CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE turned the key, less noisily this time, and stepped into Denby'sroom. Making her way to the drawer she gave it a gentle pull. But it wasstill fastened, and she grasped the heavy brass knife when of a suddenthe room was full of light, and Denby stepped from the shadow of thedoor where he had been concealed.
"Oh!" she cried in terror, and turned her face away from him.
He walked slowly over to the table by which she stood.
"So you've come for the necklace, then? Why do you want it?"
She looked at him in desperation. Only the truth would serve her now.
"I am employed by the government. I was sent here to get it," sheanswered.
"What?" he cried. "The charming Miss Cartwright a secret service agent!It's quite incredible."
"But it's true," she said.
"Who employed you?" he asked sharply.
"I can't tell you that," she said slowly.
"Then how can I believe you?" he asked her.
"But it's the truth," she insisted. "For what other reason should I behere?"
"Women have collected jewels before now for themselves as well as theirgovernments," he reminded her.
She flushed. "Do you wish to insult me?"
"I don't think you quite realize your position," he said. "I find youhere trying to steal something of mine. If you tell me the name of theman, or men, under whose orders you are acting, I may be able tobelieve."
"I can't tell you," she cried; "I can't tell you."
"It's most likely to be Bangs," he said meditatively, and then turned toher quickly. "It was John H. Bangs of the secret service who sent you."
At all costs she knew she must keep the name of Daniel Taylor from him.To admit that it was a fellow official would do no harm.
"Yes," she said; "it was."
Contempt looked from his face. "You lie, Miss Cartwright, you lie!"
"Mr. Denby!" she cried.
"I've no time for politeness now," he told her. "There is no Bangs inthe secret service."
"But you, how can you know?" she said, fighting for time.
"It's my business to know my opponents," he observed. "Can't you tellthe truth?"
"I can't tell you who it was," she persisted, "but if you'll just giveme the necklace--"
He laughed scornfully at her childish request. Her manner puzzled himextremely. He had seen her fence and cross-examine, use her tongue withthe adroitness of an old hand at intrigue, and yet she was simple,guileless enough to ask him to hand over the necklace.
"And if I refuse you'll call the men in who seized Mr. Vaughan, thinkingit was I, and let them get the right man this time?"
"I don't know," she said despairingly. "What else can I do? I can'tfail."
"Nor can I," he snapped, "and don't intend to, either. Do you know whathappens to a man who smuggles in the sort of thing I did and resists theofficials as I shall do, and is finally caught? I've seen it, and Iknow. It's prison, Miss Cartwright, and gray walls and iron bars. Itmeans being herded for a term of years with another order of men, themen who are crooked at heart; it means the losing of all one's hopes inprison gloom and coming out debased and suspected by every man set inauthority over you, for evermore. I've sometimes gone sick at seeing menwho have done as I am doing, but have not escaped. I'm not going toprison, Miss Cartwright, remember that."
"But I don't want you to," she cried eagerly, so eagerly, that hegroaned to think her magnificent acting should be devoted to such ascene as this. "I don't want you to."
"Then there's only one way out of it for both of us," he said, comingnearer.
"What?" she asked fervently.
"Tell them you've failed, that you couldn't find it anywhere."
"I couldn't," she said vehemently.
There was a certain studied contempt in his manner which hurt her badly.And to know that he would always regard her as an adventuress,unprincipled and ready to sell herself for the rewards of espionage, andnever have even one pleasant and genuine memory of her, made herdesperate.
"I didn't intend you to lose on the transaction," he said coldly. "I'llgive you ten thousand dollars."
"Oh, no, no!" she cried, "you don't understand."
"Twenty thousand, then," he said. "Only you and I would know. Yourprincipals could never hold it against you. Isn't it a good offer?"
She made a gesture of despair. "It's no good."
"Twenty thousand no good!" he jeered. "Think again, Miss Cartwright. Itwill pay you better to stand in with me than give me up."
"No, no!" she cried, half hysterically.
"It's all I can afford," he said. Her manner seemed so strange, that forthe first time since he had found her in his room, he began to doubtwhether, after all, it was merely the splendid acting he had supposed.
"I can't accept," she told him. "I've _got_ to get that necklace; itmeans more than any money to me."
