But Prince Koltsoff evidently deemed it expedient to obey the letter, not the spirit, of the wish. An ardent lover of horses, he gave himself wholly to them when they arrived at the stables, conversing freely with the grooms and going over the various equines with the hands and eyes of an expert.
When at length they strolled from the stables to a little wooded knoll near the boundary of the estate, commanding a view of the main road, which ran straight for a quarter of a mile and then dived into the purple hills with their gray out-jutting rocks, the girl, who had been left pretty much to her own thoughts, felt in ever-growing degree the disadvantage at which she had been placed in the course of their conversation. She had sat, it seemed, as a child at the feet of a tutor. At least in the mood she had developed, she would have it so. The thought did not please her. And then she began to burn with the memory that on the veranda the Prince had placed his hand upon hers and that for some reason beyond her knowledge, she had permitted it to remain so until he had withdrawn it.
This sufferance, she felt, had somehow affected, at the very outset, a degree of tacit intimacy between them which would not otherwise have occurred in a fortnight, perhaps never. But he had done it with an assurance almost, if not quite, hypnotic, and he had removed his hand—a move, she recognized, which offered more opportunities for bungling than the initial venture—with the exact degree of insouciance, of abstraction, but at the same time not without a slight lighting of the eyes expressive alike of humility and gratitude. Lurking in her mind was an irritation over the position in which she had been placed, and her only solace was the thought that her revenge might be taken when Koltsoff tried it again, as she had no doubt he would.
If she had analyzed her emotions she would have been obliged to face the disagreeable truth that she, Anne Wellington, was jealous. Jealous of a stable of horses! After all, introspection, however deep, might not have opened her eyes as to the basic element of her mood, for jealousy had never been among the components of her mental equipment. At all events she was, as she would have expressed it, "peeved." Why? Because he had held her hand—and talked to her like a school girl.
But silence, smilingly indifferent, was the only manifestation of her state of mind. If he noticed this he said nothing to indicate that he did, but resumed his conversation as though no interruption had occurred. And curiously enough even her simulation of indifference disappeared as he turned to her, bringing words and all the subtle charm of his personality to bear. Strange elation possessed him and she yielded again as freely as before to that indescribable air of the world which characterized his every action and word. He spoke English with but the faintest accent. Once he lapsed into French, speaking as rapidly as a native. Anne caught him perfectly and answered him at some length in the same tongue. Koltsoff stopped short and gazed at her glowingly.
"There, you have demonstrated what I have been trying to say so poorly. Permit me to carry on my point more intimately. Yes, it is so; you are typically an American girl. But wherein do such young women, such as you, my dear Miss Wellington, find theirmétier? In America? In New York? In Newport? No. They are abroad; the wives of diplomats, cabinet ministers, or royal councillors of France, Germany, Austria, Italy, and," the Prince bowed slightly, "of my native land. Here, what lies before you? Ah," he stooped and snatched a bit of clover, "I have seen, I have studied, have I not? Washington, what is it to you? A distant place. And its affairs? Bah, merely items to be skipped in the newspapers. As you have admitted, you know nothing of them. You do not know your cabinet officers; and so you marry and—and what do you Americans say?—settle down."
"How knowingly you picture us," smiled the girl.
The Prince waved his hands.
"You travel, yes, but at best, most significantly, your lives are narrow. You are wives and mothers, living in ruts as well-defined as those of your most prosaic middle-class women. What do you know of the inner world, its moving affairs? Who of you can read the significance, open though it may be, of the cabled statement or speech of a prime minister, in relation to America?"
"Perhaps our opportunities or incentives do not exist," replied the girl gravely. "I have heard father say ours is a government of politicians and not statesmen."
"Precisely, that is it. But in Europe, where conditions are different, what do we find? Lady Campbell in Egypt—an American girl; the Princess Stein in St. Petersburg; the Marquise de Villiers in France; Lady Clanclaren in London—oh, scores, all American girls, some of whom have made their influence felt constructively, as I can personally assure you. American history is so uninteresting because there is not a woman in it."
"You know the Marquise de Villiers!" exclaimed the girl. "Won't you tell me, sometime, all about her? How interesting her story must be! I have heard garbled versions of the Berlin incident."
"I do know her," the Prince smiled, as he thought how intimate his knowledge was, "and I shall delight in telling you all about her sometime. But now," he continued, "allow me to carry on my thought. You travel—yes. You even live abroad as the, ah, butterfly—your own word—lives. I know. Have not I heard of you! Have I not followed you in the newspapers since I saw your face on canvas! I read from adossierthat I formulated concerning you." He drew a notebook from his pocket and glanced at the girl. "May I?"
