Richard Duvall, alone in Dr. Hartmann's outer office, had not long to wait. He had hardly succeeded in throwing off the agitation which the unexpected sight of Grace had caused him, when the door from the hall was opened, and Grace admitted Seltz to the room.

The latter glanced at Duvall with a curious look, but said nothing. Grace withdrew, closing the door quietly after her. The detective went up to the newcomer and addressed him in a low tone.

"You are Oscar Seltz, from London?" he asked, bluntly.

The man appeared greatly taken back. "Yes," he said, haltingly. "I wish to see Dr. Hartmann."

"About the snuff box, of course?"

Again the man started. "Who are you?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I am Dr. Hartmann's assistant. He has been waiting for you. You have the box with you, of course?"

The man felt carefully in his pocket, and presently drew out a small object done up in paper. "Yes, I have it. The price was to be twenty-five hundred francs."

"That is correct," remarked the detective. "Give it to me."

Seltz drew back his hand. "I want the money first, and I cannot deliver it to any one but Dr. Hartmann."

"Dr. Hartmann is in the next room," said Duvall, with a pleasant smile. "He has the money all ready for you. I will call him. But first, let me see if you have really secured what we want." He held out his hand. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I shall not leave the room. The box will not be out of your sight."

Seltz appeared to consider the matter for a brief moment, but the detective's manner reassured him. He extended the package toward Duvall. "It is there, all right," he laughed, softly. "And a hard time I had getting it."

Without making any comment, Duvall took the package, quickly tore off the coarse paper wrappings, and saw inside a small round ivory box, its top ornamented with a number of small pearls, arranged in a circular design about its circumference. He glanced swiftly at it, crushed the paper into his pocket, then started toward the door at the rear.

"Where are you going?" demanded Seltz, harshly, his hand going toward his pocket, as though for a weapon.

"To call the doctor, my man," Duvall replied. "Don't excite yourself. He will be here in a moment, with your money." Without a moment's hesitation he crossed to the study door and tapped lightly upon it. As he did so, his back was toward Seltz, hence the latter did not see the swift movement, by which he conveyed the snuff box to the pocket of his waistcoat. When, after a few moments' delay, Dr. Hartmann appeared on the threshold, Duvall's hands were both quite empty.

As the doctor entered the room, the detective gave a quick nod toward Seltz. "My man," he remarked, in a low tone. "He seems to be rather bad, this morning;" then aloud, "Oscar, this is Doctor Hartmann."

Seltz bowed, then stood uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the doctor bent upon him a searching glance. "Sit down, my good fellow," the latter presently remarked, as he took a chair.

"I—I don't think I had better, sir," he stammered. "I am in somewhat of a hurry—"

The doctor interrupted him, in a soothing voice. "There, there. Sit down. I want to talk to you."

Seltz glanced helplessly toward Duvall, apparently somewhat confused by the reception which Dr. Hartmann had accorded him. It was not entirely what he had expected.

"I have explained everything to the doctor," remarked Duvall hastily. "He understands about the money you requested." He looked significantly at Dr. Hartmann.

"Then I hope the matter can be settled at once," said Seltz, apparently much relieved. He made no movement to sit down, but continued to look expectantly at Dr. Hartmann.

The latter nodded in a grave and reassuring way. "Give yourself no uneasiness, my man. Everything will be satisfactorily arranged. Meanwhile, sit down, if you please, and tell me something about yourself. I understand you have been greatly worried, of late. Not quite yourself—let us say."

Seltz looked at him in blank amazement. "I haven't been worried by anything, except the business which brought me here. I want my money—"

"Exactly—exactly," the doctor assented, in a soothing voice. "You shall have your money in due time. I promise you that. But first sit down and let us have a little chat."

Seltz sat down, helplessly. Apparently he was at a loss as to just what to say next. The doctor had told him that the money he expected would be forthcoming—he resigned himself in patience to await the latter's pleasure. For a moment he glanced at Duvall, however. "You should not have taken it from me," he said, peevishly.

Duvall looked quickly at Dr. Hartmann. The latter at once spoke up. "Give the matter no further thought, my man," he said, gravely. "I will see that you are fairly treated. But before we go ahead, I want you to tell me more about yourself—your life—your amusements—"

"What the devil have my amusements got to do with the matter?" exclaimed Seltz, his voice trembling with anger. "I tell you I want my money."

"And I tell you you shall have it. But, now, I insist that you let the matter drop for the present and answer my questions, otherwise I can do nothing to help you."

The remark quieted Seltz somewhat. He was, after all, in a peculiar position. The snuff box was gone. He cursed his stupidity in having let it pass out of his possession before the price agreed upon for its delivery had been forthcoming. That Dr. Hartmann did not question the payment of the money, however, was reassuring. He determined to answer as well as he could whatever questions the doctor might see fit to ask him.

The latter continued to examine his supposed patient with a shrewdly professional air. "How old are you, my man?" he suddenly inquired.

"Thirty-six."

"Do you drink?"

"Yes—I—I drink occasionally."

"Use any drugs?"

"No."

"Appetite good?"

"Yes."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes—pretty well."

"Have you had any shock, recently. Has anything happened to make you nervous, or excitable?"

Seltz glanced nervously from Duvall to the doctor and back again. What, he wondered, was the purpose of this examination? Was Dr. Hartmann trying to lead him into damaging admissions concerning the method he had employed to secure the snuff box? He scowled, then suddenly spoke. "It's none of your affair, is it? if I have."

"Oscar!" said Duvall, in a tone of remonstrance. "Don't speak to the doctor in that way."

"Oscar!" The man turned on the detective angrily. "Look here—you took that—that—" he hesitated, fearful that some trap had been set for him—"that article away from me—now see that I get my money."

