SPLENDID HAZARD

By

HAROLD MACGRATH

AUTHOR OF

THE GOOSE GIRL, THE LURE OF THE MASK, THE MAN ON THE BOX, ETC. 

With Illustrations by

HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY

[Transcriber's note: All illustrations were missing from book. ]

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT 1910

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I A MEMORABLE DATE II THE BUTTERFLY MAN III A PLASTER STATUETTE IV PIRATES AND SECRETARIES V NO FALSE PRETENSES VI SOME EXPLANATIONS VII A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY VIII SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY IX THEY DRESS FOR DINNER X THE GHOST OF AN OLD REGIME XI PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS XII M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF XIII THE WOMAN WHO KNEW XIV THE DRAMA BEGINS XV THEY GO A-SAILING XVI CROSS-PURPOSES XVII A QUESTION PROM KEATS XVIII CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES XIX BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER XX AN OLD SCANDAL XXI CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE XXII THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT XXIII CATHEWE ASKS QUESTIONS XXIV THE PINES OF AITONE XXV THE DUPE XXVI THE END OF THE DREAM

A SPLENDID HAZARD

CHAPTER I

A MEMORABLE DATE

A blurring rain fell upon Paris that day; a rain so fine and cold thatit penetrated the soles of men's shoes and their hearts alike, adispiriting drizzle through which the pale, acrid smoke of innumerablewood fires faltered upward from the clustering chimney-pots, only to berent into fragments and beaten down upon the glistening tiles of themansard roofs. The wide asphalts reflected the horses and carriagesand trains and pedestrians in forms grotesque, zigzagging, flitting, amusing, like a shadow-play upon a wrinkled, wind-blown curtain. Thesixteenth of June. To Fitzgerald there was something electric in thedate, a tingle of that ecstasy which frequently comes into the blood ofa man to whom the romance of a great battle is more than its history orits effect upon the destinies of human beings. Many years before, thisdate had marked the end to a certain hundred days, the eclipse of a sunmore dazzling than Rome, in the heyday of her august Caesars, had everknown: Waterloo. A little corporal of artillery; from a cocked hat toa crown, from Corsica to St. Helena: Napoleon. 

Fitzgerald, as he pressed his way along the _Boulevard des Invalides_, his umbrella swaying and snapping in the wind much like the sail of aderelict, could see in fancy that celebrated field whereon this eclipsehad been supernally prearranged. He could hear the boom of cannon, thethunder of cavalry, the patter of musketry, now thick, now scattered, and again not unlike the subdued rattle of rain on the bulging silkcareening before him. He held the handle of the umbrella under hisarm, for the wind had a temper mawling and destructive, and veered intothe _Place Vauban_. Another man, coming with equal haste from theopposite direction, from the entrance of the tomb itself, was also twoparts hidden behind an umbrella. The two came together with a jolt assounding as that of two old crusaders in a friendly just. Instantlythey retreated, lowering their shields. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Fitzgerald in French. 

"It is of no consequence, " replied the stranger, laughing. "This isalways a devil of a corner on a windy day. " His French had a slightGerman twist to it. 

Briefly they inspected each other, as strangers will, carelessly, withannoyance and amusement interplaying in their eyes and on their lips, all in a trifling moment. Then each raised his hat and proceeded, astranquilly and unconcernedly as though destiny had no ulterior motivein bringing them thus really together. And yet, when they had passedand disappeared from each other's view, both were struck with the factthat somewhere they had met before. 

Fitzgerald went into the tomb, his head bared. The marble underfootbore the imprint of many shoes and rubbers and hobnails, of all sizesand--mayhap--of all nations. He recollected, with a burn on hischeeks, a sacrilege of his raw and eager youth, some twelve yearssince; he had forgotten to take off his hat. Never would he forget theembarrassment of that moment when the attendant peremptorily bade himremove it. He, to have forgotten! He, who held Napoleon above allheroes! The shame of it!

To-day many old soldiers were gathered meditatively round the heavycircular railing. They were always drawn hither on memorableanniversaries. Their sires and grandsires had carried some of thosetattered flags, had won them. The tides of time might ebb and flow, but down there, in his block of Siberian porphyry, slept the hero. There were some few tourists about this afternoon, muttering over theirguide-books, when nothing is needed on this spot but the imagination;and that solemn quiet of which the tomb is ever jealous pressed downsadly upon the living. Through the yellow panes at the back of thehigh altar came a glow suggesting sunshine, baffling the drab of thesky outside; and down in the crypt itself the misty blue was aseffective as moonshine. 

Napoleon had always been Fitzgerald's ideal hero; but he did notworship him blindly, no. He knew him to have been a brutal, domineering man, unscrupulous in politics, to whom woman was either atemporary toy or a stepping-stone, not over-particular whether she wasa dairy-maid or an Austrian princess; in fact, a rascal, but a great, incentive, splendid, courageous one, the kind which nature calls forthevery score of years to purge her breast of the petty rascals, to thebenefit of mankind in general. Notwithstanding that he was a rascal, there was an inextinguishable glamour about the man against which thebolts of truth, history, letters, biographers broke ineffectually. Oh, but he had shaken up all Europe; he had made precious kings rattle intheir shoes; he had redrawn a hundred maps; and men had laughed as theydied for him. It is something for a rascal to have evolved the CodeNapoleon. What a queer satisfaction it must be, even at this late day, nearly a hundred years removed, to any Englishman, standing above thiscrypt, to recollect that upon English soil the Great Shadow had neverset his iron heel!

Near to Fitzgerald stood an elderly man and a girl. The old fellow wasa fine type of manhood; perhaps in the sixties, white-haired, and theruddy enamel on his cheeks spoke eloquently of sea changes and manyangles of the sun. There was a button in the lapel of his coat, andfrom this Fitzgerald assumed that he was a naval officer, probablyretired. 

