
on you, just the same." He leaned against the door jamb and watched
Duvall as he ascended the stairs.

The detective reached the fourth floor at top speed. He was panting,
when he arrived opposite the door of the apartment he sought. Once
there, he paused for a moment, listening intently. Not a sound came from
the interior of the flat.

The problem of obtaining access to the place now confronted him. The
door was of oak of stout construction. He doubted his ability to break
it in, nor did he wish to attempt to do so, if it could be avoided.
Breaking into private apartments, without a warrant, was a serious
matter. There was a chance that this might not be the right place, after
all. He hesitated. Yet Grace might be within, in danger, perhaps, of her
life. It was imperative that he should find out the truth at once.

Stepping up to the door, he knocked sharply upon it, then waited for a
reply. He scarcely expected one, but felt that he should at least give
the persons within a chance.

A long silence ensued. Duvall was about to rap again, when, to his
amazement, the door slowly and noiselessly swung inward, as though
impelled by some unseen hand.

The room beyond was shrouded in darkness. Duvall could see no one.
Whoever had opened the door must now be concealed behind it. No one
either greeted or challenged him. The door swung three-quarters open,
and stood still. Not a sound was to be heard. The room was as silent as
a tomb.

Duvall stood on the threshold for a few seconds, listening intently. He
was greatly astonished by what had occurred. Why had the door been so
silently opened? Was someone waiting within, ready to attack him the
moment he made a step forward?

Whether this was the case or not, nothing, he reflected, was to be
gained by remaining where he was. Drawing an automatic pistol from his
pocket, he held it in readiness in his right hand, then, raising his
left arm, he flung his entire weight against the partly opened door.

The door yielded to his attack. Then there came a dull thud, as though
some heavy body had fallen to the floor, and immediately after the
hallway resounded with a series of unearthly screams. Duvall still moved
forward. Then, to his utter surprise, there appeared in the darkness a
grotesque figure, which immediately hurled itself upon him and began to
clutch frantically at his throat.

CHAPTER XVIII

It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Grace Duvall when,
after having traced the mysterious woman who had attacked Ruth Morton,
to the flat at Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, she had
foolishly entered the place, and allowed herself to be attacked.

The woman's onslaught had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Grace was
entirely unable to offer any defense.

Her cries for help had been smothered at once and with the woman's thin
but muscular fingers clutching at her throat, she found herself forced
violently back upon a low couch that stood immediately behind her.

For a few moments she struggled violently, striving with both her hands
to break her assailant's hold upon her, but her efforts were in vain.
Slowly she realized that she was being choked into unconsciousness. The
objects in the room, the woman's set face, whirled dimly before her
eyes, and then everything became blank.

When she once more recovered consciousness, she found herself still
lying upon the couch. Her throat ached fearfully, and there was a dull
roaring in her head.

She opened her eyes and looked about. The room was quite dark. Only a
very faint glow came through the windows at its further end--the dim
reflection of the lights in the street. So far as she could determine,
she was alone.

She tried to move her arms, her feet, but found them bound fast. A
moment later she realized that a piece of cloth of some sort, tightly
rolled, had been forced into her mouth. She could not utter a sound.

There was no one in the room, but from the one which adjoined it in the
rear came the murmur of voices.

By twisting her head about she was able to learn that the door
connecting the two was ajar, and through the narrow opening came a thin
ribbon of light.

As her senses became clearer, she realized that two persons were in the
room beyond her, and from the sounds they made, the words which from
time to time came to her ears, it appeared that they were engaged in the
operation of packing.

At first the words that filtered through the partly open doorway were
mere fragments of conversation--words spoken here and there in a
slightly higher key, and therefore distinguishable to her. She made out
that her captors supposed her to be still unconscious--that they were
preparing to leave the place.

"There's no hurry," she presently heard one of the women say, in a
somewhat louder voice. "If she had had friends waiting outside for her,
they would have come to her rescue long ago. I'm sure nobody knows where
she is."

"And her husband had gone, long before I left the house. I was watching,
and he first went to a saloon on the corner, and then drove off in a
taxicab. So I couldn't have been followed here."

"No. But I think we ought to get away as soon as possible. When does
that train go?"

"Not until half past five."

"We'll have to wait in the station, then."

"Why not here?"

"Because that woman's husband, when she fails to return to-night, is
certain to look for her. She probably came in a cab, and he might trace
her that way. My advice is to leave here as soon as possible. Have you
finished packing that suit case?"

"No, not quite. What do you propose to do with Jack?"

"I was going to take him with me."

"I don't see how you can do that."

"Why not?"

"Because, if any attempt is made to follow us, he would be a certain
means of identification."

There was silence for a time. Grace heard the sounds of drawers being
opened and shut, as the two women hurried through their task. Who was
Jack, she wondered? There had been no sounds to indicate the presence of
a third person in the next room.

Presently she heard the voices again.

"I think the whole affair has been a mistake, anyway," one of them said
petulantly. "I don't see what you have gained by it."

"I've gotten my revenge on that baby-faced Morton girl. The stuck-up
thing. I'll bet she won't act again in a hurry. What right has she to be
getting a thousand a week, when they wouldn't give me a chance at any
price. I may not be as good-looking as she is, but I'm a better actress.
I hate her. I believe she told the director I wouldn't do--that's why I
didn't get the job. And after running down to the studio every day for
three weeks, too. I hate her, I tell you. I hope she's never able to act
again." The woman spoke with an intensity, a violence that made Grace
shudder.

"How do you ever suppose they came to connect _me_ with the matter?" the
other woman said after a time. "They didn't know my address, at the
studio. And even if they had, I have never been seen with you. I don't
see why they ever suspected me."

"I don't know. That man Duvall is pretty shrewd, though. I _did_ manage
to get away from him, the other night. I'd like to have seen his face,
when he got back to the cab and found me gone."

"His wife followed you here, from the hotel, I suppose. You took an
awful chance."

"I don't understand how she traced me. I knew she was following me, and
when she saw me go up in the elevator, at the hotel, I expected her to
come, too. I was afraid they might prevent me from coming down, while
they were coming up, so I walked down. I watched, from the stairs, and
saw her and the clerk get out of the elevator on the floor where that
girl's apartment was. Then I came down the stairs and went out the side
entrance. I knew she was upstairs, when I left, and I don't see how she
traced me."

"Perhaps she had her taxi driver do it."

"That's just about it. And if he did, like as not he's waiting for her
yet."

The other woman laughed.

"Nice wait he'll have," she said.

"That's all very well, but won't he see us going out?"

"Suppose he does. Anyway, it's dark, and we'll wear veils. And we won't
go out together. But I don't think he'll wait so long."