He looked at her keenly, seeking to gauge the depth of her emotion.
"Then they've got some hold on you," he asserted.
"No," she assured him, "I must get the necklace."
"So you're going to make me fight you then?" he questioned.
"I've got to fight," she exclaimed.
"Look here," he said, after a moment's pause, "let's get this thingright. You won't accept any--shall we call it compromise?--and you won'ttell me for whom you are acting. And you won't admit that you are doingthis because someone has such a hold on you that you must obey. Is thatright, so far?"
For a moment she had a wild idea of telling him, of putting an end tothe scene that was straining her almost to breaking-point. She knew hecould be chivalrous and tender, and she judged he could be ruthless andhard if necessity compelled. But above all, and even stronger than herfear of irrevocably breaking with him and being judged hereafter as oneunworthy, was the dread of Taylor and that warrant that could at hiswill send Amy to prison and her mother possibly to her grave. Shehardened herself to go through with the ordeal.
"So far you are right," she admitted.
"Then it remains only for us two to fight. I hate fighting women. A fewhours ago I would have sworn that you and I never could fight, but a fewhours have shown me that I'm as liable to misread people as--as Monty,for example. You say you've got to fight. Very well then; I accept thechallenge, and invite you to witness my first shot."
He walked to the door through which she had come and opening it, tookthe key from her side of it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
"What do you mean?" she cried.
"Merely that I'm going to keep you here," he retorted. "I was afraid wemight be interrupted."
"Open that door!" she commanded quickly.
"When I am ready no doubt I shall," he returned.
"You wouldn't do that?" she cried, beginning to realize that she was tohave no easy victory if indeed victory were to be her reward.
"I regret the necessity," he said. "These methods don't particularlyappeal to me, but we have declared war, and there's no choice."
"But I don't understand," she said nervously.
"Don't you?" he said, coming nearer and looking at her closely. "Don'tyou understand that you are a beautiful woman and I am a man? Have youforgotten that it's nearly three, and you are in my room, the room nextwhich you begged to be moved? They were a little puzzled at your wantingthat key so badly, and when you're found here _en negligee_--for youwill be found here--I think I know the world well enough to judge whatconstruction will be placed upon that discovery."
For the moment she forgot about everything but the personal aspect ofthe situation in which she found herself. That this man of all othersshould be willing to compromise her reputation awakened the bitterestcontempt for him.
"I thought at least _you_ were a _man_!" she cried.
"I am," he returned without heat. "That's just it, Miss Cartwright, I'ma man, and you are a woman."
"And I thought you were my friend," she exclaimed indignantly.
&
nbsp; "Please don't bandy the name of friendship with me," he said with asneer. "You of all women that live, to dare to talk like that! You knewI liked you--liked you very much, and because you were so sure of it,you wheedled me into betraying myself. You smiled and lied and pledgedour friendship, and called to mind those days in Paris, which were thehappiest recollections of all my life. And yet it was all done so thatyou might get enough out of me to lead me, with a prison sentenceawaiting me, to the man who gives you your orders." He took a few swiftpaces up and down the room. "This indignation of yours is a false note.We'll keep to the main facts. You are sworn to betray me, and I am swornto defeat you."
"Don't think that," she said wretchedly; "I wasn't--"
"And when I told you the truth," he went on inexorably, "you asked me togo into the garden where they were waiting for me."
"I couldn't help it," she said, as calmly as she was able.
"And when you thought I was sending the necklace here you trumped up aflimsy excuse so that you might be able to steal in here and get it. Isthat sort of thing in your code of friendship?"
"I wasn't trying to trap you," she explained. "I thought you wereinnocent, and I wanted to convince them of it, too."
"No doubt," he said tauntingly, "and when you found out I was guilty,you still tried to save me, I suppose, by asking me to walk into theirtrap?"
The girl made an effort to defend her course of action. She knew thatwithout the admission of the truth he must feel his point of viewunassailable, but she wanted him not to think too hardly of her.
"After all," she declared, "you had broken the law. You are guilty. Whyshould my behavior be so called into account?"
