e. Now let us probe deeper.

"Mark the first point; this Pauline is a shrewd creature, and doubtless
possessed of more than an ordinary Corsican nature to hate so bitterly."

"Ah! you know her mother was a Corsican?"

"I believe I have heard it told in New York, and it is easy to realize
the fact now. Pauline is a good hater--her father was Scotch I presume.

"What I want to point out is this--she has been investigating your
record--the skeleton in your closet, or rather your family, is no secret
with her."

"I understand that, sir. It is no accident, her presence in the same
house my mother occupied."

"Well, as to that, you're not sure. That fellow who brought the news was
paid to represent the head of the Valetta police, for they knew you had
invoked official aid, and just as like as not he gave you an address
that your mother never heard of."

"Well, here we are!" suddenly.

"Eh? This is the Strada Mezzodi?"

"Any objections to it?" laughing.

"Oh, no! one place is as good as another to me, in this Maltese city,
where you seem to be climbing to paradise or descending into hades all
the time. Only I'm glad I came."

"Why, professor?"

"Well," with a look down the street, "I'm afraid you'll need the
services of a friend before long--that you are about to experience a
sensation you won't soon forget," replies Philander, coolly.

CHAPTER VI.

PAULINE POTTER'S HOUR COMES.

"It is possible!" declares John; "and under such circumstances I shall
indeed be glad to have a friend in need. At the same time it seems as
strange to me to think Pauline Potter can be here--that the Chicago
actress whom I once adored and with a youth's ardor swore to make my
wife, can be here and bothering her head about one John Craig, M.D."

"It will soon be known. You have a good description of this house which
the man supposed to be Luther Keene brought?" asks Philander, showing
unexpected business qualities; indeed, he is proving more of a wonder
to the young Chicagoan every hour.

"Yes, and can find it easily enough by the red lamp in front," he
replies.

"I see such a light along the strado."

"That is, in all probability, our destination."

They advance, and in another minute are at the door of the domicile
marked so conspicuously with a red light.

John allows himself a brief period of ecstasy as he remembers that his
mother crossed this threshold only recently, and in his eyes this
renders it holy.

The