"If he doesn't, he'll go back to the hotel and report, and then the
woman's husband will be up here in no time. I think we'd better get out
now. You'll have to leave the trunk. There's nothing much in it."

Again there was a long silence. Then Grace heard the door open, and the
two women came into the room, carrying their suitcases. She closed her
eyes and pretended to be still unconscious. One of the women paused
beside her.

"If they don't find out where she is," she whispered to her companion,
"she's likely to stay here and starve to death."

"I shouldn't be sorry," the other snarled. "But if you feel badly about
it, it's easy enough to telephone to-morrow and tell the janitor to let
her out. No chance of a cab, I guess."

"No. Not at this hour. We'll take the car down to Forty-second Street,
and cross over. Are you ready?"

"Yes. I'd better put out the light, though."

"All right." The first woman moved to the door, while the second
returned to the bedroom and snapped off the light. A moment later Grace
saw her ghostly figure pass the couch, and then the snapping of the door
catch told her that she was alone.

The thought was anything but a pleasant one. If Richard did not happen
to remember Leary--she knew she had mentioned him in connection with the
address on the torn card he had given her--it was by no means impossible
that she might lie where she was, helpless, for days. And in that event,
starvation, or what was worse, thirst, might very readily serve to
fulfill the woman's predictions. She shivered at the thought of spending
hours, days, in this place alone.

But was she alone? Until now, she had supposed so, in spite of the
woman's remarks about "Jack," for she had heard not the slightest sound.
Presently she became aware of a slow, regular scraping sound, that
seemed to come from one of the rear rooms. It suggested something alive,
something moving about with stealthy footsteps. Then, all of a sudden,
there came a loud crash.

Grace gave an involuntary cry, or what would have been a cry, had she
not been so effectually gagged. The knowledge that she lay helpless,
unable to protect herself from attack, frightened her. She turned her
head, straining her eyes into the semi-darkness. Something, some figure,
was moving toward her from the bedroom, gliding along with swaying,
noiseless steps. What it was, she could not determine; from its
appearance against the darkness of the doorway it looked like a crawling
figure in black.

Presently she heard the sound of breathing, and with it a mumbling
noise, as though the apparition were talking to itself. Two eyes seemed
to gleam through the darkness. There was a hissing yet guttural sound,
human in quality, yet horrible to her ears.

And then, without warning, the figure sprang toward her, and flung its
arms about her neck.

With a gasp of fear, Grace turned and buried her face in the pillows.
Fingers seemed clutching at her hair. An arm, wearing a silken sleeve,
brushed her cheek, lay across her throat. A low voice muttered
unintelligibly in her ear, filling her with horror. She felt her senses
reeling. She thought herself about to faint.

Then, in a moment, the creature was gone, and she heard it moving
noisily about the further end of the room.

From time to time there came a crash, as though in the darkness it had
upset something. Then would follow long, uncanny periods of stillness,
broken only by the horrible muttering. She lay with her head buried in
the pillows, wondering at what instant the figure would again appear at
her side.

For a long time she remained thus, straining her ears to keep track of
the creature's movements. And as the moments passed, she began to take
courage, to hope that since no harm had as yet been offered her, the
_thing_ in the room, whatever it was, might not come near her again.

It appeared to have crept to the door, and from it came a low, quite
human whimpering, as though it were in great grief. Perhaps, Grace
thought, this was caused by the absence of the two women. She lay quite
still, trying vainly to free her hands from their encircling bands,
praying silently that Richard would come to her assistance. Her nerves
were badly shaken. She contemplated hours, even days of such a situation
with terror. At least, however, the coming of the dawn would bring one
relief. She would be able to see what this uncanny thing was that shared
her captivity.

Suddenly she became aware that some one was ascending the stairs in the
hall outside. Could it be Richard coming to her assistance? She strained
her ears, fearing that it might be only one of the tenants of the
apartment above, returning home at a late hour.

The creature at the door had apparently also heard the approaching
sound, for its whimperings ceased. Grace could tell by its movements
that it had risen. There was a faint sound of fingers sliding over the
polished surface of the door. The steps outside came to a halt.

With all her force Grace tried to cry out, but the gag prevented her
from uttering a sound. Then there came a sharp knocking at the door.

The figure before it seemed to be fumbling noiselessly with the catch.
In a moment Grace felt, rather than saw, that the door had been opened.
Another interval of silence came, and then the person outside flung
himself heavily forward.

The silence of the room was broken by a fall, a succession of unearthly
screams. Grace saw a dark body go hurtling through the air, and then
came the sharp, vicious crack of a pistol. The next thing she saw was
her husband, bending over her, flashing an electric torch in her face.
With frightened eyes she looked up at him and tried to smile.

CHAPTER XIX

The first thing that Duvall did, after releasing Grace from her bonds,
was to take her in his arms and kiss her. Then he found the electric
switch upon the wall and turned on the lights.

"What--what was it?" Grace asked, staring before her in horror.

"What was what?" he questioned.

"That--that thing that was locked in here with me."

"Poor creature. A monkey. I'm sorry I had to shoot it." He pointed to a
crumpled figure on the floor dressed in a gay costume of red silk.

"But--what was a monkey doing here?"

"I'll explain all that later. Where is the woman?" He glanced toward the
silent bedroom.

"They have gone?"

"They?"

"Yes. There were two."

"Ah! The Ford girl. I might have known. Where did they go?"

"I--I don't know. To the station, I think. They said something about
waiting there for a train."

"What station?"

"They didn't say. But they spoke of taking a car to 42nd Street, and
crossing over. It must have been the Grand Central."

"Or possibly the West Shore. We'll have to try both. Are you able to
leave now?"

Grace straightened out her stiffened limbs.

"Yes--I--guess so."

"Then come along."

As they started to leave the place, two men confronted them at the door.
One was Mr. Scully, he of the ground-floor apartment, the other a short,
thickset man, who at once announced himself as the janitor of the
building.

"What's going on up here?" he questioned. "I heard a shot."

Duvall pointed to the crumpled heap on the floor.

"I had to shoot it, though I'm sorry now that I did. It attacked me in
the dark. I couldn't afford to take any chances. My wife was locked in
here, and was, so far as I knew, in grave danger."

"Your wife?" The man glanced at Grace.

"Yes."

"But--where is Miss Norman? And how did that monkey get in here?"

"Miss Norman left here some time ago. Another woman, by the name of
Ford, was with her. She brought the monkey."

"What for?"

"I imagine she didn't want to leave it at her rooms. She did not expect
to return there."

"And Miss Norman's gone, you say?"