"It isn't that at all," he returned impatiently. "You didn't play thegame fairly. You used a woman's last weapon--her sex. Well, I can playyour game, too, and I will. You shall stay here till morning."
"You don't dare to keep me!" she cried.
"Oh, yes, I do," he retorted easily.
She assumed as well as she could an air of bravado, a false air ofcourage that might convince him she was not so easily frightened as shefelt.
"And you think the possible loss of my reputation is going to frightenme into letting you go?"
"I do," he said readily.
"Well, you're wrong," she assured him, "I have only to tell them thetruth about the necklace and what I'm doing here--"
"But the truth is so seldom believed," he reminded her, "especially whenyou've no evidence to support it. A lie is a much more easily digestedmorsel."
"All the evidence I need," she asserted, "is in that locked drawer."
"Quite so," he admitted. "I'd forgotten that, only it happens you'rewrong again." He drew the necklace from his pocket and showed it to her."It's a beauty, isn't it?"
Moving over to the table he scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Manufacturing evidence," he returned calmly.
"Meanwhile," she said, gathering courage, "I propose to leave thisroom."
"An excellent idea from your way of thinking," he said, looking up."Naturally I'm interested to know how."
"I'll show you," she responded, and moved quickly to the bell buttonwhich she pushed violently. "Now, Mr. Denby," she cried triumphantly."This is my first shot! When the servants come, I shall take thenecklace with me."
She was disappointed to see no trace of alarm on his face. Instead, heanswered her calmly enough.
"What a pity you did that--you'll regret it so very soon."
"Shall I?" she said satirically, and watched him go to the window. As hedid so, a low whistle was heard coming from the lawn beneath. Then hetook the necklace, wrapped it in the note he had written, and tossed itthrough the opening.
"I hardly think you'll take it with you," he observed suavely.
"I shall get it," she returned. "I shall tell the Harringtons exactlywhat you are, and that you threw it on the lawn."
"Wrong again, Miss Cartwright," he said patiently. "If you'll standwhere I am, you will see the retreating figure of my friend Monty, whohas it with him. Monty managed rather well, I think. His whistleannounced the coast was clear."
"But he can't get away with those men out there," she reminded him.
"Monty waited until they were gone," he repeated. "For the moment, yourfriends of the secret service have left us."
"Then I'll tell Mr. Harrington about Monty, that he's your accomplice."
He shook his head. "I hardly think they'd believe that even from you.That Montague Vaughan, whose income is what he desires it to be, shouldlower himself to help me, is one of the truthful things nobody couldpossibly credit. If you could ring in some poor but honest young man itwould sound so much more probable, but Monty, no."
She looked at him like a thing stricken. Her poor bravado fell from her.She felt beaten, and dreaded to think what might be the price of herfailure.
"And since you forced me," he added, "I've had to play my last card. Thenote that I threw to Monty was a letter to you. He'll leave it where itcan easily be found."
"A letter to me!" she repeated.
"It contained a suggestion that you try to get the room next mine,pleading nervousness, and come here to-night. It was the invitation--ofa lover."
"You beast!" she cried, flaming out into rage. "You coward!"
"You had your warning," he reminded her. "The note will be conclusive,and no matter what you say, you will find yourself prejudged. It's theworld's way to prejudge. The servants don't seem to be coming, andyou'll be found here in the morning. What explanation will you have tooffer?" He waited for her to speak, but she made no answer.
"I think the episode of the necklace remains as between just you andme," he added slowly, watching her closely.
"The servants will come," she cried. "I shan't have to stay here."
"If they disappoint you," he remarked, "may I suggest thatburglar-alarm? It will wake everybody up, the Harringtons, MissRutledge, and all, even if they're in bed and asleep soundly. Why don'tyou ring it? Miss Cartwright, I _dare_ you to ring it!"
Just then there came the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, then aknock at the door. Denby waited calmly for some word from the girl. Theknock was repeated.
"Well," he whispered at last, "why don't you answer?"
She shrank back. "No, no, I can't."
Denby moved to the door. "Who is it?" he asked.
Lambart's respectful voice made answer: "You rang, sir?"
"Yes," he returned, "I forgot to tell you that Miss Cartwright wishedto be called at seven. Call me at the same time, too. That's all,Lambart; sorry to have had to disturb you. Good-night."
