n the concert stage, and wished to know from her how best to
succeed. She thought dreamily of other days, and the slightest pin-prick
of jealousy touched her, for Carshaw had suddenly become earnest in
broaching this matter, and the other pair of players wondered why the
game was interrupted for so trivial a cause.

"What is the girl's name?" she asked.

"Her name is of no importance, but, if you must know, it is Winifred
Bartlett," he answered.

Senator Meiklejohn laid his thirteen cards face upward on the table.
There had been no bidding, and his partner screamed in protest:

"Senator, what are you doing?"

He had revealed three aces and a long suit of spades.

"We must have a fresh deal," smirked Mrs. Tower.

"Well, of all the wretched luck!" sighed the other woman. Meiklejohn
pleaded a sudden indisposition, yet lingered while a servant summoned
Ronald Tower to play in his stead.

Carshaw knew Winifred--that same Winifred whom he and his secret
intimates had sought so vainly during three long weeks! Voles and his
arm-fractured henchman were recuperating in Boston, but Rachel Craik and
Fowle were hunting New York high and low for sight of the girl.

Fowle, though skilled in his trade, found well-paid loafing more to his
choice, for Voles had sent Rachel to Fowle, guessing this man to be of
the right kidney for underhanded dealings. Moreover, he knew Winifred,
and would recognize her anywhere. Fowle, therefore, suddenly blossomed
into a "private detective," and had reported steady failure day after
day. Rachel Craik had never ascertained Carshaw's name, as it was not
necessary that he should register in the Fairfield Inn, and Fowle, with
a nose still rather tender to the touch, never spoke to her of the man
who had smashed it.

So these associates in evil remained at cross-purposes until Senator
Meiklejohn, when the bridge game was renewed and no further information
was likely to ooze out, went away from Mrs. Tower's house to nurse his
sickness. He recovered speedily. A note was sent to Rachel by special
messenger, and she, in turn, sought Fowle, whose mean face showed a
blotchy red when he learned that Winifred could be traced by watching
Carshaw.

"I'll get her now, ma'am," he chuckled. "It'll be dead easy. I can make
up as a parson. Did that once before when--well, just to fool a bunch of
people. No one suspects a parson--see? I'll get her--sure!"

CHAPTER XIV

A SUBTLE ATTACK

Voles was br