Under Cover

by Wyndham Martyn

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Michael Harrington walked up and down the big hall of his Long Islandhome looking at the clock and his own watch as if to detect them in theact of refusing to register the correct time of day. Although it wasprobable his wife, Monty and the guest of whose coming a wirelessmessage had apprised him, would not be home for another hour, he wasalways anxious at such a moment.

  He was a man of fifty-eight, exceedingly good-tempered, and very much inlove with his wife. When Alice had married a man twenty-four years hersenior there had been prophecies that it would not last long. But thetwo Harringtons had confounded such dismal predictions and lived--totheir own vast amusement--to be held up as exemplars of matrimonialfelicity in a set where such a state was not too frequent.

  His perambulations were interrupted by the entrance of Lambart, a butlerwith a genius for his service, who bore on a silver tray a siphon ofseltzer water, a decanter of Scotch whiskey and a pint bottle of finechampagne.

  Lambart had, previously to his importation, valeted the late lamentedMarquis of St. Mervyn, an eccentric peer who had broken his noble neckin a steeplechase. Like most English house-servants he was profoundlyconservative; and after two positions which he had left because hisemployers treated him almost as an equal, he had come to the Harringtonsand taken a warm but perfectly respectful liking to his millionaireemployer. Lambart was a remarkably useful person and it was his proudboast that none had ever beheld him slumbering. Certain it was that abell summoned him at any hour of the day or night, and he had nevergrumbled at such calls.

  Harrington looked at the refreshment inquiringly. "Did I order this?" hedemanded.

  "No, sir," Lambart answered, "but my late employer Lord St. Mervynalways said that when he was waiting like you are, sir, it steadied hisnerves to have a little refreshment."

  "I should have liked the Marquis if I'd known him," Michael Harringtonobserved when his thirst was quenched. "I think I could have paid him noprettier compliment than to have named a Rocksand colt 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 onhim; I won, too."

  "Good," said his employer, "I'm glad. He ought to have a good season inFrance. I like France for two things--racing and what they call the_heure de l'aperitif_. When I go to Rome I do as the Romans do, and Ihave the pleasantest recollections of my afternoons in France."

  He noticed that Lambart, bringing over to him a box of cigars, turnedhis head as though to listen. "I believe, sir," said the butler, "thatthe car is coming up the drive."

  He hurried to the open French window and looked out. "Yes, sir," hecried, "it is one of our cars and Mrs. Harrington is in it."

  Michael Harrington rose hastily to his feet. "Great Scott, my wife! Theboat 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 ofthat 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--thegirl for whose sake poor Monty had passed hours of alternate misery andhope--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-datehabit of slangy smartness fully developed and the customary lack ofreticence over her love-affairs or those of anyone else in whom she wasinterested. But for all her pert sayings few girls were more generallyliked than she, for the reason that she was genuine and wholesome.

  "Fine," Michael said heartily. "Where are they? How is she? Was it agood 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 assuringNora how delighted he was to see her.

  "It's bully to find you here," he said, shaking her hand. "I nearlyhugged you."

  "Well, why didn't you?" she retorted.

  "I've half a mind to," he said, stretching out his arms; but she drewback.

  "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 earlyand you weren't expected for another half-hour. She ought to be down ina minute or so."

  "Why didn't you come down and meet us, old man?" Monty asked of hishost.

  "Wife's orders," Harrington responded promptly.

  "It's such a nuisance to have people meet one at the pier," Aliceexplained. "I'm sure Monty was glad you weren't there to witness hishumiliation. He was held up for smuggling and narrowly escapeddeportation."

  "Oh, Monty," Nora cried, "how lovely! Was it something for me? Don'tscowl when I ask a perfectly reasonable question."

  "It wasn't," Monty said wretchedly. He had in his joy at meeting herforgotten 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'smighty nice to see a pretty girl again who can talk American."

  "As if men cared what girls say," she observed sagely. "It's the waythey 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 andmysterious."

  "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 wesent him on in the other car. He had to send some telegrams, so hedidn't overtake us till we were this side of Jamaica, where theypromptly 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 ofhim."

  "Nor did I," his wife told him. "Perhaps that's what makes him somysterious."

  "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 ammarried, 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 'comehither' in his eyes and the kind of hair I always want to run my handthrough. You will, too, Nora."

  "But you see I'm not a married woman," Nora retorted, "so I mayn't haveyour 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 herhand.

  "He has such an air," Mrs. Harrington explained, "sort of secret andwicked. 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 broadstairway 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 goingto be lectured." She sauntered out of the French windows toward thePagoda.

  "Well," said Alice smiling, "what is it?"

  "I just wanted to tell you how mighty glad I was to see you," heconfessed. />
  "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 atown."

