sordid liar, speaking the truth for once.

"Describe her," hastily ordered the excited man. And Master Emil
Einstein gave a not too glowing description of the charms of his
own mother.

"Listen," said the half-demented Clayton. "You must watch all
to-morrow morning, down below, upon the sidewalk, and around the
entrance.

"If that lady comes, just detain her down there, and I will join
her at once. Not a word to a living soul. Swear that you'll keep
this secret, and I'll make your fortune yet."

"I swear on my life," said the startled boy, frightened at the
ghastly pallor of Clayton's face.

He hastened away, leaving the cashier disturbed at his last disclosure.
"I forgot to say that she fears they may move your friend to-night,
some place, God knows where: perhaps to some hospital, and then,
of course, she couldn't come."

Randall Clayton sank into a chair with a smothered groan. For the
one haunting fear of his last three months was proving true. Here was
the separation from Irma Gluyas, and on the verge of his fortune.
"My God! It is terrible," he cried. He waited until the boy had
scuttled away.

"He must not know. One false step now would ruin all," thought
Clayton. "My love for Irma once suspected, and she would be spirited
off to Europe or lose her artistic future. If she were cast out,
I have nothing to offer yet, nothing but castles in Spain."

But the lad, hidden in a dark doorway, was greedily counting the
loose bills which Clayton had hastily thrust into his hand. "Paid
for not giving away my own mother's secrets," the boy laughed
viciously. "The old girl is safe, but what the devil is she up
to?" He decided that he would cautiously watch over Clayton, but
he feared to report this last entanglement to Fritz Braun, whose
gripsack and office luggage he was to remove from the pharmacy.

Before Einstein had reached the pharmacy, driven on by a mad unrest,
Randall Clayton threw on a loose top coat, slipped a loaded pistol
in his pocket, and then, hailing the first empty carriage, dashed
down to the Brooklyn Bridge. It was only by taking up his course
on the evening of the storm, on foot, that the restless lover could
make his way over to the corner where the pretentious newness of
the "Valkyrie" building shamed the rich old mansion sheltered under
its lee.

At the Magdal Pharmacy, Mr. Fritz Braun suspended his last looking
over his private desk, just long enough to whisper a few final
dire