CHAPTER XVIWhen Grace Duvall, accompanied by the hotel clerk, found Ruth Morton lying on the floor in the parlor of her suite, her first act had been to call for a doctor.Her second was to gather the unconscious girl in her arms, and carry her into the adjoining bedroom.That Ruth was alive, filled Grace with joy. She had feared something far worse might have befallen the girl. Yet it was clear that some terrible shock had operated to reduce her to the condition in which she had been found. What this shock was, Grace could only surmise.She placed the girl upon the bed, and proceeded to remove her clothing. By the time she had gotten her beneath the sheets, the clerk came in, accompanied by the hotel physician.The latter, after a hasty examination, turned to Grace with a grave look. "The young woman has experienced a terrible shock of some sort," he said. "She is very weak, and her heart action is bad." He took some tablets from a bottle in his medicine case, and called for a glass of water. "Severe nerve-shock of this sort is a serious matter," he exclaimed. "Sometimes it is fatal, at others the mind may be permanently affected. The young lady must be kept absolutely quiet, of course. We will hope for the best. Give her a tablespoonful of this solution every hour. Force her to take it, even if she does not regain consciousness. I will look in again in an hour or two. But be sure that she is kept absolutely quiet."Grace sat beside the unconscious girl for a long time in silence. Once she went into the next room and called up her hotel, thinking that Richard might have returned, but he had not. She felt that she could only wait where she was, until some word came from Leary.The clerk, as soon as Ruth was attended to, had hastened down to the lobby, only to learn that the woman who had gone to Miss Bradley's room had not been seen.It must have been almost an hour before Grace was informed by one of the bellboys that someone wished to speak to her on the telephone. She did not take the message in Ruth's room, the management having given instructions that no calls were to be transmitted there for fear of arousing the unconscious girl. She went quickly downstairs in the elevator, and repaired to a booth in the lobby. One of the maids had been left to watch over Ruth.The message was from Leary, as Grace had anticipated."Is this you, Mrs. Duvall?" the cabman asked."Yes. What have you discovered?""The lady got into her cab a little while after you left me, and drove away. I followed, as you told me to do. She drove to an apartment on 96th Street, left her taxicab, and entered. The cab drove away. I'm waiting across the street, in a drug store. The apartment is on the corner, 96th Street and Columbus Avenue. Shall I stay here?""Yes. Wait until I come." Grace left the booth, and hunting up the clerk, told him that she was obliged to go out at once."Mrs. Morton should be back very soon," she said. "One of the maids is sitting with Miss Ruth. Hadn't you better stay with her, as well?"The clerk nodded, then saw the doctor coming through the lobby."Here's Dr. Benson," he said. "I'll send him up. The young lady will be quite safe, until her mother comes."Grace bowed to the doctor, then hurried out of the hotel, and jumping into a taxi, ordered the driver to take her to Columbus Avenue and 96th Street. She felt overjoyed, to know that the woman Duvall had been seeking had at last been run to earth. She should, Grace determined, not escape a second time.At 96th Street, she found Leary, impatiently waiting for her in the doorway of the corner drug store from which he had telephoned. He saw her as soon as she left the cab and, tipping his cap, came forward and joined her."She's in there yet, Miss," he whispered, jerking his thumb toward the building on the opposite corner.Grace glanced in the direction indicated. A somewhat dingy-looking apartment house stood upon the corner; its lower floor occupied by a florist's shop. The entrance was on 96th Street. Leaving Leary on the opposite corner, she crossed the street and entered the vestibule of the building.The mail boxes on either side contained five names each, indicating that there were ten apartments in the building. Grace looked over the addresses in them carefully, but none of them meant anything to her. None was at all familiar. The name on the torn card had been Ford, but there was no such name among those before her. How was she to tell to which apartment the woman had gone? The situation presented an interesting problem.Making a list of the names upon a visiting card, Grace determined to try them each in turn. She had observed that the building contained no elevator. She rang one of the bells, and almost at once the clicking of the catch told her that the front door was unlocked. She turned the knob and entered.The occupants of the two ground floor apartments were named Weinberg and Scully, respectively. Grace tried both doors in succession, asking for Mrs. Weinberg at the one, and for Mrs. Scully at the other. In each case the woman who appeared bore no resemblance to the one she sought, and she was obliged to pretend that she had made a mistake. The doors were at once closed in her face.It was not until she