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Rh let me say that your fee can be as large as you like."

Carlson did not answer for a while.

"All right, I'll go," he said at last. "What is it—a medical or surgical case?"

After a short silence, the voice replied: "Medical, I think. But you better come prepared to do whatever is necessary."

"Very well. I'll be ready when you call for me."

Carlson placed his medical and surgical bags on the table, put on his overcoat and hat, and sat down to wait.

In less than five minutes he heard the honk-honk of an automobile under the window, and he picked up his two bags, snapped off the lights, and went down to the waiting car, a large limousine.

As Carlson emerged from the house, the chauffeur got out of his seat and opened the car door. He wore a wide slouch hat, the brim of which hung down and so shaded his face from the corner electric light that Carlson could not make out his features. All he was sure of was a long heavy moustache. The lower part of the man's face was concealed in a muffler. He opened the door and stood as if at attention.

When Carlson was inside with his bags the man closed the door silently, got into the driver's seat, and the car was soon rushing up the street. It turned at the second corner, and after that made so many sharp turns among small and narrow and dark streets that Carlson began to feel uncomfortable.

At last they came to a long stretch of vacant lots, and went faster for half a minute or so, and then slowed down again. The chauffeur sounded three honks—one long and two short. Carlson bent forward and peered ahead, but could see nothing.

He did not like it at all, and he regretted that he had not brought his revolver. He was wondering what he had got into, when, suddenly, the car slowed down with a loud grinding of the brakes, and stopped with a jerk that threw Carlson violently forward.

A moment later both doors opened together, and he realized that masked men stood on either side of the car, covering him with revolvers or magazine pistols.

Then came a few moments of the most eloquent silence that Carlson had ever experienced. He said nothing and waited.

"Don't be afraid, Doc," said a thick voice, obviously disguised. "Just do as you are told and you'll be O.K. But if you try any stunts—T. N. T. for you. Do you get me?"

"Yes. What do you want me to do?"

"You'll be told later. My partner'll sit by you now, and I'll sit facing you. So"

They got inside and shut the doors, and the car started forward at high speed.

"Sorry, Doc, but we'll have to blindfold you," said the masked man.

And then a heavy muffler was wound about his face.

S THE car rushed on, Carlson sat still with his captors in a kind of stupefied silence. Only that morning he had been wishing that his life was more eventful, less commonplace. Well, here was adventure with a vengeance.

He was only twenty-seven and he had been two years in the city. The first year and a half had been slow and discouraging, as often happens with young doctors. But in the last six months patients had begun to come, in steadily increasing numbers, until now he had about all he could handle. He was five-feet-eleven, well-built and athletic. He had clear hazel eyes with a very direct look, and thick and wavy brown hair, which was much admired by his women