as soon as i had read the two foregoing reports which reached me in the first mail, i called up sadie for the purpose of telling her to have the operative a. n. transferred to some other duty, as he had obviously outlived his usefulness where milbourne was concerned. this was the day following my encounter with jumbo in his flat.

keenan answered the phone. he said sadie had just gone out after reading her mail. she had told him she didn't know how long she would be. we did not take keenan very far into our confidence. he knew he was not clever, poor fellow, and did not mind his exclusion.

his word made me vaguely uneasy, for i knew of nothing to take sadie out that morning, and she was very scrupulous about letting me know before embarking on anything new. however, there was nothing to do until i heard from her.

i plunged into the work awaiting me. that was considerable. i am only giving you an occasional report or part of a report which helps on the story a little. there were dozens of other lines we were obliged to follow that never returned us anything for our work. the office end of my business is the part i like least.

at noon i called the other office again. sadie had not come in, said keenan, nor had she sent any word. i was downright anxious by this time. sadie must know that i would call her up, i told myself. surely she would never stay away so long without sending in word, unless she were prevented. i called up her sister with whom she lived. they had not heard from her there since she had left as usual that morning.

i spent a horrible afternoon, condemned to inaction, while my brain busied itself suggesting all the dreadful things that might have happened. curiously enough i thought only of the ordinary accidents of the streets. the truth never occurred to me.

the blow descended about half-past four. terrible as it was it was like relief to hear anything. it came in the form of a special delivery letter, mailed as in irony from station w. within were two lines more of that damned cryptogram, thus:

sp jah fuxljg qcxq wye dfb&u owk-

mzm&yw sy eus uyhjl fvdh qmwzcdbk

qbc oyfg yb uowx.

meaning:

"if you return what you stole yesterday in the first mail to-morrow all will be well."

on the back of the paper was written another message:

"they have got me, ben. save me!"

this went to my breast like a knife. it was unquestionably sadie's handwriting. the wild words were so unlike my clever self-contained girl it broke me all up. for a while i could not think, could not plan. i could only reproach myself for having put one so dear to me in danger.

fortunately for humans, old habits of work reassert themselves automatically. my brain screwed itself down upon the hardest problem of my career. there was not the slightest use in flying up to the flat on one hundredth street. there would be no one there. neither could i call on the police for aid without precipitating the catastrophe. if sadie was to be saved it must be by unaided wits.

i thought of mr. dunsany with hope and gratitude. in him i had a line on the gang they did not as yet suspect. i immediately called up dunsany's and asked if i might speak to mattingly in the jewel-setting department. it was a risky thing to do, but i had no choice. knowing how the gang watched dunsany's it would have been suicidal for me to have gone there to meet him.

i finally heard his voice at the other end of the wire. "this is enderby," i said. "do you get me?"

"yes," he said, "what is it?"

i had to bear in mind the possibility of a curious switchboard operator in dunsany's listening on the wire. "are you going to meet your friends to-night?" i asked in ordinary tones.

"yes," he said, "same as usual."

"those fellows have played a trick on me," i said. "they have copped my girl."

"not sadie!" he said aghast.

"yes," i said. "it's a deuce of a note, isn't it?"

he took the hint, and his voice steadied. "what do you want me to do?"

"find out if you can without giving yourself away where they have put her."

"i'll try. where can i meet you?"

"we can't meet. but watch out for my friend joe the taxi-driver. he stands outside your joint up on lexington avenue. the number of his licence is 11018. it's painted on the sidelamps."

"i get you," said mr. dunsany.

i cannot give a very clear account of the next hour or two. it was like a nightmare. i knew a young fellow that drove a taxi which he hired from a big garage by the day. i was depending on him to help me out. i had often employed him. i searched him out, taking suitable precautions against being trailed. he agreed to hire me his cab for the night and i went to his room to change clothes with him. the visored cap in itself was a pretty good disguise. i had made an engagement by telephone with my good friend oscar nilson, and he fixed me up so my own mother wouldn't have known me.

in my anxious eagerness i arrived at the turtle bay café long before the hour. none of the men i was looking for had arrived, and i was compelled to drive around the streets for another half hour or more. i turned down the little flag on the meter, to avoid taking any business. once more i had a drink at the bar without seeing any of my men. the third time i returned i caught a glimpse of mr. dunsany's face at one of the tables, and i waited outside as if for a fare who had gone in for a drink.

