Meantime the jar of the battle had not passed unnoticed. The guests in the rooms adjoining and below had been telephoning the office. The clerk, aware that there were Secret Service operatives at all exits, hastily summoned them. And four plunged into Mathison\'s room just as he stepped away from the bed.

"It\'s all over, gentlemen," he said, thickly. "The man on the bed is wanted on two accounts—theft of naval plans and murder. He is Karl Lysgaard. In 1916, to cover his espionage endeavors, he became a naturalized citizen. Ostensibly he is Danish; but he was born in Holtenau, near enough to the Kiel Canal to make him a first-class Prussian. Take him to the Tombs, and keep your eye on him while taking him there. I will appear against him in the morning. The woman known as The Yellow Typhoon...."

[Pg 260]

"Has vanished," whispered one of the operatives.

"Escaped?"

"Like smoke! Telephone message came while you were up here. But she won\'t go far. Already all exits are being watched. No trains, no ships; and she will not be able to hide long in New York. Some scrap you must have had here. Your uniform\'s a wreck. Better wash up."

Mathison staggered into the bathroom, now mindful of his injuries. He was sure that one or more of his ribs were broken. Every beat of his heart was accompanied by a stab either in his head or in his torso. The floor wavered like sand in the heat; and he was none too certain about the walls.

Escaped! The Yellow Typhoon had slipped through that web! He did not know whether he was glad or sorry. Not one man in a thousand would have broken through that alert cordon; and yet this woman had done it. The pity of it! Brave and fearless and beautiful ... and absolutely lawless. He could not stir up a bit of hatred. She had broken Bob Hallowell\'s heart, and yet John Mathison could only admire her[Pg 261] strength and cunning. The admiration a brave man always pays a fearless antagonist. Somehow he knew that she would be free for a long while. But how would she use this furtive freedom? Seek to injure Hilda, himself? Like as not. But he had in mind a solution for this problem. It would depend, though, upon the woman waiting down-stairs.

Entering the room again, he confronted the man he had outthought and outfought. He was dizzy, but he could navigate alone. The blond man had to be propped between two operatives. He was in a bad way. Mathison produced the manila envelope.

"Observe those photographs? That is why you did not succeed. We idiotic Yankees! They will hang you by the neck, Lysgaard. What! You believed I would risk carrying Hallowell\'s specifications in an ordinary manila envelope, depositing it when I stopped at a hotel, letting everybody know that I was carrying an important document? Your method, perhaps, but not mine. And the irony of it is the prints were always within easy reach of your hand. This manila envelope was merely a noose, and you drew it yourself. It is a [Pg 262]forerunner of what your nation will receive at the hands of mine."

Mathison ripped open the envelope and displayed the contents—a dozen sheets of heavy blank paper.

"You will never see your woman again, Lysgaard. I had no evidence. I compelled you to furnish it. A man-hunt and you never suspected. Take him away, gentlemen; and thanks for your assistance."

Down-stairs Hilda waited, with growing wonder and anxiety. When she finally saw Lysgaard lurch out of the elevator, supported, her anxiety became terror. What had happened? Where was Mathison? She wanted to rush forward and ask questions, but she dared not. The value of her services would always depend upon the fact that her activities were practically unknown. So she sat perfectly quiet and watched the remarkable procession file past and vanish round the corner of the corridor.

The sight of the blond beast naturally brought back the thought of Berta. She, too, was now a prisoner. Prison. A cell with bars and filtered sunshine, interminable monotony and maddening thoughts.[Pg 263] It was horrible. And she, Hilda, could do nothing. Berta merited whatever punishment an outraged nation might see fit to visit upon her. Flesh and blood—or was there something in the psychology of double-birth? Was there really an invisible connecting link? Yet, if so, why had she not felt that Berta was alive? Why had she shed tears over the poor, unrecognizable thing in Berta\'s clothes she and the mother had buried eight years ago? If only something occult had warned her! The mother might have borne up under such a blow—the return of the wayward. But to her Berta was dead; and a return under the present tragic circumstances would without doubt result in a death shock. Ah, if Berta had come back a penitent, the news might have been broken gradually. But a lawless Berta, predatory, vengeful...!

And to-morrow night Norma Farrington would romp across the stage, now tender, now whimsical; now making her audience laugh, now bringing them to the verge of tears. And all the while Hilda Nordstrom\'s heart would be breaking. She would complete the run because her word had never been broken. She could not possibly find[Pg 264] it in her thoughts to be disloyal to loyal Sam Rubin.

Love! It was not enough that Berta should return to life. She, Hilda, must give her heart unasked to a man who appeared to be quite satisfied with friendship. She hadn\'t even fought against it. Non-resistant, she had permitted this crowning folly to creep into her heart. She had forgotten that to him Mrs. Chester was an old woman, and that he had sought her society because he was just humanly lonesome. She hadn\'t had her chance. With the physical attributes of a Venus and the mental attainments of an Aspasia, a woman might not win the heart of a man in three short hours. Love at first sight! She trembled. He had used that subject merely to pass the time and to keep the conversation away from dangerous channels. She was very unhappy.

She heard the elevator door rattle in the groove. Mathison stepped forth. Malachi\'s cage bobbed against a leg. He paused a moment (truthfully, to get his sea-legs, for he was still groggy) and brushed his forehead with his free hand. The movement left a bloody smear.

[Pg 265]

She flew to him and cried, in passionate anger, "The beast has hurt you!"

"Banged me up a bit. But my teeth are all sound, and I still can bite. He got loose somehow, and ... well, I went berserker. I\'m a sight! Malachi did a fine thing to-night. I was killing that man, when Malachi spoke up. I\'ll see you home."

"Indeed you shall ... straight up to my apartment, where I can take care of those cuts and bruises."

"At this hour?" tingling.

"What matters the hour? Wouldn\'t you prefer me to the hotel physician?" raising the veil and letting him look into her eyes, which were full of sapphire lights.

"All right. You may do with me as you please."

Day after to-morrow was now very far away. At no time in his life had he craved so poignantly for the touch of a woman\'s hand. To be ministered to, coddled, made of; a memory to take away with him to the high seas, from which he might never return.

She ran back for his greatcoat, held it for him and noted the grimace as he stretched his arms backward for the sleeves.

[Pg 266]

"What is it?"

"Ribs, head, and shoulder; all in the sick-bay. Lord, but I\'m a wreck!"

She picked up the cage and grasped his sleeve. Her heart sang. For an hour or two; to use all her arts in making the episode unforgettable to this man. To mother and coddle him; to run her eager fingers through his fine hair. An hour or two, all, all her own!

In the taxi he told her briefly what had happened and brought the Odyssey to an end by disclosing the fact that Berta had escaped the net.

"But don\'t worry. I\'ve an idea she\'ll be too busy to trouble you. She\'s keen. By now she must understand that the game is up. She will be concerned with little else besides her efforts to get clear of New York. Ten to one, she\'ll strike for the Orient. I\'m sorry. Not that she escaped, but that she was able to hurt you. We\'re all riddles, aren\'t we?"

"Berta free?... I\'m glad. I can\'t help it. It may be the turning-point. In all these years she has never met with any serious def............