for--for Cuff--yes, that's what she called him--then
she went off."

"It's a duck of a dog," the nurse remarked as one does make inane
remarks at a critical time. Then:

"Have you looked in her bag?"

"Certainly not!"

"We had better." And they did.

There was a trunk key, seventy-five dollars, and a letter signed "Syl,"
and frivolously dilating upon a man named John and loads of love to Miss
Lamb!

"Well!" said the nurse, "and as one might expect, no heading, date, or
any sensible clue--and the envelope missing. We must label this patient,
I suppose, as Miss Lamb. The articles of clothing are unmarked. Queer
all around!"

"We must get her into the hospital at once," Cameron replied. The doctor
in him was getting into action.

"Can we manage her in my car?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Then get busy. Call her Miss Lamb when you have to answer questions. We
can find out about her later. Where's that dog?"

Cuff was making himself invisible. He was under the couch.

"Have him fed and taken care of, Miss Brown--tell the maid."

Joan leaned against Cameron on the way to the hospital while Miss Brown
kept a finger on her pulse. The girl's body acted mechanically, but the
brain was clogged.

Day by day in the white, quiet hospital room the battle for her life
went on; day by day outside effort was made to trace her and find her
friends.

"You wise-looking brute," Cameron often thought as he regarded Cuff at
the day's end; "why can't you tell what you know?"

But Cuff simply wagged his stump and slunk off. Life was becoming too
puzzling for him.

Cameron studied advertisements and certain columns in the papers, but no
one seemed to have missed the pretty young creature in the Martin
Sanatorium.

"It's the very devil of a case!" Cameron declared, and set about
erecting some sort of foundation upon which "Miss Lamb" might repose
without causing too much unhealthy curiosity.

Eventually, Joan was simply a bad case of Doctor Cameron's. One from out
of town. Her folks trusted him, but were too distant to visit the girl.

Cameron considered telegraphing for Martin, who was at The Gap, but he
knew that sooner or later he must rely upon himself alone, and so he
began with "Miss Lamb."

The days and weeks dragged on. There were ups and downs, hopes and
discouragements, but through them all Joan looked dazedly at Cameron,
and if she ever showed intelligence it was when he spoke to her in a
perfectly new set of tones