Miss Lynn's girlhood friend waited for no test of the law; he beat
a hasty retreat, uttering threats that rang in Lorelei's ears and
redoubled her previous fears.

Her wrists and arms bore purple marks, her dress was torn, her
limbs shook from the effects of her struggle, and even when she
had gained the security of her rooms she was unable to shake off
her fright. Neither could she sleep, for menacing forms crouched
in the darkness: most of the night she walked the floor in a
panic.

She knew now that she was hunted; the man had told her so. She
felt like a deer cowering in a brake with the hounds working
close. Her cover seemed pitifully insecure.

Thus far Max Melcher's campaign had worked even better than he had
expected; and meanwhile he had employed Jim in assiduously
cultivating Robert Wharton and arranging as many meetings as
possible between Bob and Lorelei. A short experience had taught
Jim to avoid his victim in daylight, for in Bob's sober hours the
two did not agree; but once mellowed by intoxication, Wharton
became imbued with a carnival spirit and welcomed Jim as freely as
he welcomed every one. Incidentally the latter managed to reap a
considerable harvest from the association, for Bob was a habitual
gambler, and the courteous treatment he received at Melcher's
place seemed to reconcile him to the loss of any amount of money.

When, on the morning after her distressing adventure, Lorelei sent
for her brother and demanded vengeance upon her assailant he
decided that it was time to test the issue. He pretended, of