"Yes."

"Where to?"

"I don't just know, but I mean to find out at once. She has been guilty
of a grave offense, on account of which I have been trying to lay my
hands on her for several days. My wife tells me she took most of her
belongings with her in her flight."

"Flight, eh?" the man growled. "And she owes us a month's rent. I hope
you find her."

"I think I shall. Meanwhile, suppose you wait here in the apartment, in
case, for any reason, she comes back. If I find her I shall bring her
here at once, and unless the place is open I couldn't very well get in."

"All right." The man glanced about the disordered room. "That damned
monkey has smashed a lamp and a lot of ornaments that somebody's got to
pay for. Miss Norman rented this place furnished."

Duvall made no reply, but nodding to Grace, led the way to the hall.

"I'll be back soon, whether I find the woman or not," he said. "I've got
some investigations to make here."

Accompanied by Grace, he descended to the cab. Leary seemed overjoyed to
realize that Grace was safe, and began a long apology for his
carelessness in not waiting for her earlier in the evening, but Duvall
cut him short.

"Good thing you didn't," he said. "By coming back to the hotel and
leaving the note for Mrs. Duvall, you made it possible for me to find
her, and if I hadn't"--he paused and looked at Grace with a troubled
face--"there's no knowing what might have happened. Tell the chauffeur
to drive to the Grand Central Station."

It was three o'clock when the cab drew up at the curb. In spite of the
lateness of the hour, there were a good many persons moving in and out
of the station. Duvall got out and motioned to Grace and Leary to do the
same.

"We will all go in by different doors," he explained, "and meet in the
general waiting-room. If the women are not there, Mrs. Duvall will look
through the women's room. If you see them, and they make no effort to
escape, wait for me to join you. If they do try to get away, detain them
until I come."

It was Duvall himself, however, who first caught sight of the objects of
their pursuit. They sat, both apparently asleep, on a bench in one
corner of the main waiting room. The detective was not certain of their
identity, heavily veiled as they were, until he had gone quite close up
to them. Then he saw that they were Miss Ford and the woman who had
escaped from him while in the cab the night before.

He leaned over and tapped the Ford girl on the shoulder.

"Wake up, Miss Ford," he exclaimed.

The girl shivered, then struggled to her feet. Her companion appeared to
be too dazed to move, although she opened her eyes and stared at him
with a vague and terrified face.

"Will you come with me quietly," he said, "or shall I call a policeman
and have you put under arrest for the attack upon my wife?" He addressed
himself more particularly to the woman who was sitting.

She now rose and made a movement as though to attempt to escape. Duvall
grasped her by the arm.

"It will be quite useless to attempt it, Miss Norman," he said. "I have
help close at hand in case it is needed." He glanced toward Grace and
Leary, who were now approaching. "I do not wish to use any violence, of
course, but you and your friend are going back to the apartment on
Ninety-sixth Street with me."

His voice, his manner, made it apparent to the two women that escape was
hopeless. They seemed suddenly to realize it, to give up further ideas
of resistance.

"Very well," Miss Norman said, "we will go."

"Good." Duvall turned to Leary. "Take those two suit cases, Leary, and
get another cab." In silence the little party made its way to the
street. The two women said nothing on the way back to the apartment, and
Duvall did not question them. There was time enough for that, he
reflected, after they reached their destination. Within less than an
hour from the time of their departure, their entire party was back in
the woman's apartment.

The janitor was still there on guard, but the body of the dead monkey
had been removed. Duvall, requesting Leary to remain, closed the door.
The janitor rose and came toward them.

"Look here, Miss Norman," he began, "who's going to pay for that broken
lamp and them vases and ornaments?"

The woman regarded him with a stare, but said nothing.

"Never mind about those things now," Duvall said. "They can remain. I
have some questions of much greater importance to ask these ladies. You
need not wait. In fact, I should prefer that you did not. The matter is
a private one." The janitor took his departure, grumbling to himself,
and Duvall closed and bolted the door. Then he requested the two women
to be seated. They obeyed without a word.

"Why did you send those threatening messages to Miss Morton?" he
suddenly asked, addressing himself to Miss Norman.

She faced him defiantly.

"I'll answer no questions," she flung at him. "You can't prove I sent
anybody any messages."

"Do you deny it, then?"

"Yes!"

Duvall turned to Grace.

"You saw this woman enter Miss Morton's hotel to-night and go up in the
elevator, did you not?"

"Certainly!"

"Do you deny that?" The detective once more addressed Miss Norman.

"No. What of it? How do you know I went to Miss Morton's room?" Her
defiance was in no way lessened. Duvall saw that she meant to deny her
guilt utterly. He turned to Leary.

"This woman came to you, did she not, with a request that you spy on my
wife's movements, and inform her concerning them?"

The chauffeur nodded.

"Yes, sir. She did."

Again Miss Norman spoke.

"Suppose I did. What then?"

"You will admit, I presume, that you fainted at the theatre the other
night when the picture of the death's-head seal was thrown on the
screen, and that later you escaped from the cab in which I had placed
you?"

"Certainly I will admit it. The hideous thing startled me. As for
escaping from the cab, I had every reason to do so. You had not only
attempted to drug me, but after that you tried to steal the contents of
my purse. You are the one who ought to be arrested, not I."

The woman's attitude began to annoy Duvall, especially as, so far, he
realized fully that the evidence against her was entirely circumstantial
and vague. He turned away, and began to search the rooms.

The search, although he conducted it with the utmost minuteness, was
quite unproductive of results. If the woman possessed a typewriter, she
had apparently made away with it. The scrap basket contained nothing but
a few torn bits of paper of no value. There was no stationery on the
small desk in the living room, no black sealing wax, such as had been
used to make the seals. Duvall began to realize that the case against
his prisoner was far from complete. Returning from a fruitless search of
the bedroom, Duvall's eye fell upon the two suitcases that the women had
carried in their flight. He bent over to them at once, and proceeded to
open them, one after the other.

"Search them, please." He nodded to Grace.

The latter did so with the utmost care, but found nothing of an
incriminating nature. The two women sat in stony silence, showing little
interest in the proceedings. Duvall went over to them.

"Show me your rings," he said to Miss Norman.

The woman held out her hand.

"Take them off."

She stripped from her finger three rings. One was a gold seal with a
monogram upon it, another a cheap affair set with pearls, the third a
twisted gold band. None of the rings contained the mysterious
death's-head seal, or could in any way have concealed it.

An examination of Miss Ford's stock of jewelry produced no better
results.

"Let me see the contents of your purse," Duvall said, indicating a
leather bag the Norman woman carried on her wrist.

