But Taylor paid no attention to her. He concentratedhis gaze on the younger girl. “You swindled the company,” he affirmed.
“No, no,” she wailed, “I didn’t.”
Ethel came to her rescue. “How dare you,” she cried to Taylor, “make such an accusation when you have no proof, nor anyone else either?”
“That’s all very well,” Taylor exclaimed, “but when we get the proof—”
“You can’t, because there isn’t any,” she asserted.
“Of course I see your game,” the man said; “you’re just trying to protect your sister. That’s natural enough, but it will go easier with both of you if you’ll tell the truth.”
The two girls answered him never a word. Amy was too frightened and Ethel, her tactics unavailing, found her best defense in silence.
“So you won’t answer?” Taylor said after a pause. “Well, of course the stuff is pawned some place. That’s what they all do. So far, Bronson has only searched the pawn-shops in New York. He didn’t give you credit for pawning them outside the city, but I do. Now we’ll see where your sister did go.” He went to the telephone again. “Hello, Bill,” he said when he had secured the number, “Go over to Bronson at the New York and get a description of the jewels reported stolen from a Miss Ethel Cartwright. Have all thepawn-shops searched in Trenton,”—he fastened his harsh look on Amy Cartwright as he called out the names,—“Boston, Washington, Providence, Baltimore, Albany, Philadelphia—”
HE TURNED TO AMY. “YOUNG WOMAN, YOU’RE UNDER ARREST.” Page 105.HE TURNED TO AMY. “YOUNG WOMAN, YOU’RE UNDER ARREST.”Page105.
As he called out the last city the girl gave a gasp of terror, and triumph instantly lighted up her inquisitor’s grim face.
“So you pawned them in Philadelphia?” he cried.
“No, no!” she moaned.
“I did it,” Ethel Cartwright exclaimed.
“No, you didn’t,” Taylor said sharply. “You’re only trying to save her. You can’t deceive me.” He turned to Amy, “Young woman, you’re under arrest.”
“No, no,” the elder sister besought. “Take me. She’s only a child; don’t spoil her life. I’ll do whatever you like; it doesn’t matter about me. For God’s sake don’t do anything to my little sister.”
“She’s guilty,” he reminded her, “and the law says—”
“If somebody pays, what difference does it make to you or the law? Isn’t there anything I can do?” she pleaded.
Taylor paced up and down the room for a half minute before answering, while the two watched him in agony. To them he was one who could deliver themover to prison if it were his whim, or spare if he inclined to mercy.
“Surely there is some way out?” Ethel asked again.
“Yes,” he said, “there is. You can accept my proposition to enter the secret service of the United States Customs.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” she cried, “anything!”
Taylor rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and pride in his inimitable craft. “Now you’re talking!” he exclaimed. “Then we won’t send the little sister to prison.”
Amy sobbed relief in her sister’s arms.
“Then you won’t tell Bronson?” Ethel asked.
“No,” he said, “I won’t tell Bronson.”
Ethel sighed, and felt almost that she would faint.
“Now I’m sorry for you two,” Taylor said more genially, “and as long as you do what I tell you to, we’ll leave the little matter of the jewels as between your sister and her conscience. I’ll let you know when I need you. It may be to-night, it may be not for a month or a year, but when I do want you—”
“I shall be ready,” the girl declared.
“Say, Chief,” Duncan said looking in at the door,—
“Get out, I’m busy,” Taylor shouted.
“I thought you’d like to know the Mauretania wascoming up the bay,” his satellite returned, slightly aggrieved at this reception.
“She is?” said the other. “Wait a minute then. Now, Miss Cartwright, good afternoon. Remember what is at stake, your future, and your sister’s happiness. And don’t forget that my silence depends on your not failing me.”
Only a man of Taylor’s coarse and cruel mould could have looked at her without remorse or compunction. He did not see a beautiful refined woman cheerfully bearing another’s cross. He saw only a society girl, who had matched her immature wits against his and lost, was beaten and in the dust. There was a pathetic break in her voice as she answered him.
“I shall not fail you,” she said.
Duncan closed the door after them.
“Well?” Taylor demanded eagerly when they were alone. “Did Denby declare the necklace?”
“No, sir,” Duncan returned promptly.
“Then I was right,” the other commented. “He’s trying to smuggle it in. Jim, this is the biggest job we’ve ever handled.”
“Ford and Hammett are at the dock all ready to search him when I give the word.”
Duncan was sharing in his chief’s triumph, but Taylor’s next command was disappointing.
“Don’t give the word,” he enjoined. “There’s to be no search.”
“No search?” exclaimed the chagrined Duncan.
“No,” Taylor told him. “Just let him slide through with the ordinary examination. Trail Denby and his party to Westbury and be sure none of them slip the necklace to anyone on the way out there, but no fuss and no arrests, remember. Meanwhile, get up a fake warrant for the arrest of Miss Amy Cartwright. It may come in handy.”
“Yes, sir,” said Duncan obediently.
“And when you’ve told Ford and Hammett what they are to do, change your clothes and make Gibbs do the same, and meet me at the Pennsylvania Station at six o’clock.”
“Where are we going?” Duncan asked. He could see from his chief’s manner that something important was in the wind.
“To Long Island,” he was told. “We are going to call on Miss Ethel Cartwright.”
“Then you can use her to land Denby?” his subordinate cried excitedly.
“Use her?” the deputy-surveyor said with a grim smile. “Say, Jim, she doesn’t know it, but she’s going to get that necklace for me to-night.”
He hurried out of the room, leaving Duncan shakinghis head in wonderment. His chief might have qualities that were not endearing, and his manner might at times be rough, but where was there a man who rode through obstacles with the same fine disregard as Daniel Taylor?
MRS. HARRINGTON admitted freely that she had been very far-seeing in asking Denby to travel on the Mauretania with her and Monty. She was one of those modern women who count days damaging to their looks if there comes an hour of boredom in them, and her new acquaintance was always amusing.
One day when they were all three sitting on deck she asked him: “What are you going to do when you get home?”
“Nothing particular,” he replied, “except that I want to run down to Washington some time during the month.”
“You see,” Monty explained, “Steve is a great authority on the tariff. The Secretary of the Treasury does nothing without consulting him. He has to go down and help the cabinet out.”