  "It's still me?" Michael asked a little wistfully.

  "Always you," she said softly. "One big reason I like to go abroad isbecause it makes me so glad to get back to you." She sat on the arm ofhis chair and patted his head affectionately.

  "But look here," said Michael with an affectation of reproof, "wheneverI want a little trot around the country and suggest leaving, youbegin--"

  She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him.

  "Oh, that's very different. When we do separate I always want to be theone to leave, not to be left."

  "It _is_ much easier to go than to stay," he agreed, "and I've beenpretty 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 youwanted."

  "'Tisn't nearly as much fun to drink when you're away," he insisted. "Italways 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 lengthand regarded her with admiration. "Do you know, I sometimes wonder whatever made you marry me."

  "Sometimes I wonder, too," she answered, "but not often! I really thinkwe're the ideal married couple, sentimental when we're alone, andcritical when we have guests."

  "That's true," he admitted proudly, "and most people hate each other inprivate and love each other in public." Michael hugged her to emphasizethe 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 justfeel in love."

  "That's the nicest thing you ever said to me," she said, rising andkissing 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 believeyou'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 andNora."

  "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 aforgiving nature and I'm going to reward her. Monty, touch that buttonthere, I want Lambart."

  Alice looked at him in wonderment. "What do you mean?"

  "Wait," he said with a chuckle. "Lambart," he commanded, as the butlerstood before him, "bring it in." There was respect in his tone. "Itought to be at its best now."

  On a silver salver Lambart bore in and presented to his mistress a largeliqueur glass filled with a clear liquid of delicate mauve hue.

  Alice looked at it a little fearfully. "Oh, Mikey," she said, "is thisanother 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 afteryou."

  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 usesaccharin which is about a thousand times as sweet. And the beauty ofsaccharin," he confided to the others, "is that it stays with you. WhenI first discovered this Creme d'Alicia as I call it, I tasted it fordays."

  "It's a perfectly divine color," Nora remarked enthusiastically. "I'vealways dreamed of a dress exactly that shade. How did you do it?"

  "Experimenting with the coal tar dyes," he said proudly. "I'm gettingrather an expert on coal tar compounds. That color was Perkins' mauve."

  "That was more than mauve," Nora insisted. "I've plenty of mauvethings."

  He raised his hand. "No you don't, Nora! You don't get the result of myyears of close study like that. I'll make you each a present of a bottlebefore you go. We'll have it with coffee every night. Mauve was thefoundation upon which I built."

  "It's a little rich for me, Mikey dear," his wife said anxiously. "Ithink it will make a far better winter cordial. I'm going upstairs tosee Ethel now."

  He watched her disappear and then turned to Nora and Monty with atwinkle in his eye. "I think after my labors I need a little cocktail.In France they call this the _heure de l'aperitif_, as Monty probablyknows, 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 hiscoming, 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-outoughtn't to keep him all this time."

  "But what makes you jump so?" she insisted. "You never used to be likethis. 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 abig deal together, and, er, the markets go up and down like thetemperature 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 somethingsecret."

  "Well," said Nora, with sound common sense, "if it frightens you so, whygo 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 wantedsome 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?" hedemanded.

  "But what is it?" she insisted.

  "I can't tell you," he said decidedly. "Steve is one of my oldestfriends 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 playedon 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'sreminiscences; 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 littlenearer.

  "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 casther eyes down and looked alluringly at him through curling lashes.There was the opportunity for Monty to see whether he had any skill atthe ancient game, but a sudden numbing nervousness took hold of him. Andwhile 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 drippinginto his eyes."

  Poor Monty groaned; for it was equally true that he at this particularmoment was anxious to forget everything but the pretty girl at
his side.

  "Nora," he said nervously, "for the last year there's been somethingtrembling 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 MissEthel Cartwright, a close friend of hers whom he had never before met.He noticed Michael quietly working his unobtrusive way back to theposition where Alice had left him, wiping his moustache withsatisfaction.

  "Monty," said Mrs. Harrington, "I don't think you've ever met my verybest friend, Miss Cartwright."

  "How do you do," the girl said smiling.

  "Be kind to him, Ethel," Michael remarked genially. "He's a nice boy andthe idol of the Paris Bourse."

  "And an awful flirt," Nora chimed in. "If I had had a heart he wouldhave broken it long ago."

  "Do you know," Alice said, "it has never occurred to me to think ofMonty 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. Shesighed. "I suppose it's one of the penalties of age. I've known him adisgracefully 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 byhaving in our merry party a smuggler who was caught with the goods andnarrowly escaped Sing Sing."

  "There you go again," Monty grumbled. "I hate the very sound of theword."

