, might return at any instant. And yet,
there in the window, where he had half jokingly told her to place it,
hung the brilliant symbol of danger which he himself had selected.

He walked over and took it from the latch. In doing this, he discovered
that only half the scarf hung there, and that one end was jagged, as if
roughly and hastily cut off. He put the scarf into his pocket. As he did
so, his pulses leaped. Pinned to its folds was a bit of paper, so small
and soft that even the inquisitive eye of Sam, following his every
motion, failed to detect it. Laurie turned to the black boy.

"We'd better get out of here," he suggested, trying to speak carelessly
and leading the way as he spoke. "Miss Mayo may be back at any moment."

Sam's eyes bulged till they rivaled Shaw's.

"You don' t'ink she gone?" he stammered.

"Why should we think she has gone?" Laurie tried to grin at him.
"Perhaps she's merely taking an automobile ride, or an early train for a
day in the country. Certainly nothing here looks as if she had gone away
for good. People usually pack, don't they?"

Sam dropped his eyes. His face, human till now, took on its familiar,
sphinxlike look. He followed "Mist' Devon" into the elevator in silence,
and started the car on its downward journey. But as his passenger was
about to depart with a nod, Sam presented him with a reflection to take
away with him.

"She didn' _look_ lak no lady what was goin' on no excu'sion," he
muttered, darkly.

Laurie rushed back to his rooms with pounding heart and on the way
opened and read at a glance his first note from Doris. It was written in
pencil, seemingly on a scrap of paper torn from the pad he had seen on
her desk.

Long Island, I _think_. An old house, on the Sound, somewhere near
Sea Cliff. Remember your promise. _No police._

That was all there was to it. There was no address, no signature, no
date. The writing, though hurried, was clear, beautiful, and full of
character. In his rooms, he telephoned the garage for his car, and read
and reread the little note. Then, still holding it in his hand, he
thought it over.

Two things were horribly clear. Shaw's "plan" had matured. He had taken
Doris away. And--this was the staggering phase of the episode--she
seemed to have gone willingly. At least she had made no protest, though
a mere word, even a look of appeal from her, would have enlisted Sam's
help, and no doubt stopped the whole proceeding. Why had