The girl rested upon the railing, her hands folded, and dreamily hergaze wandered from trophy to trophy; from the sarcophagus to theencircling faces, from one window to another, and again to the porphyrybeneath. And Fitzgerald's gaze wandered, too. For the girl's face wasof that mold which invariably draws first the eye of a man, then hisintellect, then his heart, and sometimes all three at once. The facewas as lovely as a rose of Taormina. Dark brown were her eyes, darkbrown was her hair. She was tall and lithe, too, with the subtle hintof the woman. There were good taste and sense in her garments. Abunch of Parma violets was pinned against her breast. 

"A well-bred girl, " was the grateful spectator's silent comment. "Nonew money there. I wish they'd send more of them over here. But itappears that, with few exceptions, only freaks can afford to travel. "

Between Fitzgerald and the girl was a veteran. He had turned eighty ifa day. His face was powder-blown, an empty sleeve, was folded acrosshis breast, and the medal of the Legion of Honor fell over the Sleeve. As the girl and her elderly escort, presumably her father, turned aboutto leave, she unpinned the flowers and offered them impulsively to theaged hero. 

"Take these, _mon brave_, " she said lightly; "you have fought forFrance. "

The old man was confused and his faded eyes filled. "For me, mademoiselle?"

"Surely!"

"Thanks, mademoiselle, thanks! I saw _him_ when they brought him backfrom St. Helena, and the Old Guard waded out into the Seine. Thosewere days. Thanks, mademoiselle; an old soldier salutes you!" And thetime-bent, withered form grew tall. 

Fitzgerald cleared his throat, for just then something hard had formedthere. Why, God bless her! She was the kind of girl who became themother of soldiers. 

With her departure his present interest here began to wane. Hewondered who she might be and what part of his native land she adornedwhen not gracing European capitals. Well, this was no time formooning. He had arrived from London the day proceeding, and wasleaving for Corfu on the morrow, and perforce he must crowd many thingsinto this short grace of time. He was only moderately fond of Paris asa city; the cafes and restaurants and theaters amused him, to be sure;but he was always hunting for romance here and never finding it. TheParis of his Dumas and Leloir no longer existed. In one way oranother, the Louvre did not carry him back to the beloved days; hecould not rouse his fancy to such height that he could see D'Artagnanruffling it on the staircase, or Porthos sporting a gold baldric, whichwas only leather, under his cloak. So then, the tomb of Napoleon andthe articles of clothing and warfare which had belonged to him and thetoys of the poor little king of Rome were far more to him than all therest of Paris put together. These things of the first great empirewere tangible, visible, close to the touch of his hand. Therefore, never he came to Paris that he failed to visit the tomb and the twomuseums. 

To-day his sight-seeing ended in the hall of Turenne, before thesouvenirs of the Duc de Reichstadt, so-called the king of Rome. Poor, little lead soldiers, tarnished and broken; what a pathetic history!Abused, ignored, his childish aspirations trampled on, the name andglory of his father made sport of; worried as cruel children worry apuppy; tantalized; hoping against hope that this night or the next hisfather would dash in at the head of the Old Guard and take him back toParis. A plaything for Metternich! Who can gaze upon these littletoys without a thrill of pity?

"Poor little codger!" Fitzgerald murmured aloud. 

"Yes, yes!" agreed a voice in good English, over his shoulder; "whowill ever realize the misery of that boy?"

Fitzgerald at once recognized his justing opponent of the previoushour. Further, this second appearance refreshed his memory. He knewnow where he had met the man; he even recalled his name. 

"Are you not Karl Breitmann?" he asked with directness. 

"Yes. And you are--let me think. Yes; I have it. You are theAmerican correspondent, Fitzgerald. "

"And we met in Macedonia during the Greek war. "

"Right. And you and I, with a handful of other scribblers, slept thatnight under the same tent. "

"By George!"

"I did not recall you when we bumped a while ago; but once I had goneby you, your face became singularly familiar. "

"Funny, isn't it?" And Fitzgerald took hold of the extended hand. "The sight of these toys always gets into my heart. "

"Into mine also. Who can say what might have been had they not crushedout the great spirit lying dormant in his little soul? I saw Bernhardtand Coquelin recently in _L'Aiglon_. Ah, but they play it! It droveme here to-day. But this three-cornered hat holds me longest, " with aquick gesture toward the opposite wall. "Can't you see the lean faceunder it, the dark eyes, the dark hair falling upon his collar? Whatthoughts have run riot under this piece of felt? The brain, the brain!A lieutenant at this time; a short, wiry, cold-blooded youngster, butdreaming the greatest dream in the world!"

Fitzgerald smiled. "You are an enthusiast like myself. "

"Who wouldn't be who has, visited every battlefield, who has spent dayswandering about Corsica, Elba, St. Helena? But you?"

"My word, I have done the same things. "

They exchanged smiles. 

"What written tale can compare with this living one?" continuedBreitmann, his eyes brilliant, his voice eager and the tone rich. "Ah!How many times have I berated the day I was born! To have lived inthat day, to have been a part of that bewildering war panorama; fromToulon to Waterloo! Pardon; perhaps I bore you?"

"By George, no! I'm as bad, if not worse. I shall never forgive oneof my forebears for serving under Wellington. "

"Nor I one of mine for serving under Blücher!"

They laughed aloud this time. It is always pleasant to meet a personwho waxes enthusiastic over the same things as oneself. And Fitzgeraldwas drawn toward this comparative stranger, who was not ashamed tospeak from his heart. They drifted into a long conversation, andfought a dozen battles, compared this general and that, and built idlefancies upon what the outcome would have been had Napoleon won atWaterloo. This might have gone on indefinitely had not the patientattendant finally dandled his keys and yawned over his watch. It wasfour o'clock, and they had been talking for a full hour. Theyexchanged cards, and Fitzgerald, with his usual disregard ofconvention, invited Breitmann to dine with him that evening at theMeurice. 

