was confusion, chaos. Her head was burning but her body was cold. Where was Whitman? Had he been murdered?
Oh, that terrible blackness! It seemed to bear down upon her like lead. It seemed to be crushing her. She could scarcely breathe. She must have light! Frantically she searched about until she found a match. As she struck it and lighted the gas, she breathed more easily. She had more than half suspected that the gas wouldn't work. That she would have to remain in darkness. But at least that thought was groundless. It was far easier to think clearly when she had light. She turned toward the corner window. She would sit down and rest. Then abruptly she paused—for seated in the chair was a huge giant of a man.
"Hello, sister," he said airily, "looking for somebody?"
"Yes," she managed to gasp, "my husband."
"You mean Whitman Manners?"
"Yes," she said.
He laughed softly as he drew a large cigar from his pocket and very deliberately lighted it.
"Lady," he drawled finally, "Whitman Manners was no husband of yours."
"Of course he wasn't—exactly," she faltered, "but we were to be married as soon as we could find a minister."
"The lad has a droll sense of humor," chuckled the man. "Think not unkindly of him. He already has one wife but that does not prevent him from going off occasionally on honeymoons. Boldly speaking he is hired by my associates to secure girls for various enterprises. Our girls make lots of money if they are wise and prudent. They are made equal partners and have equal share of the profits. Of course if they are rebellious we have to use stern tactics."
"And Whitman brought me here, knowing that?" She scarcely could believe it.
"Worse than that," said the man curtly. "He sold you to me and you can't leave this house until you've paid back the money you've cost me. You needn't bother thinking about Whitman any more. He has gone away and you will perhaps never meet him again. Incidentally Whitman isn't his right name. He uses it solely for professional purposes."
8
