CHAPTER VIII.
THE ABDUCTORS "Take care of me--please--please!" A slip of a girl, smartly attired in a fur-trimmed dress and a chic little feather-tipped hat, hurried up to Constance Dunlap late one afternoon as she turned the corner below her apartment.
"It isn't faintness or illness exactly--but--it's all so hazy," stammered the girl breathlessly.

"And I've forgotten who I am.

I've forgotten where I live--and a man has been following me--oh, ever so long." The weariness in the tone of the last words caused Constance to look more closely at the girl.

Plainly she was on the verge of hysterics.
Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks and there were dark rings under her eyes, suggestive of a haunting fear of something from which she fled.
Constance was astounded for the moment.

Was the girl crazy?
She had heard of cases like this, but to meet one so unexpectedly was surely disconcerting.
"Who has been following you!" asked Constance gently, looking hastily over her shoulder and seeing no one.
"A man," exclaimed the girl, "but I think he has gone now." "Can't you think of your name!" urged Constance.