Miss Hatch had some inkling of the Prince's intention when she ushered him into the Wellington study, and as she met Sara in the hall on the way out of the library, she held a gloomy countenance.
"Mrs. Van Valkenberg," she said in response to Sara's bright smile of greeting, "please don't think me impertinent, but—will you, if possible, see that the Prince is not alone with Miss Wellington to-day? And—cannot you prod that terribly sluggish McCall?"
Sara looked at the young woman wonderingly for a minute and then held out her hand, laughing.
"Miss Hatch, you 're a jewel."
Sara found Jack near the garage. But she did not have much success with him. He was grumpy and, replying to Sara's assertion that the situation was rapidly becoming rife with disagreeable possibilities, he replied that he did not care a very little bit, and that Anne could marry all the princes in Christendom for all he cared. So Sara, flushing with impatience, told him he was an idiot and that she would like to shake him. The only satisfaction she derived from the incident was that Anne, who came upon them as they were parting, was grumpy, too. Synchronous moods in the two persons whose interests she held so closely to heart was a symptom, she told herself, that gave warrant for hope.
Rimini had turned up with the new car and in it Anne, Sara, Koltsoff, and Robert Marie went to the Casino. Mrs. Wellington drove to market in her carriage. Mr. Wellington remained in his study and among other things had Buffalo on the telephone for half an hour. Armitage spent the morning with the boys and showed them several shifty boxing and wrestling tricks which won Ronald to him quite as effectually as the jiu-jitsu grip had won his younger brother the preceding day.
At luncheon, Anne's peevish mood had not diminished, which, to Sara, would have been a source of joy had she not feared that it was due to the fact that Koltsoff had not been good company all the morning. He was, in truth, quite at his wits' end to account for the behavior of Yeasky, who had been instructed to get into communication with him by ten o'clock, and had failed to do so. Thus Koltsoff, even when with Anne, had been preoccupied and in need of a great deal of entertaining.
Armitage took him to the city after lunch and as usual was instructed to return to The Crags. This gave Jack opportunity to see Chief Roberts and to learn that Yeasky was resting easily and cheerfully, apparently eager to live up to the very letter of his contract.
Anne was in her room when he returned and Sara was with her. Koltsoff came back in a taxicab in a frightful state of mind, bordering on mental disintegration, about four o'clock—just in time to keep an appointment with his host and Marie to drive to the Reading Room. As he crossed the veranda, a French bull pup ran playfully between his feet and nearly tripped him. He kicked at the animal, which fled squealing down the steps.
"Hey, you," cried the peppery Ronald, "that's my dog."
The Prince turned with a half snarl and flung himself into the house.
"The great big Turk!" said Ronald, turning to Armitage. "What does he want here, anyway?"
It was nearly five o'clock when the telephone of the garage rang and Armitage was ordered to bring Anne's car to the house. Her manner was quiet, her voice very low, as she gave him his orders.
"To town by the back road," she said. She stopped at one or two stores along Thames Street and finally settling herself back in her seat, said, "Now you can drive home."
Armitage looked at her for a second.
"Do you mind if I take a roundabout way? I should like to talk to you."
Anne returned his gaze without speaking.
Then she nodded slowly.
"Yes, if you like," she said.
"Thank you."
He drove the car up the steep side streets, across Bellevue Avenue, and then headed into a little lane. Here he stopped. Overhead ash and beech and maple trees formed a continuous arch. Gray stone walls hedged either side. Beyond each line of wall, pleasant orchards stretched away. The sidewalks were velvet grass. Birds of brilliant plumage flashed among the foliage and their twittering cries were the only sounds. Patches of gold sunlight lay under the orchard trees, level rays flowed heavily through the branches and rested on the moss-grown stones.
The pastoral beauty, the great serenity, the utter peace seemed to preclude words. And the spell was immediately upon the two. The down-turned brim of her hat shaded her eyes, but permitted sunlight to lie upon her mouth and chin and to rest where her hair rippled and flowed about her bare neck.
She raised her face—and her eyes, even, level, wondering, sought his. His eyes were the first to fall, but in them she knew what she had read. Now the sunlight had fallen so low that it lay on her like a garment of light—she seemed some daughter of Hesperus, glorified. The waning afternoon had grown cooler and several blue-white clouds went careening overhead. She looked at them.
"How beautiful!" she said. Then she looked at him again with her steady eyes. "You wished to talk, you said."
Jack nodded.
"Yes, I wish to, but I—I don't know exactly how to say it."
She was smiling now. "How may I help you?"
He shook his head doggedly.
"I am a sailor, Miss Wellington."
"You mean I am to hear plain sailor talk?" she quoted. "Good. I am ready."
He began with the expression of a man taking a plunge.
"Miss Wellington, I could say a great deal so far—so far as I am concerned, that I have no right to say, now.… But—are you going to marry Prince Koltsoff?"
She started forward and then sank back.
"You must not ask that," she said.
"I know—I understand," he said rapidly, "but—but—you mustn't marry him, you know."
"Must n't!"
"Miss Wellington, I know, it is none of my business. And yet—Don't you know," he added fiercely, "what a girl you are? I know. I have seen! You are radiant, Miss Wellington, in spirit as in face. Any man knowing what Koltsoff is, who could sit back and let you waste yourself on him would be a pup. Thornton, of theJefferson, has his record. Write to Walker,attachéat St. Petersburg, or Cook at Paris, or Miller at London—they will tell you. Why, even in Newport—"
Jack paused in his headlong outburst and then continued more deliberately.