He selected a table by the window, dining at seven-thirty. Breitmannwas prompt. In evening clothes there was something distinctive aboutthe man. Fitzgerald, who was himself a wide traveler and a man of theworld, instantly saw and was agreeably surprised that he had asked agentleman to dine. Fitzgerald was no cad; he would have been just asmuch interested in Breitmann had he arrived in a cutaway sack. Butchance acquaintances, as a rule, are rudimental experiments. 

They sat down. Breitmann was full of surprises; and as the eveningwore on, Fitzgerald remembered having seen Breitmann's name at the footof big newspaper stories. The man had traveled everywhere, spoke fivelanguages, had been a war correspondent, a sailor in the South Seas, and Heaven knew what else. He had ridden camels and polo ponies in theSoudan; he had been shot in the Greece-Turkish war, shortly after hishaving met Fitzgerald; he had played a part in the recentSpanish-American, and had fought against the English in the Transvaal. 

"And now I am resting, " he concluded, turning his chambertin round andround, giving the effect of a cluster of rubies on the table linen. "And all my adventures have been as profitable as these, " indebted forthe moment to the phantom rubies. "But it's all a great stage, whetheryou play behind the wings or before the lights. I am thirty-eight;into twenty of those years I have crowded a century. "

"You don't look it. "

"Ah, one does not need to dissipate to live quickly. The life I haveled has kept me in health and vigor. But you? You are not a man whotravels without gaining material. "

"I have had a few adventures, something like yours, only not so widelydiversified. I wrote some successful short stories about China once. I have had some good sport, too, here and there. "

"You live well for a newspaper correspondent, " suggested Breitmann, nodding at the bottle of twenty-eight-year-old Burgundy. 

"Oh, it's a habit we Americans have, " amiably. "We rough it for a fewmonths on bacon and liver, and then turn our attention to truffles andold wines and Cabanas at two-francs-fifty. We are collectively, a goodsort of vagabond. I have a little besides my work; not much, butenough to loaf on when no newspaper or magazine cares to pay myexpenses in Europe. Anyhow, I prefer this work to staying home to behampered by intellectual boundaries. My vest will never reach the trueproportions which would make me successful in politics. "

"You are luckier than I am, " Breitmann replied. He sipped his wineslowly and with relish. How long was it since he had tasted a goodchambertin?

Perhaps Fitzgerald had noticed it when Breitmann came in. The latter'svelvet collar was worn; there was a suspicious gloss at the elbows; thecuff buttons were of cheap metal; his fingers were without rings. Butthe American readily understood. There are lean years and fat years injournalism, and he himself had known them. For the present this manwas a little down on his luck; that was all. 

A party came in and took the near table. There were four; two elderlymen, an elderly woman, and a girl. Fitzgerald, as he side-glanced, wasafforded a shiver of pleasure. He recognized the girl. It was she whohad given the flowers to the veteran. 

"That is a remarkably fine young woman, " said Breitmann, echoingFitzgerald's thought. 

The waiter opened the champagne. 

"Yes. I saw her give some violets this afternoon to an old soldier inthe tomb. It was a pretty scene. "

"Well, " said Breitmann, raising his glass, "a pretty woman and abottle!"

It was the first jarring note, and Fitzgerald frowned. 

"Pardon me, " added Breitmann, observing the impression he had made, smiling, and when he smiled the student slashes in his cheeks weren'tso noticeable. "What I should have said is, a good woman and a goodbottle. For what greater delight than to sip a rare vintage with awoman of beauty and intellect opposite? One glass is enough to looseher laughter, her wit, her charm. Bah! A man who knows how to drinkhis wine, a woman who knows when to laugh, a story-teller who stopswhen his point is told; these trifles add a little color as we pass. Will you drink to my success?"

"In what?" with Yankee caution. 

"In whatever the future sees fit to place under my hand. "

"With pleasure! And by the same token you will wish me the same?"

"Gladly!"

Their glasses touched lightly; and then their glances, drawn by someoccult force, half-circled till they paused on the face of the girl, who, perhaps compelled by the same invisible power, had leveled hereyes in their direction. With well-bred calm her interest returned toher companions, and the incident was, to all outward sign, closed. Whatever took place behind that beautiful but indifferent mask no oneelse ever learned; but simultaneously in the minds of these twoadventurers--and surely, to call a man an adventurer does notnecessarily imply that he is a _chevalier d'industrie_--a thought, tinged with regret and loneliness, was born; to have and to hold a maidlike that. Love at first sight is the false metal sometimes offered bypoets as gold, in quatrains, distiches, verses, and stanzas, toleratedbecause of the license which allows them to give passing interest thename of love. If these two men thought of love it was only asbystanders, witnessing the pomp and panoply--favored phrase!--of Venusand her court from a curbstone, might have thought of it. Doubtlessthey had had an affair here and there, over the broad face of theworld, but there had never been any barbs on the arrows, thus easilyplucked out. 

"Sometimes, knowing that I shall never be rich, I have desired atitle, " remarked Fitzgerald humorously. 

"And what would you do with it?" curiously. 

"Oh, I'd use it against porters, and waiters, and officials. There'snothing like it. I have observed a good deal. It has a magic sound, like Orpheus' lyre; the stiffest back becomes supine at the firsttwinkle of it. "

"I should like to travel with you, Mr. Fitzgerald, " said Breitmannmusingly. "You would be good company. Some day, perhaps, I'll tryyour prescription; but I'm only a poor devil of a homeless, landlessbaron. "

Fitzgerald sat up. "You surprise me. "

"Yes. However, neither my father nor my grandfather used it, and asthe pitiful few acres which went with it is a sterile Bavarianhillside, I have never used it, either. Besides, neither the _Peerage_nor the _Almanac de Gotha_ make mention of it; but still the patent ofnobility was legal, and I could use it despite the negligence of thosetwo authorities. "

"You could use it in America. There are not many 'Burke's' there. "

"It amuses me to think that I should confide this secret to you. Thewine is good, and perhaps--perhaps I was hungry. Accept what I havetold you as a jest. "

They both became untalkative as the coffee came. Fitzgerald was musingover the impulse which had seized him in asking Breitmann to share hisdinner. He was genuinely pleased that he had done so, however; but itforced itself upon him that sometime or other these impulses would landhim in difficulties. On his part the recipient of this particularimpulse was also meditating; Napoleon had been utterly forgotten, verbally at least. Well, perhaps they had threshed out thatinteresting topic during the afternoon. Finally he laid down the endof his cigarette. 

