of this character would not be apt to entrust so dangerous a secret to a third person. We must therefore make up our minds to find a woman who has a typewriting machine, and knows how to use it."
"There are probably a hundred thousand such women in New York," Baker observed, gloomily.
"No doubt. But we have more information than that about the person who sent these letters."
"What, for instance?" asked Baker and Mrs. Morton in a breath.
"Well, in the first place, this woman was able to secure possession of a photograph of Miss Morton." He took the hideously distorted picture from his pocket. "Do either of you know where this photograph was made?"
Mrs. Morton examined the picture with a shudder. Then she rose, went to a cabinet at the other end of the room, and took out an album. Returning to the table, she placed the book before her, and began to turn the pages. In a few moments she found what she was looking for, a duplicate of the likeness which lay before them, with the exception, of course, of its frightful distortions.
"This picture was made by Gibson, on Fifth Avenue," she said, referring to the photograph in the book. Both Baker and Duvall saw at once that on the retouched picture, the name of the photographer had been scratched off.
"How many of them were made, and what became of them?" Duvall asked quickly.
"Ordinarily I could not answer such a question," Mrs. Morton replied, "for Ruth has had many photographs taken, and we have not of course kept a record of them, or what has become of them, but in this particular case I happen to remember that she did not like the pose particularly, and ordered but half a dozen. I do not think that she gave any of them away. If I am right in my supposition, there should be five more here in the apartment." Closing the book, Mrs. Morton went to the cabinet again, and took out a portfolio containing numberless photographs of her daughter in all sorts of poses.
After some searching, she produced a brown-paper envelope, containing a number of pictures, all taken by the same photographer, at the same time. There were in the envelope four copies of the photograph, the fifth of which was contained in the album.
"Evidently one has been given away," Duvall exclaimed. "Now if we can only find out to whom, our search for the writer of these letters may be very quickly ended."
Mr. Baker regarded them both with a puzzled look.
"I have seen that picture before," he said, "and of course I could not have done so, had I not seen the one that is missing." He sat for a while in silence, searching his recollection for a solution of the problem. Suddenly he spoke. "There was a picture like that in my office, at one time," he exclaimed. "Miss Morton sent a number down, for advertising purposes, and I am positive that this one was among them. I remember distinctly the pose of the head, the unusual arrangement of the hair. That photograph should be in our files. The fact that it has been taken out shows that the person who has been writing these letters is a member of our own staff, or at least has access to our files."
"That does not necessarily follow," observed Duvall.
"Why not?"
"Because the picture might have been obtained from the photographer."
"But they are not allowed to dispose of the portraits of others, without the sitter's permission."
"I know that, but they sometimes do so, especially in the case of anyone so well known as Miss Morton. She has become a sort of public character.
"Well," remarked Duvall, "we can readily find out, in the morning. You, Mr. Baker, can go through your files, and should you find the photograph to be there, I will take the matter up with the photographer. If, on the contrary, the picture is missing, it will be fairly conclusive evidence that the person or persons we are looking for are in some way connected with the studio."
"I will make an investigation the first thing in the morning," Mr. Baker announced, rising. "Do you expect to be at the studio early, Mr. Duvall?"
"Yes. Quite early."
"Then we had best leave matters until then. Good night. Good night, Mrs. Morton." He turned and started toward the door.
He had proceeded but a few steps, when the three occupants of the room were startled by a series of sudden and agonizing cries. From the rear of the apartment came a succession of screams so piercing in their intensity, so filled with horror, that they found themselves for a moment unable to stir. Then Mrs. Morton gave a cry of anguish, and darted out into the hall, closely followed by Duvall and Mr. Baker.
The screams continued, filling the entire apartment with their clamor. That the voice which uttered them was that of Ruth Morton none of the three doubted for a moment. With sinking hearts they went on, prepared for the worst. Duvall found himself dreading the moment when they should reach the bedroom door, and face the girl, her beauty, perhaps, disfigured beyond all recognition.
There was a sharp turn, at the end of the hall, into a shorter cross hall, at the end of which was the door of Ruth's bedroom. It was closed, but as though in response to Mrs. Morton's agonized appeals, it suddenly opened as they reached it, and Ruth Morton, pale as death, appeared.
With wide open eyes staring straight ahead, she half stepped, half fell through the doorway, her slender figure clothed only in her night dress. "Ruth," Mrs. Morton screamed, as she caught sight of her daughter.
The girl tried to say something, but her tongue failed her. Then, with a faint moan, she lurched forward and fell limply into her mother's arms.
Part 2
Chapter 1
When Duvall, Mr. Baker, of the motion picture company, and Mrs. Morton rushed down the hallway of the latter's apartment in response to the screams from Ruth's bedroom, they were one and all convinced that the girl had suffered some terrible injury—that the mysterious threats to destroy her beauty which had been made during the past few days had been converted into some frightful reality.
One glance at the girl's white face as she fell fainting into her mother's arms told the detective that their fears had been, to that extent at least, groundless. The girl's lovely features, although drawn and contorted by fear, showed no signs of the disfigurement they feared.
Leaving the girl to her mother's care, Duvall, closely followed by Baker, dashed into the bedroom, and at once switched on the lights. The place, to the intense surprise of both, presented a picture of perfect quiet and order. The bed clothing was slightly disarranged, but this of course was but natural, since Ruth had sprung up under the influence of some terrible fear, and rushed from the room. Everything else seemed in its place.
Duvall's first act was to examine the window. The one fronting on the fire escape was closed and tightly fastened. It was perfectly clear that no one had entered the room in that way.
The other window, facing on the court, was raised a few inches, just as Mrs. Morton had left it half an hour before. Duvall turned to his companion with a puzzled frown.
"I