“That’s hardly true,” Denby said mildly, “but I have friends in Washington nevertheless.” It was obvious Monty was not taken in by this. He only regarded his friend as a superb actor who refused to befrightened by the hourly alarms his faithful assistant took to him with fast-beating heart. Young Vaughan told himself a dozen times a day that this excitement, this suspicion of the motives of all strangers, was undermining his health. He had complained of the dull evenness of his existence before meeting Denby in Paris, but he felt such a lament could never again be justified. He found himself unable to sit still for long. He marvelled to see that Denby could sit for hours in a deck-chair talking to Alice without seeming to care whether mysterious strangers were eyeing him or not.
“I asked you,” Mrs. Harrington went on, “because, if you’ve nothing better to do, will you spend a week with us at Westbury? Michael will like you, and if you don’t like Michael, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”
“I’d love to come,” he said eagerly. “Thank you very much.”
“Hooray,” said Monty. “Alice, you’re a sweet soul to ask him. Of course he’ll like Michael. Who doesn’t?”
“Everybody ought to,” she said happily. “Do you know, Mr. Denby, I’m one of the only three women in our set who still love their husbands. I wouldn’t tell you that except for the reason you’ll find out. He’s the most generous soul in the world and when I go tohim with a bank-book that won’t balance, he adds it up and says I’ve made a mistake and that I’m on the right side. How many husbands would do that?”
“I might,” Monty asserted, “because I can’t add up long columns, but Michael’s a demon at statistics, or used to be.”
“He’s such an old dear,” Mrs. Harrington went on. “His one peculiar talent is the invention of new and strange drinks. I never come back from any long absence but he shows me something violently colored which is built in my honor. And Monty will tell you,” she added laughing, “that I have never been seen to shudder while he was looking. Have I, Monty?”
“You’re a good sport,” said Monty, “and if ever I kill a man, it will be Michael, and my motive will be jealousy.”
“Well, you needn’t look so unhappy about it,” she cried, as a frown passed over his face and he sank back in his chair, all his good-humor gone.
Monty had in that careless phrase, “If ever I kill a man,” reminded himself vividly of the dangers that he felt beset him and his friend Steven Denby. He had been trying to forget it and now it was with him to stay. And another and a dreadful thought occurred. Would Denby take those accursed pearls with him tothe Harrington mansion on Long Island? It was so disquieting that he rose abruptly and went into a secluded corner of the upper smoking-room and called for a cigar and a pony of brandy.
His attention was presently attracted to a stout comfortable-looking man who was staring at him as though to encourage a bow of recognition. He had noticed the stout and affable gentleman before and always in the same seat, but never before had he sought acquaintance in this manner. There was no doubt in Monty’s mind that the man was one of those suave gamblers who reap their richest harvests on the big fast liners. No doubt he knew that Monty was a Vaughan and had occasionally fallen for such professionals and inveigled into a quiet little game. But Monty felt himself of a different sort now.
There was no doubt that the affable gentleman had fully made up his mind as to his plan of action. He rose from his comfortable chair and made his way to the younger man with his hand held out in welcome.
“I thought it was you,” he said, and wrung Monty’s reluctant hand, “but you are not quite the same as when I saw you last.”
“No doubt,” Monty said coldly; “I am older andIam not the fool I used to be.”
“That’s good,” said the affable gentleman pressingthe button that was to summon a steward. “Your father will be glad to hear that.”
“Have the kindness to leave my father alone,” the younger commanded. Never in his life had Monty found himself able to be so unpleasant. There was, he discovered, a certain joy in it.
“Why, certainly,” said the other a trifle startled, “if you wish it. Only as he and I were old friends, I saw no harm in it.”
“Old friends?” sneered Monty. “Let me see, you were the same year at Yale, weren’t you?”
“Of course,” the affable stranger said, and turned to see the advancing steward. “What will you have?” he asked.
“I don’t drink with strangers,” Monty said rising.
“Strangers!” cried the other with the rising intonation of indignation. “Well, I like that!”
“Then I shall leave you with a pleasant memory,” Monty said. “Good day.”
“Stop a moment,” the stranger asked after a pause in which rage and astonishment chased themselves across his well-nourished countenance. “Who do you think I am, anyway?”
“Your name and number don’t interest me,” Monty said loftily. He noted that the steward was enjoying it after the quiet inexpressive manner of the Englishservant. “But I’ve no doubt at some time or another I lost money to you—your old college friend’s money of course—in some quiet game with your confederates.”
“Now, what do you think of that!” the red-faced man exclaimed as he watched Monty’s retreating figure. But the steward was non-committal. He was not paid to give up his inner thoughts but to bring drinks on a tray.
The stout and affable gentleman was a member of the Stock Exchanges of London and New York and made frequent journeys between these cities. He held the ocean record of having crossed more times and seen the waves less than any stock-broker living. He had passed more hours in a favorite chair in the Mauretania’s smoking-room than any man had done since time began. He was raconteur of ability and had been a close friend of the elder Vaughan’s years before at Yale. And he burned with fierce indignation when he remembered that he had held the infant Monty years ago and prophesied to a proud mother that he would be her joy and pride. Joy and pride! He snorted and fell away from his true form so far as to seek the deck and suck in fresh air.
There he happened upon Mrs. Harrington talking to Denby. She knew Godfrey Hazen. He had oftenbeen to Westbury, and Michael esteemed him for his great knowledge of the proper beverage to take for every emergency that may arise upon an ocean voyage.
“What makes you look so angry?” she exclaimed.
He calmed down when he saw her. “I’ve just been taken for a professional gambler,” he cried.
“I thought all stock-brokers were that,” she said smiling.
“I mean a different sort,” he explained, “the kind that work the big liners. I just asked him to have a drink when he said he didn’t drink with strangers and hinted I had my picture in the rogues’ gallery.”
“Who was it?” she inquired.
“That ne’er-do-well, Monty Vaughan,” he answered.
“Monty?” she said. “Impossible!”
“Is it?” he said grimly. “We’ll see. Here comes the young gentleman.”
Monty sauntered up without noticing him at first. When he did, he stopped short and was in no whit abashed. “Trying a new game?” he inquired.
“Monty, don’t you remember Mr. Hazen?” Alice said reproachfully.
“Have I made an ass of myself?” he asked miserably.
“I wouldn’t label any four-footed beast by the name I’d call you,” said Mr. Hazen firmly.
“Why didn’t you tell me your name?” Monty asked.
“You ought to have remembered me,” the implacable Hazen retorted. “Why, I held you in my arms when you were only three months old.”
“Then I wish you had dropped me and broken me,” Monty exclaimed, “and I should have been spared a lot of worry.” Things were piling up to make him more than ever nervous. He had overheard two passengers saying they understood the Mauretania’s voyagers were to have a special examination at the Customs on account of diamond smuggling. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hazen,” he said more graciously, “but I’ve things on my mind and you must accept that as the reason.”