"It is yours," was the reply.
"January," he read, "Miss W. is tobogganing in Switzerland. February, she is viewing the Battle of Flowers at Nice. March, she is at Monaco, at Monte Carlo—ah! April, Miss W. has arrived in Paris. May and June, she is in London. July, she is attending English race meetings with young Clanclaren—" the Prince paused with a sibilant expulsion of breath. "I must not read my comment."
"Yes, you must, please. I never heard of such a romantic Russian!"
The Prince raised his eyebrows and glanced at the book—"with young Clanclaren, damn him! August," continued Koltsoff hurriedly, drowning her subdued exclamation, "at Clanclaren's Scotch shooting box. September, she is again in England, deer stalking—most favored deer! October, November, she is riding to hounds in England. December, she is doing the grand tour of English country houses." The Prince paused. "So, our acquaintance—my acquaintance with you—is of more than a few days. I have known you for more than a year. Do you find it not agreeable?"
"Not agreeable! I don't know. I am—I—I—oh, I don't know, it seems almost uncanny to me."
"Not at all, my dear Miss Wellington. Surely not uncanny. Let us ascribe it to the genius of Sargent; to the inspiration of a face on canvas."
"But you really haven't known me at all. You—"
He interrupted.
"Know you! Ah, don't I! I know you above these trivial things. The world of affairs will feel the impress of your personality, of your wit, your intellect—of your beauty. Then vale the idle, flashing days of pleasure. Iron will enter into your life. But you will rejoice. For who is there that finds power not joyous? Ambassadors will confide in you. Prime ministers will forget the interests of their offices." He paused. "Who knows when or how soon? But it shall be, surely, inevitably.… I wonder," he was speaking very slowly now, "if you will recognize your opportunity."
"Who knows," she said softly. The Prince remained silent, looking at her. She seemed to feel the necessity of further words but was wholly without inspiration. She glanced down the road and saw a boy in blue toiling along on a bicycle. Her exclamation was out of all proportion to the event.
"A messenger boy! He brings word from father—we expect him to-morrow, you know."
"He brings no word from your father," replied the Prince mysteriously. "His errand concerns me. You shall see." They moved to the gate and the boy alighting, glanced at the two with his alert Irish eyes.
"Say, does a fellow named Koltsoff live here?"
"I am he; give me the package, boy. It is prepaid—very well; here is something for you," tossing the urchin a quarter.
"Thanks," said the boy, who suddenly paused in the act of remounting his wheel and clapped his hand to his pocket. "Here's a letter, too."
As he rode away the two slowly retraced their steps.
"You will pardon me if I read this note?"
Anne, strangely abstracted, nodded, and Koltsoff tore open the envelope. As he read the letter his brow darkened.
"Gone!" he muttered. Then he read the letter again.
Yeasky would not have departed without the best of reasons. He held the inked-out line to the light but could make nothing of it. He walked along beside the girl in deep thought. His hands trembled. He knew that in his possession was that which represented the triumph of his career. There were few honors which a grateful Government would withhold from him. Besides, it meant the probable rehabilitation of the prestige of the Russian arms; that thought thrilled him no less, for he was a patriot.
And yet amid all his exaltation indecision filled him. Duty pointed a direct and immediate course to St. Petersburg. Other emotions dictated his remaining at The Crags. The package could not be intrusted to the express companies. It must be carried personally to Russia. And yet—and yet he could not leave Newport now. Just a little while! He must wait. To his Czar, to his country, he owed haste; to himself he owed delay. Which debt should he cancel? Suddenly with a sharp upward turn of the head he dismissed all conflicting thoughts from his mind, refused utterly to allow them to remain, and turned to the girl. They were entering a small grove of trees.
An inspiration had flashed over him, dominant, compelling. He spoke impulsively, almost wildly; so much so that Anne stopped, startled. In his outstretched hand the package was within a few inches of her face.
"Miss Wellington," he cried, "we were speaking of opportunities, but a while ago. May I call upon you now? I have said I am not in Newport for pleasure alone. A great matter has been consummated. I hold it in my hand. Who can trust servants? My valet? No! Who? Can I trust you. Miss Wellington? Can I place my honor, my life, in your hands, for a week, not more?"
"Why, I—" began Anne.
"Is it then too much to ask?"
"I hope not, Prince Koltsoff. Tell me and then I can judge."
"So!" and Koltsoff held out the package to her. "Keep this for me. Let no one know where it is except myself. Keep it until I ask for it. If matters arise of such nature to prevent my asking, keep it still. Keep it!" Koltsoff was now acting as he loved to act. "Keep it until I ask for it; or until I am dead. If the latter, throw it over the cliffs. My country is on the verge of a war with—with you may guess whom. Japan, no less. That, that which you hold in your hand is the heart of our hopes." He paused.