reached the fourth floor that success rewarded her efforts. The left-hand apartment on this floor had as its tenant a Miss Norman. To Grace's delight, she had scarcely rung the bell, when the woman she had been following appeared, wearing a floweredkimono.She looked at Grace keenly, suspiciously, but with no sign of recognition. Whether she did not know her, or merely pretended not to do so, Grace was unable to say. After all, it made little difference. Having now located the woman, it was only necessary to get away, upon some pretense or other, and telephone to Richard. She felt highly elated."What do you want?" the woman asked, quickly."Are you Miss Norman?""I am.""Miss Norman, I have come to try to interest you in the work we are doing on behalf of the suffering people of Poland. The war, as you know——" Grace reeled off this appeal, feeling quite certain that the woman would reject it at once, and thus leave her free to go. But as it turned out, Miss Norman did nothing of the sort."I am always interested in worthy charities," she remarked, with a peculiar smile. "Won't you come in?" She held wide the door.Grace found herself in a quandary. Was this a plot to get her inside the apartment, or was the woman in earnest? It seemed unlikely, and yet, Grace feared the danger, now that she had gone so far, of arousing the other's suspicions by a refusal."I—I will come in for a moment," she said, and an instant later found herself in a small, rather poorly furnished living room. The woman 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 IVCHAPTER XVIIDuvall, 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.""Verywell. 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 wasoverjoyed 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 wastypewritten.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 betypewrittenon 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 itin, 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 XVIIIIt 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 anyprice? I may not be as good-looking as she is, but I'm a better actress. I hate her. I believe she told the director I wouldn't do—that's why 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 connectmewith 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. Ididmanage 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, thethingin 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 XIXThe 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 XXRuth 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 yourselfagain."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 simplyhadto 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 byfear. 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 itwaseither 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.
When Grace Duvall, accompanied by the hotel clerk, found Ruth Morton lying on the floor in the parlor of her suite, her first act had been to call for a doctor.
Her second was to gather the unconscious girl in her arms, and carry her into the adjoining bedroom.
That Ruth was alive, filled Grace with joy. She had feared something far worse might have befallen the girl. Yet it was clear that some terrible shock had operated to reduce her to the condition in which she had been found. What this shock was, Grace could only surmise.
She placed the girl upon the bed, and proceeded to remove her clothing. By the time she had gotten her beneath the sheets, the clerk came in, accompanied by the hotel physician.
The latter, after a hasty examination, turned to Grace with a grave look. "The young woman has experienced a terrible shock of some sort," he said. "She is very weak, and her heart action is bad." He took some tablets from a bottle in his medicine case, and called for a glass of water. "Severe nerve-shock of this sort is a serious matter," he exclaimed. "Sometimes it is fatal, at others the mind may be permanently affected. The young lady must be kept absolutely quiet, of course. We will hope for the best. Give her a tablespoonful of this solution every hour. Force her to take it, even if she does not regain consciousness. I will look in again in an hour or two. But be sure that she is kept absolutely quiet."
Grace sat beside the unconscious girl for a long time in silence. Once she went into the next room and called up her hotel, thinking that Richard might have returned, but he had not. She felt that she could only wait where she was, until some word came from Leary.
The clerk, as soon as Ruth was attended to, had hastened down to the lobby, only to learn that the woman who had gone to Miss Bradley's room had not been seen.
It must have been almost an hour before Grace was informed by one of the bellboys that someone wished to speak to her on the telephone. She did not take the message in Ruth's room, the management having given instructions that no calls were to be transmitted there for fear of arousing the unconscious girl. She went quickly downstairs in the elevator, and repaired to a booth in the lobby. One of the maids had been left to watch over Ruth.
The message was from Leary, as Grace had anticipated.
"Is this you, Mrs. Duvall?" the cabman asked.
"Yes. What have you discovered?"
