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 flowered kimono.

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.