Shadow, the Mysterious Detective. Francis Worcester Doughty

we are, sir!"

      They had reached one corner of the cellar, and when McGinnis held up the light, Brown saw the fair young girl, stretched on a pallet of straw, which kindness even the cruel McGinnis had not been able to deny her.

      "Is she dead?" asked Brown, in a hoarse whisper.

      "I think not. She wasn't less than two hours ago when the old woman brought down some grub to her."

      So very still did Helen lie that the lawyer thought she surely was dead, until having drawn very close it became evident that she was only sleeping.

      Poor Helen!

      It was the first time that her eyes had closed in slumber in the three days which had elapsed since she had been forcibly brought to this place.

      Approached by McGinnis, he had told her some plausible story, and led her away from the more public thoroughfares, and then had suddenly turned on her, and putting a revolver to her head had threatened to kill her did she make any outcry.

      He had hurried her into a "ranch" where he was known, had kept her there until after midnight, and then had forced her through the deserted streets to his own shanty.

      The flashing of the light into her face woke her up.

      One moment she seemed confused in mind, and then appeared to recognize her surroundings.

      She did not know, could not guess, why she had been brought here at the expense of so much trouble and risk, but she could not but feel certain that it was for the furtherance of some evil design.

      She started to a sitting position and glanced at her visitors.

      The light of the candle shone across Brown's face, and before he could turn and hide his features in shadow she had recognized him.

      "Sir, what have I done to you that you should persecute me thus?" she asked, in a tone that trembled with a mixture of indignation and fear. "I know you; you bought a Herald of me once, and asked my name."

      "Curse the luck! I had not intended this," muttered Brown. "All I wanted was to see the girl and make sure he had abducted the right one. Well, since you know me, then, let me ask you a question: What do you know of your early life?"

      For a minute Helen was silent.

      Why this peculiar question?

      Earnestly she gazed at him, but she could find no clew from his face, for he kept it in the shadow.

      "I know nothing at all of it," she finally answered.

      "Positively nothing?"

      "Nothing whatever, save that a sad, sweet face seems sometimes to rise before me, as if seen through a mist. But it never lasts long, for the mists thicken until it has disappeared again."

      An evil and exultant smile flitted across the lawyer's face.

      "Come," he said, and he and McGinnis ascended to the rooms above, leaving Helen alone in that dark and damp and dank place—left her there alone to encounter a terrible ordeal.

      It was a time of neap or spring tide, besides which the wind was in the right direction to make the water rise very high.

      Helen slept again. And so heavily that she was not awakened by the water which crept up around her and saturated her clothing, until it reached her lips, and partially strangled her by being drawn in along with a breath.

      She started up with a wild shriek.

      "Quiet down there!" bellowed the harsh voice of McGinnis, as he raised the trap-door a little. "Quiet, I say, or I'll keep my word and murder you if you make any noise."

      And Helen was silent, even though so horrified, and stood there trembling, with lips pallid and heart at almost a standstill, as the cold and treacherous tide mounted higher and higher.

      It reached her knees, her waist, her arm-pits, and even here did not stop. Higher still it mounted, until it reached her pallid lips.