"Yes," said Donald, rising and moving restlessly about the room. "There was the letter--and this." He paused beside the table on which still lay the filmy scarf. He shuddered as he looked at it. "I was almost beside myself when I found it. I thought that the blood on it had flowed out from--something inside the door.... And the janitor, not knowing me, refused to open the apartment. It wasn't till I got the policeman.... Oh, God, it was awful! The suspense----" He strode abruptly to the window and did not turn until he had partially regained his composure. "And then--there was the letter----" Clancy persisted. "You said, some time ago, that it was strange, unaccountable...." He waited a moment, watching Morris's face. He could almost see the struggle which was going on in the mind of this clever, sophisticated man of the world, into whose world had been thrust an occurrence with which no previous experience had given him the ability to cope. Would he show the letter? Could he take a man, as Clancy felt himself to be, from another sphere, into his entire confidence? Donald's eyes searched the face before him and Clancy returned his gaze with a glance so frank and open, so intelligent and resourceful, that Morris was favourably impressed, even more so than he had been when his cousin, Dick Schuyler, hastily summoned on the wire, had enthusiastically recommended Peter Clancy as the only absolutely dependable detective in New York. "Mr. Morris, why are you so sure that something has happened to Miss Blake?" asked Peter, putting an end to an almost imperceptible pause. "You do think something unpleasant has happened, don't you? Something pretty awful--else why have you called me in? And now that I am in, how can I help you if you won't give me a look at the hand you're holding?" He smiled his winning, cheerful smile and spread out his hands. Morris straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. The uncertainty was gone from his eyes. "You're right, Mr. Clancy. Perfectly right," he said. "I'm sure there's something wrong, dreadfully wrong here, and I want your help. I will give you every assistance in my power and will be perfectly frank and open with you. What I am about to tell you is known to no one and I will ask you to treat it in confidence." "You may be quite at ease in your mind about that," said Peter, promptly. "My job wouldn't amount to a hill of beans if I couldn't keep my mouth shut and my eyes open. So let me have what you've got and, believe me," he added, seriously, "it goes to the bottom of the well, and I'll help you for all I'm worth and then some." Clancy's manner was so straightforward and engaging that Donald impulsively held out his hand. Peter returned the strong clasp, and the two young men, so near in age, so far apart in experience of the world, became firm allies. As their hands fell apart, Morris spoke--