“prothero,” said cuthbert, “is a man of mystery. as soon as i began asking his neighbors questions, i saw he was of interest and that i was of interest. i saw they did not believe i was an agent of a west end shop, but a detective. so they wouldn't talk at all, or else they talked freely. and from one of them, a chemist named needham, i got all i wanted. he's had a lawsuit against prothero, and hates him. prothero got him to invest in a medicine to cure the cocaine habit. needham found the cure was no cure, but cocaine disguised. he sued for his money, and during the trial the police brought in prothero's record. needham let me copy it, and it seems to embrace every crime except treason. the man is a russian jew. he was arrested and prosecuted in warsaw, vienna, berlin, belgrade; all over europe, until finally the police drove him to america. there he was an editor of an anarchist paper, a blackmailer, a 'doctor' of hypnotism, a clairvoyant, and a professional bigamist. his game was to open rooms as a clairvoyant, and advise silly women how to invest their money. when he found out which of them had the most money, he would marry her, take over her fortune, and skip. in chicago, he was tried for poisoning one wife, and the trial brought out the fact that two others had died under suspicious circumstances, and that there were three more unpoisoned but anxious to get back their money. he was sentenced to ten years for bigamy, but pardoned because he was supposed to be insane, and dying. instead of dying, he opened a sanatorium in new york to cure victims of the drug habit. in reality, it was a sort of high-priced opium-den. the place was raided, and he jumped his bail and came to this country. now he is running this private hospital in sowell street. needham says it's a secret rendezvous for dope fiends. but they are very high-class dope fiends, who are willing to pay for seclusion, and the police can't get at him. i may add that he's tall and muscular, with a big black beard, and hands that could strangle a bull. in chicago, during the poison trial, the newspapers called him 'the modern bluebeard.”'

for a short time ford was silent. but, in the dark corner of the cab, cuthbert could see that his cigar was burning briskly.

“your friend seems a nice chap,” said ford at last. “calling on him will be a real pleasure. i especially like what you say about his hands.”

“i have a plan,” began the assistant timidly, “a plan to get you into the house-if you don't mind my making suggestions?”

“not at all!” exclaimed his chief heartily.

“get me into the house by all means; that's what we're here for. the fact that i'm to be poisoned or strangled after i get there mustn't discourage us.'”

“i thought,” said cuthbert, “i might stand guard outside, while you got in as a dope fiend.”

ford snorted indignantly. “do i look like a dope fiend?” he protested.

the voice of the assistant was one of discouragement.

“you certainly do not,” he exclaimed regretfully. “but it's the only plan i could think of.”

“it seems to me,” said his chief testily, “that you are not so very healthy-looking yourself. what's the matter with your getting inside as a dope fiend and my standing guard?”

“but i wouldn't know what to do after i got inside,” complained the assistant, “and you would. you are so clever.”

the expression of confidence seemed to flatter ford.

“i might do this,” he said. “i might pretend i was recovering from a heavy spree, and ask to be taken care of until i am sober. or i could be a very good imitation of a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown. i haven't been five years in the newspaper business without knowing all there is to know about nerves. that's it!” he cried. “i will do that! and if mr. bluebeard svengali, the strangler of paris person, won't take me in as a patient, we'll come back with a couple of axes and break in. but we'll try the nervous breakdown first, and we'll try it now. i will be a naval officer,” declared ford. “i made the round-the-world cruise with our fleet as a correspondent, and i know enough sea slang to fool a medical man. i am a naval officer whose nerves have gone wrong. i have heard of his sanatorium through——” “how,” asked ford sharply, “have i heard of his sanatorium?”

“you saw his advertisement in the daily world,” prompted cuthbert. “'home of convalescents; mental and nervous troubles cured.'”

“and,” continued ford, “i have come to him for rest and treatment. my name is lieutenant henry grant. i arrived in london two weeks ago on the mauretania. but my name was not on the passenger-list, because i did not want the navy department to know i was taking my leave abroad. i have been stopping at my own address in jermyn street, and my references are yourself, the embassy, and my landlord. you will telephone him at once that, if any one asks after henry grant, he is to say what you tell him to say. and if any one sends for henry grant's clothes, he is to send my clothes.”

