Was this actually the escaped prisoner? Was this the man who,
according to instructions in the cipher, was to be marked for death
at the hands of the German Government's secret agents in America?

And, if this truly were the same man, was he safe, at least for the
present, now that the cipher letter had been intercepted before it
had reached Herman Lauffer?

Hour after hour, lying deep in her armchair before the fire, Miss
Erith crouched a prey to excited conjectures, not one of which could
be answered until the man in the Samaritan Hospital had recovered
consciousness.

Suppose he never recovered consciousness. Suppose he should die--

At the thought Miss Erith sprang from her chair and picked up the
telephone.

With fast-beating heart she waited for the connection. Finally she
got it and asked the question.

"The man is dying," came the calm answer. A pause, then: "I
understand the patient has just died."

Miss Erith strove to speak but her voice died in her throat.
Trembling from head to foot, she placed the telephone on the table,
turned uncertainly, fell into the armchair, huddled there, and
covered her face with both hands.

For it was proving worse--a little worse than the loss of the Great