When he had gone Mr. Hazen was introduced to Denby and prevailed upon to occupy Monty’s seat.
“I don’t like the look of it,” Mr. Hazen said, shaking his head. “At his age he oughtn’t to have any worries. I didn’t.”
“If you can keep a secret,” Mrs. Harrington confided, “I think I can tell you exactly what is the matter with Monty and I’m sure you’ll make excuses for him, Mr. Hazen.”
“Maybe,” he returned dubiously, “but you should have heard how he called me down before a steward!”
“Monty’s in love,” Mrs. Harrington declared, “and after almost two years’ absence he is going to meet her again; and the dread of not daring to propose is sapping his brain. You’re not the first. He’s been out of sorts the whole time and I’ve had to smooth things over with other people. Come, now,” she said coaxingly, “when you were young I’m sure you had some episodes of that sort yourself, now didn’t you?”
Mr. Hazen tried not to let her see the proud memories that came surging back through a quarter of a century. “Well,” he admitted, “if you put it that way, Mrs. Harrington, I’ve got to forgive the boy.”
“I knew you would,” she said, and talked nicely to him for reward.
Then the romance which he had resurrected faded; and the sight of so much salt in the waves—the unaccustomed waves—induced a provoking thirst and he rose and after a conventional lie retired to the smoking-room.
“All the same,” Mrs. Harrington remarked to Denby, “I am worried about the boy.”
“He’ll get over it,” said Steven.
“I hope so,” she returned. “His nerves are all wrong. I thought he had the absinthe habit at first, but he’s really quite temperate, and it’s mental, I suspect.It may be Nora; I hope it is. She’s a dear girl and Monty’s really a big catch.”
“Didn’t you say you had bought her a present, some valuable piece of jewelry?”
“Which I have sworn to smuggle,” she returned brightly, “despite your warning.”
“For your sake I wish you wouldn’t,” he said, “but if your mind’s made up, what will my words avail?”
“I’m not stubborn,” she cried, “even Michael admits that. I am always open to conviction.”
“If you smuggle, you are,” he said meaningly. “Really, Mrs. Harrington, you’ve no idea how strict these examinations are becoming, and this vessel seems specially marked out for extra strict inspections. The popular journals have harped on the fact that the rich, influential women who use this and boats of this class, are exempt, while the woman who saves up for a few weeks’ jaunt and brings little inexpensive presents back, is caught.”
“Are you sure of that?” she demanded.
“Why, yes,” he returned. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?” he demanded, looking at her keenly. “It doesn’t seem playing the game for the first cabin on the Mauretania to get in free while the second cabin gets caught.”
“Have you ever smuggled?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said, “but if I have, it has not been a habit with me as with some rich people I know, who could so easily afford to pay.”
“Suppose I do smuggle and get caught, I can pay without any further trouble, can’t I?” she queried.
“You’re just as likely to be detained,” he told her. “To all intents and purposes, it’s like being under arrest.”
“Oh, Lord!” she cried. “And I shouldn’t be able to get back to Michael?”
“Probably not,” he said. “You see, Mrs. Harrington, you’d be a splendid tribute to the impartiality of the service. The publicity the Customs people would get from your case would be worth a lot to them. Indirectly, you’d possibly promote hard-working inspectors.”
“But I don’t want to be a case,” she exclaimed, “I’m not anxious to be put in a cell and promote hard-working inspectors. And think of poor Michael all ready with a crimson newly-devised drink pacing the floor while I’m undergoing the third degree! Mr. Denby, I still think the laws are absurd, but I shall declare everything I’ve got. I wonder if they would let Michael hand me his crimson drink through the bars.”
Just then Monty made for them and dropped into his deck-chair.
“I’m going to be an honest woman,” she declared, “and smuggle no more. Mr. Denby is the miracle-worker. I shall probably have to borrow money to pay the duty, so be at hand, Monty.”
He looked across at Denby and sighed. His friend’s serene countenance and absence of nerves was always a source of wonderment to him. Hereafter, he swore, a life in consonance with his country’s laws. And if the first few days of the voyage had made him nervous, it was small comfort to think that the really risky part had yet to be gone through. In eliminating Alice Harrington as a fellow smuggler Monty saw extraordinary cunning. “Well,” he thought, “if anyone can carry it through it will be old Steve,” and rose obediently at Alice’s behest and brought back a wireless form on which he indited a message to the absent Michael.
Monty Vaughan had crossed the ocean often, and each time had been cheered to see in the distance the long flat coast-line of his native land. There had always been a sense of pleasurable excitement in the halt at Quarantine and the taking on board the harbor and other officials.
But this time they clambered aboard—the mostvindictive set of mortals he had ever laid eyes on—and each one of them seemed to look at Monty as though he recognized a law breaker and a desperado. Incontinently he fled to the smoking-room and ran into the arms of Godfrey Hazen.
“Never mind, my boy,” said that genial broker, “you’ll soon be out of your misery. Brace up and have a drink. I know how you feel. I’ve felt like that myself.”
“Did you get caught?” Monty gasped.
“No,” he said, for he was a bachelor, “but I’ve had some mighty narrow squeaks and once I thought I was gone.”
He watched Monty gulp down his drink with unaccustomed rapidity. “That’s right,” he said commendingly. “Have another?”
“It would choke me,” the younger answered, and fled.
Hazen shook his head pityingly. He had never been as afflicted as the heir to his old friend Vaughan. Poets might understand love and its symptoms but such manifestations were beyond him.
When Steven Denby opened his trunks to a somewhat uninterested inspector and answered his casual questions without hesitation, Monty stood at his side. It cost him something to do so but underneath hisapparent timorous nature was a strength and loyalty which would not fail at need.
And when the jaded Customs official made chalk hieroglyphics and stamped the trunks as free from further examination Monty felt a relief such as he had never known. As a poet has happily phrased it, “he chortled in his joy.”
“What’s the matter?” he demanded of Denby when he observed that his own hilarity was not shared by his companion in danger. “Why not celebrate?”
“We’re not off the dock yet,” Denby said in a low voice. “They’ve been too easy for my liking.”
“A lot we care,” Monty returned, “so long as they’re finished with us.”
“That’s just it,” he was warned, “I don’t believe they have. It’s a bit suspicious to me. Better attend to your own things now, old man.”
Monty opened his trunks in a lordly manner. So elaborate was his gesture that an inspector was distrustful and explored every crevice of his baggage with pertinacity. He unearthed with glee a pair of military hair-brushes with backs of sterling silver that Monty had bought in Bond street for Michael Harrington as he passed through London and forgotten in his alarm for bigger things.
