letter that came to him today--too
late."

Kennedy took the note Leslie handed him. It was postmarked "Washington,"
and read:

DEAR DALEY:

I intended writing to you sooner but haven't felt well enough
since I came here. The strangest thing about it is that the
doctors I have consulted seem to be unable to tell me
definitely what is the matter.

I can tell you I have been badly frightened. I seemed to have a
lot of little boils on my face and new ones kept coming. I felt
weak and chilly and had headaches that almost drove me crazy.
Perhaps the thing, whatever it is, has made me insane, but I
cannot help wondering whether there may not be something back
of it all. Do you suppose someone could have poisoned me,
hoping to ruin my beauty, on which, to a great measure, depends
my success in my mission to America during the war?

Since I came here I have been wondering, too, how you are. If
there should be anything in my suspicions, perhaps it would be
safest for you to leave New York. There is nothing more I can
say, but if you feel the least bit unwell, do not disregard
this warning.

If you will meet me here, we can arrange the deal with those I
represent at almost any price you name.

Try hard to get here.
As ever,
LOUISE.

Craig looked up quickly. "Have you communicated with the Baroness?" he
asked.

Dr. Leslie leaned forward in his chair. "The fact is," he replied
slowly, "the woman who calls herself the Baroness Von Dorf has suddenly
disappeared, even in Washington. We can find no trace of her whatever.
Indeed, the embassy down there does not even admit that she is a war
buyer. Oh, the newspapers haven't got the whole Delaney story--yet. But
when they do get it"--he paused and glanced significantly at
me--"there's going to be _some_ sensation."

I recalled now that there had been an air of mystery surrounding the
sudden death of Daley Delaney the day before. At least one of the papers
had called it "the purple death"--whatever that might mean. I had
thought it due to the wild career of the ranchman, perhaps a plain case
of apoplexy, around which the bright young reporters had woven a slender
thread of romance. Kennedy, however, thought otherwise.

"The purple death," he ruminated, turning the case over in his mind.
"Have you any idea what the papers mean by that?"

"Why, it's one of the