"I have to thank you very much for a pleasant evening, Mr. Fitzgerald. "

"Glad I ran into you. It has done me no end of good. I leave for theEast to-morrow. Is there any possibility of seeing you in the Balkansthis fall?"

"No. I am going to try my luck in America again. "

"My club address you will find on my card. You must go? It's only theshank of the evening. "

"I have a little work to do. Some day I hope I may be able to set asgood a dinner before you. "

"Better have a cigar. "

"No, thank you. "

And Fitzgerald liked him none the less for his firmness. So he went asfar as the entrance with him. 

"Don't bother about calling a cab, " said Breitmann. "It has stoppedraining, and the walk will tone me up. Good night and good luck. "

And they parted, neither ever expecting to see the other again, andequally careless whether they did or not. 

Breitmann walked rapidly toward the river, crossed, and at lengthentered a gloomy old _pension_ over a restaurant frequented bybargemen, students, and human driftwood. As he climbed the badlylighted stairs, a little, gray-haired man, wearing spectacles, passedhim, coming down. A "pardon" was mumbled, and the little man proceededinto the restaurant, picked a _Figaro_ from the table littered withnewspapers, ensconced himself in a comfortable chair, and orderedcoffee. No one gave him more than a cursory glance. The quarter wasindigent, but ordinarily respectable; and it was only when some noisyAmericans invaded the place that the habitues took any unusual interestin the coming and going of strangers. 

Up under the mansard roof there was neither gas nor electricity. Breitmann lighted his two candles, divested himself of his collar, tie, and coat, and flung them on the bed. 

"Threadbare, almost! Ah, but I was hungry to-night. Did he know it?Why the devil should I care? To work! Up to this night I have triedto live more or less honestly. I have tried to take the good that isin me and to make the most of it. And, " ironically, "this is theresult. I have failed. Now we'll see what I can accomplish in the wayof being a great rascal. "

He knelt before a small steamer trunk, battered and plentifullylabeled, and unscrewed the lock. From a cleverly concealed pocket hebrought forth a packet of papers. These he placed on the table andunfolded with almost reverent care. Sometimes he shrugged, as one doeswho is confronted by huge obstacles, sometimes he laughed harshly, sometimes his jaws hardened and his fingers writhed. When he haddone--and many and many a time he had repeated this performance, studied the faded ink, the great seal, the watermarks--he hid them awayin the trunk again. 

He now approached the open window and leaned out. Glittering Paris, wonderful city! How the lights from the bridges twinkled on thewind-wrinkled Seine! Over there lay the third wealth of the world;luxury, vice, pleasure. Eh, well, he could not fight it, but he couldcurse it deeply and violently, which he did. 

"Wait, Moloch, wait; you and I are not done with each other yet! Wait!I shall come back, and when I do, look to yourself! Two millionfrancs, and every one of them mine!"

He laid his head on his hands. It ached dully. Perhaps it was thewine. 

CHAPTER II

THE BUTTERFLY MAN

The passing and repassing shadows of craft gave a fitful luster to theriver; so crisply white were the spanning highways that the eye grewquickly dim with looking; the brisk channel breeze which moved withrough gaiety through the trees in the gardens of the Tuileries, had, long hours before, blown away the storm. Bright sunshine, expanses ofdeep cerulean blue, towering banks of pleasant clouds, these made Parishappy to-day, in spots. 

The great minister gazed across the river, his hands under the tails ofhis frock, and the perturbation of his mind expressed by the frequentflapping of those somber woolen wings. To the little man who watchedhim, there was a faint resemblance to a fiddling cricket. 

"Sometimes I am minded to trust the whole thing to luck, and bother nomore about him. "

"Monsieur, I have obeyed orders for seven years, since we firstrecognized the unfortunate affair. Nothing he has done in this periodis missing from my notebook; and up to the present time he hasdone--nothing. But just a little more patience. This very moment, when you are inclined to drop it, may be the one. One way or another, it is a matter of no real concern to me. There will always be plentyof work for me to do, in France, or elsewhere. But I am like an oldsoldier whose wound, twinging with rheumatism, announces the approachof damp weather. I have, then, monsieur, a kind of psychologicalrheumatism; prescience, bookmen call it. Presently we shall have dampweather. "

"You speak with singular conviction. "

"In my time I have made very few mistakes. You will recollect that. Twenty years have I served France. I was wrong to say that this affairdoes not concern me. I'm interested to see the end. "

"But will there be an end?" impatiently. "If I were certain of that!But seven years, and still no sign. "

"Monsieur, he is to be feared; this inactivity, to my mind, proves it. He is waiting; the moment is not ripe. There are many sentimentalfools in this world. One has only to step into the street and shout'Down with!' or 'Long live!' to bring these fools clattering about. "

"That is true enough, " flapping the tails of his coat again. 

"This fellow was born across the Rhine. He has served in the navy; heis a German, therefore we can not touch him unless he commits someovert act. He waits; there is where the danger, the real danger, lies. He waits; and it is his German blood which gives him this patience. AFrenchman would have exploded long since. "

"You have searched his luggage and his rooms, times without number. "

"And found nothing; nothing that I might use effectively. But there isthis saving grace; he on his side knows nothing. "

"I would I were sure of that also. Eh, well; I leave the affair inyour hands, and they are capable ones. When the time comes, act, actupon your own initiative. In this matter we shall give no accountingto Germany. "

"No, because what I do must be done secretly. It will not matter thatGermany also knows and waits. But this is true; if we do notcircumvent him, she will make use of whatever he does. "

"It has its whimsical side. Here is a man who may some day blow upFrance, and yet we can put no hand on him till he throws the bomb. "

"But there is always time to stop the flight of the bomb. That shallbe my concern; that is, if monsieur is not becoming discouraged anddesires me to occupy myself with other things. I repeat: I haverheumatism, I apprehend the damp. He will go to America. "

"Ah! It would be a very good plan if he remained there. "

The little man did not reply. 

