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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not until half past five."

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

"Why not here?"

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

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

"I was going to take him with me."

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

"Why not?"

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

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

Presently she heard the voices again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps she had her taxi driver do it."

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

The other woman laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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