kom addressed her.

"Miss Duggan," he said, rather pompously, she thought--"Mr. Deland has
promised his interest in the case. I have given him but the barest
outlines. It is for you to fill in the story in the manner that you have
filled it in for me. Sit down, Mr. Deland. Now, Miss Duggan, please
begin all over again."

She looked into this strange man's eyes with her own anguished ones, and
bit her lip a moment to keep back the tears that had been impending
since the beginning of her story. Her lips trembled. But the eyes were
kind--and understanding. Something in the face spoke to her as lips can
never do. She leaned forward in her seat, shutting her hands together
one upon another in her distress.

"Mr. Deland," she said brokenly, "help me, please--_please_! I am in
despair; every moment that passes! I am terribly afraid for Father's
life, even as I have told Mr. Narkom here. But there are some things
which a woman cannot tell. Those things which she feels in her
heart--and has no concrete facts with which to explain them. Father will
die if you do not come to my rescue immediately. He will die, and by no
natural means. I tell you, my father is being poisoned slowly, and
because of his very taciturnity none of us can save him! Even now, as I
sit here, something tells me that things are not right with him, or with
Ross, my brother! All my life long I have had these premonitions. There
must be gipsy blood in me, I think. But there it is. Oh, help me to save
him, to save my brother Ross's inheritance. And my blessing will go with
you to the end of your days!"

CHAPTER II

CLEEK TO THE RESCUE

She stopped speaking suddenly and choked back a sob, covering her face
with her gloved hands, and for a moment Deland sat looking at her, eyes
narrowed, and the curious little one-sided smile so characteristic of
the man travelling up his face. Here was very evident distress indeed.
And real, too, if he knew anything of women. And yet--where was the
evidence, the intention to murder, as she had suggested? There was
absolutely nothing to go upon but a woman's intuition--and that,
strangely enough, very rarely went wrong. He'd bank a good deal upon a
woman's intuition every time, and feel he'd get good credit.

"Listen, Miss Duggan," he said, leaning forward in his seat and
surveying her with keen, critical eyes. "You are very grieved, I know,
but, as Mr. Narkom has just told me, you have nothing to go upon
but--_ac