Margie looked unconscious, as, indeed, she was, for she made no move of any kind, and once in the old house the man laid his burden on a sofa.
Then he went outside and spoke to the man on the box of the cab and the vehicle rattled away.
All this did not occupy much time, and had been accomplished as neatly as ever a dastardly job was.
Soon afterward there was a slight movement on the part of the girl on the sofa, and Margie looked up.
She seemed to have an indistinct recollection of what had taken place, for she arose with difficulty and tottered across the darkened apartment.
“This is not home,” she exclaimed. “Neither is it the café where I met the stranger. What has happened and how came I to this house? I will not remain here. I must get out of this trap, for trap it must surely be.”
She found the door, but could not open it, and then, as a full sense of the horror overtook her, she fell to the floor.
The next second the door opened softly, and a man looked into the room.
His face, which was rather handsome, was full of devilish triumph, and for half a second he gloated over the body on the carpet.
“Caught,” he said. “Caught like a fly in the spider’s web! You didn’t give us much trouble, girl. We expected a little more than we met. But it’s all right. Now the coast will soon be clear. I’ll just turn you over to Nora.”