We pushed past without a word of criticism of his wonderful
acumen.

On the top floor we came upon a young man, bending over the form
of a girl who had fainted. On the floor of the middle of the room
was a mass of charred papers which had evidently burned a hole in
the carpet before they had been stamped out. Near by was an
unlighted cigarette, crushed flat on the floor.

"How is she?" asked Kennedy anxiously of the young man, as he
dropped down on the other side of the girl.

It was Paula. She had fainted, but was just now coming out of the
borderland of unconsciousness.

"Was I in time? Had he smoked it?" she moaned weakly, as there
swam before her eyes, evidently, a hazy vision of our faces.

Kennedy turned to the young man.

"Baron Kreiger, I presume?" he inquired.

The young man nodded.

"Burke of the Secret Service," introduced Craig, indicating our
friend. "My name is Kennedy. Tell what happened."

"I had just concluded a transaction," returned Kreiger in good but
carefully guarded English. "Suddenly the door burst open. She
seized these papers and dashed a cigarette out of my hands. The