He was really sincere. His desire was to forestall any defeat of his plans by having the package out of his hands until such time as he would leave Newport. One of his valets had once been successfully bribed. But equally did he desire that the girl should have a bond of interest akin to his; through this, he knew, must lie the success of that understanding which alone kept him from following Yeasky out of Newport forthwith.
But the girl could not know this. Her pride in sharing in so intimate a way a matter which she believed to—and for that matter, really did—affect the policy of a great empire, held her spellbound. There was the feminine delight, too, in being on the inner side of a mystery.
She nodded mechanically. "I shall do as you ask," she said.
The Prince sprang forward, caught her hands and pressed upon them hot, lingering kisses.
"Into these hands," he said, "I commit my destiny and my honor."
Half an hour after the incident at Trinity, Armitage hurried from the little ferry boat which had just landed him at the Torpedo Station and made his way to the house of the storekeeper, who was out, of course. He had gone to Providence, his wife said, and would return about four o'clock.
Armitage took the key to the shops, only to find when he entered that the storekeeper's books were in the safe, the combination to which he did not know. This by no means improved his temper and he began to blunder about the office in a dragnet search. Finally, when he found himself kicking over chairs which were in his way in his aimless course, the humor of the situation came to him. He sat down upon a tool chest and laughed aloud.
Clearly, there was nothing for him to do in the absence of Jackson—except go to his dinner; which he did. A few minutes before three o'clock, he went to the office again and sat down to wait for Yeasky. He gave the man half an hour overtime and then nodded grimly and dismissed any lingering notion he might have entertained concerning his honesty.
When the storekeeper appeared some time later, Armitage was still at his desk idly drawing diagrams on a pad.
"Mr. Jackson," he said, "I hate to bother you to-day, but things have happened which seem to make it necessary to check those parts now—" Armitage arose briskly.
The storekeeper waved his hands.
"Oh, I checked them up this morning," he said.
"Everything straight?" snapped Armitage.
"Why—yes," Jackson fumbled in his desk. "Here is the sheet."
Armitage seized it and glanced up and down the various items.
"Bully work, Mr. Jackson!" He looked up with a sigh of relief. "Everything seems correct. George! That takes a load off my mind. Let's see." He went down the list with his finger. "I understand you, don't I?" he said, handing the sheet to the storekeeper.
"Understand?"
"I mean, this is a list taken from the tally sheet of parts, all of which you have found to be in the office? In other words," he added rapidly, "everything that appears on this sheet is now, at the present time, inside this office?"
"Yes—everything, except—" the storekeeper paused an instant, looking at Armitage with sudden doubt.
"Except what?" cried the officer impatiently.
"Why, that special core of the magnetic control. You have that, haven't you? It is n't in the shop."
"Is n't in the shop! Well, where the devil is it then?"
"Why," exclaimed the storekeeper, "no one ever handled that but you. Not even Yeasky. You never let any one even see it. I remember how careful you have been about that."
"I know," Armitage rose from his chair. "But it was never out of the shop. It was always in the big safe. Have you looked there?" He turned to Jackson hopefully.
But the storekeeper shook his head.
"Are you sure you have looked everywhere?"
"It is not in the shop—I thought sure you must have it. Does it—was it vitally important?"
"Important!" Armitage threw himself into a chair and put his feet on the desk. "Well, Jackson, I fancy you might call it so. Damn!"
The storekeeper whistled.
"I shall have the rooms of the workmen searched."
"Just one room, please; and quickly, will you?" rejoined Armitage, "Yeasky's. He is the only man who would have known its value. Give my compliments to the superintendent and ask him for some one to help you."
As the storekeeper departed, Joe Thornton entered the office.
"Any luck, Jack?"
"Rotten! The magnetic control of the model is gone. I was right this morning and you were wrong, Joe. Yeasky got it. Why did n't I keep my hands on him, when I had him! Something told me to."
"The deuce!" Thornton regarded his friend with a grave face. "Is it very serious? Does it give the whole snap away?"
"It gives about ninety per cent more away than pleases me. It would take some genius long nights of labor to supply the other ten per cent even with the aid of the plans which no doubt Yeasky has copied. That is, there are one or two things that I kept off the paper—kept in my head." He paced up and down the floor. "But other men have heads, too. That thing has got to be returned, the quicker the better."
"Well," Thornton smiled encouragingly. "Yeasky can't get out of the country—and he 'll be caught before he dopes the thing out. Even if he has mailed or expressed it, it can be held up before it leaves this country. You had the control in the model torpedo last night. Have you wired?"