“but you don't expect to be in there as long as that?” exclaimed cuthbert.

“i do not,” said ford. “but, if he takes me in, i must make a bluff of sending for my things. no; either i will be turned out in five minutes, or if he accepts me as a patient i will be there until midnight. if i cannot get the girl out of the house by midnight, it will mean that i can't get out myself, and you had better bring the police and the coroner.”

“do you mean it?” asked cuthbert.

“i most certainly do!” exclaimed ford.

“until twelve i want a chance to get this story exclusively for our paper. if she is not free by then it means i have fallen down on it, and you and the police are to begin to batter in the doors.”

the two young men left the cab, and at some distance from each other walked to sowell street. at the house of dr. prothero, ford stopped and rang the bell. from across the street cuthbert saw the door open and the figure of a man of almost gigantic stature block the doorway. for a moment he stood there, and then cuthbert saw him step to one side, saw ford enter the house and the door close upon him. cuthbert at once ran to a telephone, and, having instructed ford's landlord as to the part he was to play, returned to sowell street. there, in a state nearly approaching a genuine nervous breakdown, he continued his vigil.

even without his criminal record to cast a glamour over him, ford would have found dr. prothero, a disturbing person. his size was enormous, his eyes piercing, sinister, unblinking, and the hands that could strangle a bull, and with which as though to control himself, he continually pulled at his black beard, were gigantic, of a deadly white, with fingers long and prehensile. in his manner he had all the suave insolence of the oriental and the suspicious alertness of one constantly on guard, but also, as ford at once noted, of one wholly without fear. he had not been over a moment in his presence before the reporter felt that to successfully lie to such a man might be counted as a triumph.

prothero opened the door into a little office leading off the hall, and switched on the electric lights. for some short time, without any effort to conceal his suspicion, he stared at ford in silence.

“well?” he said, at last. his tone was a challenge.

ford had already given his assumed name and profession, and he now ran glibly into the story he had planned. he opened his card-case and looked into it doubtfully. “i find i have no card with me,” he said; “but i am, as i told you, lieutenant grant, of the united states navy. i am all right physically, except for my nerves. they've played me a queer trick. if the facts get out at home, it might cost me my commission. so i've come over here for treatment.”

“why to me?” asked prothero.

“i saw by your advertisement,” said the reporter, “that you treated for nervous mental troubles. mine is an illusion,” he went on. “i see things, or, rather, always one thing-a battle-ship coming at us head on. for the last year i've been executive officer of the kearsarge, and the responsibility has been too much for me.”

“you see a battle-ship?” inquired the jew.

“a phantom battle-ship,” ford explained, “a sort of flying dutchman. the time i saw it i was on the bridge, and i yelled and telegraphed the engine-room. i brought the ship to a full stop, and backed her. but it was dirty weather, and the error was passed over. after that, when i saw the thing coming i did nothing. but each time i think it is real.” ford shivered slightly and glanced about him. “some day,” he added fatefully, “it will be real, and i will not signal, and the ship will sink!”

in silence, prothero observed his visitor closely. the young man seemed sincere, genuine. his manner was direct and frank. he looked the part he had assumed, as one used to authority.

“my fees are large,” said the russian.

at this point, had ford, regardless of terms, exhibited a hopeful eagerness to at once close with him, the jew would have shown him the door. but ford was on guard, and well aware that a lieutenant in the navy had but few guineas to throw away on medicines. he made a movement as though to withdraw.

“then i am afraid,” he said, “i must go somewhere else.”

his reluctance apparently only partially satisfied the jew.

ford adopted opposite tactics. he was never without ready money. his paper saw to it that in its interests he was always able at any moment to pay for a special train across europe, or to bribe the entire working staff of a cable office. from his breast-pocket he took a blue linen envelope, and allowed the jew to see that it was filled with twenty-pound notes. “i have means outside my pay,” said ford.

“i would give almost any price to the man who can cure me.” the eyes of the russian flashed avariciously.

“i will arrange the terms to suit you,” he exclaimed. “your case interests me. do you see this mirage only at sea?”

“in any open place,” ford assured him. “in a park or public square, but of course most frequently at sea.”

the quack waved his great hands as though brushing aside a curtain.

