Left alone Sam took a more deliberate survey of the apartment and could hardly repress an exclamation of satisfaction as he saw lying on the floor the old slouch hat which Chip had worn the preceding day.  His face, however, showed nothing as Nance reappeared bearing in one hand a peculiar lamp, scrolled and formed in a fanciful pattern and in the other a large book bound in parchment, covered with hieroglyphics.  Putting the lamp on the table she extinguished the gas, and the pale-blue flame of the alcohol in the lamp cast its ghastly beams over the strange place.

Muttering rapidly to herself she threw powder on the flame, causing a green flash to appear each time, with her eyes fastened on the open pages of the book.

Amused at the hollow fraud, Sam looked on, very much interested and racking his brain to devise some means of gaining a further entrance to the house.  From its outside appearance he knew he must be in one of the rear rooms, and if Chip was not behind the curtain he must be in an upper story.  While he was thus occupied the fortune-teller had finished her incantations, and, taking from a drawer a small amulet sewed in oil skin, handed it to the detective.

“Take this, my son—­the stars are auspicious.  It will bring you and keep near you good luck and high fortune.  Now, depart in peace, for I am weary and would fain seek rest.”

His answer surprised her, for, rising abruptly, he struck a match, and, lighting the gas jet, pushed aside the curtains.

With a scream of rage, Nance sprang forward.

“Go but another step, and I’ll tear your heart out!”

Disregarding her, the detective pushed forward and threw open the door leading to the ascending stairs.

In a trice he had mounted them and turning to the right, entered a room.  His astonishment was so great that he half stopped, for the apartment was furnished in almost regal style; richly-upholstered furniture and oil paintings contrasted so vividly with the squalor and misery of the lower part of the house that the audacious detective could scarcely believe his senses.

A smothered cry of rage and terror behind him warned him, and turning swiftly he beheld Nance, with wild eyes and disheveled hair, springing toward him.  In her uplifted hand gleamed the glittering blade of a stilletto, and like a fury she rushed upon the bold intruder.

The trained hand flew to the pocket and the ready revolver leaped forth.

Nance staggered back, the dagger falling from her nerveless hand, as in abject terror she crouched on a chair.

“Don’t shoot! don’t shoot!  See, I won’t hurt you,” she moaned.

Grasping her by the wrist, and pressing the revolver to her head, Sam said, sternly, and in a voice that would brook no delay: 

“What have you done with the man brought here last night?”

Nance pointed to the next room, too frightened to speak, and thrusting her forward, Sam continued his search.