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“On the handkerchief of Gloria Brackett I obtained plenty of comparatively fresh blood. Here in this machine I have between these two pincers a minute segment of rabbit intestine.”

He withdrew the solution from the cylinder with a pipette, then introduced some more of the dissolved blood from the handkerchief. The first effect was a strong contraction of the rabbit intestine, then in a minute or so the contractions became fairly even with the base line on the card.

“Such tissue,” he remarked, “is noticeably affected by even one part in over a million of adrenin. See. Here, by the writing lever, the rhythmical contractions are recorded. Such a strip of tissue will live for hours, will contract and relax beautifully with a regular rhythm which, as you see, can be graphically recorded. This is my adrenin test.”

Carefully he withdrew the ruled paper with its tracings.

“It’s a very simple test after all,” he said, laying beside this tracing another which he had made previously. “There you see the difference between what I may call ‘quiet blood’ and ‘excited blood.'”

I looked at the two sets of tracings. Though they were markedly different, I did not, of course, understand what they meant. “What do they show to an expert?” I asked, perplexed.

“Fear,” he answered laconically. “Gloria Brackett did not go voluntarily. She did not elope. She was forced to go!”

“Attacked and carried off?” I queried.

“I did not say that,” he replied. “Perhaps our original theory that her nose was bleeding may be correct. It might have started in the excitement, the anger and fear at what happened, whatever it was. Certainly the amount of adrenin in her blood shows that she was laboring under strong enough emotion.”

Our telephone rang insistently and Kennedy answered it. As he talked, although I could hear only one side of the conversation, I knew that the message was from Chase and that he had found something important about the missing necklace.

“What was it?” I asked eagerly as he hung up the receiver.

“Chase has traced the necklace,” he reported; “that is, he has discovered the separate stones, unset, pawned in several shops. The tickets were issued to a girl whose description exactly fits Gloria Brackett.”

I could only stare at him. What we had all feared had actually taken place. Gloria must have taken the necklace herself. Though we had feared it and tried to discount it, nevertheless the certainty came as a shock.

“Why should she have taken it?” I considered.

“For many possible reasons,” returned Kennedy. “You saw the life she was leading. Her own income probably went to keeping those harpies going. Besides, her mother had cut her allowance. She may have needed money very badly.”

“Perhaps they had run her into debt,” I agreed, though the thought was disagreeable.

“How about that other little woman we saw?” suggested Kennedy. “You remember how Gloria seemed to stand in fear of Du Mond? Who knows but that he made her get it to save her reputation? A 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?