“i will remove the illusion,” he said, “and give you others more pretty.” he smiled meaningfully—an evil, leering smile. “when will you come?” he asked. ford glanced about him nervously.

“i shall stay now,” he said. “i confess, in the streets and in my lodgings i am frightened. you give me confidence. i want to stay near you. i feel safe with you. if you will give me writing-paper, i will send for my things.”

for a moment the jew hesitated, and then motioned to a desk. as ford wrote, prothero stood near him, and the reporter knew that over his shoulder the jew was reading what he wrote. ford gave him the note, unsealed, and asked that it be forwarded at once to his lodgings.

“to-morrow,” he said, “i will call up our embassy, and give my address to our naval attache.

“i will attend to that,” said prothero.

“from now you are in my hands, and you can communicate with the outside only through me. you are to have absolute rest—no books, no letters, no papers. and you will be fed from a spoon. i will explain my treatment later. you will now go to your room, and you will remain there until you are a well man.”

ford had no wish to be at once shut off from the rest of the house. the odor of cooking came through the hall, and seemed to offer an excuse for delay.

“i smell food,” he laughed. “and i'm terrifically hungry. can't i have a farewell dinner before you begin feeding me from a spoon?”

the jew was about to refuse, but, with his guilty knowledge of what was going forward in the house, he could not be too sure of those he allowed to enter it. he wanted more time to spend in studying this new patient, and the dinner-table seemed to offer a place where he could do so without the other suspecting he was under observation.

“my associate and i were just about to dine,” he said. “you will wait here until i have another place laid, and you can join us.”

he departed, walking heavily down the hall, but almost at once ford, whose ears were alert for any sound, heard him returning, approaching stealthily on tiptoe. if by this maneuver the jew had hoped to discover his patient in some indiscretion, he was unsuccessful, for he found ford standing just where he had left him, with his back turned to the door, and gazing with apparent interest at a picture on the wall. the significance of the incident was not lost upon the intruder. it taught him he was still under surveillance, and that he must bear himself warily. murmuring some excuse for having returned, the jew again departed, and in a few minutes ford heard his voice, and that of another man, engaged in low tones in what was apparently an eager argument.

only once was the voice of the other man raised sufficiently for ford to distinguish his words. “he is an american,” protested the voice; “that makes it worse.”

ford guessed that the speaker was pearsall, and that against his admittance to the house he was making earnest protest. a door, closing with a bang, shut off the argument, but within a few minutes it was evident the jew had carried his point, for he reappeared to announce that dinner was waiting. it was served in a room at the farther end of the hall, and at the table, which was laid for three, ford found a man already seated. prothero introduced him as “my associate,” but from his presence in the house, and from the fact that he was an american, ford knew that he was pearsall.

pearsall was a man of fifty. he was tall, spare, with closely shaven face and gray hair, worn rather long. he spoke with the accent of a southerner, and although to ford he was studiously polite, he was obviously greatly ill at ease. he had the abrupt, inattentive manners, the trembling fingers and quivering lips, of one who had long been a slave to the drug habit, and who now, with difficulty, was holding himself in hand.

throughout the dinner, speaking to him as though, interested only as his medical advisers, the jew, and occasionally the american, sharply examined and cross-examined their visitor. but they were unable to trip him in his story, or to suggest that he was not just what he claimed to be.

when the dinner was finished, the three men, for different reasons, were each more at his ease. both pearsall and prothero believed from the new patient they had nothing to fear, and ford was congratulating himself that his presence at the house was firmly secure.

“i think,” said pearsall, “we should warn mr. grant that there are in the house other patients who, like himself, are suffering from nervous disorders. at times some silly neurotic woman becomes hysterical, and may make an outcry or scream. he must not think ——”

“that's all right!” ford reassured him cheerfully. “i expect that. in a sanatorium it must be unavoidable.”

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

it was the voice of a woman, raised in appeal, in protest, shaken with fear. without for an instant regarding it, the two men fastened their eyes upon the visitor. the hand of the jew dropped quickly from his beard, and slid to the inside pocket of his coat. with eyes apparently unseeing, ford noted the movement.

