"Tell me this, for it's very important: did your mother see you?"
"I—don't know." Her words were scarcely audible. "I drew back and ran softly up the stairs. Then I locked myself in my room."
Vance did not speak at once. He regarded the girl for a moment, and then gave her a slow, comforting smile.
"And I think your room is the best place for you now," he said. "Don't worry over what you saw; and keep what you have told us to yourself. There's nothing to be afraid of. Certain types of paralytics have been known to walk in their sleep under the stress of shock or excitement. Anyway, we'll arrange for the new nurse to sleep in your room to-night." And with a friendly pat on her arm he sent her up-stairs.
After Heath had given Miss O'Brien the necessary instructions we left the house and walked toward First Avenue.
"Good God, Vance!" said Markham huskily. "We've got to move quickly. That child's story opens up new and frightful possibilities."
"Couldn't you get a commitment for the old woman to some sanitarium to-morrow, sir?" asked Heath.
"On what grounds? It's a pathological case, pure and simple. We haven't a scrap of evidence."
"I shouldn't attempt it, in any event," interposed Vance. "We mustn't be hasty. There are several conclusions to be drawn from Ada's story; and if the thing that all of us is thinking should be wrong, we'd only make matters worse by a false move. We
