law stared at each other for one dazed, dragging
moment.

Suddenly Harkness flung his muscular form against the door again and
again until it broke from its hinges. As his subordinates dashed up the
stairway in futile pursuit, he dallied in the bullet-marked room that he
might walk to the center of the stage and wave his unwounded arm
melodramatically.

"I will rescue her," he vowed solemnly. "I will rescue my little Martha
though the chase leads to the burning, sand-strewn deserts of Africa!"

There was tumultuous applause and the curtain. Louise leaned back in her
seat with shining eyes. John drew a deep breath.

"Isn't it just peachy?"

Sid DuPree nodded. "Makes me think of the way the cowboys used to shoot
off their revolvers on the ranch."

"Have another candy," suggested John promptly. Again was the flow of
reminiscences successfully checked.

But the author of "Martha, the Milliner's Girl," was too considerate of
the welfare of his hero to lead him on an expensive trip to Africa; for
that worthy, as are all such stage beings, was poor and otherwise
honest. So the second act revealed a richly furnished room in Dolores'
apartment, not many miles away from the scene of act one. Martha threw
herself on the luxuriously upholstered lounge in a paroxysm of sobs.
Dolores entered, still clothed in dark, clinging robes. Entered also
Mordaunt Merrilac, as beetling of brow as ever. Perfervid conversation
ensued between the trio in which little Martha tearfully ordered the
villain to release her.

"My detention here will avail you naught, Mordaunt Merrilac," she
quavered. "In spite of all you can do, some day, my hero, Jack Harkness,
will find this den and rescue me!" Prolonged handclapping came from the
more genteel portion of the audience, mingled with cheers and cat-calls
from the gallery.

The villain laughed sardonically. "Still you hope for rescue by him?"

"I do."

"Then wait." He pressed a convenient button. Through the heavily
curtained doorway, closely guarded by the two remaining members of the
gang, walked Jack Harkness.

"Gee!" gasped John, consternation-struck by this new development. It was
evident that the same stupidity which had allowed Merrilac to make his
escape in the first act, had led this singularly wooden-headed hero into
that villain's trap.

"So, my proud beauty," hissed Mordaunt, "you expect this man to save
you? 'Tis futile. At twelve, tonight, we shall plunge him into the
Hudson