He stood listening until the man's footsteps died away. Then he turned,and came toward the girl.
"So you didn't dare denounce me after all," he said mockingly.
"Oh, I knew it was all a joke," she said, with an attempt to pass itover lightly. "I knew you couldn't be so contemptible."
"A joke!" he exclaimed grimly. "Why does it seem a joke?"
"If you'd meant what you'd said, you'd have called Lambart in. Thatwould have answered your purpose very well. But I knew that you'd neverdo that. I knew you couldn't."
"I'm afraid I shall have less faith hereafter in woman's intuition," hereturned. "I can keep you here, and I will. No other course is open tome." A clock outside struck. "It's just three," he observed. "In fourhours' time a maid will go to your room and find it empty. It's a longtime till then, so why not make yourself as comfortable as you can?Please sit down."
The girl sank into a chair more because she was suddenly conscious ofher physical weakness than for the reason he offered it her in mockingcourtesy.
"I can't face it," she cried hysterically; "the disgrace andhumiliation! I can't face it!"
"You've got to face it," he said sternly.
"I can't," she repeated. "It's horrible, it's unfair--if you'll let mego, I'll promise you I won't betray you."
"You daren't k
eep silent about me," he answered. "How can I let you go?"
"I'm telling you the truth," she said simply.
"Then tell me who sent you here," he entreated her. "You know what itmeans to me; you can guess what it means to you. If you tell me, it maysave us both."
"I can't!" she cried. "I can't! Oh, please, please!"
He took her in his arms, roughly, exasperated by her denial.
"By God, I'll make you tell!" he said angrily.
"Don't touch me," she said shuddering.
"Who sent you here?" he demanded, not releasing her.
"I'm afraid," she groaned. "Oh, I'm afraid. I hate you! I hate you! Letme go! let me go!"
"Who sent you here?" he repeated, still holding her.
"I'll tell," she said brokenly. Then, when he let her go, she sank intoa chair. "I can't go through with it--you've beaten me--Oh, I tried sohard, so hard, but you've won. It's too unfair when it's not my fault.You can't understand, or you wouldn't spoil my whole life like this.It's not only me, it's my mother, my sister--Amy."
Denby, watching her hardly controllable agitation, was forced toreadjust his opinion concerning her. This was not any adventuresstrained in artifice and ruse, but the woman he had thought her to be inthe deepest sorrow. The bringing in of her mother and sister was not, hefelt sure, a device employed merely to gain his sympathy and induceleniency in her captor.
And when it seemed she must sob out a confession of those complexmotives which had led her to seek his betrayal, Denby saw her clench herhands and pull herself together.
"No," she said, rising to her feet, her weakness cast off, "I won'tquit--no matter what happens to me. I'll expose you, and tell themeverything. I'll let them decide between us--whether they'll believe youor me. It's either you or my sister, and I'll save her."
He was now more than ever certain he was stumbling upon something whichwould bring him the blessed assurance that she had not sold herself forreward.
"Your sister?" he cried eagerly.
"They shan't send her to prison," the girl said doggedly.
"You're doing all this to save your sister from prison?" he asked hergently.
"She depends on me so," she answered dully. "They shan't take her."
"Then you've been forced into this?" he asked. "You haven't done it ofyour own free will?"
"No, no," she returned, "but what else could I do? She was my littlesister; she came first."
"And you weren't lying to me--trying to trick me for money?"
"Can't you see," she said piteously, "that I wanted to save you, too,and wanted you to get away? I said you were innocent, but they wouldn'tbelieve me and said I had to go on or else they'd send Amy to prison.They have a warrant all ready for her in case I fail. That's why I'mhere. Oh, please, please, let me go."
Steven Denby looked into her eyes and made his resolve. "You don't knowhow much I want to believe in you," he exclaimed. "It may spoileverything I've built on, but I'm going to take the chance." He unlockedthe door that led to her room. "You can go, Miss Cartwright!"
"Oh, you are a man, after all," she cried, deep gratitude in her voice,and a relief at her heart she could as yet scarcely comprehend. And asshe made to pass him she was startled by a shrill sharp whistleoutside.
"The devil!" he cried anxiously, and ran to the window.