She handed the bag over with an almost imperceptible smile. Duvall
examined it but without result. The seal was not inside. Nor did Miss
Ford's purse, a silver one, contain anything worthy of his notice. He
handed the two back.

"Anything else you would like to see?" Miss Norman asked with cutting
irony.

Duvall walked over to the window and looked out. It was still quite
dark. The woman's assurance puzzled him. It was quite clear now that
unless he could find the typewriter, the letter paper, the missing seal,
and could connect this woman with them, there remained but a single way
in which she could be connected with the attacks upon Miss Morton, and
that would be by the direct testimony of the motion-picture actress
herself, concerning the woman's visit to her room. But suppose the visit
had been made in disguise. It would have been simple enough to have put
on a mask on entering the room and subsequently have thrown it away. And
Miss Morton, frightened as she had been, might be totally unable to
identify her assailant. She had covered her tracks well. Was she then to
go free?

The matter of the typewriter Duvall put aside for the moment. The woman
might readily have a friend who possessed one--a hotel stenographer,
perhaps, who had permitted her to make use of her machine. But the seal
was a matter of more importance. His examination of the several
impressions had shown him that it was extremely well carved--a decidedly
expensive piece of work. Of course, the woman might have thrown it away
during her flight, but it seemed unlikely. What had she done with it?
The question was one to which he felt he must find an answer.

Again, with Grace's assistance, he examined the articles in the women's
suitcases, testing the backs of hairbrushes, the contents of powder
boxes, the interior of a cake of soap, a bottle of shoe blackening, but
the search was as unproductive of results as before. Duvall was forced,
against his will, to the conclusion that the woman had made away with
the seal, rather than run the risk of its being found upon her person.

"Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked, when he had
again closed the suitcases. "If not, my friend and I would like to go."
She rose as though to take her departure.

"Yes. There is one thing more. You will have to go to Mrs. Morton's
hotel with me, so that her daughter may have an opportunity to identify
you. But it is far too early to start now. I will send out presently and
have some breakfast brought in."

It was beginning to grow light now. Duvall suggested to Grace that she
had better go out into the little kitchenette at the rear of the
apartment and see if she couldn't find the materials for preparing some
coffee. He himself sat down at the little writing desk, and proceeded
once more to examine its varnished surface with the greatest care. He
had thought, if the letters had been sealed here, there would in all
probability be some tiny spots of the black sealing wax upon the desk
top, but he could discover nothing. Presently he heard Grace calling to
him from the kitchen.

Directing Leary to keep an eye on the two women, he joined her at once.

"What is it?" he asked. "Have you discovered anything?"

"No, not exactly. But--what does that mean?" She pointed to a candle
which stood in a tin holder on the table. "Do you notice the spots of
black wax on the candlestick?"

Duvall took the candlestick up and looked at it. There were large
splashes of sealing wax all over the bottom of the tin tray, not minute
spots, such as might have been made by the dropping of bits of the hot
wax in making a seal, but circular splotches half an inch or more in
diameter, as though a great quantity of the material had been melted.

"What do you make of it?" Duvall asked.

"I don't know. Looks as though she had melted up the whole stick, for
some reason or other. Possibly to destroy it."

"Hardly that. It would have been far easier to have simply thrown it out
of the window. And besides, the mere possession of a stick of sealing
wax, black or otherwise, could not be regarded as evidence. This woman
is smart, very smart and shrewd. She did not melt that wax up for
nothing. I think I have an idea of her purpose, although I cannot, of
course, be sure, yet. Did you find some coffee?"

"Yes. I'll have it ready very soon. What do you make of this woman's
attitude?"

"It is simple enough. She believes that she can bluff this thing out
without it being possible to prove her the author of the letters. And
she may be right. Certainly, unless Miss Morton can identify her, or we
can discover the death's-head seal in her possession, she stands a very
good chance of getting away scot free."

The coffee which Grace presently brought in was drunk by the whole party
in silence. Duvall seemed unusually preoccupied. His eyes scarcely left
Miss Norman; he appeared to be studying her, watching her every movement
with extraordinary interest, although he strove, by assuming a careless
indifference, to disguise his scrutiny. Grace, who knew his methods,
realized that the sealing wax in the candlestick had suggested some clue
to him, which he was trying his best to work out.

At about seven o'clock Leary was sent out to fetch some breakfast. By
half past eight they were ready to go to see Mrs. Morton.

Before doing so, Duvall thought it wise to call the latter up and make
arrangements about their coming. He presently got Mrs. Morton on the
wire.

"Good morning, Mrs. Morton. How is your daughter?" he asked.

"Much better," the reply came. "Very much better. I am going to take her
back to the apartment at once."

"The apartment?"

"Yes. She will be more comfortable there, and safer, too, I think. We
came here on your advice so that we might escape this fearful
persecution. But since the persons who have been threatening my daughter
have discovered our whereabouts, I see no reason for remaining any
longer. Do you?"

"No. I was going to suggest that you should return. I think I can quite
safely assure you that there will be no recurrence of the threats."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I think the woman who has been making them is now in my hands.
I will bring her to the apartment a little later in the morning so that
your daughter may identify her. Will eleven o'clock suit you?"

"Yes, very well."

"Then I will come at that hour. Good-by." He hung up the receiver and
turned to speak to Grace. His eyes, however, sought the figure of Miss
Norman. She had not anticipated his quick scrutiny, and had for the
moment ceased to be on her guard. Duvall smiled to himself. The theory
which the spots of sealing wax had suggested had in that moment received
an unexpected confirmation.

CHAPTER XX

Ruth Morton had received a fearful shock the evening before, but by the
morning she had recovered from the immediate effects of it, although she
still felt extremely weak.

When Duvall and his little party arrived at the apartment on
Fifty-seventh Street, they were received in the library by Mrs. Morton.

She greeted both Grace and Duvall cordially, but it was evident, from
her manner, that she found the presence of the Norman woman and Miss
Ford highly distasteful to her.

Duvall drew her to one side, leaving the two women in charge of Leary
and Grace.

"How is your daughter now, Mrs. Morton?" he asked.

"Better, I think."

"May I see her for a few moments?"

"Yes. She is expecting you. Come this way, please. She is occupying my
room at present. She still has a fear of the other one--the one she
formerly used."

"I see. But she need not have it now. There will be no further trouble."
He followed Mrs. Morton into her bedroom.

Ruth, looking very haggard and white, was sitting in an easy chair by
the window. Duvall was amazed to note how terribly the shock of the
night before had affected her.

"How do you do, Miss Morton," he said, offering his hand. "I am glad to
find you almost yourself again."