after a while i could stand it no longer. my torturing curiosity drove me inside. i went to the bar taking care not to look towards the alcove where the three sat. i found i could see them in the mirror without turning my head. mr. dunsany, or "english," as i shall call him, and "foxy" each presented a side view, while jumbo, seated farthest within the alcove, faced me. foxy was milbourne, as you have already guessed.

all the alcoves down the side of the room were fully occupied. even if i had been able to secure a place in either of the adjoining compartments, i doubt if i could have heard any of my men's talk. they had their heads very close together. there was an infernal racket in the place. i had to content myself with watching jumbo's lips, wishing vainly that i might read them. i had to be careful not to seem to stare, for at any moment he might raise his eyes and meet mine in the mirror. my face was revealed in every line by the strong lights behind the bar.

as far as i could make out jumbo and foxy were trying to urge something on english to which he resisted. his reluctance was so well done i could not decide if it were real or assumed. once more i was compelled to pay tribute to my friend and assistant. what a lucky chance it was that had led me to him. he was a wonder!

the other two were an ugly-looking pair at that moment, the one face gross and mean, the other sharp and mean. they had dropped their masks. i wondered now how i could have thought even for a moment that milbourne was stupid. his long nose, his close-set eyes, the whole eager thrust-forward of his gaunt face suggested the evil intelligence of the devil himself. not for nothing was this man called foxy.

after a while they seemed to come to an understanding. jumbo sat back and putting his hand in his pocket, looked around for the waiter. i made a quiet exit to my cab outside where i waited the turn of events.

they must have had another drink for it was still some moments before they issued from between the swinging doors. i saw english's eyes go at once to the number on my side lamps, which he read off with visible satisfaction. he gave me a fleeting glance as i sat nodding on the driver's seat. english was making out to show the effects of his liquor a little. the other two were cold sober.

"say, boys," said english, "let's taxi it up; i'll blow."

i made believe to come to life, hearing that, and hopping out touched my cap and opened the door.

foxy frowned and held back. "what's the use?" he grumbled.

"aw, come on," said english. "i ain't had an auto ride since i landed." his slightly foolish air was beautifully done.

neither jumbo nor foxy liked the idea, but they liked less calling attention to themselves by a discussion in the street. so they all piled in. jumbo gave me a number on lexington avenue which would be about half a mile north of where we then were.

there was a hole in the front glass at my ear for the purpose of allowing fare to communicate with driver. with the noise of the engine, however, i could hear no more than the sound of their voices. it seemed to me that both foxy and jumbo were admonishing english not to drink so much if he couldn't carry it better.

i found my number on a smallish brown stone dwelling facing the great sunken railway yards, and drew up before it. it was one of a long row of houses, all exactly alike.

as my fares climbed out, english said to jumbo: "how long will we be in here?"

"not long," was the answer.

"then wait," said english to me. a glance of intelligence passed between us.

"you must like to throw your money away," grumbled foxy, as they mounted the steps.

they were admitted by a negro man-servant.

i examined the surroundings more particularly. the excavating of the great yards opposite has damaged the neighbourhood as a residential district and the tidy little houses were somewhat fallen from their genteel estate. small, cheap shops had opened in one or two of the basements, and beauty parlours, or dry-cleaning establishments on the parlour floors. only one or two houses of the row retained a self-respecting air, and of these the house i waited before was one. the stone stoop had been renovated, the door handles were brightly polished, and the windows cleaned. simple, artistic curtains showed within. in fact it had all the earmarks of the dwelling of a well-to-do old-fashioned family which had refused to give up its old home when the first breath of disfavour fell upon the neighbourhood.

i should further explain that the houses were three story and basement structures with mansard roofs over the cornices. at the corner of the street, that is to say three doors from where my cab was standing, there was a new building four stories high, which contained a brightly lighted café on the street level and rooms above. in other words what new yorkers call a raines' law hotel.

the three men remained inside the house about forty-five minutes, i suppose. it seemed like three times that space to me, waiting. they appeared at last, talking in slightly heightened tones, which suggested that they had partaken of spirituous refreshment inside. their talk as far as i could hear it was all in respectful praise of a lady they had just left. she was a "good fellow," a "wise one," "long-headed."

at the cab door they hesitated a moment as if in doubt of their next move.

