Had she been carried from the jaws of death and would she be able to tell the story of her escape? She did not know. When she came to again she saw a woman standing over her, and a gentle hand was laid upon her brow. “It was a narrow escape, child,” said the nurse, and Margie looked up with a query in her eyes. “Tell me,” said the girl. “All I know is that a fireman saved you in the nick of time. He carried you from the house, which was entirely consumed. It was a brave act, and will get him a medal.” “But the woman?” “They saw no one but you in the house. Was there another?” “Yes; Nora.” The nurse shook her head. “The other one may have left the house in time,” she remarked. “She was my jaileress.” “You don’t mean to tell me that you were in that house against your will?” “That’s it exactly.” “And you don’t know who Nora is?” “I do not.” Later in the day Margie, now fully recovered from the shock, was able to sit up, and an officer came to see her. “The man I want to see is Mr. Carter, the detective. I will talk to him,” said the girl, and they telephoned for the detective. In a short time the answer came back that the detective could not be found, and Margie adhered to her declaration that she would talk to no one but him. Meantime Carter, whom we left in the corridor of the tall building with a revolver at his head, had had an adventure of his own. Eager to discover something about the man who had lost a card in Mother Flintstone’s den, he had made his way to the building, only to reach the third floor, where he was met by a man who covered him and told him that another step would seal his doom. The detective had not bargained for an adventure of this kind, and the threat took him unawares. He could see the well-built figure of the speaker, though it was not too well revealed, but the man’s face seemed to be half concealed by a mask. He stood but a few feet from the detective, and Nick noticed that the hand which held the weapon did not quiver. There was a desperate man behind the six-shooter. “What do you want?” suddenly demanded the stranger. “I want to see you.” “Well, I’m here.” “George Richmond, we have not met for some time.” The stranger laughed. “George Richmond, eh? You don’t take me for that worthy, do you?” “You are that man and no one else,” was the reply. “I am here to tell you this in spite of the menace of the revolver.” “Well, what do you want with George Richmond?” Nicholas Carter waved his hand toward a door near the man, and continued: “You live in this building. We cannot talk in this hall.” “That’s right. Come this way, sir.” For the first time the weapon was lowered, and the man called George Richmond by the detective opened the door. His action revealed a room scantily furnished, but Carter stepped forward. The moment he crossed the threshold the door was shut, and the other turned a key in the lock. “Now, sir, what is it?” he demanded.