“he carries a gun,” was his mental comment, “and he seems perfectly willing to use it.” aloud, he said: “that, i suppose is one of them?”

prothero nodded gravely, and turned to pearsall. “will you attend her?” he asked.

as pearsall rose and left the room, prothero rose also.

“you will come with me,” he directed, “and i will see you settle in your apartment. your bag has arrived and is already there.”

the room to which the jew led him was the front one on the second story. it was in no way in keeping with a sanatorium, or a rest-cure. the walls were hidden by dark blue hangings, in which sparkled tiny mirrors, the floor was covered with turkish rugs, the lights concealed inside lamps of dull brass bedecked with crimson tassels. in the air were the odors of stale tobacco-smoke, of cheap incense, and the sickly, sweet smell of opium. to ford the place suggested a cigar-divan rather than a bedroom, and he guessed, correctly, that when prothero had played at palmistry and clairvoyance this had been the place where he received his dupes. but the american expressed himself pleased with his surroundings, and while prothero remained in the room, busied himself with unpacking his bag.

on leaving him the jew halted in the door and delivered himself of a little speech. his voice was stern, sharp, menacing.

“until you are cured,” he said, “you will not put your foot outside this room. in this house are other inmates who, as you have already learned, are in a highly nervous state. the brains of some are unbalanced. with my associate and myself they are familiar, but the sight of a stranger roaming through the halls might upset them. they might attack you, might do you bodily injury. if you wish for anything, ring the electric bell beside your bed and an attendant will come. but you yourself must not leave the room.”

he closed the door, and ford, seating himself in front of the coal fire, hastily considered his position. he could not persuade himself that, strategically, it was a satisfactory one. the girl he sought was on the top or fourth floor, he on the second. to reach her he would have to pass through well-lighted halls, up two flights of stairs and try to enter a door that would undoubtedly be locked. on the other hand, instead of wandering about in the rain outside the house, he was now established on the inside, and as an inmate. had there been time for a siege, he would have been confident of success. but there was no time. the written call for help had been urgent. also, the scream he had heard, while the manner of the two men had shown that to them it was a commonplace, was to him a spur to instant action. in haste he knew there was the risk of failure, but he must take that risk.

he wished first to assure himself that cuthbert was within call, and to that end put out the lights and drew aside the curtains that covered the window. outside, the fog was rolling between the house-fronts, both rain and snow were falling heavily, and a solitary gas-lamp showed only a deserted and dripping street. cautiously ford lit a match and for an instant let the flame flare. he was almost at once rewarded by the sight of an answering flame that flickered from a dark doorway. ford closed the window, satisfied that his line of communication with the outside world was still intact. the faithful cuthbert was on guard.

ford rapidly reviewed each possible course of action. these were several, but to lead any one of them to success, he saw that he must possess a better acquaintance with the interior of the house. especially was it important that he should obtain a line of escape other than the one down the stairs to the front door. the knowledge that in the rear of the house there was a means of retreat by a servants' stairway, or over the roof of an adjoining building, or by a friendly fire-escape, would at least, lend him confidence in his adventure. accordingly, in spite of prothero's threat, he determined at once to reconnoitre. in case of his being discovered outside his room, he would explain his electric bell was out of order, that when he rang no servant had answered, and that he had sallied forth in search of one. to make this plausible, he unscrewed the cap of the electric button in the wall, and with his knife cut off enough of the wire to prevent a proper connection. he then replaced the cap and, opening the door, stepped into the hall.

the upper part of the house was, sunk in silence, but rising from the dining-room below, through the opening made by the stairs, came the voices of prothero and pearsall. and mixed with their voices came also the sharp hiss of water issuing from a siphon. the sound was reassuring. apparently, over their whiskey-and-soda the two men were still lingering at the dinner-table. for the moment, then—so far, at least, as they were concerned—the coast was clear.

stepping cautiously, and keeping close to the wall, ford ran lightly up the stairs to the hall of the third floor. it was lit brightly by a gas-jet, but no one was in sight, and the three doors opening upon it were shut. at the rear of the hall was a window; the blind was raised, and through the panes, dripping in the rain, ford caught a glimpse of the rigid iron rods of a fire-escape. his spirits leaped exultantly. if necessary, by means of this scaling ladder, he could work entirely from the outside. greatly elated, he tiptoed past the closed doors and mounted to the fourth floor. this also was lit by a gas-jet that showed at one end of the hall a table on which were medicine-bottles and a tray covered by a napkin; and at the other end, piled upon each other and blocking the hall-window, were three steamer-trunks. painted on each were the initials, “d. d.” ford breathed an exclamation.

