The attorney sat silent a moment, nodding his head slowly. "I'll see
her, Gard," he said at length. "This is a strange story," he added, as
Brencherly disappeared into the anteroom.

Field's eyes rested on Gard's face with keen questioning, but he said
nothing, for the door opened, admitting the black-clad figure of a
middle-aged woman, escorted by a trained nurse and a heavily built man
of professional aspect.

"This is--" Field asked, as his glance took in every detail of the
woman's appearance.

"Mrs. Welles, as she is known to us," the doctor answered; "but she used
to tell us that that was her maiden name, and she married a man named
Mahr. We didn't pay much attention to what she said, of course, but she
was forever begging old newspapers and pointing out any paragraphs about
Mr. Victor Mahr, saying she was his wife."

Field gazed at the ghastly pallor of the woman's face, the maze of
wrinkles and the twinkling brightness of her shifting eyes, as she stood
staring about her unconcernedly. Her glance happened upon Brencherly.
Her lips began to twitch and her hands to make signals, as if anxious to
attract his attention. She writhed toward him.

"Young man," she whispered audibly, "they've got me--I knew they would.
Even you could not keep me so hidden they couldn't find me." She jerked
an accusing thumb over her shoulder at the corpulent bulk of her
erstwhile jailer. "They've been trying to make me tell how I got out;
but I won't tell. I may want to do it again, you see, and you won't
tell."