"It is not for me to indict the man. I could not help speaking because you are you. I cannot do any more than warn you. If I transgress, if I am merely a blundering fool—if you are not what I take you for—forget what I have said. Send me away when we return."
She had been listening to him, as in a daze. Now she shook her head.
"I shall not do that," she said. "Did you take employment with us to say what you have said to me?"
"No."
She hesitated a moment.
"I suppose all men of Koltsoff's sort are the same," she said musingly. "I am not quite so innocent as that. We are wont to accept our European noblemen as husbands with no question as to the wild oats, immediately behind them—or without considering too closely the wild oats that are to be strewn—afterwards. Ah, don't start; that is the way we expatriates are educated—no, not that; but these are the lessons we absorb. And so—" she was looking at Armitage with a hard face, "so the things that impressed you so terribly—I appreciate and thank you for your motives in speaking of them—do not appear so awful to me."
Jack, his clean mind in a whirl, was looking at her aghast.
"You—you—Anne Wellington! You don't mean that!"
She flung her hands from her.
"Thank you," she said. "Don't I? Oh, I hate it all!" she cried wildly, "the cross purposings of life; the constant groping—being unable to see clearly—the triumph of lower over higher things—I hate them all. Ah," she turned to Jack pitifully, "promise me for life, in this place of peace, the rest and purity and beauty and love of all this—promise, and I shall stay here now with you, from this minute and never leave it, though Pyramus or King Midas, as you please, beckon from beyond this mossy wall."
"Are you speaking metaphorically?" Jack's voice quivered. "For if you are, I—"
She interrupted, laughing mirthlessly.
"I do not know how I was speaking. Don't bother. I am not worth it. I might have been had I met you sooner—Jack Armitage. For I have learned of you—some things. Don't," she raised her hand as Jack bent forward to speak. "You must n't bother, really. Last night I lived with you a big, clean, thrilling experience and saw strong men doing men's work in the raw, cold, salt air—and I saw a new life. And then—" she was looking straight ahead—"then I was led into a morass where the air was heavy like the tropics, and things all strange, unreal. And why—why now the doubt which of the two I had rather believe to-night. You were too late. I bade you come to us. I am glad, I am proud that I did—for now I know the reason. But—" she smiled wanly at him, "it should have been sooner."
"Is—it—too late?" Jack's mouth was shut tight, the muscles bulging on either side of his jaw.
"Is it? You—I must wait and see. I—I dreamed last night and it was of the sea, men rushing aboard a black battleship, rising and falling on great inky waves. It was good—so good—to dream that; not the other. Wait.… It is to be lived out. I am weak.… But there is a tide in the affairs of men—and women. Perhaps you—"
She stopped abruptly.
"Let us drive out of here, Mr. Armitage. Here, in this pure, wonderful place I feel almost like Sheynstone's Jessie."
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.
She smiled.
"Not what you thought I meant," she said gently. "Now, drive away, please."
As they returned to the house, Mr. Wellington and his friend were alighting from the touring car; Koltsoff was not with them. As soon as he saw his daughter, Mr. Wellington, whose face was flushed, called Anne to him.
"Say, Anne," he said, "is that Prince of yours a lunatic? Or what is he?
"Why, no, father. Of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Well, then, if he is n't crazy he is a plain, ordinary, damned fool. He was like a chicken with his head off all the afternoon, calling up on the telephone, sending telegrams, and then, between pauses, telling me he would have to leave right after the ball for Europe and wanting us all to sail with him. Then, at the last minute, some whiskered tramp came to the porch where we were sitting and the first thing I knew he had excused himself for the evening and was going off up the street with that hobo, both of them flapping their arms and exclaiming in each other's faces like a couple of candidates for a padded cell. Duke Ivan was a pill beside this man. And that is saying a whole lot, let me tell you."
"Why, father!" exclaimed the girl. "I could cry! We are having that dinner for him to-night, and—and oh—"
She rushed into the house and found her mother in her room.
"Mother," she said, "Prince Koltsoff has gone off again! He was with father at the Reading Room and hurried away with a man, whom father describes as a tramp, saying he must be excused for the evening."
"Very well," said Mrs. Wellington placidly; "we will have to have the play—without Hamlet, nevertheless."
"But what shall I do?"
"You might ask McCall."
"Mother! Please! What can we do?"
"Frankly, I don't know, Anne," said Mrs. Wellington. "I confess that this situation in all its ramifications has gone quite beyond me. It is altogether annoying. But let me prophesy: Koltsoff will not miss your dinner. He impresses me as a young man not altogether without brains—although they are of a sort."
Mrs. Wellington was right. Koltsoff put in an appearance in time to meet Anne's guests, but the Russian bear at the height of his moulting season—or whatever disagreeable period he undergoes—is not more impossible than was Prince Koltsoff that night.
Mrs. Wellington's genius for organization was never better exemplified than next day, when preparations for the ball set for the night, began. At the outset it was perfectly apparent that she was not bent on breaking records—which feat, as a matter of fact, would merely have been overshadowing her best previous demonstrations of supremacy in things of this sort. There was to be no splurge. With a high European nobleman to introduce, she had no intention of having the protagonist in the evening's function overshadowed by his background. She was a student of social nuances—say rather, a master in this subtle art, and she proceeded with her plans with all the calm assurance of a field marshal with a dozen successful campaigns behind him.