“dosia dale,” he muttered, “i have found you!” he was again confronted by three closed doors, one leading to a room that faced the street, another opening upon a room in the rear of the house, and opposite, across the hallway, still another door. he observed that the first two doors were each fastened from the outside by bolts and a spring lock, and that the key to each lock was in place. the fact moved him with indecision. if he took possession of the keys, he could enter the rooms at his pleasure. on the other hand, should their loss be discovered, an alarm would be raised and he would inevitably come under suspicion. the very purpose he had in view might be frustrated. he decided that where they were the keys would serve him as well as in his pocket, and turned his attention to the third door. this was not locked, and, from its position, ford guessed it must be an entrance to a servants' stairway.

confident of this, he opened it, and found a dark, narrow landing, a flight of steps mounting from the kitchen below, and, to his delight an iron ladder leading to a trap-door. he could hardly forego a cheer. if the trap-door were not locked, he had found a third line of retreat, a means of escape by way of the roof, far superior to any he might attempt by the main staircase and the street-door.

ford stepped into the landing, closing the door behind him and though this left him in complete darkness, he climbed the ladder, and with eager fingers felt for the fastenings of the trap. he had feared to find a padlock, but, to his infinite relief, his fingers closed upon two bolts. noiselessly, and smoothly, they drew back from their sockets. under the pressure of his hand the trap door lifted, and through the opening swept a breath of chill night air.

ford hooked one leg over a round of the ladder and, with hands frees moved the trap to one side. an instant later he had scrambled to the roof, and, after carefully replacing the trap, rose and looked about him. to his satisfaction, he found that the roof upon which he stood ran level with the roofs adjoining its to as far as devonshire street, where they encountered the wall of an apartment house. this was of seven stories. on the fifth story a row of windows, brilliantly lighted, opened upon the roofs over which he planned to make his retreat. ford chuckled with nervous excitement.

“before long,” he assured himself, “i will be visiting the man who owns that flat. he will think i am a burglar. he will send for the police. there is no one in the world i shall be so glad to see!”

ford considered that running over roofs, even when their pitfalls were not concealed by a yellow fog, was an awkward exercise, and decided that before he made his dash for freedom, the part of a careful jockey would be to take a preliminary canter over the course. accordingly, among party walls of brick, rain-pipes, chimney-pipes, and telephone wires, he felt his way to the wall of the apartment house; and then, with a clearer idea of the obstacles to be avoided, raced back to the point whence he had started.

next, to discover the exact position of the fire-escape, he dropped to his knees and crawled to the rear edge of the roof. the light from the back windows of the fourth floor showed him an iron ladder from the edge of the roof to the platform of the fire-escape, and the platform itself, stretching below the windows the width of the building. he gave a sigh of satisfaction, but the same instant exclaimed with dismay. the windows opening upon the fire-escape were closely barred. for a moment he was unable to grasp why a fire-escape should be placed where escape was impossible, until he recognized that the ladder must have been erected first and the iron bars later; probably only since miss dale had been made a prisoner.

but he now appreciated that in spite of the iron bars he was nearer that prisoner than he had ever been. should he return to the hall below, even while he could unlock the doors, he was in danger of discovery by those inside the house. but from the fire-escape only a window-pane would separate him from the prisoner, and though the bars would keep him at arm's-length, he might at least speak with her, and assure her that her call for help had carried. he grasped the sides of the ladder and dropped to the platform. as he had already seen that the window farthest to the left was barricaded with trunks, he disregarded it, and passed quickly to the two others. behind both of these, linen shades were lowered, but, to his relief, he found that in the middle window the lower sash, as though for ventilation, was slightly raised, leaving an opening of a few inches. kneeling on the gridiron platform of the fire-escape, and pressing his face against the bars, he brought his eyes level with this opening. owing to the lowered window-blind, he could see nothing in the room, nor could he distinguish any sound until above the drip and patter of the rain there came to him the peaceful ticking of a clock and the rattle of coal falling to the fender. but of any sound that was human there was none. that the room was empty, and that the girl was in the front of the house was possible, and the temptation to stretch his hand through the bars and lift the blind was almost compelling. if he did so, and the girl were inside, she might make an outcry, or, guarding her, there might be an attendant, who at once would sound the alarm. the risk was evident, but, encouraged by the silence, ford determined to take the chance. slipping one hand between the bars he caught the end of the blind, and, pulling it gently down, let the spring draw it upward. through an opening of six inches the room lay open before him. he saw a door leading to another room, at one side an iron cot, and in front of the coal fire, facing him, a girl seated in a deep arm-chair. a book lay on her knees, and she was intently reading.