"I 've sent a general call to the secret service for him, to Boston, New York, and Washington. They are holding the telegrams, as long as letters, at the telegraph office for release. I 've also a wire to the Department on file, telling what has happened. I wrote before I knew what was gone, so I would n't have to lie in case he took what he did take."
"Yes," agreed Thornton, "there is no use in letting on how bad it really is."
Thornton was growing quite optimistic.
"Yeasky can't get away; you 'll have the thing back here within three days."
Armitage smiled.
"Not through capturing Yeasky. He hasn't it now. You don't suppose he is enough of a fool to risk being caught with the goods, do you? He got that thing off his hands, quick."
"Transferred it! Who to?"
Armitage shrugged his shoulders.
"To Prince Koltsoff."
"Koltsoff! How do you know?"
"How do I know anything that isn't as plain as a pikestaff? Common sense! Prince Koltsoff has that thing right now." Armitage grinned. "The noble guest of the house of Ronald Wellington playing the spy—and rather successfully. Quite an interesting society item, eh?"
Thornton did not smile.
"Look here, old man, what is your drift? Prince Koltsoff! Old boy, this is serious! It is nothing to smile about. Say, do you know what this means?"
"Oh, no!" said Armitage sarcastically. "Oh, I don't mean the loss to yourself and the Government, I mean the politics of it. Jack, every nation knows about that torpedo. You know theattachésthat have been snooping round here on one pretence or another since you have been working. Japan knows about it; you know her situation with Russia. Russia gets your torpedo—what's Japan going to do? What will England say? How can the Government prove it was stolen? Oh, we can say so but we 'd say so anyway, would n't we? How will you look?" Thornton threw up his hands and confronted Armitage. "I tell you, Jack, it's a nasty mess. Your status in the matter will size up about like a pin point at Washington. You 've got to catch Yeasky, somehow."
"Fine, bright boy!" Armitage twisted a newspaper in his hands, broke it, and tossed the two ends away. "I don't want Yeasky, I tell you. You 're off the track. I want Koltsoff. The secret service fellows can go after Yeasky. It's perfectly certain he turned that control over to Koltsoff, after, if not before, I held him up. He knew he was suspected. Anyway, the Russian was undoubtedly here to receive it. Why else would he be here?"
"Anne Wellington, so theSaunterersays."
Armitage turned quickly upon his friend and brother officer.
"Anne, nothing!" he fairly snarled. "I remember about Koltsoff now. Worcester was onceattachéat St. Petersburg and told me all about him last summer. He 's just a plain, ordinary, piking crook. But he 's up against the wrong kind of diplomacy this time. I 'll get him before he leaves Newport and choke that magnetic control out of him. Come over to theD'Estanga minute, Joe; I want to show you something.… Well, Mr. Jackson, cleaned out? I thought so. Thank you, I am going to be away for a few days. Don't let anything be touched, please. Let the work stop until I return. Come on, Joe."
In his cabin on theD'Estang, Armitage pointed to several more or less disreputable garments lying on his berth.
"Say," he said, "would a candidate for physical instructor for the Wellington boys wear such clothes?"
Thornton looked hard at his friend for a minute and then his face broadened into a huge smile of understanding. "Not if he wanted the job," he said. "You 'll make more of a hit as you are."
"All right, and now, Joe, go into the yeoman's office like a good chap, pick out a time-stained sheet of paper and typewrite a letter, signing your name as captain of the 19— football eleven at Annapolis, saying that the bearer, Jack—Jack—who?"
"McCall," suggested Thornton.
"Yes, McCall—saying that Jack McCall had given great satisfaction as trainer for the eleven and was honest and God-fearing; you know how to do it."
"All right," said Thornton, starting for the door. He paused in the corridor. "Say, Jack, do you know you're taking all this mighty light?" He frowned. "This is serious."
Armitage frowned too.
"I know, but I 'll be serious enough before it's over, I reckon."
"You will," said Thornton dryly. "How do you expect to get the job anyway?"
Armitage shrugged his shoulders.
"Leave that to me," he said. "Oh, Joe, are you going to be on the island for supper?"
"No—not for supper," he said. "I 'll be over from Newport about eleven o'clock though."
"All right, drop aboard then, will you? I want to see you."
"Right-o," said Thornton.
For some time after his departure Armitage sat writing a document, covering the case to date, outlining his plans, his suspicions and the like. It turned out to be lengthy. He sealed it in an envelope, labelled it, "Armitage vs. Koltsoff," and locked it in a small safe in the yeoman's room.
