mbitious courage of Pauline. But the sight of woman on the porch
training a vine over the front door, allayed her fears.

"You are Mrs. Sheila--you sent me a message that you had found my
dog?" she asked, approaching.

For a moment the confusion that the woman had meant to simulate was
sincere. She had expected to see no such vision as that of Pauline on
the blackened steps of the coiners' den.

"A dog?" she quavered vaguely. Then, "Oh, yes, my--dear little lady
--the pretty white dog. He came to us yesterday. My son he brought
me the newspaper, and--"

"Oh, you are just a dear," cried Pauline. "May I see him now? I am so
fond of him!"

"Yes, my little lady. Will you come in?"

Pauline followed her into the basement. She stepped back with a tremor
of suspicion as the woman rapped three times upon the folding doors,
and they opened silently on their oiled rails. But she was inside the
narrow passage, and the light that gleamed through the second pair of
doors allayed her anxiety. With a bow and the wave of a directing
hand, the old woman waited for Pauline to enter.

In a breath she was seized from both sides. Strong cruel hands held
her, while Wallace smothered her cries with a tight-drawn bandage.

She had hardly had time to see the little terrier tugging at his chain
in the corner of the room, but his wild barking was all she knew of
possible assistance in the plight in which she found herself.

They laid her on the floor. She heard a voice that seemed strangely
familiar giving abrupt orders. Pauline sought in vain to place the
memory of the voice of Balthazar, the Gypsy.

Suddenly she heard cries. The barking of the dog had stopped and there
was the thud of heavy foot steps on the stone floor of the cellar.

"Catch him! Shoot if you have to," came the command in the
mysteriously familiar voice. She felt that her captors were no longer
near. There was a beat of rushing foot-steps on the floor.

It was several minutes before she heard voices again.

"The cur hasn't been there long enough to know her. It won't make any
difference," said Wallace, coming through the open doors. "But I'm
sorry it got away."

"Where is Miss Pauline?" asked Harry, as he entered the house on his
return from Westbury.

"She has found her dog, sir," answered Margaret, smiling. "She went to
get him--with the racing car."

His brow darkened. "The advertisement was answered, you mean,
Margaret?"

"I thi