Her appetite gone, Betty sat motionless while her husband gave the order. "I don't suppose it amounts to anything," Betty managed to say when the waiter had left, "but what possible business could you have with Abe Arnstein that would interest me, Chester?" Instead of replying, Chester Danford reached in his inside coat pocket and took out something wrapped in tissue paper, which he unfolded and held up. "My necklace!" blurted Betty. "How in the world?" "I told you Uncle Abe was a good friend of mine," said Danford. "When he discovered that I didn't know anything about your pawning your necklace he was in a terrible stew. Finally I got the whole story from him--and redeemed your necklace, of course." Betty sat speechless. "This afternoon I slipped home to tell you about it, but you were out. So I went to your room and got the phony string Abe had made for you. This is it. Do you--" "This is it? Then where is the other--the genuine one?" "Why, that's the surprise I was keeping for you, hon. I put your necklace in the secret compartment where you had this thing. Then--Gosh, Bet, what makes you so white?" Chester's words seemed to come from afar off, yet they beat on Betty's ears like cruel hammers. The glass of water she reached for seemed to swim before her eyes. "Close here--too warm. Back in a minute." Her feet feeling as if they were made of lead, she ran for a taxi, tumbled in and gave a frantic order. As the taxi started Betty glanced at her wrist watch. Seven minutes past eight! * * * * * So far as she could see, the house was dark when she reached home. Telling the driver to wait, Betty hurried up the walk and let herself in the front door. Punching on the lights, she ran up the stairs to her room. One look--and she flew to the phone. "Harry!" she gasped when the connection had been made. "There's been a terrible mistake! I--" "You better not talk over the phone!" cautioned Detective Milholland. "That man hasn't got here yet. I'm to meet him at the east end of Ellington Street bridge. You better hurry over there. I'll wait there." Betty slammed up the receiver. As fast as her high heels could carry her, she tumbled down the stairs and out to the waiting taxi. Two shadowy figures were standing on the sidewalk some fifteen feet from the end of the bridge when Betty slipped out of her taxi. As she hurried toward the men she caught a glimpse of the broad, slow-moving river, and the lights of the city beyond. "So it's phony, eh?" one of the men shouted angrily. "Had me risk my life for a bunch o' bum rocks, did yuh? Well--" The rest, Betty did not hear. Horrified, she saw the speaker spring back and raise his arm. His hand shot out. High over the bridge rail flew something that seemed alive with sparkling flame. Fleeing steps pounding on the walk--a blur of voices--strong arms that caught her quickly--those were the last things Betty remembered. * * * * *