“Yet there goes a red fez in. Turks are welcome--standing room only, greatest success of the Midway. I’m all of a quiver to see the grand entrance of Anthony Wayne, the valet, and the detective who is to represent Miss Dorothy. Great head, that of my respected partner. He believes in fighting fire with fire. Was that the drum signal?” “No; they’re not ready yet--plenty of time. Be patient, comrade.” “Jove! there’s my lovely senorita.” “What, the Spanish cigar girl?” “Sauntering along with a dandy dude, and casting coquettish looks up into his stupid face.” “You don’t appear excited at all. How is this?” pretending to feel his pulse. “That was Vagabond Claude. The gentleman Wycherley casts his eyes higher.” “H’m! a banker’s daughter. That’s the way the wind blows, is it?” “I protest--I’ve admitted nothing, only that an unfathomable gulf lies between the old life and the new.” “Oh, Mr. Craig!” “Good Heavens! who spoke?” exclaims Aleck, suddenly grasping his friend’s arm. He looks around. There are people pushing this way and that--sight-seers, pilgrims, foreigners, and all the varieties of the _genus homo_ daily seen upon this gay passage--this cleft of folly. None of them gives any token of being the speaker. Besides the voice was that of a woman, and its tones thrilled Aleck through and through. “Who called my name?” he asks again in bewilderment, as his companion has failed to make a reply. “I pass, Aleck. Give me something easy,” returns that mystified individual. “But you heard it?” “Correct.” “Do you think you know the voice?” “Jove! now, I wouldn’t swear to it, but, somehow, it put me in mind of--Dorothy.” “Just as I thought. She is here. In spite of her father’s precautions they have inveigled her to the spider’s web.” And filled with a new spirit of alarm, the young Canadian again begins to glance at each person near by, as though he suspects the speculator’s lovely daughter would come here in the disguise of an old woman with bonnet and blue glasses, or a dashing sport swinging a delicate cane and wearing eye-glasses. In the midst of his dilemma he again hears his name called: “Oh, Mr. Craig! look this way. I am in this little shop. I wish to speak to you. At first I dared not, but I saw my father enter there and as my necessity grew greater my courage arose. I need a friend’s advice. Will you give it to me?” Before half of this speech is finished Aleck has fastened his eyes upon the speaker. The little shop is dim, and he can only see that it is a female form, for a heavy veil conceals the face. Instantly Craig remembers what was said by Happy Jack concerning the hatred of Aroun Scutari for him, on account of the interference with his plans, in connection with the strange Ferris wheel game, and that should the opportunity offer he has a rod in pickle for the Canadian.