P. S. Have him come alone or my life will be in danger.

We looked at each other in amazement.

“I thought something like this would happen,” remarked Craig at length.

“Oh,” cried Aunt Josephine, “it’s too good to be true.”

“We’ll do it,” exclaimed Kennedy quickly, “only this is the ring that we’ll give them.”

He drew from his pocket the replica of the ring which he had made and showed it to Aunt Josephine.  Then he drew from another pocket the real ring, replacing the replica.

“Here’s the real one,” he said in a low tone.  “Guard it as you would guard your life.”

She took the ring, almost fearfully.  It seemed as if nothing but misfortune had followed it.  Still, she realized that it was necessary that she should take care of it, if the plan was to work.

“And, oh, Mr. Kennedy,” she implored, as we rose to go, “please get back my little girl for me.”

Craig clasped her hand.  “I’ll try my best,” he replied fervently, patting her shoulder to cheer her up, as she sank into a chair.

Aunt Josephine was worn out with the sleepless nights of worry since Elaine’s disappearance.  After we had gone, she tried to eat dinner, but found that she had no appetite.

All the evening she sat in the library, with a book at which she stared, though she scarcely read a page.  However, as the hours lengthened, she found herself nodding through sheer exhaustion.

It was getting late and her thoughts were still on Elaine, At the desk in the library, she was examining the curious ring, which she had taken from her jewel case, thinking of the terrible train of events that had followed it.

Although she had intended to sit up until she received some word from Kennedy that night, the long strain had told on her and in spite of her worry about Elaine, she decided, at length, to retire.  She replaced the ring in the case, locked the case, and turned out the lights.

“Good night, Jennings,” she said, as she passed the faithful old butler in the hall.

“Good night, ma’am,” he replied, pausing on his rounds to see that the doors and windows were locked.

Aunt Josephine, clasping the jewel case tightly, mounted the stairs and entered her room.  She locked the door carefully and put the jewelry case under her pillow.  Then she switched off the light.

The moment Jennings’s footsteps ceased down-stairs in the library, a small piece of the vase seemed to break away from the rest of the mosaic, as though it were knocked out from the inside.  Then a large piece fell out, and another.

At last from the strange hiding-place a lithe figure, as shiny as though bathed in oil, naked except for a loin-cloth, seemed to squirm forth like a serpent.  It was Wu Fang—­the watchful eye which, literally as well as figuratively, had been leveled at us in one form or another ever since the kidnapping of Elaine.