Mary waited patiently for a few moments, when suddenly a telephone bell
began to jangle inside the private office.

"That's curious," she murmured, looking at her own key-board. "There's
no connection." Again she heard it, insistent, yet muffled.

She walked to the door and opened it. As she did so the wind blew in
from the open casement, making a strong draught. Half a dozen papers
blew from Trubus' desk to the floor. Frightened lest her
inquisitiveness should cause trouble, Mary hurriedly stooped and picked
up the papers, carrying them back to the desk. As she leaned over it
she noticed a curious little metal box, glass-covered. Under this
glass an automatic pencil was writing by electrical connection.

"What on earth can that be?" she wondered. The bell tinkled, in its
muffled way, once more.

The moving pencil went on. She watched it, fascinated, even at the
risk of being caught, hardly realizing that she was doing what might be
termed a dishonorable act.

"Paid Sawyer $250. Girl safe, but still unconscious."

Mary's heart beat suddenly. The thought of her own sister was so
burdensome upon her own mind that the mention by this mysterious
communication of a girl, "safe but still unconscious," strung her
nerves as though with an electric shock. She leaned over the little
recording instrument, which was built on a hinged shelf that could be
cunningly swung into the desk body, and covered with a false front. As
she did so she saw a curious little instrument, shaped somewhat like
the receiver of a telephone receiver. Mary's experience with her
father's work told her what that instrument was.

"A dictagraph!" she exclaimed.

Instinctively she picked it up, and heard a conversation which was so
startling in its import to herself that her heart seemed to congeal for
an instant.

"I tell you, Jack, the girl is still absolutely out of it. We can risk
shipping her anywhere the way she is now. I chloroformed her in the
auto as soon as we got away from the candy store. But that Burke
nearly had us, for I saw him coming."

"You will have to dispose of her to-day, Shepard. Give her some strong
coffee--a good stiff needleful of cocaine will bring her around. Do
something, that's all, or you don't get a red cent of the remaining
three hundred. Now, I'm a busy man. You'll have to talk louder, too,
my hearing isn't what it used to be."

"Say, Clemm, quit this kidding about your ears. I've tried you