ring the poison trial, the newspapers called him 'the Modern
Bluebeard."'

For a short time Ford was silent. But, in the dark corner of the cab,
Cuthbert could see that his cigar was burning briskly.

"Your friend seems a nice chap," said Ford at last. "Calling on him will
be a real pleasure. I especially like what you say about his hands."

"I have a plan," began the assistant timidly, "a plan to get you into
the house-if you don't mind my making suggestions?"

"Not at all!" exclaimed his chief heartily.

"Get me into the house by all means; that's what we're here for. The
fact that I'm to be poisoned or strangled after I get there mustn't
discourage us.'"

"I thought," said Cuthbert, "I might stand guard outside, while you got
in as a dope fiend."

Ford snorted indignantly. "Do I LOOK like a dope fiend?" he protested.

The voice of the assistant was one of discouragement.

"You certainly do not," he exclaimed regretfully. "But it's the only
plan I could think of."

"It seems to me," said his chief testily, "that you are not so very
healthy-looking yourself. What's the matter with YOUR getting inside as
a dope fiend and MY standing guard?"

"But I wouldn't know what to do after I got inside," complained the
assistant, "and you would. You are so clever."

The expression of confidence seemed to flatter Ford.

"I might do this," he said. "I might pretend I was recovering from a
heavy spree, and ask to be taken care of until I am sober. Or I could
be a very good imitation of a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
I haven't been five years in the newspaper business without knowing all
there is to know about nerves. That's it!" he cried. "I will do that!
And if Mr. Bluebeard Svengali, the Strangler of Paris person, won't take
me in as a patient, we'll come back with a couple of axes and BREAK in.
But we'll try the nervous breakdown first, and we'll try it now. I will
be a naval officer," declared Ford. "I made the round-the-world cruise
with our fleet as a correspondent, and I know enough sea slang to fool
a medical man. I am a naval officer whose nerves have gone wrong. I have
heard of his sanatorium through----" "How," asked Ford sharply, "have I
heard of his sanatorium?"

"You saw his advertisement in the DAILY WORLD," prompted Cuthbert.
"'Home of convalescents; mental and nervous troubles cured.'"

"And," continued Ford, "I have come to him for rest and treatment. My
name is Lieutenant Henry Grant. I