Early in the day, Dawson and Buchan and Mrs. Stetson were in conference with her in her office and a bit later the servants, some thirty or forty of them, were assembled in their dining-room and assigned various duties, all of which were performed under the supervising eye of Mrs. Wellington, her daughter, or Sara Van Valkenberg. No decorative specialist, or other alien appendage to social functions on a large scale, was in attendance, and, save for the caterer's men, who arranged a hundred odd small tables on the verandas, and the electricians, who hung chandeliers at intervals above them, the arrangements were carried out by the household force.
Under the direction of Anne Wellington—whose mind seemed fully occupied with the manifold details of the duties which her mother had assigned to her—Armitage and a small group hung tapestries against the side of the house where the tables were, and then assisted the gardener and his staff in placing gladiolas about the globes of the chandeliers. Small incandescent globes of divers colors were hidden among the flowers in the gardens and an elaborate scheme of interior floral decoration was carried out. Before the afternoon was well along, all preparations had been completed and the women had gone to their rooms, where later they were served by their maids with light suppers. Armitage went to town in the car to meet the Prince, whom he had taken from The Crags at the unusually early hour of nine o'clock, and incidentally to pick up his evening clothes, which Thornton, in accordance with telephoned instructions, had left with the marine guard at the Government ferry house.
For Mrs. Wellington, whose sardonic sense of humor had not been lost in the rush of affairs, had assigned him to detective duty for the evening's function.
"McCall," she had said, "I want you to disguise yourself as a gentleman to-night and assist Chief Roberts's man in protecting the house from gentry who at times manage to gain access to the upper floors in the course of affairs of this sort. Evening dress will do—at least it is usually regarded as a good disguise, I believe."
He had received his orders, despite the sarcastic verbiage in which they were couched, with glowing emotions not easily concealed; they fitted perfectly with his preconceived determination to bring to a conclusion that night, once and for all, the situation which had brought him to The Crags.
He had, in short, resolved, come what might, to ransack Koltsoff's rooms before dawn—to dump the contents of all drawers in the middle of the floors, to cut with his knife any bags that might be locked, and in general to turn the suite inside out. For he had come to the conclusion that every one, save possibly Prince Koltsoff and the horses and dogs, knew whom he really was, and that being the case, further masquerading was nothing short of intolerable.
Then, too, yesterday's talk with Anne Wellington in Lover's Lane was running through his mind like a thread of gold, and clearly the time had come, either to meet her with identity unclouded in the minds of all, or go away and never see her again. As to the last—that depended on several things: upon second thought, upon one thing, upon Anne Wellington herself. Throughout the day in her various meetings with him, she had been markedly impersonal, tacit intimation that from now on so long as he cared to pose as an employee of the house, he must accept all the accruing conditions. He understood her position, of course, and as for his—well, he would attend to it that very night.
He found his bag waiting for him at the ferry and Prince Koltsoff at the designated place, the Reading Room. The Russian had not worked out of his irritation, not to say alarm, at the unaccountable disappearance of his chief lieutenant, but found some comfort in the fact that agents of the St. Petersburg State Department were already buzzing about Washington and Boston in regard to the matter of the Austrian mobilization plans. Armitage found him in a dogged, determined mood. He, too, was facing a situation which he meant to end that night, and his plans were all matured.
He went to his room, spent an hour or so dictating to his secretary, instructed him to call up the White Star Line in New York and book him for Friday, and then went down to the billiard room, where the men were engrossed in a close game between Marie and Willie Whipple. From here he wandered to the smoking apartment, which had begun to resemble the sample room of a wholesale liquor house. He had a servant pour him some Scotch whiskey, over which he sat for some time with thoughtful eyes, half closed. A growing uneasiness, which he could neither define nor overcome, crept over him and at length he arose and passed through the library, the morning-room, the drawing-room, even peering into the ballroom in his search for Miss Wellington. Miss Hatch was just emerging and the Prince eyed her in a peremptory way.
"Miss Wellington is not about?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Is not about," said Miss Hatch, who hurried away with her short, nervous steps before Koltsoff had opportunity for questioning her further.
He glared at her retreating form and was about to follow her, when Mr. Wellington interposed.
"Hello, Koltsoff," he said, "come and have a bite with us before you go upstairs. We missed you in the billiard room."
Koltsoff bowed ceremoniously.
"Thank you, but no," he replied. "I have eaten a sandwich or so in the smoking-room. If you will permit, I shall retire until the,—ah, ball."
"All right. By the way, Koltsoff, you have seemed off your feed for the past twenty-four hours. I am sorry if I upset you. You, of course, were sensible to see my position."
"Oh, perfectly," responded the Russian with an ill-concealed sneer—in fact, it was not concealed at all—as he turned toward the stairway.
When Armitage took up his position near the head of the stairs about nine-thirty o'clock, the house was ablaze with lights, but the lower floors were deserted, save for the servants loitering about the hall. These men, all in the Wellington livery—short jackets and trousers of navy blue, with old gold cord—impressed Jack, inasmuch as they suggested in some way a sense of belonging to the household, which they did naturally, and not as servants merely engaged—or loaned—for the function. Mrs. Wellington and her husband came down at ten o'clock and took a position near the ballroom door, just as a group of early arrivals trouped up the stairs. Armitage didn't approve of Mrs. Wellington. In her creamy ball gown and tiara and jewels, she was majestic and imperious to a stunning degree, but to the young naval officer—or shall we say detective—she suggested for the first time the distinction of caste. The immeasurable distance created by the millions of dollars and the social prestige of Belle Wellington and those like her, served to set them aloof from their countrymen and countrywomen. As she walked along at the side of her hulking husband she seemed the very embodiment of the aloofness of her caste. Heretofore, Jack had regarded her as a distinctly interesting, remarkably well-preserved, middle-aged gentlewoman of striking mentality, a woman whom he could like and enjoy. To-night, he admitted, she inspired in him nothing but emotions of fear.