“It pays to be honest,” said Mrs. Harrington, whohad declared her dutiable importations and felt more than ordinarily virtuous. “Monty, you bring suspicion on us all. I’m surprised at you. Just a pair of brushes, too. If you had smuggled in a diamond necklace for Nora there would be some excuse!”
The word necklace made him tremble and he did not trust himself to say a word.
“He’s too ashamed for utterance,” Denby commented, helping him to repack his trunk.
There were two Harrington motors waiting, both big cars that would carry a lot of baggage. When they were ready it was plain that only two passengers could be carried in one and the third in the second car.
“How shall we manage it?” Mrs. Harrington asked.
“If you don’t mind I’ll let you two go on,” Denby suggested, “and when I’ve sent off a telegram to my mother, I’ll follow.”
“I see,” she laughed, “you want the stage set for your entrance. Very well. Au revoir.”
Monty surprised her by shaking his friend’s hand. “Good-by, old man,” said Monty sorrowfully. He was not sure that he would ever see Steven again.
MICHAEL HARRINGTON walked up and down the big hall of his Long Island home looking at the clock and his own watch as if to detect them in the act of refusing to register the correct time of day. Although it was probable his wife, Monty and the guest of whose coming a wireless message had apprised him, would not be home for another hour, he was always anxious at such a moment.
He was a man of fifty-eight, exceedingly good-tempered, and very much in love with his wife. When Alice had married a man twenty-four years her senior there had been prophecies that it would not last long. But the two Harringtons had confounded such dismal predictions and lived—to their own vast amusement—to be held up as exemplars of matrimonial felicity in a set where such a state was not too frequent.
His perambulations were interrupted by the entrance of Lambart, a butler with a genius for his service,who bore on a silver tray a siphon of seltzer water, a decanter of Scotch whiskey and a pint bottle of fine champagne.
Lambart had, previously to his importation, valeted the late lamented Marquis of St. Mervyn, an eccentric peer who had broken his noble neck in a steeplechase. Like most English house-servants he was profoundly conservative; and after two positions which he had left because his employers treated him almost as an equal, he had come to the Harringtons and taken a warm but perfectly respectful liking to his millionaire employer. Lambart was a remarkably useful person and it was his proud boast that none had ever beheld him slumbering. Certain it was that a bell summoned him at any hour of the day or night, and he had never grumbled at such calls.
Harrington looked at the refreshment inquiringly. “Did I order this?” he demanded.
“No, sir,” Lambart answered, “but my late employer Lord St. Mervyn always said that when he was waiting like you are, sir, it steadied his nerves to have a little refreshment.”
“I should have liked the Marquis if I’d known him,” Michael Harrington observed when his thirst was quenched. “I think I could have paid him no prettier compliment than to have named a Rocksandcolt after him, Lambart. The colt won at Deauville last week, by the way.”
“Yes, sir,” Lambart returned, “I took the liberty of putting a bit on him; I won, too.”
“Good,” said his employer, “I’m glad. He ought to have a good season in France. I like France for two things—racing and what they call theheure de l’aperitif. When I go to Rome I do as the Romans do, and I have the pleasantest recollections of my afternoons in France.”
He noticed that Lambart, bringing over to him a box of cigars, turned his head as though to listen. “I believe, sir,” said the butler, “that the car is coming up the drive.”
He hurried to the open French window and looked out. “Yes, sir,” he cried, “it is one of our cars and Mrs. Harrington is in it.”
Michael Harrington rose hastily to his feet. “Great Scott, my wife! The boat must have docked early.” He pointed to the whiskey and champagne. “Get rid of these; and not a word, Lambart, not a word.”
“Certainly not, sir,” Lambart answered; “I couldn’t make a mistake of that sort after being with the Marquis of St. Mervyn for seven years.”
He took up the tray quickly and carried it off as Nora Rutledge—the girl for whose sake poor Montyhad passed hours of alternate misery and hope—came in to tell her host the news.
“Alice is here,” she cried, “and Monty Vaughan with her.”
Nora was a pretty, clever girl of two and twenty with the up-to-date habit of slangy smartness fully developed and the customary lack of reticence over her love-affairs or those of anyone else in whom she was interested. But for all her pert sayings few girls were more generally liked than she, for the reason that she was genuine and wholesome.
“Fine,” Michael said heartily. “Where are they? How is she? Was it a good voyage?”
A moment later his wife had rushed into his arms.
“You dear old thing,” she exclaimed affectionately.
“By George! I’m glad to see you,” he said, “you’ve been away for ages.”
“You seem to have survived it well enough,” she laughed.
“Tell me everything you’ve done,” he insisted.
While she tried to satisfy this comprehensive order, Monty was assuring Nora how delighted he was to see her.
“It’s bully to find you here,” he said, shaking her hand. “I nearly hugged you.”
“Well, why didn’t you?” she retorted.
“I’ve half a mind to,” he said, stretching out his arms; but she drew back.
“No. Not now. It’s cold. Hugs must be spontaneous.”
“Where’s Ethel?” Mrs. Harrington called to her.
“Upstairs, changing. You see we didn’t think you could get in so early and you weren’t expected for another half-hour. She ought to be down in a minute or so.”
“Why didn’t you come down and meet us, old man?” Monty asked of his host.
“Wife’s orders,” Harrington responded promptly.
“It’s such a nuisance to have people meet one at the pier,” Alice explained. “I’m sure Monty was glad you weren’t there to witness his humiliation. He was held up for smuggling and narrowly escaped deportation.”
“Oh, Monty,” Nora cried, “how lovely! Was it something for me? Don’t scowl when I ask a perfectly reasonable question.”
“It wasn’t,” Monty said wretchedly. He had in his joy at meeting her forgotten all about smuggling and now the whole thing loomed up again. “I’ve got half Long Island in my eyes, and if you don’t mind, Alice, I’ll go and wash up.”
“And you won’t tell me anything about your crime?” Nora pouted.
“Meet me in the Pagoda in five minutes,” he whispered, “and I will. It’s mighty nice to see a pretty girl again who can talk American.”
“As if men cared what girls say,” she observed sagely. “It’s the way they look that counts.”
When Monty was gone she strolled back to where Alice was sitting.
“Did you have a good trip?” she demanded.
“Bully,” Alice answered her. “Steven Denby’s most attractive and mysterious.”
“Denby!” Harrington repeated. “Why, I’d clean forgotten about Denby. Where is he?”