  "I say, Ethel," Michael observed, watching her closely, "you do look abit pale. Business in weather like this doesn't suit you. No bad news, Ihope?"

  He knew that the division of the late Vernon Cartwright's fortune wasvery 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 andhad known them from childhood. "Why isn't she here?"

  "It isn't to be a big party, Michael," his wife reminded him. "Men areso 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 tohave 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--andI 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 torouse 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 forthis 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 forher charm and beauty. "I shall just have to stick around with Monty--awild tempestuous flirt like Monty!"

  "Oh, I don't mind," Monty said with an air of condescension, "notparticularly."

  "It's time to dress, good people," Michael reminded them.

  "Come on, Nora," Alice said rising. "Come, Monty. Ethel, you'll have toamuse yourself, as Michael isn't to be depended on."

  "You wrong me, my dear," Michael retorted. "I'm going for my onesolitary 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 thesame consistent old Michael. And by the way, if Mr. Denby does happen toturn 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 thebig house during the afternoon, Ethel Cartwright went to the Frenchwindows and looked out over the smooth lawns to the trees at the back ofthem. A long drive wound its way to the highroad, up which she could seespeeding a big motor. The porte-cochere was at the other side of thehouse and she retraced her steps to the hall she had left with the hopeof 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, ashe looked about the big apartment, he caught sight of the girl, andstood for a moment staring as though he could hardly venture to believeit 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 wascertainly 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 sincewe 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 disappointmentin 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 verymuch. 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 thrillagainst prison."

  "So you want only little thrills then, Mr. Denby?"

  "No," he told her, "I'd like big ones better. Life or even death--butnot prison. And what have you done since I saw you last? You are stilldoing nothing, too?"

  "Nothing," she said, smiling.

  "And you're still Miss Cartwright?"

  "_Only_ Miss Cartwright," she corrected.

  "Good," he said, looking at her steadily. "By George, it doesn't seem ayear since that week in Paris. What made you disappear just as we werehaving such bully times?"

  "I had to come back to America suddenly. I had only an hour to catch theboat. I explained all that in my note though. Didn't you even take thetrouble to read it?"

  He looked at her amazed. "I never even received it." There was a touchof relief in his voice. "So you sent me a note! Do you know, I thoughtyou'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 oughtto have given him five."

  "I'd willingly have given him fifty," Denby said earnestly. "It wasn'tnice 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 Idid try to see you, but you were at Palm Beach. I can't tell you howoften I've sent yo
u telepathic messages," he added whimsically. "Everget any of 'em?"

  "Some of them, I think," she said smiling. "And now to think we've methere on Long Island. It's a far cry to Paris."

  "For me it's people who make places--the places themselves don'tmatter--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 infront of the Cafe de la Paix? We had _vin gris_ and watched theFrenchman with the funny dog, and the boys calling _La Presse_, and thewoman who made you buy some 'North Wind' for me, and the people crowdingaround 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 strangerso 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 wehad tea in the Bois at the Cascade and the Hungarian Band played '_UnPeu d'Amour_.'" He looked at the girl smiling. "How did you arrange tohave that played just at the right moment?"

  They listened in silence for a moment to the dainty melody, and then shehummed a few bars of it. Her thoughts were evidently far away from LongIsland.

  "And don't you remember that poor skinny horse in our fiacre?" she askedhim. "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 thatevening, I remember, there was a moon over the Bois, and we sat underthe 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, "thewhole Louvre in an hour, and the loveliest picture I saw therewas--_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. Lambartcame to a respectful pause at Miss Cartwright's side.

  "Pardon me," he said, "but there is a gentleman to see you." She took acard that was on the tray he held before her.

  "To see me?" she cried, startled, gazing at the card. Denby, watchingher 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 todress, anyway."

  "Your room is at the head of the stairs," Lambart reminded him. "Allyour 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 agirl whose poise of manner prevented the betrayal of vivid emotion inany but a certain subdued fashion. But it was plain she was laboring nowunder an agitation that amounted almost to deadly fear.

  A few seconds later Daniel Taylor strode in with firm assured tread andlooked 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'sall right?"

  "Sure, sure," he returned reassuringly, "I haven't bothered her; thelittle lady's all right, don't you worry."

  "Then what do you want here?" she cried alarmed. No matter what hismanner this man had menace in every look and gesture. She had never beenbrought into contact with one who gave in so marked a degree theimpression of ruthless strength.

  "I thought I'd drop in with reference to our little chat thisafternoon," 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." Helooked about him cautiously as though fearing interruption. "I said itmight 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 dollarnecklace through the Customs to-day. For various reasons which youwouldn't understand, we allowed him to slip through, thinking he'dfooled us. Now that he believes himself safe, it ought to be easy to getthat necklace. We've got to get it; and we're going to get it, throughone of our agents." He pointed a forefinger at her. "We're going to getit 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 ofyour 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. "Ican'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 nameis Steven Denby."