One of the engineer's force came in to say that they had made progress in repairing the boiler baffle plates, designed to keep the funnels from torching when under high speed, but that they were at the point where advice was needed.
Armitage arose, put on a suit of greasy overalls, and went into the grimy vitals of the destroyer, a wrench in one hand, a chisel in the other. In about ten minutes he had solved the problem, explained it to the mechanics gathered about him, and then demonstrated just how simple the remedial measures were. All torpedo boat officers do this more often than not. It explains the blind fidelity with which the crews of craft of this sort accompany their officers without a murmur under the bows of swiftly moving battleships or through crowded ocean lanes at night without lights, with life boats aboard having aggregate capacity for about half the crew.
Armitage was alone at supper, his junior taking tea aboard a German cruiser in the harbor. With the coffee he lighted a cigar and half closed his eyes. He marvelled at the strange thrill which had possessed him since Thornton had gone. The loss of that control was something which justified the gravest fears and deepest gloom. And yet—and yet—whenever he thought about it he saw, not Yeasky, nor Koltsoff, nor the torpedo—just a tall, flexible girl, with wonderful hair and eyes and lips. He puffed impatiently at his cigar. Hang it all, he had gone to church that morning because he felt he had to see her, and the morrow had been a blank because he knew he should not be able to see her again. But now, well, it looked as though he should see her; swift blood tingled in his cheeks.
Precisely at eleven Thornton looked in. Armitage gave him the combination of the safe, told him about the letter, and explained how he expected to obtain employment. They parted at midnight.
"Good-night, Jack," said Thornton, placing his hand affectionately on his brother officer's shoulder. "Now don't forget to dodge the interference and tackle low. And if you want me, 'phone. Consider me a minute man until you return."
"Thanks," replied Armitage. "Oh, Joe, will you mail this letter to the Department?" His voice lowered as he added half humorously, "It seems almost a shame to set the dogs on a man who may prove to be a benefactor."
"What?" asked Thornton.
"Nothing; good-night, Joe."
Armitage landed in Newport by the eight o'clock boat and calling a hack drove out to the house of the chief of police. The chief was at breakfast and came to the door with his napkin in his hand. He greeted his visitor with a broad smile of welcome.
"Hello, Lieutenant," he said. "What's doing? Another of your boys you want turned loose?"
"Good-morning, Chief. No, not exactly. May I talk to you a minute?"
"Sure." The chief glanced about the dining room and closed the door with his foot. "Talk as much as you like."
Armitage glanced at the chief with an admiring smile. He had never ceased to wonder at the multifarious qualities which enabled the man to remain indispensable to native and cottager alike. Courteous, handsome, urbane, diplomatic, debonair, when a matron of the very highest caste sent for him to enlist his efforts in the regaining of some jewel, tiara, or piece ofvertu, missing after a weekend, he never for a moment forgot that it was all a bit of carelessness, which the gentlest sort of reminder would correct. This is to say that he usually brought about the return of the missing article and neither of the parties between which he served as intermediary ever felt the slightest embarrassment or annoyance. No wedding was ever given without consulting him as to the proper means to be employed in guarding the presents. He was at once a social register, containing the most minute and extensive data, and anindex criminis, unabridged.
As Armitage talked, the chief's eyes lighted and he nodded his head approvingly from time to time.
"I see," he said. "It's rather clever of you. I 'll hold myself for any word. I can do more: I know Mrs. Wellington quite well. You can ask her to call me for reference if you wish. I 'll make you out a fine thug."
"That 'll be fine, although I may not need you. In the meantime have your men keep an eye out for Yeasky. And," Armitage paused, "if Koltsoff—never mind; we 've first to prove our case."
"Yes, that would be about the wisest thing you could do," observed the chief. "Good luck."
An hour later Armitage stood in the servants' sitting-room confronting Miss Hatch, Mrs. Wellington's secretary, who was viewing him, not without interest.
"Mrs. Wellington will see you, I think," she said. "She usually breakfasts early and should be in her office now."
Armitage had an engaging grin which invariably brought answering smiles even from the veriest strangers. So now the crisp, bespectacled young woman was smiling broadly when Armitage shrugged his shoulders.
"Mrs. Wellington?" he said. "I had an idea I should have to see Mr. Wellington."
"By no means," asserted the secretary. "Wait a moment, please."
In a few minutes the young woman returned and nodded.
"Will you come with me, please?"
She led the way up a winding pair of stairs and down a long hall with heavy crimson carpet, turning into a room near the rear of the house. Mrs. Wellington was at her desk looking over a menu which the housekeeper had just submitted. She glanced up as the two entered, her face unchanging in expression.
