baby-stealer like your father. The law gives me the right to
my own child. But swear to give up your lover, and the baby shall come
back to you at once. If you do not give him up, I will take her away out
of England. Send me an answer to this post-office, and do not let your
father try any tricks upon me.

"GUSTAV FIORSEN."

Beneath was written the address of a West End post-office.

When Gyp had finished reading, she went through some moments of such
mental anguish as she had never known, but--just as when Betty first
told her of the stealing--her wits and wariness came quickly back. Had
he been drinking when he wrote that letter? She could almost fancy that
she smelled brandy, but it was so easy to fancy what one wanted to. She
read it through again--this time, she felt almost sure that it had been
dictated to him. If he had composed the wording himself, he would
never have resisted a gibe at the law, or a gibe at himself for thus
safeguarding her virtue. It was Rosek's doing. Her anger flamed up
anew. Since they used such mean, cruel ways, why need she herself be
scrupulous? She sprang out of bed and wrote:

"How COULD you do such a brutal thing? At all events, let the darling
have her nurse. It's not like you to let a little child suffer. Betty
will be ready to come the minute you send for her. As for myself, you
must give me time to decide. I will let you know within two days.

"GYP."

When she had sent this off, and a telegram to her father at Newmarket,
she read Fiorsen's letter once more, and was more than ever certain that
it was Rosek's wording. And, suddenly, she thought of Daphne Wing, whom
her father had seen coming out of Rosek's house. Through her there might
be a way of getting news. She seemed to see again the girl lying so
white and void of hope when robbed by death of her own just-born babe.
Yes; surely it was worth trying.

An hour later, her cab stopped before the Wagges' door in Frankland
Street. But just as she was about to ring the bell, a voice from behind
her said:

"Allow me; I have a key. What may I--Oh, it's you!" She turned. Mr.
Wagge, in professional habiliments, was standing there. "Come in; come
in," he said. "I was wondering whether perhaps we shouldn't be seeing
you after what's transpired."

Hanging his tall black hat, craped nearly to the crown, on a knob of the
mahogany stand, he said huskily:

"I DID think we'd seen the last of that," and opened the dining-room
d