“Paul”—­she laughed scornfully now—­“you should be on the stage.  It needed only this proposal to prove to me that I am really Peter Brent’s daughter.”

“Peter Brent’s daughter!” he exclaimed.  “No, not his daughter—­the daughter of Doctor Q.”

“Impossible!” recoiled Zita, astounded at the assertion.

“True, Zita,” he asserted, “absolutely true.  Here, look at this paper.”

With hands that trembled, Zita took the paper and read an amazing table.  Unless the paper lied, she was indeed the daughter of Doctor Q.

There was only one thing to do and that was to confront Doctor Q at once and force him to a full explanation.

In order not to antagonize Paul, Zita was now particularly nice to him.  Her object was to get him to consent to her escape, so that she could inform Locke and Eva of her discovery and all three confront Doctor Q and wrest from him the story.

At first Paul would not let her go unless she consented to marry him, but Zita played him skilfully, so that finally he unlocked the door.

Then Zita flew down the stairs and to a telephone around the corner, where she called up Locke, to whom she told as much as she dared over the wire.

Locke told her that he and Eva would meet her within an hour in the lobby of one of the city’s largest hotels, and Zita hastened there, where she waited impatiently until they arrived.

Doctor Q admitted them immediately, and they noticed with astonishment the wonderful change for the better that had taken place in the man.  For with the restoration of his mind all the evil lines of his face had been obliterated, as it were, and in the place of the doddering half-imbecile they found a genial, kindly, and distinguished gentleman who, with the utmost hospitality, brought chairs and begged them to be seated.

Zita, in her anxiety to know the truth, could hardly contain her impatience.  Tossed from pillar to post, dominated once by the strong, evil mind of Balcom, Zita had run the gamut of human emotions before she had barely passed her girlhood.

Seeing her agitation, Locke undertook to interrogate the doctor.

“Doctor Q,” he began, “I believe you know the perpetrator of the crimes to which we have all been subjected, and we have come to you in all friendliness to ask you to clear this mystery up for us.  Balcom is dead,” added Locke, pointedly.

“Yes, I know that,” interrupted Doctor Q.

“You know?” all asked.  “How do you know?”

The doctor told of having seen Balcom’s body.  But at first he could not explain why he was in the spot at the time.

Then Locke went on to tell him of the document that Paul had shown to
Zita.

Doctor Q sank heavily into a chair.

“That document that Paul Balcom showed Zita,” he exclaimed, after a moment, “told the truth.”

All were startled.  Zita would have risen with a cry had not Locke gently touched her arm.