w himself changed suddenly from a trusted agent
into a dupe, and his utter collapse on hearing of the murder fitted in
exactly with the theory taking shape in the detective's mind--that
there were two implacable forces at war in New York that night, that
Lady Hermione's marriage to Count Vassilan or the Frenchman provided
the immediate bone of contention, and that the struggle had been
complicated by a too literal interpretation of instructions carried out
by bitter partisans.

In the midst of a lively conversation, the telephone jangled its
imperative message from a wall bracket in the room. Devar was nearest
the instrument, and he answered the call.

"It's for you, Mr. Steingall," he said.

The detective would have preferred greater privacy, but he rose at once
and answered.

"And who is Mr. Krantz?" he demanded. Then, after a pause: "Oh,
yes. . . . Is he? . . . You needn't trouble at all about that. The
police surgeon, at my request, has dosed him with sufficient bromide to
keep him quiet till to-morrow morning. . . . Yes, I understand. Tell
them it can't be done, and refer them to the Centre-street
Bureau. . . . What? . . . No, so far as I can guess, the engineer
won't be wanted again to-night."

He hung up the receiver, and returned to his seat, though he had just
been informed that the Earl of Valletort and another person, having
ascertained by some means that de Courtois still lived, were raising a
commotion at the Central Hotel and demanding access to the Frenchman's
room.

[Illustration: Scenes from the photo-drama.]

"Please, am I mixed up with Mr. Krantz?" inquired Hermione, smiling,
for it was a bizarre experience to find herself interested in all sorts
and conditions of people whom she had never heard of.

"Mr. Krantz is the reception clerk at the Central Hotel," was the
answer, which conveyed fuller information to other ears than the
girl's. Then Steingall glanced at his watch.

"I think some of you people must be tired after a strenuous day," he
said. "I expect to be called away soon, and it is possible that I may
want to disturb you, Mr. Curtis, before you retire for the night. Do
you intend to remain here?"

"Yes."

For an instant, an appreciable constraint manifested its presence, and
Uncle Horace did not display his wonted tact when he accentuated it by
a dry chuckle, _a propos_ of nothing in particular. Curtis relieved
the situation after a slight hesitation.

"Lady Herm