The girl looked up with a faint smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Duvall. I am much better. I understand that you have
found out who has been causing me all this trouble."

"I think I have. But before I go ahead I want you to give me a little
assistance. Do you think you would know the woman who came to your rooms
last night, in case you should see her again?"

Miss Morton shuddered.

"I--I don't know. I do not think I saw her face. It was all so very
sudden----"

"Tell me about it," Duvall said. "It may help me to get at the facts.
That is, if you feel able to do so."

"I think I do. What shall I tell you?"

"Just describe, in a few words, what happened."

"Well, as you know, I had been feeling rather better yesterday, and had
begun to rather laugh at my fears. Mother was with me constantly, and
Nora as well, and I began to feel quite cheerful again, especially as I
knew that you were making splendid progress and had found the woman who
had been writing me. Mother told me that you expected to arrest her
before the day was over. She said your wife had been helping you, too.

"After dinner Nora, who had been in the hotel all day, asked permission
to go out for awhile and mother told her she might go. The poor girl had
been almost a prisoner since we arrived at the hotel. That was about
eight o'clock.

"About half past eight a boy came to the room with a card, upon which
was written your wife's name, and a note asking if she might see mother
for a few moments. We both looked at the card and then mother decided to
go down and see her. She instructed me to lock the door while she was
out, and of course I did so.

"In a few minutes mother came back. She seemed greatly excited, said
that she had seen Mrs. Duvall and that you had sent a message to the
effect that you had arrested the woman who had been threatening me and
wanted mother to come to your hotel at once to appear against her in
court. It was necessary, the woman who pretended to be your wife said,
that mother should come at once, as otherwise the woman couldn't be
held.

"We talked the matter over for a few moments and I told her that I
thought she ought to go. She seemed rather afraid to leave me alone, but
I promised to keep the door locked, and anyway, as I pointed out to her,
if the woman was arrested I had nothing further to fear.

"At last mother decided she would go, and left me. I locked the door as
soon as she went out.

"It seemed to me a very few moments before I heard some one rapping. At
first I supposed that mother had come back for some reason or other.
Then I thought it might be Nora who had said she was only going out for
a breath of air. So, suspecting nothing, I unlocked the door and opened
it.

"A woman came in, very quickly, before I realized it. She was not tall,
and rather slight, and I think she had light hair. I couldn't see her
face well because she had twisted a black veil across it, hiding her
eyes and the upper part of her features. She turned as soon as she got
in the room and locked the door.

"I was too surprised for a moment to speak, then I asked her what she
wanted.

"'I want you,' she said in a terrible voice, and I saw that she was
taking a bottle from her handbag.

"I was so frightened that I could not cry out, although I tried. You
see, the warnings I had received had gotten me so worked up that my
nerves were all on edge, and as soon as I saw the bottle, I concluded
that the woman was about to throw vitriol in my face. So I put my hands
to my eyes and ran into the bedroom.

"The woman came behind me, saying that my looks would soon be gone, that
my days as an actress were over, and other things like that which I
scarcely heard I was so frightened. When she got to me she caught hold
of my arm and pulled me around, facing her.

"I couldn't keep my eyes closed now, for I simply _had_ to see what she
was doing. It seemed worse not looking at her, and then I thought I
might take the bottle away from her and save myself in that way. So I
took my hands from my face and rushed toward her.

"Then she raised the bottle and dashed something into my face.

"It seemed hot, stinging, and made my eyes burn frightfully. I was sure
it was vitriol, and the thought was too much for me I guess, for I felt
myself falling and--well, that's all I remember until I woke up and
found the doctor and mother there. It was a terrible experience. I could
scarcely believe them, when they told me, after I came to, that I wasn't
really hurt at all."

Duvall looked at the girl's face. It showed no signs of injury, although
her eyes were red and inflamed.

"Then it wasn't vitriol after all?" he asked, wondering.

"No, it apparently wasn't. The doctor said he thought it must have been
ammonia."

"Remarkable!" Duvall muttered to himself. "Why should she have gone to
all that trouble, just to frighten you?"

"That's apparently all she intended to do from the start. Do you know,
Mr. Duvall, I've been thinking this thing over, and I believe her whole
plan from the beginning was merely to ruin me in my work by _fear_. And
I must say that she very nearly succeeded."

"Very nearly," said Duvall, with a frown. "If this thing had kept up for
another week or two, you would have been a complete nervous wreck."

"I am now, I'm afraid," Miss Morton said, sadly. "I don't feel as though
I could act again for a long time."

"Oh, yes, you will. You have youth, and that is everything. And now,
tell me, do you think if you took a look at this woman you might
recognize her?"

The girl shuddered.

"Is she--here?" she asked.

"Yes. In the library."

"You think it would be quite safe?"

"Quite. She can do you no harm while I am here."

"Very well. I will see her if you wish it, but I am very much afraid
that I shall not be able to identify her." Duvall held out his hand.

"Come," he said. "I will take you in."

Miss Morton rose, and walking slowly and with considerable effort, went
with him into the front room. Standing in the doorway, with the
detective beside her, she confronted the two women. They regarded her
with stony indifference.

"Miss Morton," Duvall said, "do you recognize either of these two women
as the one who attacked you in your rooms last night?"

The girl gazed helplessly from Miss Ford to her companion and back
again. Then she slowly shook her head.

"No," she said. "It might have been either of them. They look somewhat
alike. But as for saying which one it was, if it _was_ either of them,
I'm afraid I can't. The woman was veiled. The room was not brightly
lighted. And I was very much frightened."

The look of disappointment in Duvall's face was reflected in that of
both Grace and Mrs. Morton. The two women, on the contrary, seemed
vastly relieved. Miss Norman's mouth curled in rather an ironical smile.

"Are you through with this inquisition now?" she asked. "For if you are,
my friend and myself would like to continue our journey. You have had no
right to bring us here in the first place, and I am strongly considering
making a complaint against you for having done so." She grasped firmly
the umbrella she had held in her hand all the morning, and turned as
though to go. Leary, however, stood before the door.

"You apparently have forgotten," Duvall remarked, going toward her,
"that I still have a charge against you for attacking my wife."

"Very well; make it. I can prove that your wife forcibly entered my
apartment under false pretense, saying that she was collecting money for
the war sufferers in Poland. If I attacked her, it was in self-defense."

"That isn't true," cried Grace. "You sprang at me----"

"My word is as good as yours," Miss Norman interrupted. "And my friend
here will bear out what I say." She nodded to Miss Ford. "You also," she
again faced Duvall, "broke into my apartment without warrant and killed
my pet monkey. You will have to answer for that as well. You have
accused me of sending threatening letters to this girl here. I defy you
to prove it."

