"Yes, please. I want her and Susan and Mr. Norton to come to tea to-morrow. Good-by." Jones hung up the receiver, sank into a chair near by and buried his face in his hands. "What is it?" cried Susan, terrified by the haggardness of his face. "She's gone! My God, those wretches have got her! They've got her!" Florence was whirled away at top speed. Her father! She was actually on the way to her father, whom she had always loved in dreams, yet never seen. Number 78 Grove Street was not an attractive place, but when she arrived she was too highly keyed to take note of its sordidness. She was rather out of breath when she reached the door of the third flat. She knocked timidly. The door was instantly opened by a man who wore a black mask. She would have turned then and there and flown but for the swift picture she had of a well-dressed man at a table. He lay with his head upon his arms. "Father!" she whispered. The man raised his careworn face, so very well done that only the closest scrutiny would have betrayed the paste of the theater. He arose and staggered toward her with outstretched arms. But the moment they closed about her Florence experienced a peculiar shiver. "My child!" murmured the broken man. "They caught me when I was about to come to you. I have given up the fight." A sob choked him. What was it? wondered the child, her heart burning with the misery of the thought that she was sad instead of glad. Over his shoulder she sent a glance about the room. There was a sofa, a table, some chairs and an enormous clock, the face of which was dented and the hands hopelessly tangled. Why, at such a moment, she should note such details disturbed her. Then she chanced to look into the cracked mirror. In it she saw several faces, all masked. These men were peering at her through the half-closed door behind her. "You must return home and bring me the money," went on the wretch who dared to perpetrate such a mockery. "It is all that stands between me and death." Then she knew! The insistent daily warnings came home to her. She understood now. She had deliberately walked into the spider's net. But instead of terror an extraordinary calm fell upon her. "Very well, father, I will go and get it." Gently she released herself from those horrible arms. "Wait, my child, till I see if they will let you go. They may wish to hold you as hostage." When he was gone she tried the doors. They were locked. Then she crossed over to the window and looked out. A leap from there would kill her. She turned her gaze toward the lamp, wondering. The false father returned, dejectedly. "It is as I said. They insist upon sending some one. Write down the directions I gave to you. I am very weak!" "Write down the directions yourself, father; you know them better than I." Since she saw no escape, she was determined to keep up the tragic farce no longer. "I am not your father."