Mentally, he fortified himself against the appearance of Anne Wellington, who, in truth, merited this precaution as she stepped past him with a slight nod and went down the stairs. She was not a bit overdone—Jack admitted that at once—and yet, how different she was from the girl in the shirtwaist suit and black hat, whom he had seen entering the sight-seeing barge the previous day, or who swathed in his navy coat, his hat pushed down over her eyes, had stood with him on the bridge of theD'Estang! She was all in white, slim, supple, without jewelry, save for a string of pearls about her neck. A light, filmy veil was thrown across her bare shoulders and the living curls and waves of her flawless coiffure gleamed as they caught the lights of the chandeliers. And yet—! The girlishness which Jack had found so attractive in her, was missing, and so was the characteristic animation of her features. Instead, her face was set in a formal, politely interested expression, which to Armitage seemed to change her entire personality. Yesterday she was radiant, light-hearted, impulsive, and thoroughly lovable. To-night, she was, so to say, a professional beauty, "rigged and trigged" for competition; one of a set whose ambitions, apparently, coveted no triumphs more exalted than those to be gained here, who rated artificiality as a fine art and appraised life upon the basis of standards which even the casual observer would hardly pronounce either moral or exalted.
To-night she was a professional beauty, "rigged and trigged" for competition.To-night she was a professional beauty,"rigged and trigged" for competition.
To-night she was a professional beauty, "rigged and trigged" for competition.To-night she was a professional beauty,"rigged and trigged" for competition.
As Armitage followed her graceful course to the side of her parents, he groaned, half humorously, and then went wandering about the upper hallway, a prey to conflicting emotions, engendered by the new point of view which the girl had unconsciously presented. A couplet of Browning's was running through his mind and more than once he found himself muttering the words:
"Oh, the little more and how much it is,And the little less and what worlds away."
True! What worlds away she was to-night! Not that he had any sense of social inferiority,—he was too proud of his family for that,—but utterly alien to him and his thoughts and ideals and aspirations, she seemed. He wondered at the foolhardiness which hitherto had characterized his attitude toward her, and at the same time called himself hard names for it. Why, she was unapproachable with all her beauty and millions and methods of life! What had he been thinking of—dreaming of? His face hardened. It was not too late to cease playing the part of a fool and an ass. He would accomplish what he had come there to do and then clear out, which sensible act, he trusted, might at least serve to mitigate to some extent the opinion she must have formulated concerning him. She had had her fun, had studied and analyzed him as far as he intended she should. She might have her laugh and enjoy it to the full, but she was not to have the opportunity of laughing in his face. He went to his room, packed his bag, and then going down the rear stairway, took it out the servants' door and laid it under the hydrangeas near the main gate. When he returned, the guests were beginning to come down stairs. All his inward ease had departed. He was tense, cleared for action. All of which shows how far the emotions of an ardent nature are apt to lead a young man astray—as he was to learn before this ball was at an end.
In the meantime he followed the sights and sounds with no great interest. He was vaguely amused at the remark of a woman beyond the first bloom of youth, who, turning to her companion and nodding toward a socially famous young matron, who preceded them down the stairs fairly jingling with jewelry, remarked:
"I say, Jerry, Mrs. Billy has put on everything but the kitchen stove."
It confirmed in Jack's mind an impression which had begun to form, that the smart set, so-called, is not altogether lacking in, well,—smartness.
When the Prince entered with a ribbon and orders across his breast, the orchestra played the Russian national anthem, whereat every one arose and stood at attention. Jack noticed, however, that attention ceased and almost every one sat down during the rendering of "The Star Spangled Banner," which followed. This, he decided, might have been because no one heard it in the confusion of voices which attended the closing strains of the Russian hymn and Koltsoff's course about the room. Armitage particularly looked for Anne and located her at the Prince's side, the centre of a vivacious group. Evidently the orchestra might as well have been playing a selection from "Madame Butterfly," so far as she was concerned. This did n't help his mood and after waiting for the first dance, a quadrille in which even the elderly participated—it was given so they might—he sauntered out on the veranda and stood there gazing vacantly at the glowingparterreand smoking a cigarette.
Groups were strolling in and out among the gardens. Armitage caught the pale flashes of fans and gowns; the cigarette lights of the men glowed among the shrubbery like fireflies. The moon was full, shining through rifted clouds, and the ocean, murmuring at the foot of the cliffs, stretched away to the starry horizon. The lamps of the Brenton's Reef light vessel seemed close enough to touch, and farther out the lights of a deep sea tug with a string of coal barges astern moved slowly down the coast.
As Jack threw away his cigarette preparatory to going into the house, Anne Wellington stepped through the door, laughing back at Koltsoff, who was following her. Jack averted his head and as he did so the girl turned to her companion.
"Pardon me for one second," she said.
"Are n't you going to ask me to dance?" she said in a low voice as she confronted Armitage.
He smiled. "Oh, certainly!"
