No doubt she was confined here against her will. Perhaps she was the victim of some cowardly plot. “Oh, I am thankful!” she said, joyfully. “For my prayer is answered. I shall die if I remain longer in this awful place!” Old King Brady drew close to the bars of the cell door. “Come a little nearer, young lady,” he said. “We are in danger of being overheard.” She drew nearer. Her large eyes were fixed upon the detectives questioningly. But it was plain that her confidence was wan. “Oh, I am sure you are friends,” she said, earnestly, “and you will take me from this dreadful place.” “Tell me your story,” said Old King Brady. “Who brought you here? Why are you here?” “Oh, I do not know,” she said with a shudder. “They tell me that I am insane like the others in this place. But I am not. Truly I am not!” “Where did you come from?” “My home is in Westchester near New York City.” Old King Brady gave a start. His eyes flashed. “Will you tell me your name?” “Certainly!” replied the fair prisoner. “My name is Evelyn Grimm!” CHAPTER XI. THE RESCUE. “Evelyn Grimm!” Old King Brady repeated the name with a horrified gasp. Both detectives rubbed their eyes. “Did I hear you aright?” asked the old detective. “Did you say the name was Grimm?” “Yes, sir.” The young girl looked at him wonderingly. “You lived in Westchester?” “That is my home.” “Do you know Napoleon Blood?” The young girl shuddered. “He is my uncle,” she said. “He it was who declared I was insane and had me brought here!” Old King Brady began to see his way through the fog. The vile plot in all its intricacies was now exposed to him. “That was the way of it,” he said. “Then you did not keep an appointment in Union Square on a certain evening?” “Never!” “Nor you were not murdered and burned up in a Fifteenth street house?” The young girl looked astonished. “I do not understand you,” she said. “I do not wonder,” said the old detective. “I will explain. That is the story of your mysterious disappearance as given to the world by your uncle.” “Well, it is false!” “Even traces of your clothing were found and other clews to show that you were burned in that dwelling.” “That is strange.” “Yes, it is part of the plot.” “Plot?” “Yes, young lady, you are the victim of a villainous plot.” “I think you are right,” said Evelyn, with conviction. “And I believe my uncle is at the bottom of it. I know he always hated me and he wanted my heritage.” “Now you have it right,” said Old King Brady. “He tried to hang young Allerton Banks for the supposed crime, but an alibi was proved.” A cry of horror and indignation escaped the young girl. “The scoundrel!” she said, intensely. “He always hated Allerton. Oh, sir, who are you? Surely you do not keep this dreadful place?”