If the detective could have tracked the cab he would have seen it stop in front of a frame building not far from the East River. He would have seen the door open and a man step out. This person looked cautiously around, as if he feared he had been followed, but seeing that no one was on his track, he reached into the dark depths of the vehicle and brought out a limp form. It was the form of the young girl, and he hastily carried her into the house. Margie looked unconscious, as, indeed, she was, for she made no move of any kind, and once in the old house the man laid his burden on a sofa. Then he went outside and spoke to the man on the box of the cab and the vehicle rattled away. All this did not occupy much time, and had been accomplished as neatly as ever a dastardly job was. Soon afterward there was a slight movement on the part of the girl on the sofa, and Margie looked up. She seemed to have an indistinct recollection of what had taken place, for she arose with difficulty and tottered across the darkened apartment. “This is not home,” she exclaimed. “Neither is it the café where I met the stranger. What has happened and how came I to this house? I will not remain here. I must get out of this trap, for trap it must surely be.” She found the door, but could not open it, and then, as a full sense of the horror overtook her, she fell to the floor. The next second the door opened softly, and a man looked into the room. His face, which was rather handsome, was full of devilish triumph, and for half a second he gloated over the body on the carpet. “Caught,” he said. “Caught like a fly in the spider’s web! You didn’t give us much trouble, girl. We expected a little more than we met. But it’s all right. Now the coast will soon be clear. I’ll just turn you over to Nora.” He went away with the last word on his lips, and five minutes later a woman entered the room. She looked like a typical jaileress, for she was tall, lean, rawboned and dark-faced. She smiled when she saw Margie. “Another one!” she grinned. “This one won’t give me much trouble. Why, she’s but a girl. And such hands, too! I wonder where he netted her?” She went to work restoring Margie to consciousness, and in a short time succeeded. At sight of her the young girl put forth her hands in pleading gesture, but when the light fell upon the woman’s face she shuddered and turned away. “That’s right. I’m no beauty,” said the woman. “I’m no princess like the one in the fairy tale. They call me Nora, if you want to get acquainted with me. Call me Nora, nothing more.” “But you’ve got another name?” “Guess not! Nora’s good enough for me.” “Then Nora, where am I?” “In my house.” “Who brought me here?” “There, don’t ask too many questions,” smiled the dark jaileress. “You are liable to get some lies if you do.” “What, are you in the plot, too?” “I know my business,” evasively answered the woman. “You don’t think I live here for nothing, little one?”