"This is Mr. McCall," said the secretary, who without further words went to her desk and unlimbered the typewriter.
As Mrs. Wellington brought Armitage under her scrutiny, which was long, silent, and searching, he felt as he did upon his first interview with the Secretary of the Navy. However, no one had ever accused him of lack of nerve.
"You apply for the position of physical instructor to my sons," she said at length. "How did you know we wanted one?"
Armitage, caught for the instant off his guard, stammered.
"I—at least Miss—I mean I read it in one of the papers."
"Hum," replied Mrs. Wellington, "a rather misleading medium. Correct in this instance, though."
"I believe it was an advertisement," said Armitage.
"What qualifications have you?"
Armitage smiled easily.
"I have taught boxing, wrestling, and jiu-jitsu in Southern athletic clubs," he said, "and I trained the 19— navy team at Annapolis."
He submitted Thornton's eloquent testimonial. Mrs. Wellington laid it aside after a glance.
"Where is your home?"
"Louisville, Kentucky, ma'm."
"What have you been doing in Newport? I remember having seen you at church yesterday morning."
"I came up to see Winthrop of the Harvard Graduate Advisory Committee on Athletics about getting the job as trainer for the football team next month. He is away."
"Were you ever in college?" asked Mrs. Wellington.
Armitage assumed a look of embarrassment.
"Yes," he said, "but unless you insist I had rather not say where or why I left."
Mrs. Wellington sniffed.
"I thought so," she observed drily. "What would you do for my sons?"
Armitage was on his favorite topic now.
"I 'd try to convince them that it pays to be strong and clean in mind and body—" he began earnestly, when a rustle of skirts and the click of footsteps at the threshold caused him to turn. Anne Wellington, in an embroidered white linen frock, stood framed in the doorway, smiling at them.
"Pardon me, mother," she said, "but I am in a dreadful fix." She glanced toward Armitage. "This is our new physical instructor, is it not?"
"He has applied for the position," said Mrs. Wellington, not altogether blithely.
"How fortunate—" began the girl and then stopped abruptly. "That is," she added, "if he can drive a car."
"I helped make automobiles in Chicago," Armitage ventured.
"Good!" exclaimed Anne. "You know, mother, Rimini has gone to New York to receive that Tancredi, and Benoir, the second chauffeur, is in the hospital. I must have a driver for a day or so. He may for a while, may he not, mother?" She nodded to Armitage. "If you will go out to the garage, please, I shall have Mr. Dawson give you some clothing. I think he can fit you. I—"
"One moment, Anne," interrupted her mother. "You do run on so. Just wait one moment. You seem to forget I am, or at least was, about to engage McCall as a physical instructor, not amécanicien." Mrs. Wellington was fundamentally opposed to being manoeuvred, and her daughter's apparent attempt atfinessein this matter irritated her. She was fully bent now upon declining to employ Armitage in any capacity and was on the point of saying so, when Anne, who had diagnosed her trend of mind, broke in.
"Really, mother, I am perfectly sincere. But this situation, you must admit, was totally unexpected—and I must have a driver, don't you know. Why, I 've planned to take Prince Koltsoff, oh, everywhere."
This won for her. Mrs. Wellington even when irritated was altogether capable of viewing all sides of a matter.
"Very well," she said. "I shall consider the other matter. When you are through with McCall, let me know."
Anne's eyes sparkled with relief.
"Mother, you are a dear." She walked over and touched her affectionately on her arm. "McCall, if you will go out to the garage, Mr. Dawson will show you your room and give you some clothes. I may want you any time, so please don't go far from the garage."
As Armitage passed out, guided by Miss Hatch, Mrs. Wellington turned to her daughter.
"Well, Anne," she said, "he lied and lied and lied. But I do believe some of the things he said and some he did n't. I believe him to be honest and I believe he will be good for the boys. He himself is a magnificent specimen, certainly. But I don't reconcile one thing."
"What is that, mother?"
"He is a gentleman and has been bred as one; that is perfectly evident."
"Oh, no doubt," replied her daughter with apparent indifference. "One of the younger son variety you meet in and out of England, I fancy."
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Wellington. "Is that why you invited him to sit with us in church? Why you spoke to him on theGeneral? Why you wanted me to employ him?"
"I don't know," replied Anne frankly. "He interested me. He does yet. He is a mystery and I want to solve him."
"May an old woman give you a bit of advice, Anne? Thank you," as her daughter bowed. "Remember he is an employee of this house. He sought the position; he must be down to it. Keep that in your mind—and don't let him drive fast. In the meantime, how about his license?"
Anne stamped her foot.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "I forgot all about that beastly license. What can we do?" She faced her mother. "Mother, can't you think of something? I know you can arrange it if you will."
