But, the startled Vreeland, pacing his silent room had several times exclaimed, in his lonely rounds while waiting for Alberg, “James Garston, you are a cool-headed, thorough-paced liar! I will trace you back, my occidental friend, only to find ‘the wires crossed,’ somewhere in the past, and, from you, I will yet wrench the secret of Elaine Willoughby’s early life. Her child! Yes,” he cried, “It might well be.” He was thrilling in every fibre, for, in the dressing room, Justine had stolen to his side whispering: “Doctor Alberg has sent for a trained nurse to help me watch with her to-night. Be on your guard. “When this new Senator had made his adieu, I was hidden behind the curtain in the long hall. I saw him neatly drop his glove, as if by accident. Alynton and that tall golden-haired girl were waiting outside as he stole back.” The French woman fairly hissed, “He is the man to fear. I am sure they are old lovers. For, he caught her by both hands and fairly devoured her with his eyes. “‘To-morrow, alone, at Lakemere,’ she said. _Voilà!_ Milady. Just a woman, like the rest of us.” “Justine, that paper, the one in her corset. A thousand dollars for a copy of it.” “I will get it to-night!” the velvet-eyed spy cried. “Go now. You will hear from me soon. Don’t leave your room for a moment, and, _gare la_ Kelly. She reports daily on you to our full-blown _ingenue_. Whatever turns up, you will surely hear from me. I’ll earn your money yet.” It was five o’clock when the haggard German physician crawled up Vreeland’s stair. He was worn and exhausted. “I’ve had a night of it,” he savagely cried, “give me a glass of real brandy. No slops. That poor devil of a woman has had fainting fits one after the other. I’ve now got Martha Wilmot, my only really reliable nurse, watching her. The devil of it is, Madame will go up to Lakemere at ten o’clock, and she vows she will, alone. The house there is shut up. It is not even properly warmed. She will come back, and have a relapse, but what can I do. She has an iron will.” The angry Teuton drank a second dram and then relapsed into a sullen silence. “Alberg, my boy, you are a good doctor, but, you don’t know women, only your blue-eyed, clumsy frauleins, over there. This American woman is made of fire and flame. Tell me, what sort of a person is your nurse, Wilmot?” “She’s a good one—an ‘out and outer.’ She goes home to England next week. She has some ideas of her own to work out over there.” “Tell that smart woman to slip down here and see me before our patient comes back. I’ll be here from four to seven to-day. And, mind that you put her ‘dead on’ to me, as the holder of a hundred pound note for her.” “Good,” grunted Alberg. “And, now, my son of Galen, what was it that upset Mrs. Willoughby?” Vreeland was eagerly studying the German’s face.