“The limousine was so full of Monty and me and my hand-baggage that we sent him on in the other car. He had to send some telegrams, so he didn’t overtake us till we were this side of Jamaica, where they promptly had a blow-out. He won’t be long.”
“What Mr. Denby is he?” Nora asked with interest.
“Yes,” Michael asked, “do I know him? I don’t think I ever heard of him.”
“Nor did I,” his wife told him. “Perhaps that’s what makes him so mysterious.”
“Then why on earth have him down here?” her husband asked mildly.
“Because Monty’s devoted to him. They were at school together. And also, Michael dear, because I like him and you’ll like him. Even if I am married, love has not made me blind to other charming men.”
“But, shall I like him?” Nora wanted to know.
“I did the minute I met him,” Alice confessed. “He has a sort of ’come hither’ in his eyes and the kind of hair I always want to run my hand through. You will, too, Nora.”
“But you see I’m not a married woman,” Nora retorted, “so I mayn’t have your privileges.”
Alice laughed. “Don’t be absurd. I haven’t done it yet—but I may.”
“I don’t doubt it in the least,” said Michael, contentedly caressing her hand.
“He has such an air,” Mrs. Harrington explained, “sort of secret and wicked. He might be a murderer or something fascinating like that.”
“Splendid fellow for a week-end,” her husband commented.
She looked at her watch. “I’d no idea it was so late. I must dress.”
“All right,” Nora agreed. “Let’s see what’s become of Ethel.”
“Just a minute, Alice,” her husband called as she was mounting the broad stairway that led from the hall.
“Run along, Nora,” Alice said, “I’ll be up in a minute.”
“I’ll go and wait for Monty,” the girl returned. “I think you’re going to be lectured.” She sauntered out of the French windows toward the Pagoda.
“Well,” said Alice smiling, “what is it?”
“I just wanted to tell you how mighty glad I was to see you,” he confessed.
“And, Mikey dear,” she said simply, “I’m mighty glad to see you.”
“Are you really?” he demanded. “You’re not missing Paris?”
“Paris be hanged,” she retorted; “I’m in love with a man and not with a town.”
“It’s still me?” Michael asked a little wistfully.
“Always you,” she said softly. “One big reason I like to go abroad is because it makes me so glad to get back to you.” She sat on the arm of his chair and patted his head affectionately.
“But look here,” said Michael with an affectation of reproof, “whenever I want a little trot around the country and suggest leaving, you begin—”
She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him.
“Oh, that’s very different. When we do separate I always want to be the one to leave, not to be left.”
“Itismuch easier to go than to stay,” he agreed, “and I’ve been pretty lonely these last six weeks.”
“But you’ve had a lot of business to attend to,” she reminded him.
“That’s finished two weeks ago.”
“And then you’ve had the insidious Lambart and all the Scotch you wanted.”
“’Tisn’t nearly as much fun to drink when you’re away,” he insisted. “It always takes the sport out of it not to be stopped.”
“Oh, Fibber!” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, most of the sport,” he corrected. He held her off at arm’s length and regarded her with admiration. “Do you know, I sometimes wonder what ever made you marry me.”
“Sometimes I wonder, too,” she answered, “but not often! I really think we’re the ideal married couple, sentimental when we’re alone, and critical when we have guests.”
“That’s true,” he admitted proudly, “and most people hate each other in private and love each other in public.” Michael hugged her to emphasize the correctness of their marital deportment.
“You are a dear old thing,” she said affectionately.
“Do you know I don’t feel a bit married,” he returned boyishly, “I just feel in love.”
“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me,” she said, rising and kissing him. “But I’ve got to go and find Ethel now.”
“You’ve made me feel fairly dizzy,” he asserted, still holding her hand, “I need a drink to sober up.”
“Oh, Michael,” she cried reprovingly, and drew away from him “I believe you’ve been trying to get around me just for that!”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said smiling. “Now, do you?”
“No, I don’t, Mikey,” she admitted. “But be careful, here’s Monty and Nora.”
“Heavens!” cried Nora, looking in, “still lecturing, you two?”
“You do look rather henpecked,” Monty said, addressing his host.
“Yes,” Michael sighed, “we’ve been having a dreadful row, but I’m of a forgiving nature and I’m going to reward her. Monty, touch that button there, I want Lambart.”
Alice looked at him in wonderment. “What do you mean?”
“Wait,” he said with a chuckle. “Lambart,” hecommanded, as the butler stood before him, “bring it in.” There was respect in his tone. “It ought to be at its best now.”
On a silver salver Lambart bore in and presented to his mistress a large liqueur glass filled with a clear liquid of delicate mauve hue.
Alice looked at it a little fearfully. “Oh, Mikey,” she said, “is this another new invention?”
“My best,” he said proudly.
“Can’t I share it?” she pleaded.
“No more than I can my heart,” he said firmly. “It is to be named after you.”
Heroically she gulped it down.
“Oh, how sweet it is,” she exclaimed.
“I know,” he admitted. “But as it isn’t sugar you needn’t mind. I use saccharin which is about a thousand times as sweet. And the beauty of saccharin,” he confided to the others, “is that it stays with you. When I first discovered this Crême d’Alicia as I call it, I tasted it for days.”
“It’s a perfectly divine color,” Nora remarked enthusiastically. “I’ve always dreamed of a dress exactly that shade. How did you do it?”
“Experimenting with the coal tar dyes,” he said proudly. “I’m getting rather an expert on coal tar compounds. That color was Perkins’ mauve.”
“That was more than mauve,” Nora insisted. “I’ve plenty of mauve things.”
He raised his hand. “No you don’t, Nora! You don’t get the result of my years of close study like that. I’ll make you each a present of a bottle before you go. We’ll have it with coffee every night. Mauve was the foundation upon which I built.”
“It’s a little rich for me, Mikey dear,” his wife said anxiously. “I think it will make a far better winter cordial. I’m going upstairs to see Ethel now.”
He watched her disappear and then turned to Nora and Monty with a twinkle in his eye. “I think after my labors I need a little cocktail. In France they call this theheure de l’aperitif, as Monty probably knows, and I have a private bar of my own. Don’t give me away, children.”
Nora looked at her companion with a frown. She had been looking for his coming, and now when he was here, he had nothing to say.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded suddenly.
“I’m wondering where Steven is,” he returned anxiously. “A blow-out oughtn’t to keep him all this time.”
“But what makes you jump so?” she insisted.“You never used to be like this. Is it St. Vitus’s dance?”
He turned to her with an assumption of freedom from care.
