Having left his friend, Lawrence returned at once to the St. Albans. As he took his key, the clerk handed him a letter, the precise, old-fashioned handwriting of which he recognized with a quick thrill. "Wonder what the old geezer has to say now," he said to himself as he sailed up in the elevator. "If he’s thought up any more conditions, I’ll balk, hanged if I won’t." There were none, however. The letter contained five one-hundred-dollar bills and a few lines of symmetrical writing on a single sheet of note paper: You are doing admirably. Keep on as you have begun, and use the inclosed in case your expense money does not hold out. Barry scratched his head, and sat staring at the note. "Well, I’ll be hanged!" he exclaimed. "Don’t want me to do anything but spend money. It’s the weirdest thing I ever ran across, sure. What in creation does it mean? What does he get out of it? If I only——" The room telephone tinkled imperatively; and, cramming money and letter into his pocket, Lawrence sprang up and took down the receiver. "Hello!" came in a woman’s voice. "Is this Mr. Lawrence—Mr. Barry Lawrence?" "Yes, what is it?" "Hold the wire, please. Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding wishes to speak to you." In the brief pause which followed, Barry stood there the picture of amazement. What in the world could Mrs. Wilmerding want with him? He did not know her—had never seen her. She was not the sort of woman to give her personal attention to such trivial matters as an invitation to call or to take dinner, anyway. Was it possible that anything had happened to—— "Mr. Lawrence!" The name came snapping over the wires with the force of a pistol shot, and made Barry jump. "Yes!" he gasped. "This is Mr. Lawrence." "Get a taxi and come to my house at once. Do you understand?" Barry flushed a little at the peremptory tone, coming as it did from a woman he fancied he disliked so greatly. "But I am just dressing for dinner," he expostulated, trying with not much success to make his tone cool and dignified. "Dinner!" snapped the voice. "What’s that to me? Go without your dinner, as I shall. My niece is gone!" Lawrence felt an odd pounding in his head which made him certain that he could not have caught her meaning. "Gone?" he repeated dazedly. "Where?" "Don’t be a fool! Should I be doing this if I knew? She went out after lunch and hasn’t returned. A letter was just delivered which—— But we’re wasting time. Are you coming?" "Yes. At once. I’ll be there in five minutes." There was no response save a sharp click, and Barry turned from the instrument, his face ghastly. Shirley gone—disappeared! For a second he stood there, his lips moving. Then, with an exclamation of fury, he snatched hat and coat, tore open the door, and ran down the hall toward the elevator. *CHAPTER XXXIV.* *THE PUZZLE GROWS.*