"But you say in your reports that you have seen him going about withsome of the Orleanists. What is your inference there?"

"I have not yet formed one. It is a bit of a riddle there, for thecrow and the eagle do not fly together. "

"Well, follow him to America. "

"Thanks. The pay is good and the work is congenial. " The tone of thelittle man was softly given to irony. 

Gray-haired, rosy-cheeked, a face smooth as a boy's, twinkling eyesbehind spectacles, he was one of the most astute, learned, and patientof the French secret police. And he did not care the flip of hisstrong brown fingers for the methods of Vidocq or Lecoq. His onlydisguise was that not one of the criminal police of the world knew himor had ever heard of him; and save his chief and three ministers ofwar--for French cabinets are given to change--his own immediate friendsknew him as a butterfly hunter, a searcher for beetles and scarabs, who, indeed, was one of the first authorities in France on thesubjects: Anatole Ferraud, who went about, hither and thither, with alittle red button in his buttonhole and a tongue facile in a dozenlanguages. 

"Very well, monsieur. I trust that in the near future I may bring yougood news. "

"He will become nothing or the most desperate man in Europe. "

"Admitted. "

"He is a scholar, too. "

"All the more interesting. "

"As a student in Munich he has fought his three duels. He has been awar correspondent under fire. He is a great fencer, a fine shot, adaring rider. "

"And penniless. What a country they have over there beyond the Rhine!He would never have troubled his head about it, had they not harriedhim. To stir up France, to wound her if possible! He will be a man ofgreat courage and resource, " said the secret agent, drawing the palmsof his hands together. 

"In the end, then, Germany will offer him money?"

"That is the possible outlook. "

"But, suppose he went to work on his own responsibility?"

"In that case one would be justified in locking him up as a madman. Doyou know anything about Alpine butterflies?"

"Very little, " confessed the minister. 

"There is often great danger in getting at them; but the pleasure iscommensurate. "

"Are there not rare butterflies in the Amazonian swamps?" cynically. 

"Ah, but this man has good blood in him; and if he flies at all he willfly high. Think of this man fifty years ago; what a possibility hewould have been! But it is out of fashion to-day. Well, monsieur, Imust be off. There is an old manuscript at the Bibliothèque I wish toinspect. "

"Concerning this matter?"

"Butterflies, " softly; "or, I should say, chrysalides. "

The subtle inference passed by the minister. There were many otherthings to-ing and fro-ing in the busy corridors of his brain. "I shallhear from you frequently?"

"As often as the situation requires. By the way, I have an idea. WhenI cable you the word butterfly, prepare yourself accordingly. It willmean that the bomb is ready. "

"Good luck attend you, my savant, " said the minister, with afriendliness which was deep and genuine. He had known Monsieur Ferraudin other days. "And, above all, take care of yourself. "

"Trust me, Count. " And the secret agent departed, to appear again inthese chambers only when his work was done. 

"A strange man, " mused the minister when he was alone. "A stillstranger business for a genuine scholar. Is he really poor? Does hedo this work to afford him ease and time for his studies? Or, betterstill, does he hide a great and singular patriotism under butterflywings? Patriotism? More and more it becomes self-interest. It isonly when a foreign mob starts to tear down your house, that you becomea patriot. "

Now the subject of these desultory musings went directly to theBibliothèque Nationale. The study he pursued was of deep interest tohim; it concerned a butterfly of vast proportions and kaleidoscopic incolor, long ago pinned away and labeled among others of lesserbrilliancy. It had cast a fine shadow in its brief flight. But thespecies was now extinct, at least so the historian of this particularbutterfly declared. Hybrid? Such a contingency was always possible. 

"Suppose it does exist, as I and a few others very well know it does;what a fine joke it would be to see it fly into Paris! But, no. Idledream! Still, I shall wait and watch. And now, suppose we pay a visitto Berlin and use blunt facts in place of diplomacy? It will surprisethem. "

Each German chancellor has become, in turn, the repository of suchpolitical secrets as fell under the eyes of his predecessor; and thechancellor who walked up and down before Monsieur Ferraud, possessedseveral which did not rest heavily upon his soul simply because he wasincredulous, or affected that he was. 

"The thing is preposterous. "

"As your excellency has already declared. "

"What has it to do with France?"

"Much or little. It depends upon this side of the Rhine. "

"What imagination! But for your credentials, Monsieur Ferraud, Ishould not listen to you one moment. "

"I have seen some documents. "

"Forgeries!" contemptuously. 

"Not in the least, " suavely. "They are in every part genuine. Theyare his own. "

The chancellor paused, frowning. "Well, even then?"

Monsieur Ferraud shrugged. 

"This fellow, who was forced to resign from the navy because of histricks at cards, why I doubt if he could stir up a brawl in a tavern. Really, if there was a word of truth in the affair, we should haveacted before this. It is all idle newspaper talk that Germany wisheswar; far from it. Still, we lose no point to fortify ourselves againstthe possibility of it. Some one has been telling you old-wives' tales. "

"Ten thousand marks, " almost inaudibly. 

"What was that you said?" cried the chancellor, whirling roundabruptly, for the words startled him. 

"Pardon me! I was thinking out loud about a sum of money. "

"Ah!" And yet the chancellor realized that the other was telling himas plainly as he dared that the German government had offered such asum to forward the very intrigue which he was so emphatically denying. "Why not turn the matter over to your own ambassador here?"

The secret agent laughed. "Publicity is what neither your governmentnor mine desires. Thank you. "

"I am sorry not to be of some service to you. "

"I can readily believe that, your excellency, " not to be outdone in thematter of duplicity. "I thank you for your time. "

"I hadn't the least idea that you were in the service; butterflies anddiplomacy!" with a hearty laugh. 