Duvall, who had been coming nearer the woman all the time, reached out
and snatched from her hands the umbrella she held. The others in the
room regarded him with astonishment. The woman herself gave a cry of
anger, and starting forward tried to recover her lost property.

Duvall yielded it to her at once, but not before he had torn from the
handle two small round balls covered with knitted silk that hung from it
by a heavy silken cord.

Miss Norman, seeing what he had done, drew back with a cry of anger. A
few incoherent words trailed from her lips. Duvall, paying no attention
to her, ripped open one of the silk-meshed coverings and extracted from
it a small, round black object about the size of a hickory nut.

He gazed at it for a moment, then going quickly to the table in the
center of the room brought the thing down smartly upon its surface.

There was a crackling sound, and bits of some black substance flew in
every direction. A moment later the detective raised in his hand a
glittering bit of metal and held it up so that the others might see it.

"The death's-head seal," he said, quietly.

Miss Norman fell on her knees before Ruth Morton, her hands upraised.

"Forgive me--forgive me!" she sobbed.

CHAPTER XXI

"In reconstructing the case from the beginning," Duvall said, later in
the day, "one fact stands out with especial prominence--the almost total
absence of any definite clues."

He was sitting in the library of the Morton apartment, and with him were
his wife, Mrs. Morton and Ruth.

"The thing was certainly very cleverly done," Mrs. Morton remarked. "I
still do not understand it in the least. How, for instance, were the
letters placed in my daughter's room?"

"I am coming to that," replied Duvall. "But first I will run over the
case in the light of Miss Norman's confession to me so that you may
understand it thoroughly and decide what action you wish to take against
her and her sister, Miss Ford."

"Her sister?"

"Yes. The woman's name is not Norman. It is Ford--Jane Ford. Norman is
an assumed name.

"The two of them came to New York about a year ago from somewhere up the
state--a small town near Rochester, I believe. One secured employment in
the motion picture studio--the other, the one calling herself Miss
Norman, worked as a stenographer.

"Her interest in motion pictures having been aroused by her sister's
stories of the life in the studio, she became an ardent picture 'fan,'
and spent every evening watching the films.

"Her attention was particularly devoted to the pictures in which your
daughter appeared, owing to the stories her sister told her about Miss
Morton's marvelous salary, her beauty, the ease with which she had
become famous.

"These stories naturally inflamed her sister's mind. Working for ten
dollars a week, she began to compare her state with that of a girl of
her own age earning a hundred times as much, and gradually the idea
began to possess her that she could become a motion-picture star
herself.

"At first she admired Miss Morton immensely and never missed an
opportunity to see the pictures in which she appeared. Then, convinced
of her own ability as an actress, she made application at the studio at
which her sister worked for a position.

"It seems she haunted the studio for several weeks without getting any
encouragement. Then, more to get rid of her than for any other reason,
one of the directors offered her a place as extra woman in a picture
Miss Morton was doing--a very minor part, in which she had to appear
momentarily as a saleswoman at a counter in a department store.

"Unfortunately, when Miss Morton saw her she happened to say to the
director that she would have preferred a woman of a different type,
dark, taller, so as to provide a more effective foil to her own type of
beauty. As a result, the girl did not get the position."

"I am so sorry," Ruth cried. "I hadn't the least idea who the girl was,
and, of course, I wouldn't have done her any harm for the world."

"I know that," Duvall replied, "but _she_ did not. She is mentally
rather erratic, and she at once conceived the idea that you had singled
her out for persecution; that, in fact, you were envious of her
abilities and meant to prevent her from getting a chance.

"The thing preyed on her mind, and I fancy, unbalanced it a little. She
conceived a violent hatred for you, and with her sister began to plot
revenge.

"Her first move was to persuade her sister to move to the house on
Fifty-seventh Street, close to your apartment. It took them some time to
find the place--to secure a room situated as Miss Ford's was, but at
last they managed it. Then they went to work.

"The letters were all typewritten on a machine belonging to a public
stenographer whom the girls knew. Jane Ford would stop in at this
woman's place late in the afternoon and asking permission to use one of
the machines would type the threatening letters. The paper she used was
procured especially for her by her sister at a stationery store
downtown.

"The seal, a curious thing, had belonged to the girls' father, and she
conceived the idea of signing the letters with it to add to the grimness
of her threats. As a matter of fact, I do not think she ever had the
least intention of carrying them out. It was to be solely a campaign of
fear. She probably thought that she could so frighten you, Miss Morton,
that your health would be broken down, and your work consequently
interfered with to such an extent that you would lose your position. As
I say, I think she is mentally somewhat unbalanced. I cannot account for
some of her actions, otherwise.

"The mailing of the first letter, the telephone messages, were
comparatively simple. It was the delivery of those at the apartment that
taxed her ingenuity. Yet the method was simple enough.

"The girls' father, I am told, had been an animal trainer in a circus,
and one of his bequests to his daughters was a pet monkey named Jack,
that had been taught to do all sorts of tricks. The girls brought this
monkey to New York with them after their father's death. When the
question arose of delivering the letters in your room, Miss Morton, she
decided to make use of the animal.

"Creeping out of Marcia Ford's bedroom to the roof of the back building,
and taking the monkey with her, she crossed the roof of the second house
and reached the wall of the apartment. From here she was in a position
to reach either of your bedroom windows in the following manner.

"The monkey was led by means of a long, thin rope, attached to a sort of
harness about his neck and shoulders. By going to the rear edge of the
back building they could readily swing him over to the fire-escape,
while by ascending to the top of the attic roof overlooking the court,
they could in the same way enable him to reach the other window. The
monkey had been trained to carry objects in his mouth. This accounts for
the row of indentations on the letters found in your room. I had
supposed they came from some mechanical device, fastened to the end of a
long pole, but as a matter of fact, they were made by the monkey's
teeth.

"The animal being light in weight, and the pads of his feet being, of
course, soft, no traces of his presence were left on the newly painted
surface of the fire-escape. The handkerchief that I found there had been
knotted about his neck as the collar to which the rope was fastened had
seemed a bit weak. In some way it became detached, probably when the
girls jerked on the cord to summon him back after he had completed his
task.

"In crossing the roofs of the two houses, the monkey's paws, as well as
the rope, became covered with dust. This explains the spots which seemed
to be finger marks upon the counterpane of your bed, and the long, dark
straight line across the bed, which I thought might have been left by a
rod or pole. As a matter of fact, it was made by a tightly stretched
rope.