"Oh, there is precedent," laughed Anne. "Was n't it Dick Turpin who danced with the Duchess of—of something, once?"
"But he was hanged later."
"Not for that." She stood for a moment regarding him and decided that no man at the ball was better to look at in any way. "I am a good American to-night," she said slowly. "I—I thought you might be interested to know."
"I am interested," said Jack. Then his eyes lighted. "Are you serious about that dance?"
She returned his gaze, humorously defiant.
"I don't care, if you don't," he added; "I dare you."
"They say naval officers are divine dancers," she replied as though to herself. "You may have the next dance if—if you can find me out here—and—and take me away from His Highness."
Before he could reply she had smiled and nodded and rejoined Koltsoff, who was waiting, not without impatience, at the foot of the steps. He took her arm and led the way toward a small promontory overlooking the ocean. His demeanor was silent, romantic. But somehow Anne was neither interested nor thrilled. As they stopped at the edge of the cliff, she released her arm which his fingers had tightly pressed. He took a cigarette from his case and then impatiently tossed it away.
"I spoke to your father this afternoon," he said, "as to our understanding."
"Our understanding!"
"About the dowry. He declined to yield to the European custom."
"How like father! Of course that changes your attitude toward me." Her voice was cool and unwavering.
He raised his hands as though despairing.
"It does not." He confronted her so that they almost touched. "Is it possible that you can think of that? I replied to your father that I was going to take you anyway."
"You—are going—to—take me anyway! What do you mean, Prince Koltsoff?"
"Mean! What do I mean! Why, no less than that dowry or no dowry, you are mine."
"But you have n't asked me. I have said nothing to make you believe that."
"Eh?" Koltsoff tossed his head dazedly.
"You said nothing!" he exclaimed as she remained silent. "You said—Bah! Are mere words only to serve? You lay in my arms not a day since. What words could have been so eloquent? And your eyes—the look in them! Words! Ah, Anne, could I not see? Could I not read?" His hand was on her arm but she pulled sharply back.
"Please, Prince Koltsoff! Listen! You—since you have been willing to recall it to me—did take me in your arms." Indignation was rapidly mastering her. "I did not lead you to do it. I did not want you to. I am—not that kind. I was tired, weak in mind and body and, yes,—under your control, somehow. You took advantage of it. I didn't know then—I fancied it might be love, don't you know. I even asked you if it was—"
"You asked me. I replied. You did not deny."
"No, but I deny now: It was not love."
"Not love!" Koltsoff moved close to her. "Then may I ask what it was? Surely you have not questionedmymotives?"
"No. If I had, you should have known it before this. My own motives, or rather, the lack of them—but we won't talk about it any more."
She made as though to step past him but he did not move.
"But you must talk about it," he said. "Are our relations thus to be brushed away—by misunderstanding? Anne, have I been utterly misled? What is it, Anne? I command you to speak."
"Will you please let me pass?"
"No, not until you have answered me." There was crisp savagery in his voice.
Anne, now trembling with anger, turned quickly upon him.
"Very well, I shall answer you. I don't love you and I can't love you and I won't love you. I resent your actions. You have been making this house headquarters for your diplomatic schemes and when they have gone astray, you have made us all the creatures of your irritable whims. You made me a laughing stock when you backed out of the theatre party, and have done nothing but consider your own convenience irrespective of any plans I may have formed for your entertainment. You were so disagreeable last night at dinner that I wept for very shame after it. And—and—now you have your answer."
For a moment Koltsoff stood erect, as though frozen by her words. Then he bent his head forward menacingly.
Anne laughed.
"We are not in Monaco—or Russia, Prince Koltsoff, but in the United States."
"The United States!" sneered Koltsoff.
The next instant he was on his knees, his lips on the lace of her skirt.
"Please, Prince Koltsoff! Don't, please."
She glanced aside and saw the expansive white chest of Armitage bearing up the slight incline. "And now you must excuse me," she said, "my partner for the next dance claims me." She snatched away her skirt and walked rapidly to meet Jack, while Koltsoff gathered himself to his feet and cursed volubly in three languages.
Anne was silent as they walked to the house, but cheerfully so. While Jack could not exactly catch her expression in the moonlight, he had a feeling she was glad to be with him.
"Do you want to back out?" he asked. "It is n't too late, you know. Have you thought of the scandal?"
"Do you wish me to back out?" she smiled. "Have you thought you may lose your position?"
"I don't care—for you can consider that I have given notice to take effect to-morrow."
"But that does not mean—" she began, then checked herself.
He waited for her to continue, but she was silent. As they ascended the steps the orchestra was beginning the waltz, with its dreamy rhythm, which everybody had been humming for a month or two. She led the way through a door at the lower end of the room, where were the palms and shrubbery which concealed the musicians, gathered her gown in her right hand, and stood smilingly expectant. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her eyes sparkled, her perfectly cut lips slightly parted. For an instant his eyes rested upon her face and they glowed with open admiration. Then his arm had encircled her firm, lithe waist and they whirled leisurely out upon the crowded floor.
She felt his strength, but it was the strength that exalts a woman, a strength that a woman could glory in and not feel embarrassed or self-conscious; a sense of being protected, not overwhelmed, filled her. And through the rhythm of the dance and the complete sympathy which it brought, one for the other, she caught perfectly his poise—the mental suggested through the physical—strong, determined, and so utterly masculine in a big, clean way.