"The lady got into her cab a little while after you left me, and drove away. I followed, as you told me to do. She drove to an apartment on 96th Street, left her taxicab, and entered. The cab drove away. I'm waiting across the street, in a drug store. The apartment is on the corner, 96th Street and Columbus Avenue. Shall I stay here?"
"Yes. Wait until I come." Grace left the booth, and hunting up the clerk, told him that she was obliged to go out at once.
"Mrs. Morton should be back very soon," she said. "One of the maids is sitting with Miss Ruth. Hadn't you better stay with her, as well?"
The clerk nodded, then saw the doctor coming through the lobby.
"Here's Dr. Benson," he said. "I'll send him up. The young lady will be quite safe, until her mother comes."
Grace bowed to the doctor, then hurried out of the hotel, and jumping into a taxi, ordered the driver to take her to Columbus Avenue and 96th Street. She felt overjoyed, to know that the woman Duvall had been seeking had at last been run to earth. She should, Grace determined, not escape a second time.
At 96th Street, she found Leary, impatiently waiting for her in the doorway of the corner drug store from which he had telephoned. He saw her as soon as she left the cab and, tipping his cap, came forward and joined her.
"She's in there yet, Miss," he whispered, jerking his thumb toward the building on the opposite corner.
Grace glanced in the direction indicated. A somewhat dingy-looking apartment house stood upon the corner; its lower floor occupied by a florist's shop. The entrance was on 96th Street. Leaving Leary on the opposite corner, she crossed the street and entered the vestibule of the building.
The mail boxes on either side contained five names each, indicating that there were ten apartments in the building. Grace looked over the addresses in them carefully, but none of them meant anything to her. None was at all familiar. The name on the torn card had been Ford, but there was no such name among those before her. How was she to tell to which apartment the woman had gone? The situation presented an interesting problem.
Making a list of the names upon a visiting card, Grace determined to try them each in turn. She had observed that the building contained no elevator. She rang one of the bells, and almost at once the clicking of the catch told her that the front door was unlocked. She turned the knob and entered.
The occupants of the two ground floor apartments were named Weinberg and Scully, respectively. Grace tried both doors in succession, asking for Mrs. Weinberg at the one, and for Mrs. Scully at the other. In each case the woman who appeared bore no resemblance to the one she sought, and she was obliged to pretend that she had made a mistake. The doors were at once closed in her face.
It was not until she reached the fourth floor that success rewarded her efforts. The left-hand apartment on this floor had as its tenant a Miss Norman. To Grace's delight, she had scarcely rung the bell, when the woman she had been following appeared, wearing a floweredkimono.
She looked at Grace keenly, suspiciously, but with no sign of recognition. Whether she did not know her, or merely pretended not to do so, Grace was unable to say. After all, it made little difference. Having now located the woman, it was only necessary to get away, upon some pretense or other, and telephone to Richard. She felt highly elated.
"What do you want?" the woman asked, quickly.
"Are you Miss Norman?"
"I am."
"Miss Norman, I have come to try to interest you in the work we are doing on behalf of the suffering people of Poland. The war, as you know——" Grace reeled off this appeal, feeling quite certain that the woman would reject it at once, and thus leave her free to go. But as it turned out, Miss Norman did nothing of the sort.
"I am always interested in worthy charities," she remarked, with a peculiar smile. "Won't you come in?" She held wide the door.
Grace found herself in a quandary. Was this a plot to get her inside the apartment, or was the woman in earnest? It seemed unlikely, and yet, Grace feared the danger, now that she had gone so far, of arousing the other's suspicions by a refusal.
"I—I will come in for a moment," she said, and an instant later found herself in a small, rather poorly furnished living room. The woman 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.
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."
"Verywell. 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 wasoverjoyed 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 wastypewritten.
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 betypewrittenon 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 itin, 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.
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 anyprice? I may not be as good-looking as she is, but I'm a better actress. I hate her. I believe she told the director I wouldn't do—that's why 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 connectmewith 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. Ididmanage 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, thethingin 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.
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.
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 yourselfagain."
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 simplyhadto 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 byfear. 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 itwaseither 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.