"The sending of the monkey on the night when you were lying in bed must
have been a mistake. You will remember that, contrary to your usual
habit, you retired that night very early--a little after eight o'clock,
if I remember correctly. The girls, coming over the room, saw that your
room was dark, and naturally supposed that no one was in it. The
grinning face of the monkey standing on the bed beside you, was the
death's head apparition you thought you saw. At your cries the two women
at once jerked on the cord, and the monkey hastened back to them through
the partly raised window, leaving no trace of his presence except the
black smudges of which I have spoken.

"I have no doubt that Jane Ford followed me back to my hotel after one
of my early visits to your apartment, and thus learned my name and
address. Her supposition that I was engaged in an attempt to ferret out
the writer of the letters was a shrewd guess.

"The photograph was stolen from the studio by Marcia Ford who, being an
employee, had ample opportunity to stroll about the place after office
hours without exciting suspicion. She also arranged the subsequent
delivery of the photograph and the substitution of the fake telegram.

"Even when I made my night visit to Marcia Ford's room, and was attacked
in the dark by the monkey, I did not suspect what it was. The room was
pitch dark, and in the gloom I got the impression of a much larger
object--a person, in fact, and this impression was heightened by the
fact that the animal wore a silken jacket, and I felt the sleeve of it
against my throat. I only regret that the noise, the cries he made,
singularly human in quality, made it necessary for me to leave the place
so precipitately.

"The Ford girl and her sister had evidently just come in, and rushing to
the room found evidences of some one having been there. The monkey had
been shut in a closet, and by opening the door I had, of course,
released it. Fearing discovery, they arranged to flee at once. Jane Ford
went uptown. Her sister remained to pack up her belongings.

"The visit to your hotel, the attack on you, was a crazy inspiration of
the moment. Not knowing that my wife was following her, and having seen
me on the sidewalk on Fifty-seventh Street as she drove away, Miss
Norman naturally felt that if she could get you, Mrs. Morton, out of the
way, she would be perfectly safe in going up to your rooms.

"Even when alone with your daughter, she did not attempt to do her any
serious bodily injury, but contented herself with hurling the ammonia in
her face, counting, no doubt, upon the effect of the shock that would
result. As I have said, the woman is mentally a little unbalanced. The
things she does are not normal."

"Nevertheless, they came very near being fatal," Mrs. Morton remarked
grimly. "The doctor informed me that the fright, the shock of her
experience, might readily have caused Ruth's death, or upset her
reason."

"I do not doubt it," replied Duvall. "The woman has all the cunning of
an insane person. She showed it when, overcome by the sight of the
death's-head seal I had flashed upon the screen at the theater, she so
quickly recovered herself that she was able to deceive me completely
regarding her condition, and subsequently to make her escape.

"Both she and her sister realized that it had become necessary for them
to leave the city. Marcia Ford, taking the monkey with her in a cab,
hastened uptown to join her sister at the latter's apartment. She knew
that I was not following her, for she had seen me drive off to join you,
Mrs. Morton, at my hotel. They both thought themselves quite safe, and
able to leave the city without interference.

"The arrival of my wife at their apartment caused them to hasten their
plans. They realized that we were close upon their heels. Jane Ford knew
that the ring containing the death's-head seal was about the only
evidence that existed against her, yet she hesitated to throw it away,
as it had belonged to her father, and she prized it highly. With the
cunning that she had exhibited throughout, she conceived the idea of
hiding it in one of the tassels upon the handle of her umbrella.

"These tassels, as you perhaps know, are usually made of round bits of
wood, enclosed in a covering of knitted silk. The girl removed one of
the wooden balls, and having embedded the ring in a ball of black
sealing wax, put it in place of the wooden one. It was a most ingenious
hiding place, and one extremely unlikely to be discovered."

"How did you happen to discover it, Mr. Duvall?" Mrs. Morton asked.

"In this way. When my wife called my attention to the spots of black wax
on the tray of the candlestick, I saw at once that a far larger amount
of the wax had been melted than would have been required in making an
ordinary seal. The impressions on the warnings the woman sent were very
small and flat, so as to readily be inserted in the envelopes containing
the letters without being bulky, or becoming broken while passing
through the mails. But here were spots of the wax that had dripped down
as large as a silver quarter and larger. What, I wondered, had caused
the woman to melt so large a quantity of wax?

"I attempted to put myself in her place and to think what she would do
to hide the seal ring. The idea of embedding it in a ball of the wax
occurred to me. But, having done this, what would she do with the ball?
It was not an easy thing to hide; in her purse, her satchel, it would
have attracted attention at once. Then I noticed the round black
ornaments hanging from her umbrella, with their silken cords and
tassels. What better place to hide the ball of wax?

"In order to test my theory, I twice attempted to take the umbrella from
her on our way here, as though to relieve her of the trouble of carrying
it. In both instances she drew back at once, and refused to allow the
umbrella to leave her possession. This action on her part convinced me
that my guess had been a correct one. The subsequent finding of the ring
broke down her assurance. As you know, she has made a complete
confession."

"Poor woman," Ruth Morton remarked. "What are you going to do with her?"

"That rests with you, Miss Morton. If you decide to prosecute you can
readily do so. The penalty for sending threatening letters through the
mails is not a light one. And her attack upon you, under the
circumstances, is a very serious matter indeed."

Ruth turned to her mother.

"I think we ought to let them go," she said.

"And have the same trouble over again," Mrs. Morton replied. "I could
never feel safe with that woman at large."

"I do not think she will trouble you again, Mrs. Morton," remarked
Duvall. "She is thoroughly frightened. All her assurance has
disappeared. She begs that she and her sister be allowed to return home
at once. It seems that some relative in Rochester has offered them a
home there, and they were going to join her when we intercepted them."

"Then let them go," Ruth Morton exclaimed. "I certainly do not wish to
cause them any harm, especially as you tell me the woman who originated
the whole thing is mentally not quite right."

"She is certainly unbalanced, so far as her grievance against you is
concerned. But I feel sure that were you to explain matters to her, and
let her understand that your action in losing her the position at the
studio was quite impersonal on your part, she will realize the folly of
what she has done, and come to her senses."

"I will do it," said Ruth. "I don't want to injure her any more. Let
them go home in peace."

"Very well." Duvall rose to go. "Permit me to say, Mrs. Morton, that I
admire your daughter's generosity very much. Good morning." He and Grace
bade their hosts good-by and took their leave.

"She's a lovely girl," Grace remarked, as they drove to their hotel. "I
like her immensely."

"Then you aren't jealous of me any more, because I so suddenly became a
motion-picture 'fan'?"