The poetry of the waltz was well defined. The reputation of the Navy was losing nothing at his hands, or rather feet, as they glided in and out among the various couples, gracefully and easily. Both were exalted; it could not have been otherwise. Her supple body yielded instinctively to the guidance of his arm, seemed, indeed, almost a part of it—bodies and minds one in the interpretation of the science of rhythmic motion. Neither spoke until the floor had been circled. Then she turned her head and looked into his face.
"To-morrow?"
"Don't," said Jack, half laughing. "I don't want to think of to-morrow."
"Neither do I," she grimaced, "but I can't help it. I am going to lose my driver."
He smiled grimly, but did not reply.
"And so," she said unconsciously allowing herself to relax in his arm, "what am I going to do?" Her glance was humorously pathetic. "It has been so much fun. But it could n't last, as Trilby said."
"Some day, soon, when I have put on my uniform, may I come here and help you decide?"
"Decide what, pray?"
"You asked me what you were going to do."
She stopped dancing and looked at him with sober face.
"Well, you 'd better believe you may come here, then. You are not going to escape quite so easily. As to advice—cannot you give me that now?"
"I could," replied Jack. "But I won't—not now."
"Oh, do!" Her voice was teasing. "You can't imagine what straits I shall be in. Not that I would promise to pronounce it wise—"
They were dancing again.
"Well, then, I certainly shall hold my peace."
"Why, you 're positively bearish!"
"Am I?"
"But then, you know, I might consider your words—well, worth following."
"I 'll wait until I can find courage to take the risk."
"Is it so awfully important as all that?"
"You may judge when I tell you."
The dance had ended and as he released her she reached out and tapped him on the arm.
"You do dance divinely. And now you had better play detective. Mother has seen us."
That was quite true. Armitage, of course, had not been recognized as Miss Wellington's chauffeur by the people in the room, but Mrs. Wellington had early detected them. She said nothing until the dance ended. Then she looked at her husband.
"Ronald," she said, "is Anne too old to be spanked, do you think?"
"Why, rather, I should say. Why?" laughed Wellington.
"Oh, no matter. Only I fancy I would relinquish my hopes for eternity if I could!"
Jack's mood would have defied analysis as he made his way through the crowded hall to the rear veranda. He peered into the smoking-room in passing and found several self-constituted Lords of Misrule holding full sway. Two young scions of great New York families were fencing with billiard cues, punctuating each other's coats with blue chalk dots and dashes, while a swaying ring cheered them on. One youth emerged from the room with steps obviously unsteady and claimed one of a pair of girls on their way to the ballroom, as his partner for the dance. She rapped him playfully with her fan.
"You don't really want a partner, Teddy," she said. "You want a hitching post. You're spifflicated."
The two moved laughingly away, leaving the young man marvelling heavily at the discernment of the girl who had cleverly discovered that which he fancied he had carefully concealed. As Armitage watched him with amused interest, he sighed deeply and made his way back to the smoking-room.
Jack went up the rear stairs to the second floor and out on a little balcony. He had viewed Miss Wellington's attitude toward him from every angle and every time the result had been the same—the conviction that her interest in him was something more than friendly. He attempted no diagnosis of his own feelings. That was not necessary; they were too patent. A great wave of tenderness thrilled him. There was wonder, too. That wonder which fills a man when he begins to realize that a girl whom he has regarded as unapproachably radiant and, in sheer beauty and purity and grace, a being aloof from most of the things of this world, finds him not unworthy of her trust, her confidence, and her love.
Armitage felt himself ennobled, set apart from the rest of mankind, the guardian of a sacred trust. If she did love him, if she were willing to give herself to him, she would find that the giving was not to be all hers. He, too, would build his life henceforth upon the inspiration she gave him and he would hold himself worthy to receive it. Anne! His arm ached to hold her as he had held her but a little while ago. Anne! The strength seemed to be going out of him. Ah, he wanted that girl now, right here—and nothing else in this world! Anne!
Then his teeth clicked shut. He had work ahead of him. There were other things to think about. In his present mood, surely, he was not up to the task he had set himself. He lighted a cigarette and puffed vigorously. If he were going to succeed—and he intended to succeed—he must train his mind rigidly into channels far remote from Anne. He must forget her; forget himself for the time being. Long he fought with himself and won, as strong men always will, and when he left the balcony there was but one thought in his mind, the magnetic control which Koltsoff had stolen from him.
He had already decided to make his search when the guests were at the tables on the veranda, and the blood pulsed quickly as he peered down the front stairs and found that all, even then, were making their way out of doors. Now—to find the Prince safely seated and engrossed, and then action. He descended the stairs and merged with the throng on the verandas. There was a great deal of confusion. Some were already seated and calling for their companions. Others were blundering about searching for friends. The complement of a few tables was already filled and there was much laughter and loud talking.
Jack soon found the Prince at a table for six, near the railing. Anne was at his side and Sara Van Valkenberg, with young Osborne, was also there. Anne was conversing brightly with a man across from her, but Koltsoff was sombre and silent. Armitage smiled and made his way into the house. He walked slowly up the stairs, went to his room, on the third floor, for a knife, skeleton keys, and a small jimmy, and then returning to the second floor he stopped at Koltsoff's door, which was well back from the apartments utilized as dressing-rooms for the men and women. The light was burning brightly in a chandelier overhead and Jack, stepping to a button in the wall, pressed it, shrouding that part of the hall in gloom.