"Well," said her mother thoughtfully. Suddenly she looked at her secretary who entered at the moment. "Miss Hatch, you might get Chief Roberts on the 'phone—right away, please. Now, Anne, I am getting nervous; you had better go."
"Yes, mother." Anne dropped a playful curtsey and left the room, smiling.
Half an hour later, Armitage, squeezed into a beautifully made suit of tan whipcord, his calves swathed in putees, and a little cap with vizor pressing flat against his brows, was loitering about the garage with Ryan, a footman, and absorbing the gossip of the family. Prince Koltsoff was still there and intended, evidently, to remain for some time. This information, gained from what Anne Wellington had said to her mother, had relieved his mind of fears that his quarry had already gone, and he would have been quite at his ease had not the thought that the fact of Koltsoff's presence here rather argued against his having the control in his possession, occurred to him. Still, if the Russian had any of the instincts of a gentleman he could hardly break away from the Wellingtons at such short notice, and certainly not if he was, as Thornton surmised, interested in the daughter. Talk about the garage left him in no doubt of this.
If the Prince had the missing part he would do one of three things: hold onto it until he left; mail it; or express it to St. Petersburg. Benoir, he had learned, carried the Wellington mail as well as express matter to the city, mornings and afternoons. In his absence, Armitage was, he felt, the logical man for this duty. So he did not worry about these contingencies. He had knowledge that up to eight o'clock that morning no package for foreign countries had been either mailed or expressed; this eliminated the fear, which might otherwise have been warrantable, that the package had already been sent on its way to Europe. Besides, no man of Koltsoff's experience would be likely to trust the delivery of so important an object to any but his own hands. Thus the probabilities were that the thing was at this minute in the Prince's room. If all these suppositions were wrong, then Yeasky had it. Armitage knew enough of the workings of the Secret Service Bureau to know that if the man got out of the country he would be an elusive person indeed, especially as he had a long, livid scar across his left cheek which could not be concealed with any natural effect.
But, somehow, the conviction persisted in Armitage's mind that the Prince had the control. In the short time he had spent at The Crags this impression had not diminished; it had increased, without definite reason, to be sure; and yet, the fact remained. He would find out one way or another shortly. His room, not in the servants' wing, was on the third floor, right over the apartments of the Wellington boys, which in turn were not far from Koltsoff's suite. It would not be long before a burglary would be committed in the Wellington house. At this thought, Armitage thrilled with delightful emotions.
In the meantime he addressed himself to the task of gleaning further information concerning the family into whose employ he had entered. He learned that while Mr. Wellington and his daughter were devoted to motoring, Mrs. Wellington would have none of it, and that the boys were inclined to horses also. Ronald Wellington left things pretty much to his wife and she was a "Hellian," as Ryan put it, to those about her who were not efficient and faithful. But otherwise, she was a pretty decent sort and willing to pay well.
"What sort are the boys?" asked Armitage, recalling that his duties with them might begin at any time.
"Master Ronald, the oldest, is stuck on himself," replied Ryan. "He ain't easy to get along with. Master Royal, the youngster, is as fine a little chap as ever lived. Ronald is learning himself the cigarette habit; which is all right—the quicker he smokes himself to death the better, if he was n't after learnin' young Muck, as every one calls him, to smoke, too. They do it on the quiet here in the garage, although it's against the rules."
"Why don't you stop them then?" asked Armitage.
Ryan shrugged and laughed.
"If we stopped them we 'd be fired for committin' insult and if they 're caught here we 'll be fired for lettin' 'em smoke. That's the way with those who work for people like the Wellingtons—always between the devil and the deep sea."
"Oh, I don't know," said Armitage, whose combative instincts were now somewhat aroused, "I don't think people get into great trouble for doing their duty, whoever they work for."
The footman grinned.
"Well," he said, "you 'll know more about that the longer you 're here."
As he spoke, the boys under discussion entered the doorway and seating themselves upon the running board of a touring car, helped themselves to cigarettes from a silver case which the elder took from his pocket. They lighted them without a glance at the two men and had soon filled the atmosphere with pungent smoke.
"Do they do this often?" asked Armitage at length, turning to Ryan and speaking in a voice not intended to be hidden.
The footman grinned and nodded.
"Against the rules, isn't it?" persisted Armitage, much to Ryan's evident embarrassment, who, however, nodded again.
The older boy took his cigarette from his mouth and rising, walked a few steps toward the new chauffeur. He was a slender stripling with high forehead, long, straight nose, and a face chiefly marked by an imperious expression. In his flannels and flapping Panama hat he was a reduced copy of such Englishmen as Armitage had seen lounging in the boxes at Ascot or about the paddock at Auteuil.
