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Van Dam brought himself abruptly out of his reverie. There had been enough mystery for one day. Now for the solution of this puzzle. Back yonder, gagged and bound, was a cringing human rat who knew everything Van Dam desired to know, and who would talk, if forced to do so. Roly decided to have the inmost details of this affair, if it became necessary to roast the soles of Cousin Alfred’s feet over a slow fire in order to loosen his tongue. Time had flown, but there was a little margin left.

He hurried down the hall, flung open the door behind which his captive lay, then recoiled, with mouth agape. The closet was empty!

“Alfred!” he called. “Alfred!” But his voice echoed lonesomely through the empty rooms. Not a sound broke the silence. There on the floor lay the handkerchief and the two tasseled curtain cords. He felt a chill of apprehension, for unseen eyes were observing him, he was certain. With that vindictive little ruffian at large, the situation altered; each door might hide a menace, each moment add to his peril.

The thought of that rifled safe, and the consequences of discovery, convinced Van Dam that this was no place for a respectable New York society man, so he clapped on his mask and darted down the hall toward the rear of the house.

Past the pantry and into the kitchen he fled, his precipitate haste nearly causing him to collide with another masked figure that had just entered from the garden. Instinctively the two men recoiled. Van Dam saw that the stranger wore a black domino like his own, and that a white gardenia was pinned over his heart–it was a twin to the flower that reposed upon his own breast.

“Emile!” he exclaimed.

With a start the new-comer swept his mask downward, and simultaneously he conjured an automatic revolver from some place of concealment. The face that he exposed was not pleasant to look upon, for it was coarsened by dissipation, and the eyes were both violent and furtive. Underneath his heavy, passionate features, however, lay a marked resemblance to the blind mother who had just left.

“Yes. I am Emile,” he panted; then, with a snarl, he raised his weapon until it bore upon Van Dam’s breast. “And you are one of the gang, eh?”

“Here! Don’t point that confounded thing at me. It might go off.” Roly brushed the mask from his own face, explaining, “I’m not one of the gang; I’m a friend.”

Emile eyed him intently before lowering his weapon. “I never saw you before.”

“Of course not. But–come. We’ve both got to get out of here.”

“Indeed! I came to see my cousin Alfred. It is a little call I promised him.”

“I know everything; and, believe me, you have no time to lose.”

“How do you come to know so much?” demanded Emile, suspiciously. “And what is that?” With the muzzle of his weapon he indicated the waxen white flower upon Roly’s domino.

“There’s no time to explain everything–but I know why you are here. The old man has gone–“

“Gone! Bah! That is a lie. I have followed him all through the city. I’ve been to his office, and they told me he was here. I’ve a little matter to settle with him. It will only take a moment.”

“I tell you he’s gone.”

“Who the devil are you, anyhow? I have no friends.”

“I am Madelon’s fiance,” Van Dam said, boldly.

“Another lie! She has no fiance.” The speaker’s face darkened. “If she marries any one, it shall be me.”

An unfamiliar pang smote Van Dam suddenly, but he disregarded it.

“Don’t be a fool,” he insisted. “I know why you came here, but you’re too late. Your mother and Madelon were here, too, a moment ago–“

“Here?” exclaimed the youth, incredulously.

“Yes! Alfred heard you were in the city and he planned to ambush you; I tied him up and threw him into a closet. Then I robbed his safe and gave the money to Madelon and your mother.”