the girl was young, and her face, in spite of an unnatural pallor and an expression of deep melancholy, was one of extreme beauty. she wore over a night-dress a long loose wrapper corded at the waist, and, as though in readiness for the night, her black hair had been drawn back into smooth, heavy braids. she made so sweet and sad a picture that ford forgot his errand, forgot his damp and chilled body, and for a moment in sheer delight knelt, with his face pressed close to the bars, and gazed at her.

a movement on the part of the girl brought him to his senses. she closed the book, and, leaning forward, rested her chin upon the hollow of her hand and stared into the fire. her look was one of complete and hopeless misery. ford did not hesitate. the girl was alone, but that at any moment an attendant might join her was probable, and the rare chance that now offered would be lost. he did not dare to speak, or by any sound attract her attention, but from his breast-pocket he took the glove thrown to him from the window, and, with a jerk, tossed it through the narrow opening. it fell directly at her feet. she had not seen the glove approach, but the slight sound it made in falling caused her to start and turn her eyes toward it. through the window, breathless, and with every nerve drawn taut, ford watched her.

for a moment, partly in alarm, partly in bewilderment, she sat motionless, regarding the glove with eyes fixed and staring. then she lifted them to the ceiling, in quick succession to each of the closed doors, and then to the window. in his race across the roofs ford had lacked the protection of a hat, and his hair was plastered across his forehead; his face was streaked with soot and snow, his eyes shone with excitement. but at sight of this strange apparition the girl made no sign. her alert mind had in an instant taken in the significance of the glove, and for her what followed could have but one meaning. she knew that no matter in what guise he came the man whose face was now pressed against the bars was a friend.

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

“speak in a whisper,” she said; “and speak quickly. you are in great danger!”

that her first thought was of his safety gave ford a thrill of shame and pleasure.

until now miss dosia dale had been only the chief feature in a newspaper story; the unknown quantity in a problem. she had meant no more to him than had the initials on her steamer-trunk. now, through her beauty, through the distress in her eyes, through her warm and generous nature that had disclosed itself with her first words, she became a living, breathing, lovely, and lovable woman. all of the young man's chivalry leaped to the call. he had gone back several centuries. in feeling, he was a knight-errant rescuing beauty in distress from a dungeon cell. to the girl, he was a reckless young person with a dirty face and eyes that gave confidence. but, though a knight-errant, ford was a modern knight-errant. he wasted no time in explanations or pretty speeches.

“in two minutes,” he whispered, “i'll unlock your door. there's a ladder outside your room to the roof. once we get to the roof the rest's easy. should anything go wrong, i'll come back by this fire-escape. wait at the window until you see your door open. do you understand?”

the girl answered with an eager nod. the color had flown to her cheek. her eyes flashed in excitement. a sudden doubt assailed ford.

“you've no time to put on any more clothes,” he commanded.

“i haven't got any!” said the girl.

the knight-errant ran up the fire-escape, pulled himself over the edge of the roof, and, crossing it, dropped through the trap to the landing of the kitchen stairs. here he expended the greater part of the two minutes he had allowed himself in cautiously opening the door into the hall. he accomplished this without a sound, and in one step crossed the hall to the door that held miss dale a prisoner.

slowly he drew back the bolts. only the spring lock now barred him from her. with thumb and forefinger he turned the key, pushed the door gently open, and ran into the room.

at the same instant from behind him, within six feet of him, he heard the staircase creak. a bomb bursting could not have shaken him more rudely. he swung on his heel and found, blocking the door, the giant bulk of prothero regarding him over the barrel of his pistol.

