It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Grace Duvall when, after having traced the mysterious woman who had attacked Ruth Morton, to the flat at Columbus Avenue and Ninety-sixth Street, she had foolishly entered the place, and allowed herself to be attacked.

The woman\'s onslaught had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Grace was entirely unable to offer any defense.

Her cries for help had been smothered at once and with the woman\'s thin but muscular fingers clutching at her throat, she found herself forced violently back upon a low couch that stood immediately behind her.

For a few moments she struggled violently, striving with both her hands to break her assailant\'s hold upon her, but her efforts were in vain. Slowly she realized that she was being choked into unconsciousness. The objects in the room, the woman\'s set face, whirled dimly before her eyes, and then everything became blank.

When she once more recovered consciousness, she found herself still lying upon the couch. Her throat ached fearfully, and there was a dull roaring in her head.

She opened her eyes and looked about. The room was quite dark. Only a very faint glow came through the windows at its further end—the dim reflection of the lights in the street. So far as she could determine, she was alone.

She tried to move her arms, her feet, but found them bound fast. A moment later she realized that a piece of cloth of some sort, tightly rolled, had been forced into her mouth. She could not utter a sound.

There was no one in the room, but from the one which adjoined it in the rear came the murmur of voices.

By twisting her head about she was able to learn that the door connecting the two was ajar, and through the narrow opening came a thin ribbon of light.

As her senses became clearer, she realized that two persons were in the room beyond her, and from the sounds they made, the words which from time to time came to her ears, it appeared that they were engaged in the operation of packing.

At first the words that filtered through the partly open doorway were mere fragments of conversation—words spoken here and there in a slightly higher key, and therefore distinguishable to her. She made out that her captors supposed her to be still unconscious—that they were preparing to leave the place.

"There\'s no hurry," she presently heard one of the women say, in a somewhat louder voice. "If she had had friends waiting outside for her, they would have come to her rescue long ago. I\'m sure nobody knows where she is."

"And her husband had gone, long before I left the house. I was watching, and he first went to a saloon on the corner, and then drove off in a taxicab. So I couldn\'t have been followed here."

"No. But I think we ought to get away as soon as possible. When does that train go?"

"Not until half past five."

"We\'ll have to wait in the station, then."

"Why not here?"

"Because that woman\'s husband, when she fails to return to-night, is certain to look for her. She probably came in a cab, and he might trace her that way. My advice is to leave here as soon as possible. Have you finished packing that suit case?"

"No, not quite. What do you propose to do with Jack?"

"I was going to take him with me."

"I don\'t see how you can do that."

"Why not?"

"Because, if any attempt is made to follow us, he would be a certain means of identification."

There was silence for a time. Grace heard the sounds of drawers being opened and shut, as the two women hurried through their task. Who was Jack, she wondered? There had been no sounds to indicate the presence of a third person in the next room.

Presently she heard the voices again.

"I think the whole affair has been a mistake, anyway," one of them said petulantly. "I don\'t see what you have gained by it."

"I\'ve gotten my revenge on that baby-faced Morton girl. The stuck-up thing. I\'ll bet she won\'t act again in a hurry. What right has she to be getting a thousand a week, when they wouldn\'t give me a chance at any price? I may not be as good-looking as she is, but I\'m a better actress. I hate her. I believe she told the director I wouldn\'t do—that\'s why I didn\'t get the job. And after running down to the studio every day for three weeks, too. I hate her, I tell you. I hope she\'s never able to act again." The woman spoke with an intensity, a violence that made Grace shudder.

"How do you ever suppose they came to connect me with the matter?" the other woman said after a time. "They didn\'t know my address, at the studio. And even if they had, I have never been seen with you. I don\'t see why they ever suspected me."

"I don\'t know. That man Duvall is pretty shrewd, though. I did manage to get away from him, the other night. I\'d like to have seen his face, when he got back to the cab and found me gone."

"His wife followed you here, from the hotel, I suppose. You took an awful chance."

"I don\'t understand how she traced me. I knew she was following me, and when she saw me go up in the elevator, at the hotel, I expected her to come, too. I was afraid they might prevent me from coming down, while they were coming up, so I walked down. I watched, from the stairs, and saw her and the clerk get out of the elevator on the floor where that girl\'s apartment was. Then I came down the stairs and went out the side entrance. I knew she was upstairs, when I left, and I don\'t see how she traced me."

"Perhaps she had her taxi driver do it."

"That\'s just about it. And if he did, like as not he\'s waiting for her yet."

The other woman laughed.

"Nice wait he\'ll have," she said............