"it's early," said jumbo. "let's go back to the turtle bay."

the others agreed.

english let them get in first. "back to the turtle bay," he said to me. his lips added soundlessly: "she is here!"

when they got out again, english paid me off. his expressive eyes said clearly that he wished to speak to me further. the others stood close, and we dared not take any risk.

i thanked him, touching my cap. "any time you want me, gen'lemen, call up plaza 6771," i said.

they went inside.

i had given the first telephone number that came into my head. it was that of an artist friend of mine who had a studio apartment on fifty-ninth street. i hastened up there in the car, and routed him out of bed. artists are used to these interruptions. i had a little difficulty, however, in making myself known to a man half asleep. he was decent about it, though. he gave me tobacco, and telling me to make myself comfortable, went back to bed.

in an hour or so the telephone bell rang, and to my joy i heard english's voice on the wire.

"this you?" he said. we named no names.

"i get you," i said. "fire away."

he plunged right into his story and though plainly labouring under excitement, was admirably clear and succinct.

"she is confined in that house. she was lured there this morning by a forged letter from you instructing her to go there for certain evidence. i did not see her. i understood from their talk that so far she is all right."

"the house is occupied by a woman they call lorina or mrs. mansfield. handsome, blonde woman of forty; great force of character. she is a member of the gang, perhaps the leader of it. anyway, they all defer to her. she has a better head than either jumbo or foxy. i was taken there to-night for the purpose of having her size me up. apparently she approved of me."

"i understood that the girl is safe until to-morrow morning. then they plan"—his voice began to shake here—"to—to do away with her."

"unless i come across with the paper they want?" i interrupted.

"whether you do or not," he said grimly. "they have no intention of letting her go. they plan to get you, too, to-morrow."

"how?"

"i don't know. i was not consulted."

"go on."

"the—the job they are trying to force on me," he faltered, "is to dispose of her body. they chose me because i am not suspected by you, not followed. i am to carry it out of the house piecemeal. oh—! it's horrible!"

"steady!" i said. "i promise you that won't be necessary. any more particulars?"

"mrs. mansfield lives alone," he went on. "she has three coloured servants, two maids and a man."

"did you find out where they slept?"

"yes. the two maids on the top floor in the front room, the man somewhere in the basement."

"are they in the gang?"

"no. they do not know that miss farrell is in the house. but the man, i understood, could be depended on absolutely. which means that he is ready for any black deed. he is as ugly and strong as a gorilla."

"what about the other internal arrangements of the house?"

"on the first floor there is a parlour in front, dining-room and pantry behind. on the second floor the front room is a sitting-room or office. the telephone is here. mrs. mansfield sleeps in the rear room on this floor. between her bedroom and the office there is an interior room, and that is where miss farrell is confined. this room can be entered only through mrs. mansfield's bedroom."

"did you notice the locks on the doors?"

"no. there was nothing out of the common. on the front door a yale lock of the ordinary pattern."

"anything more?"

"one thing. mrs. mansfield goes armed. she has a small automatic pistol with a maxim silencer which is evidently her favourite toy. i hope i got what you wanted. they were at me every minute. i could not look around much."

"no one could have done better!" i said heartily.

"what do you want me to do now?"

"where are you?"

"in my own boarding-house. the party at the turtle bay soon broke up. the telephone here is in the restaurant in the basement, and everybody sleeps upstairs."

"you had better stay at home until morning," i said, after thinking a moment. "it is very likely that they are having you watched to-night."

"but i must do something. i couldn't sleep."

"there is really nothing you can do now. stay where you can hear the telephone and i'll call you if i need you. i'll call you anyway when i get her out safe. if you do not hear from me by say, three o'clock, go to police headquarters, tell them all the circumstances, and have the house surrounded and forced."

"i understand."

"to-morrow morning if all goes well, you must go to work as usual. i don't mean that we shall lose all our work so far if i can help it. they must not suspect you."

"don't take too big a chance, ben, the girl——"

"don't worry. the girl is worth fifty cases to me. but i mean to save both."