ou in Brooklyn.

"I bundled you in a carriage, as you were so ill, caught a tug, ran
around to Hoboken, reached this ship just as it sailed! He knows
not who betrayed him, but the staunch old boy got five thousand
dollars to me, and the 'brotherhood' over here will take care of
me.

"I will lie by in hiding for a season, and I can send the usual
goods in by Norwegian tramp steamers. I have a square friend on
board here, the head steward, one of the Baltic smuggling gang's
best men. So, my dear girl, look your prettiest when we land in
Stettin."

It was only by a grand effort of will that he faced her coldly
searching gaze. "And Clayton; what was your hidden purpose with
him, you devil?" she boldly said, but half convinced by his smooth
story. "I may as well let the cat out of the bag," laughed Braun,
taking a deep draught of the golden wine.

"I wanted to lure him over to Brooklyn and let him fool his time
away with you from Saturday to Tuesday morning. I intended you to
lead him a will-o'-the-wisp dance out on Long Island. For Lilienthal
and I had learned from the office boy that a quarter of a million
would be locked up in the Trading Company's vaults, only guarded
by the janitor and the special policeman. The janitor was with
us, that devil of a boy got us the combination, bit by bit; but
you went out of your head after the storm, and Lilienthal was half
betrayed by a drunken underling in our smuggling company. I had
to clear out. I could not leave you to starve. It's the fifth of
July, and we sailed the third. I lost the chance of my life!"

"You swear this is true!" murmured Irma. Braun bowed his head. "I
will only believe it," she said, "when I have a letter from Clayton.
I love him. I would die for him. God help him; he would marry me!"
She was astounded when Braun said, kindly, "All in due time. You
shall have your letter through Emil. The boy is one of our gang!"

CHAPTER IX.

THE LIGHTNING STROKE OF FATE.

While the "Mesopotamia" skimmed along over the crisp, curling seas
upon this sunlit Tuesday morning, she bore onward a man whose breast
was now filled with a vague unrest. The robust passenger known
as "Mr. August Meyer" was unusually jovial at breakfast, when he
informed the bluff Captain that Mrs. Meyer was rapidly recovering
and would soon be able "to grace the deck," in the language of the
society journals.

The absconding murderer was delighted that Irma and himself were
the on