The doctor glanced at Duvall. "He seems to be possessed with the one idea," he remarked, sotto voce, then turned to Seltz again. "My good man, I have already assured you that Mr. Brooks and myself will see that you get your money. What more do you want?"

"I want the money," Seltz cried, losing his patience, "and I want it quick." He sprang from his chair, and his hand shot toward his pocket, whence it reappeared in a moment with a revolver. "No more of this nonsense, now. I want the cash."

The doctor, who had also sprung to his feet, started toward the angry barber with outstretched hands. Seltz whirled on him, the revolver pointed directly at Hartmann's head. "Keep off," he cried. In his excitement he had forgotten Duvall, who at once seized him from behind. "Look out, Doctor," he cried, as he threw his arm about the fellow's neck and slowly throttled him. "He's gone quite insane—dangerous—take away the revolver."

As he spoke, he tightened his arm about Seltz's throat until the latter gasped for breath. The revolver fell from his nerveless grasp—he clutched at the detective's arm and tried to tear it from his throat, all the while groaning and sputtering at a great rate.

"Hopelessly insane, I fear," said the doctor, as he picked up the fallen revolver. "You had best take him away at once."

"But, Doctor, I can't do anything with him in this violent state. Can't you give him something to quiet him?"

"Nothing but a hypodermic. He wouldn't swallow a drug, I fear."

"Then give him a hypodermic at once. I've got to get him away from here, somehow." He tightened his hold on Seltz's throat as the latter struggled furiously, trying his best to get away. Luckily for Duvall, his adversary was a man of only moderate strength, but he struggled like the madman the doctor supposed him to be, trying in vain to speak. The detective's arm, however, tightly wound about his throat, effectually prevented his cries from becoming intelligible.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Duvall went on, as Hartmann prepared his hypodermic needle and approaching the struggling man, took hold of one of his arms and bared it with a quick motion. "I wouldn't have subjected you to all this annoyance for anything. The poor fellow has been getting worse for days, but I had no idea, when he left me this morning, that he would be like this."

"It frequently happens," the doctor remarked, as he pressed the syringe into the man's forearm and then withdrew it quickly. "There—he'll soon be all right now. Just hold him there for a few moments longer, Mr. Brooks and he'll be sleeping like a child."

Even as he spoke, the struggles of the man in Duvall's arms became less violent—his efforts to cry out less vigorous. "It's a sad case," the detective remarked. "I am very much afraid that he must be sent to an asylum."

"Undoubtedly the best place for him, my dear sir," remarked Hartmann, dryly. "I see your cab is waiting, outside. As soon as the man is quiet, I will have one of my attendants help you to carry him to it." He went over to Seltz, who was now struggling faintly, and felt his pulse. "He is quite harmless now," he observed, looking keenly into the man's face. "I will call one of my men." He went to the wall and pressed an electric button.

Duvall allowed the limp body of the barber to slip softly into a chair. "Poor Oscar!" he said, musingly, looking down at the huddled-up figure. "What a pity! Such a faithful fellow, too!" He turned to Hartmann. "I feel almost as though I had lost an old friend."

The doctor smiled. "Rather a dangerous one, I should say," he remarked, as he glanced at the revolver on the table. "You will want this, I suppose."

Duvall took the revolver and thrust it into his pocket. "Might as well take it along, I suppose, doctor. Now about my bill—do I owe you anything in addition to the fee I paid you on my arrival?" He felt for his pocketbook.

"Nothing, my dear sir." The doctor smiled. "I feel that in accepting your fee I am robbing you." He drew the note from his pocket, but Duvall waved it aside.

"I insist, my dear sir. You have given me your valuable time, at least, even if you could do this poor fellow no good." He paused, as an attendant in a gray uniform entered the room.

"Max," said the doctor, addressing the man, "help this gentleman put his friend into the cab."

The man came forward, and he and Duvall picked up the limp figure of Seltz, who was now sleeping soundly. In a few moments they had transferred him to the cab outside.

As they left the house, Duvall saw Grace standing near the door, her face pale, her eyes seeking his. He avoided her glances, making no sign that he recognized her. The doctor, somewhat annoyed, requested her, with elaborate but firm politeness, to withdraw. She did so, without looking back, but her heart was beating until it shook her whole body, and she longed to run to her husband and drive off with him, in spite of the doctor's presence. Somehow she felt that the necessity which had kept her a prisoner in this house no longer existed—that Richard had succeeded in recovering the ivory snuff box, and would soon send her word to join him, so that they might return to Paris together. She went to her room, ordered some luncheon brought to her, and sat down to await his message.

Meanwhile, Duvall, with Seltz beside him, drove rapidly away from the house, his arm about the man's unconscious figure. At the gate of the park he saw another cab waiting, and in a moment perceived that it contained Dufrenne, who in accordance with his instructions had been following Seltz. Duvall nodded to him, then pointed silently down the street. Dufrenne at once ordered his driver to follow. In a short time they had reached the Hotel Metropole, and Seltz, with the assistance of two of the porters, had been carried upstairs and placed on the bed. Duvall explained to the manager of the hotel that the man was a friend of his, who had been taken ill, and needed to sleep for a few hours. He also engaged the adjoining room at once, and thither he and Dufrenne presently repaired to examine the snuff box which, until now, had been reposing safely in the detective's waistcoat pocket.

He drew it out, when they were alone, and silently handed it to Dufrenne. The little old Frenchman took one look at it, then threw up his hands with a cry of joy. "It is the Ambassador's snuff box. Heavens be praised!" he cried, as the tears coursed down his withered cheeks.