Then he tested the knob and pushed slightly on the door. To his surprise it yielded. A thin piece of wire brushed his fingers and following it he found it led from the keyhole and outside the jamb of the door, which had been cut slightly. Evidently some one was ahead of him! But he did not hesitate. Softly opening the door he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Then for a moment he stood still. He felt in his pocket for his match box and had just struck a light when suddenly an arm flew around his neck from behind, the crook of the elbow pressing deeply into his throat.
Without a sound, Jack bent forward, pulling his assailant with him, despite his efforts to get Jack's head back between his shoulders. For a full minute they were poised thus. Armitage knew better than to crack his neck in frantic efforts to break the strong arm grip. There were other ways. He was very cool and he had confidence in that neck of his, which set on his shoulders like the base of a marble column. The hand of the stranger was pawing for a grip on his right wrist, but Jack, who knew the move and had no desire to have his elbow shattered, kept it out of the way. And all the time he kept up a slight strain upon the arm around his neck, into which, by the way, his chin was slightly buried, breaking in some degree the choking power of the hold.
For two minutes they stood thus, slightly swaying, and then instinctively Jack, gagging a little now, felt the minutest relaxation of the arm. Quick as thought he changed the position of his right leg, bringing into play the leverage of his hip. He twisted suddenly sideways, his neck slipping around in the encircling arm. His hand closed upon the back of a thick, perspiring neck. The next instant a figure catapulted over his back, bringing up with a bone-racking crash against a piece of furniture.
Armitage, whose eyes were now accustomed to the dark room, ran to an electric globe at the side of a writing desk and turned on the light. By this time his assailant was rising, tottering but full of fight, a desire which Jack, now all for carnage, was quite ready to satisfy. As he started for the man something in the fellow's face made him pause. He uttered a low exclamation. He was Takakika, the Japanese cook. But there was no time for words; the Jap launched himself at him with fingers quivering in anticipation of the grip he sought. He never arrived. Armitage whipped his right fist with all the power of his body behind it to a point about two inches below Takakika's left ear. There was a sharp crack and the Jap fell to the floor in a huddle, motionless.
"Now, I reckon you 'll lie still," said Jack unpityingly. "You and Koltsoff, too, will find that the spy game in the United States is full of travail."
He glanced at the man, who was groaning now and showing signs of recovery. "I guess I 'll lash you up to be on the safe side," which he did with several of Koltsoff's neckties.
"Now, then."
He arose and looked about the room. On a table near the door were several rolls of parchment. He went over to them and lifted them. They were the plans of the torpedo. With a sigh of relief he straightened them and folding the sheets into two small but bulky packages, put them into his pockets. Evidently the apartment had been thoroughly ransacked by Takakika. Drawers were opened, bags turned inside out, the bed torn apart, and the mattress ripped. But where was the control? Armitage felt about the Jap's clothing and then feverishly began going over the line of search pursued by the spy. So engrossed had he been in the struggle with Takakika that he had forgotten his intention of locking the door leading from the hall. Now his unsuccessful search filled his mind. At last in a dark corner of a closet he unearthed a small square bag. He had just taken it into the room and cut it when the door opened and Koltsoff entered.
For an instant he stood blinking and then his eyes travelled swiftly about the room, taking in Armitage, the bound and half conscious Japanese, and the general litter. Jack watched him closely, ready for any move he might make. The Russian's sudden appearance had startled him, but the first substantial thought that shot through his mind was that no one could possibly have been more welcome. He had failed to find the control: he had to have it. So he might as well have it out with the Prince now as any other time. If Koltsoff but knew it, he was facing a desperate man; for until he had entered and searched the rooms, Jack had harbored no doubt that possession of the control was merely a matter of overhauling the Prince's effects. Now he knew better, and for the first time he was really alarmed as to its whereabouts. He returned Koltsoff's gaze with smouldering eyes. But the Russian was very much at ease.
"What is it?" he asked at length. Without waiting for Armitage to reply he walked swiftly to the desk, jerked open a panel, and placed his hand in the opening. When he withdrew it, it was empty. Jack laughed, drew from his pocket a short heavy revolver with a pearl, gold-crested handle, twirled it about by the guard, and then put it back in his pocket.
"I got there first, Koltsoff," he said.
Prince Koltsoff straightened and regarded Armitage warily.
"What does this mean?" He nodded his head toward Takakika and started forward as for the first time he noticed that the man was a Japanese.
"Ah," he said, "I see. You have foiled a spy. Ha! ha! I thank you. And now the pistol—and your manner! Ha! ha! ha! Your joke!"
Armitage saw clearly that for some reason—which he believed he recognized—Koltsoff was willing that the incident, so far as Jack was concerned, should end right there. The Prince had given him his lead. He had but to follow it and clear out, with no questions asked. But that was farthest from his mind.
"My joke is not clear to you, I see."
"Indeed! Will you do me the honor to make it clear?"
"Certainly. Last Sunday night a tool of yours named Yeasky stole a magnetic contrivance from the shops of the Torpedo Station. He gave it to you. I want it. I am going to get it before either you or I leave this room."
Koltsoff clasped his hands together.
"I recognize you as a servant in the employ of this house. What right have you to address me? Now, go to your quarters at once or I shall report you. You are intoxicated!"
"Am I!" He backed before the door as Koltsoff's eyes moved toward it, covering at the same time the call buttons in the wall at the side of the jamb.
The Prince laughed and leaned carelessly back against a table.
