Up from the ball-room floats the first strains of a delicious waltz. Winnie stops, starts, and turns toward the door. "That's my favorite waltz, and I'm engaged to Charlie Furbish--he dances like an angel. Follingsbee, bye, bye!" She flits to the mirror, gives two or three dainty touches to her coquettish costume, tosses a kiss from her finger tips, and is gone. "Thank Heaven," mutters Stanhope. "I consider _that_ the narrowest escape of my life! What a little witch it is, and pretty, I'll wager." He draws from beneath his flowing robe a tiny watch such as ladies carry, and consults its jewelled face. "My time is up!" he ejaculates. "Twenty minutes delay, now, will ruin my Raid. Ah! here's Follingsbee." And he moves forward at the sound of an approaching step. But it is not Follingsbee who appears upon the threshold. It is, instead, Stanhope's too-obsequious, too-attentive admirer, the Celestial, who has voted the prospect of a flirtation with a mysterious mask, a thing of spice. CHAPTER XII. A "'MELLICAN LADY'S" LITTLE TRICK. In such an emergency, when every moment has its value, to think is to act with Richard Stanhope. And time just now is very precious to him. This importunate fellow is determined to solve the mystery of his identity, to see him unmask. Ten minutes spent in an attempt to evade him will be moments of fate for the ambitious detective. And, for the sake of his patroness, he cannot leave the house at the risk of being followed. This difficulty must be overcome and at once. These thoughts flash through his mind as if by electricity; and then, as the Celestial approaches, he turns languidly toward the open window and rests his head against the casement, as if in utter weariness. "'Mellican lady slick?" queries the masker solicitously; "'Mellican lady walm? Ching Ling flannee, flannee." And raising his Japanese fan, he begins to ply it vigorously. Mentally confiding "Ching Ling," to a region where fans are needed and are not, Stanhope sways, as if about to faint, and motions toward a reclining chair. The mask propels it close to the window, and the detective sinks into it, with a long drawn sigh. Then, plying his fan with renewed vigor, the Celestial murmurs tenderly: "'Mellican lady slick?" "Confound you," thinks Stanhope; "I will try and be too _slick_ for you." Then, for the first time, he utters a word for the Celestial's hearing. Moving his head restlessly he articulates, feebly: "The heat--I feel--faint!" Then, half rising from the chair, seeming to make a last effort, he reels and murmuring: "Water--water," sinks back presenting the appearance of utter lifelessness. "Water!" The Celestial, utterly deceived, drops the fan and his dialect at the same moment, and muttering: "She has fainted!" springs to the door. It is just what Stanhope had hoped for. When the Celestial returns with the water, the fainting lady will have disappeared.