“don't move!” said the jew.

at the sound of his voice the girl gave a cry of warning, and sprang forward.

“go back!” commanded prothero. his voice was low and soft, and apparently calm, but his face showed white with rage.

ford had recovered from the shock of the surprise. he, also, was in a rage—a rage of mortification and bitter disappointment.

“don't point that gun at me!” he blustered.

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

“have you got him?” he called.

prothero made no reply, nor did he lower his pistol. when pearsall was at his side, without turning his head, he asked in the same steady tone:

“what shall we do with him?”

the face of pearsall was white, and furious with fear.

“i told you——” he stormed.

“never mind what you told me,” said the jew. “what shall we do with him? he knows!”

ford's mind was working swiftly. he had no real fear of personal danger for the girl or himself. the jew, he argued, was no fool. he would not risk his neck by open murder. and, as he saw it, escape with the girl might still be possible. he had only to conceal from prothero his knowledge of the line of retreat over the house-tops, explain his rain-soaked condition, and wait a better chance.

to this end he proceeded to lie briskly and smoothly.

“of course i know,” he taunted. he pointed to his dripping garments. “do you know where i've been? in the street, placing my men. i have this house surrounded. i am going to walk down those stairs with this young lady. if you try to stop me i have only to blow my police-whistle——”

“and i will blow your brains out!” interrupted the jew. it was a most unsatisfactory climax.

“you have not been in the street,” said prothero. “you are wet because you hung out of your window signalling to your friend. do you know why he did not answer your second signal? because he is lying in an area, with a knife in him!”

“you lie!” cried ford.

“you lie,” retorted the jew quietly, “when you say your men surround this house. you are alone. you are not in the police service, you are a busybody meddling with men who think as little of killing you as they did of killing your friend. my servant was placed to watch your window, saw your signal, reported to me. and i found your assistant and threw him into an area, with a knife in him!”

ford felt the story was untrue. prothero was trying to frighten him. out of pure bravado no sane man would boast of murder. but—and at the thought ford felt a touch of real fear—was the man sane? it was a most unpleasant contingency. between a fight with an angry man and an insane man the difference was appreciable. from this new view-point ford regarded his adversary with increased wariness; he watched him as he would a mad dog. he regretted extremely he had not brought his revolver.

with his automatic pistol still covering ford, prothero spoke to pearsall.

“i found him,” he recited, as though testing the story he would tell later, “prowling through my house at night. mistaking him for a burglar, i killed him. the kitchen window will be found open, with the lock broken, showing how he gained an entrance. why not?” he demanded.

“because,” protested pearsall, in terror, “the man outside will tell——”

ford shouted in genuine relief.

“exactly!” he cried. “the man outside, who is not down an area with a knife in him, but who at this moment is bringing the police—he will tell!”

as though he had not been interrupted, prothero continued thoughtfully:

“what they may say he expected to find here, i can explain away later. the point is that i found a strange man, hatless, dishevelled, prowling in my house. i called on him to halt; he ran, i fired, and unfortunately killed him. an englishman's home is his castle; an english jury——”

“an english jury,” said ford briskly, “is the last thing you want to meet—— it isn't a chicago jury.”

the jew flung back his head as though ford had struck him in the face.

“ah!” he purred, “you know that, too, do you?” the purr increased to a snarl. “you know too much!”

for pearsall, his tone seemed to bear an alarming meaning. he sprang toward prothero, and laid both hands upon his disengaged arm.

“for god's sake,” he pleaded, “come away! he can't hurt you—not alive; but dead, he'll hang you—hang us both. we must go, now, this moment.” he dragged impotently at the left arm of the giant. “come!” he begged.

whether moved by pearsall's words or by some thought of his own, prothero nodded in assent. he addressed himself to ford.

“i don't know what to do with you,” he said, “so i will consult with my friend outside this door. while we talk, we will lock you in. we can hear any move you make. if you raise the window or call i will open the door and kill you—you and that woman!”

with a quick gesture, he swung to the door, and the spring lock snapped. an instant later the bolts were noisily driven home.

when the second bolt shot into place, ford turned and looked at miss dale.

“this is a hell of a note!” he said