g each other, the fugitive and his fascinating dupe neared the
sandy dunes of the German Baltic land.

And yet God's wrath followed them. There was the throb of guilt in
both their bosoms, resting in one the betrayal of a soul, on the
other the crushing weight of innocent blood crying for vengeance.

And still, as yet, they slept in peace, for the dark waters of the
East River had not given up that ghastly mute witness whirling and
diving in the black under eddies around the rock-hewn pyramids of
the Brooklyn Bridge.

A thousand pairs of eager eyes now watched the money exchanges of
America and Europe for any paltry bit of the plunder stored away
in Fritz Braun's black valise. But the vengeance of God slept only
while the sinners fled away from the place of the betrayal of a
noble heart.

Vice-President Arthur Ferris of the Western Trading Company found
in the proud and formal reserve of the reinstated officials an
armor proof against all his legal acumen.

Some subtle spirit of unexpressed defiance seemed to have banded them
all against him. He felt that the stately oak which had sheltered
him was now fallen indeed. It was in an agony of spirit that he
awaited the appearance of his unacknowledged wife.

The "private agency" which he had secretly employed brought a new
discovery to his heart, when, ten days after Hugh Worthington's
death, Ferris was awakened before his breakfast by a sudden report.
The spy handed, in silence, to the astounded man a sealed envelope,
which was the tidings of an impending Waterloo.

"Miss Worthington arrived night before last, with Boardman and
Warner. They came on in a special car via the Pennsylvania road.
She is at A. C. Stillwell's town house on Central Park West. The
lawyers are both at the University Club. She has not left the house,
and there have been many business-looking callers at the Stillwell
house. Boardman or Warner is there on duty all the while, in
alternation. Watch them."

Shame, rage, and fear struggled for the mastery on Ferris' pale
cheeks as he dismissed the paid spy. "Tell your chief I'll call in
and give him my final directions to-day," he curtly said.

In two hours Arthur Ferris had made the formal toilet for
a professional duel of wits. He was the first caller when the
silver-haired counselor had dispatched his morning mail.

Mr. Stillwell's frosty blue eyes gleamed with an Arctic light as
Arthur Ferris opened his masked batteries. In all that long r