see; we must."

"Fetch the police," repeated Stratton. "I cannot leave you and go
myself."

"But the man is armed," said Brettison. "My dear boy, he is desperate."

"I tell you, I will protect you, man. Now, come on."

He took a step forward, and the ex-convict gave a fierce tug to draw his
weapon, but stopped, for Brettison seized his friend, and held him back.

"The pistol! Mind!" he cried.

"He has no pistol," roared Stratton, dragging himself free; and, seizing
the man by the collar with both hands, he flung him aside. "Now, then,
the police at once."

Brettison rushed to the door; but stopped short to gaze in wonder at the
group before him.

For as if Stratton's touch had discharged all power from the man he had
seized, the fierce look faded from his face, which grew heavy, vacuous,
and dull; his legs trembled beneath him, and he lurched forward, and was
only saved from falling by a rapid movement on Stratton's part as he
swung him into an easy-chair, where his enemy sank back with his head
lying over on one shoulder, and his leaden eyes staring heavily at the
floor.

The strength which had animated him with the flush of memory which had
come back, had passed away, and he was once more the feeble imbecile,
slowly raising his hand to his neck, where his fingers wandered about
the scar of his wound; while at that moment there was faintly heard on
the staircase the cheery humming-over of a scrap from an opera, followed
by voices and steps on the stone landing, which halted at the door.

Then came a long, rolling knock, followed by a merry laugh, and
Stratton, with a quick movement, raised his hand and whispered:

"Hush!"

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

TO SAVE HER.

The knock was repeated as Brettison and Stratton stood gazing at each
other, and then at the miserable imbecile before them in the chair.

At that moment a familiar voice, muffled by the doors, but still silvery
and clear, said:

"No use; not at home."

"One more try!" came plainly to their ears, followed by a cleverly
executed _roulade_ with the little brass knocker.

Then there was a short pause, and the rattle of the little copper-plate
of the letter-box as if something had been dropped in; the babble of
merry voices, and descending steps.

Stratton waited till the last sound had died out, when he opened the
inner door, and took out two cards.

"Edie and Guest," he said, as he came back and reclosed the door.

Just then a lin