Last night I said I had to have air, and they let me go out. I called up a friend from a pay-station, another nurse. This morning she sent me a special-delivery letter that I was needed on another case, and I got away. That’s all; it sounds foolish, but try it and see if it doesn’t get on your nerves. Mr. Patton looked up at me as he finished reading. “Now you see what I mean,” he said. “That woman was there four days, and she is as temperamental as a cow, but in those four days her nervous system went to smash.” “Doors locked!” I reflected. “Servants gone; state of fear—it looks like a siege!” “But why a trained nurse? Why not a policeman, if there is danger? Why any one at all, if there is something that the police are not to know?” “That is what I intend to find out,” I replied. He shrugged his shoulders and read the other paper: Report of Detective Bennett on Francis M. Reed, April 5, 1913: Francis M. Reed is thirty-six years of age, married, a chemist at the Olympic Paint Works. He has two children, both boys. Has a small independent income and owns the house on Beauregard Square, which was built by his grandfather, General F. R. Reed. Is supposed to be living beyond his means. House is usually full of servants, and grocer in the neighborhood has had to wait for money several times. On March twenty-ninth he dismissed all servants without warning. No reason given, but a week’s wages instead of notice. On March thirtieth he applied to the owners of the paint factory for two weeks’ vacation. Gave as his reason nervousness and insomnia. He said he was “going to lay off and get some sleep.” Has not been back at the works since. House under surveillance this afternoon. No visitors. Mr. Reed telephoned for a nurse at four o’clock from a store on Eleventh Street. Explained that his telephone was out of order. Mr. Patton folded up the papers and thrust them back into his pocket. Evidently he saw I was determined, for he only said: “Have you got your revolver?” “Yes.” “Do you know anything about telephones? Could you repair that one in an emergency?” “In an emergency,” I retorted, “there is no time to repair a telephone. But I’ve got a voice and there are windows. If I really put my mind to it you will hear me yell at headquarters.” He smiled grimly. II