opened her mouth to reply, but the man gave her no chance, turning
immediately to Ted. "And as for you, young man, I suppose you thought you
were doing a wonderful stunt when you landed into me to-night, just as
I'd unearthed the thing I've been on the trail of for a week; but I'll
have to tell you that you've spoiled one of the prettiest little pieces
of detective work I've undertaken for several years, and may have helped
to precipitate a bit of international trouble, beside. I don't know what
your motive was,--I suppose you thought me a burglar,--but--

"Just a moment!" cried Eileen, springing forward. "Tell me, why are you
concerned in this? My name is Ramsay and I have a right to ask!"

Detective Barnes was visibly startled. "Are you a relative of the
Honorable Arthur Ramsay?" he demanded; and when she had told him, he
exclaimed: "Then you must know all about Geoffrey Gaines and how he
disappeared!"

"I've known him since I was a baby," she answered; "but how he
disappeared is still an awful mystery to us. My grandfather is very ill
in the Branchville hospital, you know."

"But didn't he receive my letter?" cried Mr. Barnes. "I sent it two days
ago!"

"He has been too ill to read any mail for the last two days," replied
Eileen, "and, of course, I have not opened it."

"Well, that explains why I haven't heard from him!" the man exclaimed,
with a sigh of relief. "Then I guess you will be interested to hear that
Gaines is alive and well, but kept a close prisoner by some heathen
Chinese in a house on a west side street in New York."

"But how?--Why?--Did it happen the--the night he--came down here?" she
ventured.

"I see you're pretty well informed about the matter," he remarked
cautiously. "And if these others are equally so, I guess it's safe for me
to go on and give you a history of the thing."

Eileen nodded, and he went on:

"Gaines and I used to know each other in England, years before he entered
your grandfather's service. In fact, we had been schoolmates together.
Then I came over to this country and entered the detective service, and
he went into another walk of life. But we kept in touch with each other
by writing occasionally. A week or so ago I was astonished to receive a
letter from him, written on all sorts of odds and ends of paper and in an
envelope plainly manufactured by himself. It contained some very singular
news.

"It gave me first the history of those letters and how anxious your