  "Steven Denby!" the girl cried, shrinking away from him. "Oh, no, youmust 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 thather news seemed very important to him. "What's his business? How does hemake 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'sclear 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 bluffcross-examiner changed to one that had something confidential andfriendly 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 absolutelyinnocent."

  "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, andyou've no right to try and protect him. Any person would only be doingright in helping to detect a criminal; but you,"--he pausedsignificantly,--"it's just as much your duty as it is mine." He showedher his gold badge of authority for a brief moment, and although itterrified her there was too much loyalty in her nature to betray afriend 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 thatgame. 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," herecommended.

  "But supposing you're wrong," she said earnestly. "Suppose he has nonecklace?"

  "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 StevenDenby or your sister. There's no other way out. Which are you going tochoose?"

  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 hasthat necklace concealed in a brown leather tobacco-pouch which he alwayscarries 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'mnot going to risk a mix-up with the Harringtons or tip my hand till I'mabsolutely sure. It don't pay me to make big mistakes. You say Denby'syour friend, well, then, it'll be easy to find out. If you discover thatthe necklace is in the tobacco-pouch, get him to go for a walk in thegarden; say you want to look at the moon, say anything, so long as youget 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 comesout there with you, we'll _know_."

  "But if I can't get him into the garden?" she urged. "Something mayhappen to prevent me!"

  "If you're sure he has it on him," Taylor instructed her, "or if youmake out where it is concealed, pull down one of these window-shades. Mymen and I can see these from the garden. When we get your signal we'llcome 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 him out 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 mostimportant to the United States Government and to me, that my identity isin no way disclosed."

  "It may be necessary," she persisted.

  "It _cannot_ be necessary," he said with an air of finality. "If itcomes to a show-down and you tell Denby I'm after him, I'll not onlyswear I never saw you, but I'll put your sister in prison. Now, goodnight, 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 herto 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 feelthat little zest was left in life. Monty was obsessed with the idea thathis friend's long delay was due to his having been held up. Theautomobile lends itself admirably to highway robbery, and it would beeasy enough for armed robbers to overpower Denby and the chauffeur.

  Directly he heard Denby's voice talking to Lambart as he was shown intohis 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 thevictim of two blow-outs. But," he added, looking keenly at hisconfederate, "if I had been held up the pearls wouldn't have been taken.I didn't happen to have them with me."

  "Thank God!" Monty cried fervently. "I wondered if that telegraphing topeople was just a ruse or not. Hooray, I feel I can eat and drink and bemerrier than I've been for a month. I never want to hear about themagain."

  "I'm sorry, old man," Denby said smiling, "but I shall have to ask youfor them."

  "Me?" Monty stammered. "Don't joke, Steve."

  "But you very kindly brought them over for me," Denby returned mildly."They're in the right-hand shoe of a pair of buckskin tennis shoes. Iput them there when I helped you to repack your trunk. Do you mindbringing them before I've finished dressing?"

  Monty looked at him reproachfully. "Sometimes I think I ought to havegone into the ministry. I'm getting a perfect horror of crime."

  "You're not a criminal," Denby said. "You helped me out on the voyage,but here you are free to do as you like."

  Monty set his jaw firmly. "I'm in it with you, Steve, till you've gotthe damned things where you want 'em, and you can't prevent me, either."

  When he brought the precious necklace back Denby calmly placed the pouchin his pocket. "Thanks, old man," he said casually. "Now the funbegins."

  "Fun!" Monty snorted. "Do you remember the classic remark of the frogwho was pelted by small mischievous boys? 'This may be the hell of ajoke to you,' said the frog, 'but it's death to me.'"

  "I've always been sorry for that frog," Denby commented.

  "But, man alive, you are the frog," Monty cried.

  "Oh, no," Denby returned, making a tie that had no likeness to a vastbutterfly.

  "Your frog hadn't a ghost of a chance, and he knew it, while with meit's an even chance. One oughtn't to ask any more than that in thesehard times."

  He sauntered down the stairs cool and debonair to find Ethel Cartwrightstill looking listlessly across the green lawns.

  "Those gentle chimes," he said, as the dinner-gong pealed out, "call thefaithful to dinner. I wish it were in Paris, don't you?"

  She pulled herself together and tried to smile as she had done beforeTaylor had dashed all her joy to the ground.

  "Aren't you hungering for string-beans?" he asked, "and the hole in thetable-cloth, and the gay old moon? But after all, what do they matternow? You're here, and I'm hungry." He offered her his arm. "Aren't youhungry, too?"