“I am a bit nervous, Nora,” he admitted. “You see, Steven and I are in a big deal together, and, er, the markets go up and down like the temperature and it keeps me sorts of anxious.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve gone into business?” she said.
“Not exactly,” he prevaricated, “and yet I have in a way. It’s something secret.”
“Well,” said Nora, with sound common sense, “if it frightens you so, why go in for it?”
“Well, everything was kind of tepid in Paris,” he explained.
“Tepid in Paris?” she cried.
“Why, yes,” he told her. “Paris can’t always live up to her reputation. I’d been there studying French banking systems so long that I wanted some excitement and joined Steve in his scheme.”
“Oh, Monty,” she said interested, and sitting on the couch at his side, “if it’s really exciting, tell me everything. Are you being pursued?”
He looked at her aggrieved. “Now what do you suggest that for?” he demanded.
“But what is it?” she insisted.
“I can’t tell you,” he said decidedly. “Steve is one of my oldest friends and I promised him.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about him,” she cried a little impatiently. “You and he went to college together and sang, ‘A Stein on the Table,’ and went on sprees together and made love to the same girls, and played on the same teams. I know all that college stuff.”
“But we didn’t go to college together,” he said.
“Alice said you did,” she returned, “or to school or something together, but don’t take that as an excuse to get reminiscent. I hate men’s reminiscences; they make me so darned envious. I wish I’d been a man, Monty.”
“I don’t,” said he smiling.
“Don’t try to flirt with me,” she exclaimed, as he edged a little nearer.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“You don’t know how,” she said and smiled provokingly.
For a moment Monty forgot pearls and Customs and all unpleasant things.
“Teach me,” he entreated.
“It can’t be taught,” she said. “It’s got to be born in you.” She cast her eyes down and looked alluringlyat him through curling lashes. There was the opportunity for Monty to see whether he had any skill at the ancient game, but a sudden numbing nervousness took hold of him. And while he could have written a prize essay on what he should have done, he had not the courage to make the attempt.
“Well?” she said presently. “Go on.”
“I wonder where Steve is?” he said desperately.
“You’re hopeless,” she cried exasperated. “I don’t know where ‘Steve’ is, and I don’t care. I hope he’s under the car with gasoline dripping into his eyes.”
Poor Monty groaned; for it was equally true that he at this particular moment was anxious to forget everything but the pretty girl at his side.
“Nora,” he said nervously, “for the last year there’s been something trembling on my lips—”
“Oh, Monty,” she cried ecstatically, “don’t shave it off, I love it!”
He rose, discomfited, to meet his hostess coming toward him with Miss Ethel Cartwright, a close friend of hers whom he had never before met. He noticed Michael quietly working his unobtrusive way back to the position where Alice had left him, wiping his moustache with satisfaction.
“Monty,” said Mrs. Harrington, “I don’t thinkyou’ve ever met my very best friend, Miss Cartwright.”
“How do you do,” the girl said smiling.
“Be kind to him, Ethel,” Michael remarked genially. “He’s a nice boy and the idol of the Paris Bourse.”
“And an awful flirt,” Nora chimed in. “If I had had a heart he would have broken it long ago.”
“Do you know,” Alice said, “it has never occurred to me to think of Monty as a flirt. Are you a flirt, Monty?”
“No,” he said indignantly.
“You needn’t be so emphatic when I ask you,” she said reprovingly. She sighed. “I suppose it’s one of the penalties of age. I’ve known him a disgracefully long time, Ethel, before the Palisades were grown-up.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get down to meet you, Alice,” Miss Cartwright said, “I did mean to, but business detained me.”
“Business in August!” Nora commented.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” her hostess observed. “We were disgraced by having in our merry party a smuggler who was caught with the goods and narrowly escaped Sing Sing.”
“There you go again,” Monty grumbled. “I hate the very sound of the word.”
“I say, Ethel,” Michael observed, watching herclosely, “you do look a bit pale. Business in weather like this doesn’t suit you. No bad news, I hope?”
He knew that the division of the late Vernon Cartwright’s fortune was very disappointing and might narrow the girls’ income considerably.
“It turned out all right, thank you,” the girl answered nervously.
“How’s Amy?” Mr. Harrington asked. He was fond of the Cartwrights and had known them from childhood. “Why isn’t she here?”
“It isn’t to be a big party, Michael,” his wife reminded him. “Men are so scarce in August I didn’t ask Amy. She’s all right, I hope, Ethel?”
“Yes, thanks,” Miss Cartwright answered.
“I wonder where Steve is?” Monty said for the fifth time. “He ought to have that tire fixed by now.”
“I hope he hasn’t smashed up,” said Alice.
“So do I,” Michael retorted. “It was a mighty good car—almost new—and I left a silver pocket-flask in it, I remember.”
“Is someone else coming?” Ethel Cartwright asked.
“A perfectly charming man, a Steven Denby.”
“Steven Denby?” Miss Cartwright cried, her face lighting up. “Really?”
“Do you know him then?” Mrs. Harrington asked.
“Indeed I do,” she answered.
“What, you know Steve?” Monty asked in surprise.
“Tell us about him,” Nora besought her.
“Yes, who is he?” Michael wanted to know. “Alice has been trying to rouse me to the depths of my jealous nature about him!”
“Isn’t he fascinating?” Alice observed.
“I can only tell you all,” Ethel Cartwright declared, “that I know him. I met him in Paris a year ago.”
“Didn’t you like him?” Alice inquired.
“I did, very much,” the girl said frankly.
Nora spoke in a disappointed manner. “Well, he’s evidently yours for this week-end.”
“I daresay he won’t even remember me,” the other girl returned.
“Oh, I bet he will,” said Nora, who was able to give Ethel credit for her charm and beauty. “I shall just have to stick around with Monty—a wild tempestuous flirt like Monty!”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Monty said with an air of condescension, “not particularly.”
“It’s time to dress, good people,” Michael reminded them.
“Come on, Nora,” Alice said rising. “Come, Monty. Ethel, you’ll have to amuse yourself, as Michael isn’t to be depended on.”
“You wrong me, my dear,” Michael retorted.“I’m going for my one solitary cocktail and then I’ll be back.”
“And only one, remember,” Alice warned him.
“You know me, my dear,” he said, “when I say one.”
“You sometimes mean only one at a time,” she laughed. “You are still the same consistent old Michael. And by the way, if Mr. Denby does happen to turn up, tell him we’ll be down soon.”
“I’ll send him in to Ethel if he comes.”
“Yes, please do,” the girl said brightly.
