"Now you understand what you are to do. You bring the child here to-morrow morning. Meantime, I have already written in a disguised hand to Mrs. Traynor telling her that her child is safe--for the present, and that if she wants to see her she must come here to-morrow afternoon. I warned her that if she communicated with the police or informed any of her friends, the child would be put to death before it would be possible to effect a rescue. That ought to bring her here----" "Would monsieur go as far as to kill----" "Why not," demanded Keralio fiercely. "I permit nothing to stand in the way of my will. That woman can save her child's life, but she must pay the price I ask. She shall learn what it costs to dismiss me from her house----" The valet was heard to chuckle as he said: "I don't love her any too much myself. She discharged me from her employ the other day so haughtily I felt like a whipped cur." Again there was silence, followed by a muffled hammering. "They're taking the printing press apart," whispered Dick, who through the keyhole, had managed to get a glimpse of machinery. "If we don't act quickly, they'll get away with all the evidence. Hadn't we better go and call the police?" For answer, the lawyer put his fingers to his lips with a warning gesture, and beckoning the young man to follow, retraced his steps on tiptoe along the narrow, dark hall and down the filthy, winding staircase. Not a word was spoken by either man until they reached the street. Once in the open air, the lawyer turned and said: "Dick, we've uncovered as black a plot as was ever hatched in hell. If we don't queer the game and put them all in the chair it won't be my fault. We can't bring poor Kenneth back to life, but we can and will revenge his cowardly murder. It will be a positive joy to me to see that arch-scoundrel Keralio electrocuted." "What do you propose to do?" asked his companion. "Hadn't we better call Mrs. Traynor on the telephone and warn her before it's too late?" The lawyer was silent for a few moments. Then meditatively, he said: "No, that would be a mistake. No doubt, by this time, she has received Keralio's anonymous letter. She is probably frantic with anxiety over the news of her child's disappearance, and will respond eagerly to any clue that promises to take her to her child. If we warned her she would pay no heed. She might pretend to, but only to pacify us. Afraid that punishment might be visited on the child, she would obey the warning not to talk, and she will come here to Keralio's flat to-morrow at the time the letter stated. Of course, she has no idea Keralio wrote the letter. But even if she had, it would make no difference. I know her. She would run any risk to save her child." "I think you're right," replied Dick, "but how, then, will you help her? There is no knowing what Keralio's object is in enticing her here--you can be sure it's nothing good."