"It is only temporary. "

"Your _Alpine Butterflies_ compares favorably with _The Life of theBee_. "

"That is a very great compliment!"

And with this the interview, extraordinary in all ways, came to an end. Neither man had fooled the other, neither had made any mistake in hislogical deductions; and, in a way, both were satisfied. The chancellorresumed his more definite labors, and the secret agent hurried away tothe nearest telegraph office. 

"So I am to stand on these two feet?" Monsieur Ferraud ruminated, as hetook the seat by the window in the second-class carriage for Munich. "All the finer the sport. Ten thousand marks! He forgot himself for amoment. And I might have gone further and said that ninety thousandmarks would be added to those ten thousand if the bribe was acceptedand the promise fulfilled. "

Ah, it would be beautiful to untangle this snarl all alone. It wouldbe the finest chase that had ever fallen to his lot. No grain of sand, however small, should escape him. There were fools in Berlin as wellas in Paris; and he knew what he knew. "Never a move shall he makethat I shan't make the same; and in one thing I shall move first. Twomillion francs! Handsome! It is I who must find this treasure, thisfulcrum to the lever which is going to upheave France. There will beno difficulty then in pricking the pretty bubble. In the meantime weshall proceed to Munich and carefully inquire into the affairs of thegrand opera singer, Hildegarde von Mitter. "

He extracted a wallet from an inner pocket and opened it across hisknees. It was full of butterflies. 

CHAPTER III

A PLASTER STATUETTE

Fitzgerald's view from his club window afforded the same impersonaloutlook as from a window in a car. It was the two living currents, moving in opposite directions, each making toward a similar goal, onlyin a million different ways, that absorbed him. Subconsciously he wasalways counting, counting, now by fives, now by tens, but invariablyfound new entertainment ere he reached the respectable three numeralsof an even hundred. Sometimes it was a silk hat which he followed tillit became lost up the Avenue; and as often as not he would single out awaiting cabman and speculate on the quality of his fare; and otherwhimsies. 

That this was such and such a woman, or that was such and such a mannever led him into any of that gossip so common among club-men who areout of touch with the vital things in life. Even when he espied afriend in this mysterious flow of souls, there was only a transientflash of recognition in his eyes. When he wasn't in the tennis-courts, or the billiard- or card-rooms, he was generally to be found in thiscorner. He had seen all manner of crowds, armies pursuing andretreating, vast concords in public squares, at coronations, atcatastrophes, at play, and he never lost interest in watching them;they were the great expressions of humanity. This is perhaps thereason why his articles were always so rich in color. No two crowdswere ever alike to him, consequently he never was at loss for a freshdescription. 

To-day the Italian vender of plaster statuettes caught his eye. For anhour now the poor wretch hadn't even drawn the attention of one of thethousands passing. Fitzgerald felt sorry for him, and once the desirecame to go over and buy out the Neapolitan; but he was too comfortablewhere he was, and beyond that he was expecting a friend. 

Fitzgerald was thirty, with a clean-shaven, lean, and eager face, russet in tone, well offset by the fine blue eyes which had the facultyof seeing little and big things at the same time. He had dissipated ina trifling fashion, but the healthy, active life he lived in the openmore than counteracted the effects. A lonely orphan, possessing alively imagination, is seldom free from some vice or other. There hadnever been, however, what the world is pleased to term entanglements. His guardian angel gave him a light step whenever there was any socialthin ice. Oh, he had some relatives; but as they were neither veryrich nor very poor, they seldom annoyed one another. He was, then, afree lance in all the abused word implies; and he lived as he pleased, spending his earnings freely and often carelessly, knowing that thelittle his father had left him would keep a moderately hungry wolf fromthe door. He had been born to a golden spoon, but the food from thepewter one he now used tasted just as good. 

"So here you are! I've been in the billiard-room, and the card-room, and the bar-room. "

"Talking of bar-rooms!" Fitzgerald reached for the button. "Sit down, Hewitt, old boy. Glad to see you. Now, I'll tell you right off thebat, nothing will persuade me. For years I've been jumping to the fourpoints of the compass at the beck of your old magazine and syndicate. I'm going to settle down and write a novel. "

"Piffle!" growled the editor, dropping his lanky form into a chair. "Thank goodness, they haven't swivel chairs in the club. I've beenwhirling round in one all day--a long, tall Scotch, please--but anovel! I say, piffle!"

"Piffle it may be, but I'm going to have a whack at it. If I ever doanother article it will be as a millionaire's private secretary. Ishould like to study his methods for saving his money. What is it thistime?"

"A dash to the North Pole. "

"Never again north of Berlin or south of Assuan for mine. No. "

"Come, Fitz; a great chance. "

"When you sent me to Manila I explored hell for you, but I've cooledoff considerably since then. No ice for mine, except in silverbuckets. "

"You've made a pretty good thing out of us; something like fivethousand a year and your expenses; and with the credentials we'vealways given you, you have been able to see the world as few men seeit. "

"That's just the trouble. You've spoiled me. "

"Well, you may take my word for it, you won't have the patience to sitdown at home here and write a hundred thousand words that meananything. There's no reason why you can't do my work and write novelson the side. We both know a dozen fellows who are doing it. We've gotto have this article, and you're the only man we dare trust alone onit, if it will flatter you any to know it. "

"Come, pussy, come!"

"If it's a question of more money--"

"Perish the thought!" cried Fitzgerald, clasping his knees and rockinggently. "You know as well as I do, Hewitt, that it's the game and notthe cash. I've found a new love, my boy. "

"Double harness?" with real anxiety. Hewitt bit his scrubby mustache. When a special correspondent married that was the end of him. 

"There you go again!" warned the recalcitrant. "If you don't stopeating that mustache you'll have stomach trouble that no Scotch whiskywill ever cure. The whole thing is in a nutshell, " a sly humorcreeping into his eyes. "I am tired of writing ephemeral things. Iwant to write something that will last. "

"Write your epitaph, Jack, " drawled a deep voice from the readingtable. "That's the only sure way, and even that is no good if yourmarble is spongy. "

"Oh, Cathewe, this is not your funeral, " retorted the editor. 

