“John!” he cried.  “By God! you’re just in time.”

“What’s happened?”

“Blackmail, or worse.  I hardly know, myself.  These ruffians put up something on me—­they’re all in it, even the manager.”

The latter, a sleek Frenchman with ferocious mustaches and frightened eyes, wrung his hands in supplication.

“M’sieu ’Ammon,” he bleated, “you ruin me.  Such accusation is terrible.  But wait.  Calmness.  The man will be caught.”

“Caught, hell!” roared the steel magnate.  “You know who he is.  Give him to me.  How did he get in here if you didn’t know him?  How did he get his camera fixed without your knowledge?  I’ll have your scalp for this.  I’ll close this place and the city place, too.”  A uniformed doorman appeared with a smoking lantern in his hand, and Hammon wheeled upon him.  “Well?  Did you find him?”

“We can’t find nobody.  There was a car outside the grounds, but it’s gone now.”

Merkle interposed.  “Will you tell me what has happened?”

“It is terrible, incredible, M’sieu,” wailed the manager.

“Same old story, John.  I came out here for a quiet supper with—­a lady.  I’ve been coming here regularly.  They got us into a private room, then took a flash-light, and—­there you are.  I made a rush for the waiter as soon as I realized what had occurred, but he’d skipped.  Everybody’s skipped, photographer and all.  Nobody knows anything.  Blamedest bunch of idiots I ever saw.”  He ground his teeth.

Lorelei, who had remained in the background, turned suddenly sick at memory of that mysterious party at the gate; she understood now the significance of the man with the box and of the fleeing figure that had come through the darkness.

The terrified manager continued his heartbroken lament, and Hammon seemed about to destroy him when Merkle drew the latter aside, speaking in an undertone.

Hammon listened briefly, then broke out: 

“Nonsense.  I’d stake my life on her.  Why, she’s prostrated.  It’s either pure blackmail, or it’s my wife’s work.  She’s had detectives on me for some time.”  Merkle murmured something more.  “Oh, come now!  I know what I’m talking about, and I won’t stand for that,” cried Hammon.

Merkle shrugged; his next words were audible, and they were both sharp and incisive.

“The harm’s done.  They got away clean.  Now we’ve got to kill the story and kill it quick in case they intend it for the papers.”

“My God!  Newspapers—­at this time,” groaned the other.  “It couldn’t be worse.”

“Right.  We must move fast.  Is your car here?”

“Yes.”

“Get it.  We’ll go in with you.  I had an accident to mine.”

“You’ll see for yourself that you’re wrong—­about the other.”  Hammon jerked his head meaningly toward the house, then strode away to order his motor.

Merkle favored his young companion with a wintry smile.