ht at the Prince Henry. He was to be in no condition to go. Are
you willing to be mixed up in such a scandal?"

Stella Larue was crying into a lace handkerchief. "You--you are
all--against me," she sobbed. "What have I done?"

"Nothing," soothed Constance, patting her shoulder. "As for Charmant
and Drummond, they are tied by these proofs," she added, tapping the
papers with the prints, then picking them up and handing them to
Warrington. "I think if the story were told to the directors at the
Prince Henry to-night with reporters waiting downstairs in the lobby,
it might produce a quieting effect."

Warrington was speechless. He saw them all against him, Vera, Braden,
Stella, Drummond.

"More than that," added Constance, "nothing that you can ever do can
equal the patience, the faith of the little woman I saw here to-day,
slaving, yes, slaving for beauty. Here in my hand, in these scraps of
paper, I hold your old life,--not part of it, but ALL of it," she
emphasized. "You have your chance. Will you take it?"

He looked up quickly at Stella Larue. She had risen impulsively and
flung her arms about Constance.

"Yes," he muttered huskily, taking the papers, "all of it."

CHAPTER VIII

THE ABDUCTORS

"Take care of me--please--please!"

A slip of a girl, smartly attired in a fur-trimmed dress and a chic
little feather-tipped hat, hurried up to Constance Dunlap late one
afternoon as she turned the corner below her apartment.

"It isn't faintness or illness exactly--but--it's all so hazy,"
stammered the girl breathlessly. "And I've forgotten who I am. I've
forgotten where I live--and a man has been following me--oh, ever so
long."

The weariness in the tone of the last words caused Constance to look
more closely at the girl. Plainly she was on the verge of hysterics.
Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks and there were dark rings
under her eyes, suggestive of a haunting fear of something from which
she fled.

Constance was astounded for the moment. Was the girl crazy? She had
heard of cases like this, but to meet one so unexpectedly was surely
disconcerting.

"Who has been following you!" asked Constance gently, looking hastily
over her shoulder and seeing no one.

"A man," exclaimed the girl, "but I think he has gone now."

"Can't you think of your name!" urged Constance. "Try."

"No," cried the girl, "no, I can't, I can't."

"Or your address?" repeated Constance. "Try--try hard!"

The gir