Again the detective showed his knowledge of the animal—man.

The driver had been thinking of this very thing, and as the artist came out of the hack first he made a great ado over helping him. At the same time he started to say:

“You’d better be careful, sir—there’s—”

At this moment came a pinch on his arm from the detective, and he realized that the other was up to his little game.

“What’s that?” demanded Prescott.

By this time Eric had managed to touch one of the jehu’s hands with the barrel of his revolver.

The contact sent a shudder through the other.

“There’s bad step here—the lady might be hurt,” finished the driver.

“Oh! I’ll look after her, my man.”

He handed the jehu some bills. “There’s the amount agreed on and ten dollars more, because you’ve been faithful.”

“Thanks, your honor,” stammered the man.

He acted as though he was tempted to blurt out the truth and take the consequences, but Eric managed to whisper something to him that quieted this suicidal thought.

“You’ve got your money—keep quiet, and I’ll put you in the way of ten more.”

That was enough.

The man’s sordid nature was touched—he was mercenary to an unusual degree.

After that he was for earning the new fee, even at the expense of treachery to his former patron. Prescott assisted the lady companion of his flight out with much solicitude.

Still Eric did not interfere.

He was strongly tempted to knock the artist down, seize the lady perhaps as she swooned, and placing her back in the vehicle, drive to the desecrated home of his friend.

Something restrained him.

He would see more.

What meant the lights in the house? Something here needed investigation, and he was the man to look into it.He saw the couple enter the yard and proceed in the direction of the front door.

It opened.

A woman’s form stood there.

“Welcome, Mr. Prescott. We heard the wheels and were sure it was you. Welcome to your home, Mrs. —”

The rest died out as they went in, and the detective heard no more.

He was amazed. How daring the artist was. How openly he carried out his plans.

Most men would have taken a train and sped away like the wind, fearing the terrible vengeance of an outraged husband.

He did not seem to realize the danger he incurred, or else had a contempt for it.

Eric was in doubt whether this man was a fool or a brave fellow.

Perhaps he was cunning enough to know that in all probability the husband would seek for him at a distance, and overlook the near places. This would be wisdom.

Eric now turned to the man.

“See here, my fine fellow, I have your number, and if you play me false I’ll land you behind the bars inside of twelve hours if it takes every officer on the force to do it. You hear what I am saying. Serve me well and what I promised is yours. I have already paid you money to-night.”

“You?”

“Certainly—I was the old man who rode up from Fourteenth Street with you.”

“Jerusalem!”

The driver saw that he had to deal with a shrewd man—he admired such a person, and could well afford to fall in behind him.

After that there would be no kick on his part against what fate had decided for him, but he would pull in the traces meekly.

Satisfied that the man would be there when he wanted him, Eric now turned his attention toward the house.

He entered the gate.

As he had supposed from the glance he had obtained, the place was an ideal one for the full expression of love in a cottage.

Flowers probably bloomed here from May until bleak November.

Honeysuckles and wisteria covered the cottage—rose bushes and dozens of varieties of flowers filled the beds, but just then beautiful chrysanthemums were taking their rank as the fall flower.

It was a place to bring a bride, but would these beauties of nature appeal to a heart that was heavy with sin?

Eric could not for the life of him see how one could look upon nature again, after ruining the life of a noble man, but his experience had taught him to be surprised at nothing.

He did not speculate now.

Before him was duty.

It lay in a direct line, and the path was narrow, but he meant to tread it.

That duty covered his professional pride, and the feeling he entertained for his friend. Straight up to the house he went. Light streamed from the windows and showed him the way—it also tempted him to look in. He saw a cozy little room neatly furnished.

Handsome paintings adorned the walls, rather out of place in a modest cottage like this, but then it was to be the abode of an artist, whose pictures commanded large sums, and he could afford to decorate above the ordinary—these were doubtless favorite subjects of his which he did not hold for sale.No one seemed to be in this room, and he could not see in the other well, for the lamp was standing directly in the window, so that he could not look past it.

He found a path leading around the house and started along it.

Before he had gone far, the rattle of a chain, followed by a deep growl, told him he had better retrace his steps again—not wishing to come into contact with the concealed dog, he did so.