"What is it?" she called, frightened. It was not the low whistle thatMonty had used, but a menacing, thrilling sound.
"Your friends of the secret service have come back," he answered, "butthey mustn't see us together." Quickly he lowered the window-shade, andstepped back to the centre of the room, coming to a sudden pause as hesaw the terror on the girl's face.
"Oh, my God," she screamed, "what have you done? That was the signal tobring Taylor here."
"Ah, then, it's Taylor," he cried triumphantly. "It's Taylor!"
"Oh, I didn't mean to tell," she said, startled at the admission. "Ididn't mean to let anyone know."
"I wish you had told me before," he said with regret, "we could bothhave been spared some unhappy moments. I know Taylor and his way offighting, and this thing is going to a finish."
"Go, before he comes," she entreated.
"And leave you alone to face him?" he said more tenderly. "Leave you toa man who fights as he does?" He looked at her for a moment in silenceand then bowed his head over her white hand and kissed it. "I can't dothat. I love you."
"Oh, please go while there's time," she pleaded; "he mustn't take you."She looked up at him and without shame, revealed the love that she nowknew she must ever have for him. "Oh, I couldn't bear that," she saidtremulously, "I couldn't."
He gazed down at her, not yet daring to believe that out of this blackmoment the greatest happiness of his life had come. "Ethel!" he said,amazed.
"I love you," she whispered; "oh, my dear, I love you."
He gathered her in his strong arms. "Then I can fight the whole world,"he cried, "and win!"
"For my sake, go," she begged. "Let me see him first; let me try to getyou out of it."
"I stay here, dearest," he said firmly. "When he comes, say that you'vecaught me."
"No, no," she implored; "I can't send you to prison either."
"I'm not going to prison," he reassured her. "I'm not done for yet, butwe must save your sister and get that warrant. He must not think you'vefailed him. Do you understand?"
"But he'll take you away," she cried, and clung to him.
"Do as I say," he besought her; "tell him the necklace is heresomewhere. Be brave, my dear, we're working to save your sister. He'scoming."
"Hands up, Denby," Taylor shouted, clambering from the balcony to theroom and levelling a revolver at the smuggler. Without a word Denby'shands went up as he was bid, and the deputy-surveyor smiled the victor'ssmile.
"Well, congratulations, Miss Cartwright," he cried; "you landed him as Iknew you could if you tried."
"What's the meaning of this?" Denby cried indignantly. "Who are you?"
"Oh, can that bunk!" Taylor said in disgust.
"Where's the necklace, Miss Cartwright?"
"I don't know," she answered nervously.
"You don't know?" he returned incredulously.
"I haven't been able to find it, but it's here somewhere."
"He's probably got it on him," Taylor said.
"All this is preposterous," Denby exclaimed angrily.
"Hand it over," Taylor snapped.
"I have no necklace," Denby told him.
"Then I'll have to search you," he cried, coming to him and goingthrough his pockets with the practised hand of one who knows where tolook, covering him the while with the revolver.
"I'll make you pay for this," Denby cried savagely, as Taylorunceremoniously spun him around.
"Will you give it to me," Taylor demanded when he had drawn blank, "orshall I have to upset the place by searching for it?"
"How can I get it for you with my hands up in the air?" Denby askedafter a pause. "Let me put my hands down and I'll help you."
Taylor considered for a moment. Few men were better in arough-and-tumble fight than he, and he had little fear of this beatenman before him. "You haven't got a gun," he said, "so take 'em down, butdon't you fool with me."
Denby moved over to the writing-desk and picked up a heavy beaten copperash-tray with match-box attached. He balanced it in his hand for amoment. "Not a bad idea is it?" he demanded smiling; and then, beforeTaylor could reach for it had hurled it with the strong arm andpractised eye of an athlete straight at the patent burglar alarm a fewfeet distant.
There was a smashing of glass and then, an instant later, the turningoff of light and a plunge into blackness. And in the gloom, during whichTaylor thrashed about him wildly, there came from all parts of the housethe steady peal of the electrical alarms newly set in motion.
And last of all there was the report of the revolver and a woman'sshriek and the falling of a heavy body on the floor, and then asilence.
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