him until we came for him." "I would rather not. I would rather wait until he comes back himself than do that." He could not understand her fear, but he was bound to respect it. "Very well," he answered quietly. "But I have a friend whom I can trust. You do not mind if I enlist his help?" "He is of the police?" she asked suspiciously. "He is a friend," he replied. "It is as a friend he will do this for me." "Oh," she answered confused, "I don't know what to do! But I feel that I can trust you--I _will_ trust you." "Thank you. Then I must begin work at once. There is a telephone in the house?" Her face brightened instantly. He seemed so decisive and sure. The fact that he was so immediately active, that he did not wait until daylight, when conditions would be best, but began the search in the face of apparent impossibility, brought her immediate confidence. She liked a man who would, without quoting the old saw, hunt for a needle in a haystack. She directed him to the telephone, and he summoned a cab. He returned with the question, "Do you know how much money he had?" "Money? He had none." "Then," said Donaldson, "won't he come back of himself? Opium is one thing for which there is no credit." "I 'm afraid not. He has been away before without money, and--" She stopped as abruptly as though a hand had been placed over her mouth. Her face clouded as though from some new and half forgotten fear. She glanced swiftly at Donaldson, as though to see if he had read the ellipsis. When she spoke again it was slowly, each word with an effort. "My pocket-book was upstairs. It is possible that he borrowed." Donaldson knew the meaning of that. Kleptomania was a characteristic symptom. Victims of this habit had gone even further in their hot