Her whole body seemed to shake with the emotions born of her grief as she knelt at Mr. Field’s feet. When she removed her hands the old man saw that the face upturned to his was tear-stained and pale. “How could you, oh, how could you?” she moaned. “Compose yourself, Louise.” “Would you be composed if such an accusation was made against you?” she asked, “by one you dearly loved?” “My information comes from a detective,” Mr. Field said. “He told you a falsehood! Would you not take my word before his?” The banker hesitated. Far better would it have been for him if he had not. “Perhaps,” he said, “the man was wrong. Do you mind if I bring him face to face with you to-morrow?” “You will persist in doubting me;” and, as she spoke, the girl appeared to be highly displeased. “Louise, I owe a duty to my family,” Mr. Field said; “no one can come in contact with them whom even the breath of suspicion might rest on.” “What is the name of the man who dares to injure my good name?” she asked, her eyes fastened on him as she awaited the answer. “His name is Nicholas Carter,” replied the banker. “Nick----” She suddenly placed her hand over her mouth. “Yes, Nick Carter. You seem to know him.” “Only from reading of him in the newspapers. I read of a bold capture of his only this morning,” she replied. Mr. Field was lost in thought for a second. Then he raised the young woman from the floor and seated himself beside her on the sofa. “Tell me you don’t doubt me.” Her left arm was thrown around his neck, while her right hand fumbled about in her pocket. Louise Calhoun was all smiles now, as she drew the banker to her so that his head rested upon her shoulder. Then quickly did she tighten her grasp, drawing a handkerchief from her pocket and applying it to his nostrils. Mr. Field struggled, and succeeding in breaking away, staggered to his feet. Then he fell to the floor. The drug had done its work. Louise touched the prostrate man with her tiny foot, and assured herself that he was insensible. “The old fool!” she exclaimed, and her laugh rang shrilly through the apartment, “marry him? I guess not!” “Louise, you are a trump!” The speaker, a young man who would be known anywhere for what he was, a sport and gambler, emerged from behind a heavy curtain, where he had been hid. “How was my emotional acting, Elmer?” she asked. The fellow kissed the woman, saying: “Your husband is proud of his wife.” His praise seemed to please her. “Where are your men?” she asked. “They will be outside at half-past eleven”--he pulled out his watch and glanced at it--“why, it is that time now!” Elmer, as Louise called him, drew a long piece of thin rope from his pocket and pinioned the old man. When he had completed the job, he said: “This night’s work will pay handsomely or I’ll eat my head; then for Europe with the swag, sweetheart.” The rascal left the house and soon returned with two brutal-looking fellows, who awkwardly removed their hats.