This time he went to the front door, which was almost concealed under the bower of vines.

Feeling around he found the knob. Upon trying it he was pleased to find that the door was not secured, and answered to his touch.

He opened it boldly. A hall was before him. Just then it was unoccupied, and the uninvited guest was able to step in, close the door, and look around for some place of concealment. This he easily found.

The hall offered numerous opportunities for hiding if one felt inclined that way, and Eric speedily ensconced himself in a place where he was not apt to be seen. He remained here awaiting developments for a few minutes.

Nobody seemed to be moving. He heard voices in the room where the lamp in the window had prevented him from seeing what the room contained.

One of these was the voice of Prescott.

The other seemed to belong to a man also, and Eric wondered at this.

He had not supposed the artist would have a friend awaiting him here—generally when a man runs off with another’s wife he desires to shun society of all sort. There was reason enough for this, which made the action of the transgressor the more peculiar.

He wondered whether there was not something about this whole affair that he did not understand.

Later, he found out that this was so—that a man may see all the surface indications and yet not get at the real facts in the case.

He waited in his concealment for a while, and then made up his mind to push matters.

Why should he not appear before Paul Prescott and boldly announce his intention of wresting from his power the victim of his spell?

There was nothing to prevent him.

He made his way toward the door that led from the hall into the room, which as he afterward discovered was the library.A portiere hung there in place of the door, and a more excellent opportunity for hiding and spying could not well have been offered.

Behind this he could find a small opening and thus see without being seen.

When he looked into the room he found there were but two men there.

One of these was Prescott—the other a small man of severe countenance.

The first thought of the detective was that the latter had a clerical look—his clothes seemed on the order of a clergyman, white tie and all.

Then he concluded that he must be mistaken. Surely, a minister would be the last one in all the world whom Prescott would desire to have here.

This must be some friend whom he had asked to greet them at the cottage in order to encourage Lillian.

The men were laughing.

Prescott seemed in unusual spirits.

Perhaps he had been imbibing—when a man in his sober senses commits such a sin against society and his Maker he must, generally, fortify himself with some ardent spirits.

At any rate he had the appearance of a man who was quite satisfied with himself.The world had abused him, in some respects, but to-night he was in a humor to bid the whole universe defiance.

Success had come to him—the best he had ever dreamed of was now at his hand.

Others before Paul Prescott had believed themselves on the pinnacle of hope and power, only to find it all a dream and an illusion.

So Darrell reflected as he watched the man whom he meant to speedily humble.

While the two were yet talking, a door in the back part of the library opened.

Through this came three females. The first one was very like Prescott—indeed, it was easy for the detective to determine that she must be the artist’s sister.

After her came a sedate woman, neatly dressed, with her hair parted and brushed straight back on either side—a model of a housekeeper.

There was one more.

At sight of her Eric started, and an exclamation bubbled to his lips.

She was dressed in white silk—the long cloak had been discarded, and the heavy black veil that had screened her was now supplanted by a gauzy white one, through which the faintest glimpses only could be seen of her face. She was a picture indeed.

Eric held his breath.

He saw Prescott rush forward and take her hand with the utmost eagerness. Then the other led her forward. They stood in front of the second man, who held a book in his hand.

“Good heavens!” muttered the detective.

He rubbed his eyes.

What mockery was this? A marriage—when she was already another man’s wife! He could hardly believe his sight.

The voice of the preacher aroused him, and started him into life.

This must not be. It was sacrilege.

Knowing the facts of the case he would be abetting a crime if he allowed this thing to go on without raising an objection.

So, while the minister was still talking, Eric suddenly sprang into the room.

“I forbid this marriage!” he cried.

A scene of confusion followed.

The women fell back—Prescott swore and the minister looked amazed.

An interruption like this seldom occurs. “Upon what charge do you dare stop this sacred ceremony?” demanded the preacher.“The woman has been married before.”

“Yes.”

“Her husband is living!”

At this there came a shriek from the bride.

“It is false, false as Hades! I helped to bury her husband myself,” shouted the artist.

Eric, with a quick movement, threw back the white veil from the face of the almost fainting bride and then he received the greatest shock of his life.

It was not Lillian!