The artist opened his own handsome orbs to their widest extent.

“I wish to see Mr. Hugh Ingelow,” said this singular woman in a deep bass voice.

“I am Hugh Ingelow, madame, at your service.”

The woman fixed her burning eyes on the calm, serenely handsome face.  The lazy hazel eyes of the artist met hers coolly, unflinchingly.

“I await your pleasure, madame.  Will you enter and sit down?”

The woman came in, closed the door cautiously after her, but declined the proffered seat.

“To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit?” asked the artist, quietly.  “I have not the pleasure of knowing you.”

“I am Mollie Dane’s aunt.”

“Ah, indeed!” and Mr. Hugh Ingelow lighted up, for the first time, with something like human interest.  “Yes, yes; I remember you now.  You came to Mr. Carl Walraven’s wedding and gave us a little touch of high tragedy.  Pray sit down, and tell me what I can do for you.”

“I don’t want to sit.  I want you to answer me a question.”

“One hundred, if you like.”

“Do you know where Mollie Dane is?”

“Not exactly,” said Mr. Ingelow, coolly.  “I’m not blessed, unfortunately, with the gift of the fairy prince in the child’s tale.  I can’t see my friends through walls of stone and mortar; but I take it she is at the palatial mansion uptown.”

“She is not!”

“Eh?”

“She is not!” reiterated Miriam.  “I have just been there.  They are in the utmost alarm and distress—­at least, Mr. Walraven appears to be.  Mollie has again disappeared.”

“By Jove!” cried Mr. Ingelow, in dismay.

“She left the house late last night.  One of the servants, it appears, saw her go, and she has never been heard of or seen since.”

“By Jove!” for the second time exclaimed Hugh Ingelow.

“It is supposed that she has met with foul play—­been inveigled away from home, and is in the power of a villain.”

“Well,” said Mr. Ingelow, drawing a long breath, “Miss Dane has the greatest knack of causing sensations of any lady I ever knew.  Pray, are you aware this is the second time such a thing has happened?”

“I am quite aware of it.  Also, that she went against her will.”

“Indeed!  Being so near a relative, it is natural you should be posted.  And now, may I beg to know,” said the young man, with cool politeness, “why you do me the honor to come and inform me?”

Miriam looked at him with her eagle glance—­keen, side-long, searching.  Mr. Ingelow made her a slight bow.

“Well, madame?” smiling carelessly.

“Do you not know?”

“I?”—­a broad stare.  “Really, madame, I am at a loss—­How should I know?”

“Did you not meet Mollie last night at the corner of Broadway and Fourteenth Street?”

“Most certainly not.”

“Where were you at ten o’clock last evening?”