"Perhaps not. All the same, I'll be chief mourner if Jack takes upnovel writing. Critics don't like novels, because any one can write anaverage story; but it takes a genius to turn out first-class magazinecopy. Anyhow, art becomes less and less particular every day. Theonly thing that never gains or loses is this _London Times_. SomedayI'm going to match the _Congressional Record_ and the _Times_ for theheavyweight championship of the world, with seven to one on the_Record_, to weigh in at the ringside. "

"You've been up north, Arthur, " said Fitzgerald. "What's your advice?"

"Don't do it. You've often wondered how and where I lost these twodigits. Up there. " The _Times_ rattled, and Cathewe became absorbedin the budget. 

Arthur Cathewe was a tall, loose-limbed man, forty-two or three, ratherhandsome, and a bit shy with most folk. Rarely any one saw him outsidethe club. He had few intimates, but to these he was all thatfriendship means, kindly, tender, loyal, generous, self-effacing. AndFitzgerald loved him best of all men. It did not matter that therewere periods when they became separated for months at a time. Theywould some day turn up together in the same place. "Why, hello, Arthur!" "Glad to see you, Jack!" and that was all that was necessary. All the enthusiasm was down deep below. Cathewe was always in funds;Fitzgerald sometimes; but there was never any lending or borrowingbetween them. This will do much toward keeping friendship green. Theelder man was a great hunter; he had been everywhere, north and south, east and west. He never fooled away his time at pigeons and traps; biggame, where the betting was even, where the animal had almost the samechance as the man. He could be tolerably humorous upon occasions. Thesolemn cast to his comely face predestined him for this talent. 

"Well, Fitz, what are you going to do?"

"Hewitt, give me a chance. I've been home but a week. I'm not goingto dash to the Pole without having a ripping good time here first. Will a month do?"

"Oh, the expedition doesn't leave for two months yet. But we must signthe contract a month beforehand. "

"To-day is the first of June; I promise to telegraph you yes or no thisday month. You have had me over in Europe eighteen months. I'm tiredof trains, and boats, and mules. I'm going fishing. "

"Ah, bass!" murmured Cathewe from behind his journal. 

"By the way, Hewitt, " said Fitzgerald, "have you ever heard of a chapcalled Karl Breitmann?"

"Yes, " answered Hewitt. "Never met him personally, though. "

"I have, " joined in Cathewe quietly. He laid down the Times. "What doyou know about him?"

"Met him in Paris last year. Met him once before in Macedonia. Dinedwith me in Paris. Amazing lot of adventures. Rather down on his luck, I should judge. "

"Couple of scars on his left cheek and a bit of the scalp gone; Germanstudent sort, rather good-looking, fine physique?"

"That's the man. "

"I know him, but not very well. " And Cathewe fumbled among the othernewspapers. 

"Dine with me to-night, " urged Hewitt. 

"I'll tell you what. See that Italian over there with the statues? Iam going to buy him out; and if I don't make a sale in half an hour, I'll sign the dinner checks. "

"Done!"

"I'll take half of that bet, " said Cathewe, rising. "It will be cheap. "

Ten minutes later the two older men saw Fitzgerald hang the tray fromhis shoulders and take his position on the corner. 

"I love that chap, Hewitt; he is what I always wanted to be, butcouldn't be. " Cathewe pulled the drooping ends of his mustache. "Ifhe should write a novel, I'm afraid for your sake that it will be agood one. Keep him busy. Novel writing keeps a man indoors. Butdon't send him on any damn goose chase for the Pole. "

"Why not?"

"Well, he might discover it. But, honestly, it's so God-forsaken andcold and useless. I have hunted musk-ox, and I know something aboutthe place. North Poling, as I call it, must be a man's natural bent;otherwise you kill the best that's in him. "

"Heaven on earth, will you look! A policeman is arguing with him. "Hewitt shook with laughter. 

"But I bought him out, " protested Fitzgerald. "There's no law toprevent me selling these. "

"Oh, I'm wise. We want no horse-play on this corner; no joyful collegestunts, " roughly. 

Fitzgerald saw that frankness must be his card, so he played it. "Lookhere, do you see those two gentlemen in the window there?"

"The club?"

"Yes. I made a wager that I could sell one of these statues in half anhour. If you force me off I'll lose a dinner. "

"Well, I'll make a bargain with you. You can stand here for half anhour; but if you open your mouth to a woman, I'll run you in. Nofooling; I'm talking straight. I'm going to see what your game is. "

"I agree. "

So the policeman turned to his crossing and reassumed his authorityover traffic, all the while never losing sight of the impromptu vender. 

Many pedestrians paused. To see a well-dressed young man hawkingplaster Venuses was no ordinary sight. They knew that some play wasgoing on, but, with that inveterate suspicion of the city pedestrian, none of them stopped to speak or buy. Some newsboys gathered round andoffered a few suggestions. Fitzgerald gave them back in kind. Nowoman spoke, but there wasn't one who passed that didn't look at himwith more than ordinary curiosity. He was enjoying it. It remindedhim of the man who offered sovereigns for shillings, and neverexchanged a coin. 

Once he turned to see if his friends were still watching him. Theywere, two among many; for the exploit had gone round, and there wereother wagers being laid on the result. While his head was turned, andhis grin was directed at the club window, a handsome young woman inblue came along. She paused, touched her lips with her gloved handmeditatingly, and then went right-about-face swiftly. Some one in thewindow motioned frantically to the vender, but he did not understand. Ten minutes left in which to win his bet. He hadn't made a very goodbargain. Hm! The young woman in blue was stopping. Her exquisiteface was perfectly serious as her eyes ran over the collection on thetray. They were all done execrably, something Fitzgerald hadn'tnoticed before. 

"How much are these apiece?"

"Er--twenty-five cents, ma'am, " he stammered. As a matter of fact hehadn't any idea what the current price list was. 

