leaped,
screaming, from her place. Splinters of glass fell all around her. Her
first wild thought was of release; she gazed upwards at the broken pane.
Then very faintly from the street below she heard the shout of a boy's
angry voice.

"You've done it now, Jimmy! You're a fine pitcher, ain't you? Lost it,
that's what you've gone and done!"

The thoughts formed themselves mechanically in her mind. Her eyes sought
the ball which had come crashing into the room. There was life once more
in her pulses. She found a scrap of paper and a pencil in her pocket. With
trembling fingers she wrote a few words:

"Police head-quarters. I am Sanford Quest's assistant, abducted
and imprisoned here in the room where the ball has fallen. Help!
I am going mad!"

She twisted the paper, looked around the room vainly for string, and
finally tore a thin piece of ribbon from her dress. She tied the message
around the ball, set her teeth, and threw it at the empty skylight. The
first time she was not successful and the ball came back. The second time
it passed through the centre of the opening. She heard it strike the sound
portion of the glass outside, heard it rumble down the roof. A few seconds
of breathless silence! Her heart almost stopped beating. Had it rested in
some ledge, or fallen into the street below? Then she heard the boy's
voice.

"Gee! Here's the ball come back again!"

A new light shone into the room. She seemed to be breathing a different
atmosphere--the atmosphere of hope. She listened no longer with horror for
a creaking upon the stairs. She walked back and forth until she was
exhausted.... Curiously enough, when the end came she was asleep, crouched
upon the bed and dreaming wildly. She sprang up to find Inspector French,
with a policeman behind him, standing upon the threshold.

"Inspector!" she cried, rushing towards him. "Mr. French! Oh, thank God!"

Her feelings carried her away. She threw herself at his feet. She was
laughing and crying and talking incoherently, all at the same time. The
Inspector assisted her to a chair.

"Say, what's all this mean?" he demanded.

She told him her story, incoherently, in broken phrases. French listened
with puzzled frown.

"Say, what about Quest?" he asked. "He ain't been here at all, then?"

She looked at him wonderingly.

"Of course not! Mr. Quest--"

She hesitated. The Inspector laid his hand upon her wrist. Then he
realised that she was on the point