Chapter 15

CHAPTER XIVTHE PLOT THICKENS

CHAPTER XIV

THE PLOT THICKENS

Maud Warren apologized to Miss Sallie. Mr. Warren had been greatly displeased when he heard of his daughter’s disobedience, and had reprimanded her in such severe terms, that she anxiously endeavored to conciliate Miss Stuart at the earliest opportunity. Miss Sallie, however received her effusive apology very coldly, and it was some time before Maud felt in the least comfortable in her society.

One evening soon after the eventful dinner with the countess, the “Automobile Girls” started out for a moonlight stroll accompanied by Miss Stuart, Mr. Stuart, Mr. Warren and Maud. Just as they were leaving the hotel Marian Smythe appeared on the veranda and was asked to join them.

“Where have you been keeping yourself, Marian?” asked Ruth.

Marian flushed.

“I’ve been very busy,” she said hastily. Then as if anxious to change the subject: “Have you been to the countess’s villa lately?”

“No,” replied Ruth quickly. “Not since the dinner there. Have you heard anything about her?”

“No,” answered Marian shortly, and relapsed into moody silence.

As they strolled leisurely along Barbara who had been walking ahead with Miss Stuart, dropped behind with Marian.

“I want to ask you something, Marian,” she began.

“Little girls should never ask questions,” said Marian lightly, but Barbara felt that her apparent unconcern was forced.

“Have you heard about what happened at the villa the night we dined there?” persisted Bab.

“I have heard something about it,” admitted Marian, in a low voice. “It was an attempt to rob the countess, was it not?”

“You could hardly call it robbery,” replied Barbara. “The men took nothing. But they acted in a very mysterious manner, and there was one perfectly hideous old man who was a real burglar for I caught him going through the things in the countess’s sleeping room, when Iwent up stairs after our wraps. I drove him from the room.”

“How did you ever do it, Bab?” asked Marian. There was an expression of absolute terror in her eyes.

“You’ll laugh when I tell you,” replied Bab. “I drove him away with a shoe horn.”

“A shoe horn?” repeated Marian questioningly. “I don’t understand.”

“He thought from the way I held it that I had a revolver in my hand,” explained Barbara. “You see it was silver and as the light in the room was turned low it looked like polished steel. At any rate it answered the purpose.”

“You are very brave, Bab,” said Marian admiringly. “Considering the man with whom you had to deal you showed wonderful courage.”

“What do you mean, Marian, by ‘the man with whom I had to deal’? Who is that frightful old man?” asked Barbara, looking searchingly at the other girl. “Why did you warn us not to dine with the countess? Did you know what was to happen? You must tell me, Marian, for I must know. If the countess or any of us is in danger it is your duty to tell me. Can’t you trust me with your secret, Marian?”

Marian shook her head. Her lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.

Barbara waited patiently for her to regain her self-control.

“Bab,” she said in a choked voice. “I can’t answer your questions. I dare not. I am a miserable victim of circumstances, and all I can say is that your danger is in being friendly with the countess. She has an enemy who will stop at nothing to gain his own end, and he will crush you, too, if you stand in his way.”

“Tell me, Marian,” said Bab eagerly. “Do you know anything about the countess?”

“Very little,” was the reply, “and that little I may not tell. But this I promise you, that no matter what may be the consequences to myself, I will warn you in time should any special danger threaten you girls or her. That is, if I have the slightest opportunity to do so.”

Marian stretched out her hand and Bab clasped it. “Thank you, dear Marian,” she said. “I know you will keep your word.”

After an hour’s stroll the party repaired to the hotel veranda, where ices and cakes were served to them. Every one, with the exception of Maud Warren, was in high good humor. Even Marian emerged from the gloom that had enveloped her earlier in the evening, laughing and talking merrily with the “AutomobileGirls.” Maud, however was in a distinctly rebellious state of mind. During their walk they had encountered the Count de Sonde and Monsieur Duval, and although Mr. Stuart and Mr. Warren had exchanged polite civilities with the two Frenchmen, they had not invited them to join the party. While Maud, still smarting inwardly from her father’s recent sharp censure, had not dared to brave Mr. Warren’s certain anger by doing so. Her only means of retaliation lay in sulking, and this she did in the most approved fashion, refusing to take part in the conversation, and answering in monosyllables when addressed. Ruth and Barbara vainly tried to charm away her sulks by paying her special attention, but she merely curled her lip scornfully, and left the veranda soon after on plea of headache. Mr. Warren sighed heavily as he looked after her retreating figure, but made no comment. Yet his friends knew instinctively what was passing in his mind, and the “Automobile Girls” solemnly vowed each in her own heart to watch over Maud and save her if possible from the schemes of fortune-hunting nobility.

“Is there anything more perfect than this Florida moonlight!” asked Ruth, during a lull in the conversation, as she leaned back in her chair and gazed with half closed eyes at thesilvery tropical world before her. “Positively, I could sit out here all night!”

“It looks as though we were in a fair way to do so,” replied her father, glancing at his watch. “Half-past eleven. Time all children were in bed.”

“Really, Robert, I had no idea it was so late,” said Miss Sallie, stifling a yawn. “I believe I am sleepy. Come, girls, it is time for us to retire.”

“Oh, Aunt Sallie!” exclaimed Ruth. “How can you be so cruel?”

“‘I must be cruel to be kind,’” quoted Miss Stuart. “If I allow you to moon out here until unseasonable hours, you will never get started on your picnic to-morrow, at seasonable ones.”

“She speaks the truth,” said Ruth dramatically, “I will arise and hie me to the hay, for come what may, I swear that I will picnic with the rosy morn.”

“I thought you were going to picnic with us,” said Grace flippantly.

“So I am,” replied Ruth calmly. “That statement was mere poetical license.”

“First find your poet,” said Bab slyly.

Whereupon there was a chorus of giggles at Ruth’s expense, in which she good-naturedly joined.

“I’m really more tired than I thought I was,” she yawned, a few moments later as she sat curled up in a big chair in the room adjoining Miss Stuart’s which she and Barbara occupied.

“I’m tired and sleepy, too,” responded Barbara. “It’s almost midnight. We’ll never get up early to-morrow morning. Oh, dear!” she exclaimed a second later, “I’ve left my pink scarf down on the veranda. It’s hanging over the back of the chair I sat in. I’ll go down this minute and get it, before any one has had time to see it or take it away.”

Suiting the action to the word Bab hurried out of the room, and along the corridor. She did not stop for an elevator but ran lightly down the two flights of stairs and out to the veranda. It was but the work of a moment to secure her scarf, which hung over the back of the chair, just as she had left it. The veranda was deserted except for a group of three people who stood at the far end in the shadow. Their backs were toward Bab and they were talking earnestly in low voices. Barbara stood petrified with astonishment, scarcely able to believe the evidence of her own eyes, for the group consisted of Monsieur Duval, Mrs. De Lancey Smythe and—enveloped in the pale blue broadcloth cloak Bab had often seen her wear was the Countess Sophia.

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