On Tuesday of the following week Florence and Susan went shopping. The chauffeur was a strong young fellow whom Jones relied upon. If you pay a man well and hold out fine promises, you generally can trust him. As their car left the corner another followed leisurely. This second automobile contained Thomas Wendt and his wife Kate. The two young women stopped at the great dry goods shop near the public library, and for the time being naturally forgot everything but the marvels which had come from all parts of the world. It is as natural for a woman to buy as it is for a man to sell. In some manner or other Florence became separated from Susan. She hunted through aisle after aisle, but could not find her; for the simple reason that Susan was hunting for her. It occurred to the girl that Susan might have wisely concluded the best place to wait would be in the taxicab. And so Florence hurried out into the street, into the arms of the Wendt family, who were patiently awaiting her. The trusted chauffeur had been sent around to the side entrance by the major domo. The young lady had so requested, so he said. Florence struggled and called for the policeman, who came running up, followed by the usual idle, curious crowd. "The poor young woman is insane," said the motherly Kate, tears in her eyes. The benign Thomas looked at heaven. "We are her keepers." "It is not true," cried Florence desperately. "She has the hallucination that she is the daughter of the millionaire Stanley Hargreave." And Thomas exhibited his document, which was perfectly legal, so far as appearances went. "Hurry up and get her off the walk. I can't have the crowd growing any larger," said the policeman, convinced. So, despite her cries and protestations, Florence was hustled into the automobile, even the policeman lending a hand. "Poor young thing!" he said to the crowd. "Come now, move on. I can't have the walk blocked up. Get a gait on you." He was congratulating himself upon the orderliness of the affair when a keen-eyed young man in the garb of a chauffeur touched his shoulder. "What's this I hear about an insane young woman?" he demanded. "She was insane, all right. They had papers to prove it. She kept crying that she was Stanley Hargreave's daughter." "My God!" The young man struck his forehead in despair. "You ass, she was Stanley Hargreave's daughter, and they've kidnaped her right under your nose! What was the number of that car?" "Cut out that line of talk, young fellah; I know my business. They had the proper documents." "But you hadn't brains enough to inquire whether they were genuine or not! You wait!" shrilled the chauffeur. "I'll have you broken for this work." He wheeled and ran back to his car, to find Susan and the countess in a great state of agitation. "They got her, they got her! And I swore on the book that they never should, so long as I drove the car."