When she was left alone in the big hall, the coolest apartment in the big house during the afternoon, Ethel Cartwright went to the French windows and looked out over the smooth lawns to the trees at the back of them. A long drive wound its way to the highroad, up which she could see speeding a big motor. The porte-cochère was at the other side of the house and she retraced her steps to the hall she had left with the hope of meeting the man she had liked so much a year ago in Paris.
A minute later he was ushered in, but did not at first see her. Then, as he looked about the big apartment, he caught sight of the girl, and stood for a moment staring as though he could hardly venture to believe it was she.
“Miss Cartwright,” he cried enthusiastically, “is it really you?”
She took his outstretched hands graciously. “How do you do, Mr. Denby,” she said.
“Mr. Harrington told me to expect a surprise,” he cried, “but I was certainly not prepared for such a pleasant one as this. How are you?”
“Splendid,” she answered. “And you?”
“Very, very grateful to be here.”
“I wondered if you’d remember me,” she said; “it’s a long time ago since we were in Paris.”
“It was only the day before yesterday,” he asserted.
“And what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Oh, I thought I’d run over and see if New York was finished yet.”
“Are you still doing—nothing?” she demanded, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.
He looked at her with a smile. “Still—nothing,” he answered.
“Ah,” she sighed, “I had such hopes of you, a year ago in Paris.”
“And I of you,” he said, boldly looking into her eyes.
Her manner was more distant now. “I’m afraid I don’t admire idlers very much. Why don’t you do something? You’ve ability enough, Mr. Denby.”
“It’s so difficult to get a thrill out of business,” he complained.
“And you must have thrills?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “it’s such a dull old world nowadays.”
“Then why,” she exclaimed jestingly, “why don’t you take to crime?”
“I have thought of it,” he laughed, “but the stake’s too high—a thrill against prison.”
“So you want only little thrills then, Mr. Denby?”
“No,” he told her, “I’d like big ones better. Life or even death—but not prison. And what have you done since I saw you last? You are still doing nothing, too?”
“Nothing,” she said, smiling.
“And you’re still Miss Cartwright?”
“OnlyMiss Cartwright,” she corrected.
“Good,” he said, looking at her steadily. “By George, it doesn’t seem a year since that week in Paris. What made you disappear just as we were having such bully times?”
“I had to come back to America suddenly. I had only an hour to catch the boat. I explained all that in my note though. Didn’t you even take the trouble to read it?”
He looked at her amazed. “I never even receivedit.” There was a touch of relief in his voice. “So you sent me a note! Do you know, I thought you’d dropped me, and I tell you I hit with an awful crash.”
“I sent it by a porter and even gave him a franc,” she smiled. “I ought to have given him five.”
“I’d willingly have given him fifty,” Denby said earnestly. “It wasn’t nice to think that I’d been dropped like that.”
“And I thought you’d dropped me,” she said.
“I should say not,” he exclaimed. “I was over here six months ago and I did try to see you, but you were at Palm Beach. I can’t tell you how often I’ve sent you telepathic messages,” he added whimsically. “Ever get any of ’em?”
“Some of them, I think,” she said smiling. “And now to think we’ve met here on Long Island. It’s a far cry to Paris.”
“For me it’s people who make places—the places themselves don’t matter—you and I are here,” he said gently.
The girl sighed a little. “Still, Paris is Paris,” she insisted.
“Rather!” he answered, sighing too. “Do you remember that afternoon in front of the Café de la Paix? We hadvin grisand watched the Frenchman with the funny dog, and the boys callingLa Presse, and thewoman who made you buy some ‘North Wind’ for me, and the people crowding around the newspaper kiosks.”
In the adjoining room Nora was strumming the piano, and was now playing “Un Peu d’Amour.” She had looked in the hall and finding the stranger so wholly absorbed in Ethel Cartwright, had retired to solitude.
“And do you remember the hole in the table-cloth?” Ethel demanded.
“And wasn’t it a dirty table-cloth?” he reminded her. “And afterwards we had tea in the Bois at the Cascade and the Hungarian Band played ‘Un Peu d’Amour.’” He looked at the girl smiling. “How did you arrange to have that played just at the right moment?”
They listened in silence for a moment to the dainty melody, and then she hummed a few bars of it. Her thoughts were evidently far away from Long Island.
“And don’t you remember that poor skinny horse in our fiacre?” she asked him. “He was so tired he fell down, and we walked home in pity.”
“Ah, you were tender-hearted,” he sighed.
“And we had dinner at Vian’s afterwards,” she reminded him, and then, after a pause: “Wasn’t the soup awful?”
“Ah, but the string-beans were an event,” he asserted. “And that evening, I remember, there was a moon over the Bois, and we sat under the trees. Have you forgotten that?”
“I don’t think that would be very easy,” she said softly.
“And we went through the Louvre the next day,” he said eagerly, “the whole Louvre in an hour, and the loveliest picture I saw there was—you.”
Denby glanced up with a frown as Lambart’s gentle footfall was heard, and rose to his feet a trifle embarrassed by this intrusion. Lambart came to a respectful pause at Miss Cartwright’s side.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but there is a gentleman to see you.” She took a card that was on the tray he held before her.
“To see me?” she cried, startled, gazing at the card. Denby, watching her closely, saw her grow, as he thought, pale. “Ask him to come in. Mr. Denby,” she said, “will you forgive me?”
“Surely,” he assented, walking toward the great stairway. “I have to dress, anyway.”
“Your room is at the head of the stairs,” Lambart reminded him. “All your luggage is taken in, sir.”
Denby looked down at her. “Till dinner?” he asked.
“Till dinner,” she said, and watched him pass out of sight. She was a girl whose poise of manner prevented the betrayal of vivid emotion in any but a certain subdued fashion. But it was plain she was laboring now under an agitation that amounted almost to deadly fear.
A few seconds later Daniel Taylor strode in with firm assured tread and looked at the luxurious surroundings with approval.
“Good evening, Miss Cartwright,” he exclaimed genially. “Good evening.”
“My sister,” she returned, trembling, “nothing’s happened to her? She’s all right?”
“Sure, sure,” he returned reassuringly, “I haven’t bothered her; the little lady’s all right, don’t you worry.”
“Then what do you want here?” she cried alarmed. No matter what his manner this man had menace in every look and gesture. She had never been brought into contact with one who gave in so marked a degree the impression of ruthless strength.
“I thought I’d drop in with reference to our little chat this afternoon,” he remarked easily. “Nice place they’ve got here.”
“But I don’t understand why you have come,” she persisted.
