r had brought about no forward step
in Irma Gluyas' intimacy.

The still silent Madame Raffoni was the careful guardian of the
veiled beauty, and Clayton, loyal to a frenzy of romantic faith,
had never broken his promise.

For he lived only now in Irma's whispered promise, "Wait, and trust
to me. You shall come to me as soon as I can break my bonds. It
shall be then you and I, for the rest of our days, if Love still
holds the helm."

It was long after midnight when the defiant lover returned to his
apartment. The Magyar witch had finally learned the last secret
of his honest heart, and with clinging arms had whispered through
her kisses, "If you leave me, Randall, it is the death of our love."
And, trusting blindly to his honest love, Clayton wagered his life
upon a woman's faith.

Under the door of his room lay a yellow envelope, and as the now
resolute man read it he smiled grimly. "Victory!" he cried, for
Ferris' words assured him of a coming triumph, a crown of life and
love. It seemed that Irma's love had conquered after all.

"Await me in New York. I think that we can arrange all for your
remaining as you are." The signature was that of the artful Ferris.
"And I think that Jack and I can handle you, my false friend!"
sneered Clayton.

While the young lover read the words which gave him a new hope, far
across the Brooklyn Bridge, Mr. Fritz Braun, in his own private
lair, was pondering over the words of Madame Raffoni, who had just
left the man who was the iron tyrant of her soiled life.

"I must give him a little more line! And I must either land the
fish now or lose him forever."

There was a steely gleam in the sleepless eyes of him who pondered
upon his clouded pathway. "It must be done! And she must help in
some way. She holds the winning cards now. Nothing else will draw
him!"

The masquerading criminal was almost desperate. It had been his
by-play for years to play at hide and seek with humanity, using his
duplex characters at first to throw off any pursuit of the Vienna
police; and, later, to hide his nefarious operations on the New
York side.

Greedy for money, before Irma Gluyas had been driven to his arms by
adverse fortunes, Fritz Braun had at first made his refuge at the
"Valkyrie," then owned by Ludwig Sohmer, whose passion for "playing
the races" had at last dragged him down.

The Viennese fugitive diligently plied his erstwhile patron with
drink and smilingly enmeshed the brutish