“Are you sure it was a Chinaman?” asked Marion, quickly; “a small, swarthy fellow, with long, yellow, clawlike fingers?” “He was small and swarthy all right,” was the answer, “but his hands were out of sight. I couldn’t see his fingers.” “That is very strange,” said Marion, half to herself, as she seated herself beside Miss Allyn. “That is the second time I’ve known of that fellow being around here, and I’d like to know what he is striving to accomplish.” “He looked like a ghoul,” was Miss Allyn’s extraordinary answer. “I have seen pictures of such creatures; they are always haunting graveyards.” “I wonder if he can be that wicked Chinaman who steals young girls,” said her companion, thoughtfully, and then she told of the article Dollie’s husband had seen in the paper. Miss Allyn had been in the newspaper business too long not to know that even stranger things than this occurred in a big city, so she listened without a word and at the end she seemed to be thinking deeply. “We must be on the lookout in the future,” she said, “and above all we must warn Dollie to be very particular. She must never step out after dark unless Ralph is with her.” “I don’t think she does” was Marion’s answer; then a sudden idea seemed to come to both of them. “Perhaps he is looking for you,” Miss Allyn said, slowly. “Well, I hope not,” said Marion, with a shiver, “but I’d much rather it would be me than my darling sister.” CHAPTER X. CLAYTON GRAHAM’S MURDER When Marion awoke the next morning she saw Alma Allyn standing by her bed-side, her eyes fairly bulging with horror. “Quick, Marion, look!” she cried, holding out the morning paper. “Clayton Graham is dead. He has been murdered in his own apartments.” The young girl sat bolt upright in bed and snatched the paper hastily. She could hardly speak for a moment after she finished reading. “It was Carlotta, no doubt,” said Miss Allyn, slowly, “for they say she is missing and has been since midnight.” “It is dreadful,” cried Marion, springing out of bed. “Oh, it doesn’t seem possible that she could have done it.” “Well, they know it was a woman,” said her friend, as she glanced over the paper again, “and who so likely as Carlotta?” “I knew they had been quarreling frequently of late—every one in the company knew it,” was the thoughtful answer, “but still I can’t think that she would actually murder him, for, in spite of her bad temper, I believe she loved him.” “It was probably done in a second; she had, no doubt, lost her self-control completely when she shot him,” said Miss Allyn. Marion dressed herself hastily and ate her breakfast; then, as soon as she could, she started for the theatre. There was quite a group of girls at the stage door when she reached there and, of course, they had all come on the same errand.