"Very well, since you appear to deny your identity, as well as your condition—which is quite obvious, I beg you to know—I can admit only that you have the advantage of me."
"Oh, shut up!" said Jack angrily. "Are you going to give me that control? My name is Armitage. I invented that device and you and your dirty band of square-heads stole it. I want it back now, quick! And if—"
The Prince still smiling, interrupted.
"Ah, Armitage, I might have known. Allow me to say that you wore the Wellington livery with better grace than the gentleman's clothing that now adorns you—with better grace, I might even venture, than the uniform you occasionally wear."
Armitage, who quickly saw the advantage of Koltsoff's poise, curbed his anger, at least so far as speech was concerned.
"Look here, Koltsoff," he said, "let us understand each other. I am going to get that control or one or the other of us is going to be carried out of this room."
"You have the revolver—it will probably be I," said Koltsoff.
With an exclamation Jack reached into his pocket, drew out the revolver, and hurled it through the open window. They could hear it clatter on the cliffs below and then splash into the ocean. Instinctively, Koltsoff's eyes had followed the flight of the weapon. When he turned his head Jack was close at his side. The Russian stepped back. Jack moved forward.
"Now," he said in a low tense voice, "that magnetic control—quick!" There was no mistaking the quiet ferocity of his manner.
Koltsoff had ceased to smile.
"I have n't it."
"Are—you—going—to—give—me—that—control?"
"I have n't it. I swear. Look—look anywhere, everywhere. See if I do not speak the truth."
"Then get it."
Koltsoff moved to a bureau and Jack followed him.
"Wait," said the Russian. Then like lightning his hand shot out to a heavy brass candlestick and the next instant had aimed a murderous blow at Jack's head. Armitage caught the flash of the descending weapon in time to duck his head, taking the force upon the lower muscles of his neck. The wave of pain was as the lash to a mettlesome horse. Before the Prince could swing the candlestick again Armitage had him by the throat and bore him to the floor, half stifling his shriek for help.
As Armitage seized the candlestick and tossed it to one side, the knob of the door turned and the door itself partly opened. He sprang to his feet, pulled Koltsoff to his knees, and as he stood thus the door was pushed wide and Anne Wellington stepped across the threshold.
Her face was pale, her eyes were blazing.
One hand, holding a heavy package, she held behind her back. With the other she pointed to Prince Koltsoff with the imperiousness of a queen.
"What does this mean?" she asked sternly.
Behind her in the doorway the tragic face of Sara Van Valkenberg was framed.
"This—this scoundrel was trying to murder me."
Armitage was looking at her over his shoulder.
"Please don't stay here, Miss Wellington. This man stole a very important part of a torpedo that I invented. I am going to make him return it before he leaves this room."
"He says what is untrue," said Koltsoff. "It is not his property. And at all events, as I have told him, I do not possess it."
The color had returned to Anne's face. She swayed slightly as a great wave of light, of knowledge, passed over her mind.
"Oh!" Her lips moved as mechanically as those of an automaton and her face was as expressionless. "Oh!" Her eyes seemed burning through Armitage. "And you made me believe—I mean I thought—I—I—"
She bowed her head, trying to stifle tears of shame and indignation.
"Don't, Miss Wellington. Don't misunderstand! Wait until I can explain—then you will know. In the meantime I must have that torpedo, that part of it which this Russian spy stole."
"It is not yours. It is mine. And I again inform you, I have n't it."
Prince Koltsoff's sneering smile had returned.
"Wait!" cried Anne, breaking in upon Jack's angry exclamation. She stepped into the middle of the room. "Prince Koltsoff is right. He has n't it. I have it." Slowly she drew her hand from behind her back.
"Here it is."
Koltsoff stepped forward.
"It is mine!" he said. "I gave it in trust to you. I command you to keep it until I ask for it."
"He is lying, Miss Wellington. It is mine. I can prove it."
"Lying!" exclaimed Anne tragically. "Lying! Every one has lied. Where is there truth in either of you? Where is there chivalry in you and you—" nodding at Armitage and Koltsoff—"who have ruthlessly used a household and a woman to your own ends? Ugh, I detest, I hate you both! As for this," she struck the package with her hand, "I brought it here to give you, Prince Koltsoff. I could n't keep it longer. But now I think I can end your dispute for all time." Quickly she stepped to the open window and raising the bundle high, hurled it out of the window and over the cliffs.
With a dry howl of rage, Koltsoff flung himself into a chair, tearing wildly at his hair and beard, while Armitage, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, stared at Anne. So far as the control was concerned, while its loss would set his work back several weeks, it at least was out of Koltsoff's hands and that naturally was the main thing. It would, in fact, have been a source of deepest joy to him had not the shock of Anne's wholly unlooked-for attitude and subsequent wild act almost unnerved him.
"A traitor! Anne Wellington a traitor!" he said in a quivering voice.
"Traitor!" Anne's voice rose almost to a wail. She turned suddenly to Koltsoff. "Of course you understand that you must leave us as soon as possible." Koltsoff, who had arisen, eyed her sullenly. She turned to Jack, who met her eyes straight. "And—and you—"
She paused and studied his face. "You—" She swayed and pressed her hand to her forehead. There was a flash of white and Sara Van Valkenberg's arms were about her. And there with her head on Sara's shoulders, she wept bitterly. The older woman caught Armitage with her eyes as she passed out of the room.
"You fool!" she said, then she bent toward him, whispering, "but don't you dare go away!"