"Richard!" she laughed. "Don't be silly. I suppose I shall always be
jealous of you when a girl, as beautiful as Ruth Morton, is concerned.
After all, to be jealous is only a woman's way of paying tribute to
another woman's charms."

Duvall laughed.

"It was Miss Ford's way, too," he said, "but as a means of showing one's
appreciation it had its faults."

THE END.

THE NOVELS OF

MARY ROBERTS RINEHART

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

"K." Illustrated.

K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him,
and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. She
is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their young
love are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has made
the author famous.

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN.

Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.

An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the
"Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success
are found in this book.

WHEN A MAN MARRIES.

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his
aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family
income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic
upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most
entertainingly told.

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. by Lester Ralph.

The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of Arnold
Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Following
the murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is woven
a plot of absorbing interest.

THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS.

Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.)

Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly
realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious
doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with
world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and
slender means.

B. M. BOWER'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

CHIP OF THE FLYING U. Wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della Whitman
are charmingly and humorously told.

THE HAPPY FAMILY. A lively and amusing story, dealing with the
adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys.

HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. Describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange a
cottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house.

THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud between two families,
and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly story.

THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the experience of an
Eastern author among the cowboys.

THE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and the recollection
of a pair of large brown eyes upset "Weary" Davidson's plans.

THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free
outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story.

GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch.

FLYING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and his pals.

THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND. An amusing account of Chip and the other boys
opposing a party of school teachers.

THE UPHILL CLIMB. A story of a mountain ranch and of a man's hard fight
on the uphill road to manliness.

THE PHANTOM HERD. The title of a moving-picture staged in New Mexico by
the "Flying U" boys.

THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The "Flying U" boys stage a fake bank robbery
for film purposes which precedes a real one for lust of gold.

THE GRINGOS. A story of love and adventure on a ranch in California.

STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and adventure.

THE LOOKOUT MAN. A Northern California story full of action, excitement
and love.

Transcriber's Notes:

Typographical errors in original have been corrected as follows:

Chapter III

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

"No one, but an old negro cook, who has been with me for years.
changed to: "No one but an old negro cook, who has been with me for
years.

I am going to take the case largely bceause it has interested me,
changed to: I am going to take the case largely because it has
interested me,

Chapter IV

Duvall examined this house next door with a great deal of interest
changed to: Duvall examined this house next door with a great deal of
interest.

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

Chapter V

...eyes of the two men were tent curiously upon her,
changed to:  ...eyes of the two men were bent curiously upon her,

Why, sir. Is anything wrong?"
changed to:  Why, sir? Is anything wrong?"

Chapter VI

Dora will bring me some dinner," she said,
changed to:  Nora will bring me some dinner," she said,

She has become a sort of public character."
changed to: She has become a sort of public character.

Chapter VII

Duvall turned to his companion with a juzzled frown.
changed to:  Duvall turned to his companion with a puzzled frown.

...his head, far below the sill of this window. nor could anyone...
changed to: ...his head, far below the sill of this window, nor could
anyone...

...may have to be here some time, I've got a queer case...
changed to: ...may have to be here some time. I've got a queer case...

Chapter VIII

"Nothing, replied Mrs. Morton.
changed to:  "Nothing," replied Mrs. Morton.

"This is where Mr. Moore receives his callers:
changed to:  "This is where Mr. Moore receives his callers.

...at the Grand to-night, It will be your last
changed to:  ...at the Grand to-night, it will be your last.

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

...when the moment arrived, I gave it to the actor who took it to Miss
Morton:"
changed to: ...when the moment arrived, I gave it to the actor who took
it to Miss Morton."

...Duvall asked Ruth, after they had had started away from the studio.
changed to: ...Duvall asked Ruth, after they had started away from the
studio.

Chapter IX

With a polite bow he passed no.
changed to:  With a polite bow he passed on.

Chapter X

Duval, after having satisfied himself that...
changed to:  Duvall, after having satisfied himself that...

The lovely face of Ruth Morton once more greeted the eyes of the
audience
changed to: The lovely face of Ruth Morton once more greeted the eyes of
the audience.

...the water about with the end of a leadpencil until the tablet...
changed to: ...the water about with the end of a lead pencil until the
tablet...

Chapter XI

...sent him into the drag store in order that she...
changed to:  ...sent him into the drug store in order that she...

...provided the card is, as I conclude, torn exactly in half.
changed to: ...provided the card is, as I conclude, torn exactly in
half."

...begins with 'Mar,' Duvall said. I will put them down on a sheet of
paper."
changed to: ...begins with 'Mar,'" Duvall said. "I will put them down on
a sheet of paper."

It may be that Miss Marcia Ford,...
changed to:  "It may be that Miss Marcia Ford,...

...extended a half sheet of none-paper toward the detective.
changed to: ...extended a half sheet of note-paper toward the detective.

...he said, "that it will, be necessary for you to remain...
changed to: ...he said, "that it will be necessary for you to remain...

Mr. Emmett, who is in charge there, can tell as about Miss Ford."
changed to: Mr. Emmett, who is in charge there, can tell us about Miss
Ford."

Chapter XII

The thing is utterly incomprehensible."
changed to:  The thing is utterly incomprehensible.

What's the matter with you.
changed to:  What's the matter with you?

...in case anyone questioned him about me."
changed to: ...in case anyone questioned him about me.

She gave him a name and address.
changed to:  "She gave him a name and address.

Chapter XV

"Yes. I came to see you about a matter of importance.
changed to: "Yes. I came to see you about a matter of importance."

Chapter XVI

...been following appeared, wearing a flowered kimona.
changed to: ...been following appeared, wearing a flowered kimono.

Chapter XVII

"Very well Get me a cab.
changed to:  "Very well. Get me a cab.

He was overjoyed, when it was opened by a man...
changed to:  He was overjoyed when it was opened by a man...

He doubted his ability to break it in. nor did he wish...
changed to: He doubted his ability to break it in, nor did he wish...

Chapter XIX

"'Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked,
changed to: "Is there anything more you want of us?" Miss Norman asked,

Chapter XX

"I am glad to find you almost yourself again.
changed to:  "I am glad to find you almost yourself again."

Chapter XXI

It seems she haunted the studio for several weeks without...
changed to: "It seems she haunted the studio for several weeks
without...

...and thus learned by name and address.
changed to:  and thus learned my name and address.

What better place to hide the ball of wax.
changed to:  What better place to hide the ball of wax?

Permit me to say, Mrs. Morton, that I...
changed to:  "Permit me to say, Mrs. Morton, that I...

B.M. Bower's Novels

THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud be two families, and
a...
changed to: THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud between
two families, and a...