"Were you speaking of us, my man?" he said.
A gleam of amusement crossed Armitage's face.
"I—I believe I was, my boy. Why?"
A corner of the youth's upper lip curled and snapping the half-burnt cigarette into a corner he took another from the case and lighted it.
"Oh," he said nodding, "you are the new man. Impertinence is not a good beginning. I 'm afraid you won't last."
Armitage crossed quickly to the discarded cigarette which was smouldering near a little pool of gasoline under a large can of that dangerous fluid, and rubbed the fire out with his foot. Returning, he confronted the boy, standing very close to him.
"Look here, son," he said quietly, "that won't do a bit, you know. It's against the rules, and besides," jerking his head in the direction of the gasoline can, "you have n't any sense."
Ronald's emotions were beyond the power of words to relieve. As he stood glaring at Armitage, his face devoid of color, his eyes green with anger, the chauffeur placed his hand gently upon his arm.
"You can't smoke here, I tell you. There 's a notice over there to that effect signed by your father. Now throw that cigarette away; or go out of here with it, as you like."
By way of reply, Ronald jerked his arm from Armitage's grasp and swung at his face with open hand. It was a venomous slap, but it did not come within a foot of the mark for the reason that Jack deftly caught the flailing arm by the wrist and with a powerful twist brought young Wellington almost to his knees through sheer pain of the straining tendons. As this happened, the younger brother with a shrill cry of rage launched himself at Armitage, who caught him by the waist and swung him easily up into the tonneau of the touring car.
Ronald had risen to his feet and in cold passion was casting his eye about the garage. A heavy wrench lay on the floor; he stepped towards it, but not too quickly for Armitage to interpose. Slowly the latter raised his finger until it was on a level with the boy's face.
"Now, stop just a minute and think," he said. "I like your spirit, and yours, too, kid," he added, gazing up at the tonneau from which the younger Wellington was glaring down like a bellicose young tiger, "but this won't go at all. Now wait," as Ronald tried to brush past. "In the first place, if your mother hears you have been smoking in the garage—or anywhere else—you 'll get into trouble with her, so Ryan has told me. And I don't believe that's any fun.… Now—listen, will you? I am employed here as physical instructor for you chaps, not as a chauffeur—although your sister has been good enough to press me into service for a day or two—and I imagine I 'm going to draw pay for making you into something else than thin-chested cigarette fiends. I can do it, if you 'll help. How about it?" he said, smiling at Ronald. "Will you be friends?"
Ronald, who had worked out of his passion, sniffed.
"Thank you, I had rather not, if you don't mind. I think you will find that you don't like your place."
"Well," said Armitage affably, "then I can leave, you know."
"Yes, you can, all right; it 'll be sooner than you think. Come on, Muck," and the older brother turned and left the garage.
Muck, who for the past few seconds had been gazing at Armitage with wide eyes, slipped down from the car and stood in front of him.
"Say," he exclaimed, "you 're the fellow I gave that note to in church—the one from my sister—are n't you?"
He grinned as Armitage looked at him dumbly.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I shan't tell. Sister gave me a five-dollar gold piece. I thought you did n't act like a chauffeur. Say, show me that grip you got on Ronie, will you? He has been too fresh lately,—I want to spring it on him. Can I learn it?"
"Not that one." Armitage took the boy's hand, his thumb pressing back of the second knuckle, his fingers on the palm. He twisted backward and upward gently. "There 's one that's better, though, and easier. See? Not that way," as the boy seized his hand. "Press here. That's right. Now you 've got it. You can make your brother eat out of your hand."
"Thanks!" Muck left beaming, searching for his disgruntled brother—and Armitage had made a friend.
A minute later Royal, or Muck, as his nickname seemed to be, thrust his head into the garage. "You 're not going to say anything to mother about the cigarettes, are you?"
"That's the best guess you ever made," smiled Armitage. "You and I 'll settle that, won't we?"
"Rather," replied the boy, who departed with a nod.
"Well, you 've done it," said Ryan, gazing at Armitage admiringly. "Master Ronald will raise hell!"
Armitage shook his head.
"I don't care, I just had to devil that rooster. He was insufferable. I—"
The telephone bell rang, and Ryan, with a significant I-told-you-so grimace took up the receiver. A second later a smile of relief lighted his face.
"Very well. Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to Armitage.
"The butler, Mr. Buchan, says that Miss Wellington would have you bring out her car at once. She don't want any footman."
Armitage arose with a thrill which set his ears tingling, cranked the motor, and within a minute was rolling out of the garage.