“You haven’t forgotten our little conversation, I hope?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“Well,” he continued, “you said when I needed you, you’d be ready.” He looked about him cautiously as though fearing interruption. “I said it might be a year, or it might be a month, or it might be to-night. Well, it’s to-night, Miss Cartwright. I need you right now.”
“Now?” she said puzzled. “Still, I don’t understand.”
He lowered his voice. “A man has smuggled a two hundred thousand dollar necklace through the Customs to-day. For various reasons which you wouldn’t understand, we allowed him to slip through, thinking he’d fooled us. Now that he believes himself safe, it ought to be easy to get that necklace. We’ve got to get it; and we’re going to get it, through one of our agents.” He pointed a forefinger at her. “We’re going to get it through you.”
“But I shouldn’t know how to act,” she protested, “or what to do.”
Taylor smiled. “You’re too modest, Miss Cartwright. I’ve seen some of your work in my own office, and I think you’ll be successful.”
“But don’t you see I’m staying here over Sunday?” she explained. “I can’t very well make an excuse and leave now.”
“You don’t have to leave,” he told her.
“What do you mean, then?” she demanded.
“That the man who smuggled the necklace is staying here, too. His name is Steven Denby.”
“Steven Denby!” the girl cried, shrinking away from him. “Oh, no, you must be mad—he isn’t a smuggler.”
“Why isn’t he?” Taylor snapped.
“I know him,” she explained.
“You do?” he cried. “Where did you meet him?”
“In Paris,” she replied.
“How long have you known him?”
“Just about a year,” she answered.
“What do you know about him?” Taylor asked quickly. It was evident that her news seemed very important to him. “What’s his business? How does he make his living? Do you know his people?”
“I don’t think he does anything,” she said hesitatingly.
“Nothing, eh?” Taylor laughed disagreeably. “I suppose you think that’s clear proof he couldn’t be a smuggler?”
“I’m sure you are wrong,” she said with spirit; “he’s my friend.”
“Your friend!” Taylor returned. His manner from that of the bluff cross-examiner changed to one that had something confidential and friendly in it. “Why, that ought to make it easier.”
“Easier?” she repeated. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you can get into his confidence. See?”
“But you’re wrong,” she said indignantly. “I’m sure he is absolutely innocent.”
“Then you’ll be glad of a chance to prove we’re wrong and you’re right.”
“But I couldn’t spy on a friend,” she declared.
“If your friend is innocent it won’t do him any harm,” Taylor observed, “and he’d never know. But if he’s guilty he deserves punishment, and you’ve no right to try and protect him. Any person would only be doing right in helping to detect a criminal; but you,”—he paused significantly,—“it’s just as much your duty as it is mine.” He showed her his gold badge of authority for a brief moment, and although it terrified her there was too much loyalty in her nature to betray a friend or even to spy upon one.
“No, no! I can’t do it,” she said.
“So you’re going back on your agreement,” he sneered. “Two can play that game. Suppose I go back on mine, too?”
“You wouldn’t do that,” she cried horrified at his threat.
“Why not?” he returned. “It’s give and take in this world.”
“But I couldn’t be so contemptible.”
Taylor shrugged his shoulders. “If I were you I’d think it over,” he recommended.
“But supposing you’re wrong,” she said earnestly. “Suppose he has no necklace?”
“Don’t let that disturb you,” he retorted. “Our information is positive. We got a telegram late this afternoon from a pal of his who squealed, giving us a tip about it. Now what do you say?”
“I can’t,” she said, “I can’t.”
He came closer, and said in a low harsh voice: “Remember, it’s Steven Denby or your sister. There’s no other way out. Which are you going to choose?”
He watched her pale face eagerly. “Well,” he cried, “which is it to be?”
“I have no choice,” she answered dully. “What do you want me to do?”
“Good,” Taylor cried approvingly. “That’s the way to talk! Denby has that necklace concealed in a brown leather tobacco-pouch which he always carries in his pocket. You must get me that pouch.”
“How can I?” she asked despairingly.
“I’ll leave that to you,” he answered.
“But couldn’t you do it?” she pleaded. “Or one of your men? Why ask me?”
“It may be a bluff, some clever scheme to throw me off the track and I’m not going to risk a mix-up with the Harringtons or tip my hand till I’m absolutely sure. It don’t pay me to make big mistakes. You say Denby’s your friend, well, then, it’ll be easy to find out. If you discover that the necklace is in the tobacco-pouch, get him to go for a walk in the garden; say you want to look at the moon, say anything, so long as you get him into the garden where we’ll be on the lookout and grab him.”
“But he might go out there alone,” she suggested.
“If he does,” Taylor assured her, “we won’t touch him, but if he comes out there with you, we’llknow.”
“But if I can’t get him into the garden?” she urged. “Something may happen to prevent me!”
“If you’re sure he has it on him,” Taylor instructed her, “or if you make out where it is concealed, pull down one of these window-shades. My men and I can see these from the garden. When we get your signal we’ll come in and arrest him. Sure you understand?”
“I’m to pull down the window-shade,” she repeated.
“That’s it, but be careful, mind. Don’t bring himout in the garden, and don’t signal unless you are absolutely certain.”
“Yes, yes,” she said.
“And under no circumstances,” he commanded, “must you mention my name.”
“But,” she argued, “suppose—”
“There’s no ‘buts’ and no ‘supposes’ in it,” he said sharply. “It’s most important to the United States Government and to me, that my identity is in no way disclosed.”
“It may be necessary,” she persisted.
“Itcannotbe necessary,” he said with an air of finality. “If it comes to a show-down and you tell Denby I’m after him, I’ll not only swear I never saw you, but I’ll put your sister in prison. Now, good night, Miss Cartwright, and remember you’ve got something at stake, too, so don’t forget—Denby to-night.”
He went silently through the French windows and disappeared, leaving her to face for the second time in a day an outlook that seemed hopeless.
But she was not the only one in the great Harrington mansion to feel that little zest was left in life. Monty was obsessed with the idea that his friend’s long delay was due to his having been held up. The automobile lends itself admirably to highway robbery, and itwould be easy enough for armed robbers to overpower Denby and the chauffeur.
Directly he heard Denby’s voice talking to Lambart as he was shown into his room, Monty burst in and wrung his hands again and again.
“Why, Monty,” his friend said, “you overpower me.”
“I thought you’d been held up and robbed,” the younger man cried.
“Neither one nor the other,” Denby said cheerfully, “I was merely the victim of two blow-outs. But,” he added, looking keenly at his confederate, “if I had been held up the pearls wouldn’t have been taken. I didn’t happen to have them with me.”