Jim touched Florence's hand. But she turned laughingly toward the stranger. What difference did it make? The man would never know who she was nor would she know him. It was a lark, that was all; and despite Jim's warning touch she was up and away like the mischievous sprite that she was. Jim remained in his chair, twisting his fingers and wondering whether to laugh or grow angry. After all, he could not blame her. To him an affair like this was an ancient story; to her it was the door of fairyland swung open. Let her enjoy herself. Florence was having a splendid time. Her partner was asking her all sorts of questions and she was replying in kind, when out of the crowd came Norton (as she supposed), who touched her arm. The cavalier stopped, bowed and made off. Norton whispered: "I have made an important discovery. We must be off at once. Come with me." Florence, without the least suspicion in the world, followed him up the broad staircase. What with the many sounds it was not to be wondered at that the difference in the quality of voices did not strike Florence's ear as odd. The result of her confidence was that upon reaching the upper halls, opposite the dressing rooms, she was suddenly thrust into a room and made prisoner. When the light was turned up she recognized with horror the woman who had helped to kidnap her and take her away on the _George Washington_ weeks ago. She could not have cried out for help if she had tried. Meantime Jim got up and began to wander about in search of Florence. Braine played a clever game that night. He and the Russian, still dominoed like Norton and Florence, ordered the Hargreave auto, by number, entered it and were driven up to the porte-cochere of the Hargreave house. The two alighted, the chauffeur sent the car toward the garage, and Braine and his companion ran lightly down the path to the street where the cab which had followed picked them up. It grew more and more evident to Jim that something untoward had taken place. He could not find Florence anywhere, in the alcoves, in the side rooms, the supper or card room. Later, to his utter amazement, he was informed that the Hargreave auto had some time since been called and its owner taken home. Some one had taken his place. His first sensation was impotent fury against Jones, who had permitted them to play with fire. He flung out of the mansion unceremoniously, commandeered a cab, and flew out to Riverdale. And when Jones came to the door he was staggering with sleep. "What's the matter with you?" demanded Jim roughly. "Where's Florence?" "Isn't she with you?" cried Jones, making an effort to dispel the drowsiness. "What time is it?" suddenly. "Midnight! Where is she?" "Midnight? I've been drugged!" Without a word Jones staggered off to the kitchens, Jim at his heels. There was always hot water, and within five minutes Jones had drunk two cups of raw strong coffee.