girl in Gloria's
position might do many foolish things. But to be named as co-respondent,
that would be fatal."

There was not much comfort to be had by either alternative, and we sat
for a moment regarding each other in silence.

Suddenly the door opened. Mrs. Brackett entered. Never have I seen a
greater contrast in so short a time than that between the striking
society matron who first called on us and the broken woman now before
us. She was a pathetic figure as Kennedy placed an easy chair for her.

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Kennedy. "Have you heard anything new?"

She did not answer directly, but silently handed him a yellow slip of
paper. On a telegraph blank were written simply the words, "Don't try to
follow me. I've gone to be a war nurse. When I make good I will let you
know. Gloria."

We looked at each other in blank amazement. That was hardly an easy way
to trace her. How could one ever find out now where she was, in the
present state of affairs abroad, even supposing it were not a ruse to
cover up something?

Somehow I felt that the message did not tell the story. Where was Du
Mond? Had he fled, too,--perhaps forced her to go with him when Mrs. Du
Mond appeared? The message did not explain the struggle and the fear.

"Oh, Mr. Kennedy," pleaded Mrs. Brackett, all thought of her former
pride gone, as she actually held out her hands imploringly and almost
fell on her knees, "can't you find her--can't you _do_ something?"

"Have you a photograph of Gloria?" he asked hurriedly.

"Yes," she cried eagerly, reaching into her mesh bag and drawing one
out. "I carry it with me always. Why?"

"Come," exclaimed Kennedy, seizing it. "It occurs to me that it is now
or never that this device of Franconi's must prove that it is some good.
If she really went, she wasted no time. There's just a bare chance that
the telephote has been placed on some of these vessels that are carrying
munitions abroad. Franconi says that he has developed it for its war
value."

As fast as Mrs. Brackett's chauffeur could drive us, we motored down to
South Side Beach and sought out the little workshop directly on the
ocean where Franconi had told us that we should always be welcome.

He was not there, but an assistant was. Kennedy showed him the card that
Franconi had given us.

"Show me how the machine works," he asked, while Mrs. Brackett and I
waited aside, scarcely able to curb our impatience.

"Well," began the assista