"You seem very well dressed, " doubtfully; "and you do not look hungry. "

"I am doing this for charity's sake, " finding his wits. The policemanhovered near, scowling. He was powerless, since the young woman hadspoken first. 

"Charity, " in a half-articulated voice, as if the word to her possessedmany angles, and she was endeavoring to find the proper one to fit themoment. 

"What organization?"

A blank pause. "My own, ma'am, of which I am the head. " There was nolevity in tone or expression. 

By now every window in the club framed a dozen or more faces. 

"I will take this Canova, I believe, " she finally decided, opening herpurse and producing the necessary silver. "Of course, it is quiteimpossible to send this?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sending it would eat up all the profits. " But, withill-concealed eagerness, "If you will leave your address I can send asmany as you like. "

"I will do that. "

Incredible as it seemed, neither face lost its repose; he dared notsmile, and the young woman did not care to. There was somethingfamiliar to his memory in the oval face, but this was no time for adiligent search. 

"Hey, miss, " yelled one of the newsboys, "you're t'rowin' your moneyaway. He's a fake; he ain't no statoo seller. He's doing it for ajoke!"

Fitzgerald lost a little color, that was all. But his customer ignoredthe imputation. She took out a card and laid it on the tray, andwithout further ado went serenely on her way. The policeman steppedtoward her as if to speak, but she turned her delicate head aside. Thecrowd engulfed her presently, and Fitzgerald picked up the card. Therewas neither name nor definite address on it. It was a message, hastilywritten; and it sent a thrill of delight and speculation to hisimpressionable heart. Still carrying the tray before him he hastenedover to the club, where there was something of an ovation. Instead ofa dinner for three it became one for a dozen, and Fitzgerald passed thestatuettes round as souvenirs of the most unique bet of the year. There were lively times. Toward midnight, as Fitzgerald was going outof the coat room, Cathewe spoke to him. 

"What was her name, Jack?"

"Hanged if I know. "

"She dropped a card on your tray. "

Fitzgerald scrubbed his chin. "There wasn't any name on it. There wasan address and something more. Now, wait a moment, Arthur; this is noordinary affair. I would not show it to any one else. Here, read ityourself. "

"Come to the house at the top of the hill, in Dalton, to-morrow nightat eight o'clock. But do not come if you lack courage. "

That was all. Cathewe ran a finger, comb-fashion, through hismustache. He almost smiled. 

"Where the deuce _is_ Dalton?" Fitzgerald inquired. 

"It is a little village on the New Jersey coast; not more than fortyhouses, post-office, hotel, and general store; perhaps an hour out oftown. "

"What would you do in my place? It may be a joke, and then again itmay not. She knew that I was a rank impostor. "

"But she knew that a man must have a certain kind of daredevil courageto play the game you played. Well, you ask me what I should do in yourplace. I'd go. "

"I shall. It will double discount fishing. And the more I think ofit, the more certain I become that she and I have met somewhere. By-by!"

Cathewe lingered in the reading-room, pondering. Here was a twist tothe wager he was rather unprepared for; and if the truth must be told, he was far more perplexed than Fitzgerald. He knew the girl, but hedid not know and could not imagine what purpose she had in aidingFitzgerald to win his wager or luring him out to an obscure village inthis detective-story manner. 

"Well, I shall hear all about it from her father, " he concluded. 

And all in good time he did. 

CHAPTER IV

PIRATES AND PRIVATE SECRETARIES

It was a little station made gloomy by a single light. Once in sooften a fast train stopped, if properly flagged. Fitzgerald, feelingwholly unromantic, now that he had arrived, dropped his hand-bag on thedamp platform and took his bearings. It was after sundown. The sea, but a few yards away, was a murmuring, heaving blackness, save wherehere and there a wave broke. The wind was chill, and there was thehint of a storm coming down from the northeast. 

"Any hotel in this place?" he asked of the ticket agent, the telegraphoperator, and the baggageman, who was pushing a crate of vegetables offa truck. 

"Swan's Hotel; only one. "

"Do people sleep and eat there?"

"If they have good digestions. "

"Much obliged. "

"Whisky's no good, either. "

"Thanks again. This doesn't look much like a summer resort. "

"Nobody ever said it was. I beg your pardon, but would you mind takingan end of this darned crate?"

"Not at all. " Fitzgerald was beginning to enjoy himself. "Where doyou want it?"

"In here, " indicating the baggage-room. "Thanks. Now, if there'sanything I can do to help you in return, let her go. "

"Is there a house hereabouts called the top o' the hill?"

"Come over here, " said the agent. "See that hill back there, quarterof a mile above the village; those three lights? Well, that's it. They usually have a carriage down here when they're expecting any one. "

"Who owns it?"

"Old Admiral Killigrew. Didn't you know it?"

"Oh, Admiral Killigrew; yes, of course. I'm not a guest. Just goingup there on business. Worth about ten millions, isn't he?"

"That and more. There's his yacht in the harbor. Oh, he could burn upthe village, pay the insurance, and not even knock down the quality ofhis cigars. He's the best old chap out. None of your red-faced, yo-hoing, growling seadogs; just a kindly, generous old sailor, withonly one bee in his bonnet. "

"What sort of bee?"

"Pirates!" in a ghostly whisper. 

"Pirates? Oh, say, now!" with a protest. 

"Straight as a die. He's got the finest library on piracy in theworld, everything from _The Pirates of Penzance_ to _The Life ofMorgan_. "

"But there's no pirate afloat these days. "

"Not on the high seas, no. It's just the old man's pastime. Every sooften, he coals up the yacht, which is a seventeen-knotter, and goesoff to the South Seas, hunting for treasures. "

"By George!" Fitzgerald whistled softly. "Has he ever found any?"

"Not so much as a postage stamp, so far as I know. Money's always beenin the family, and his Wall Street friends have shown him how to doublewhat he has, from time to time. Just for the sport of the thing someold fellows go in for crockery, some for pictures, and some for horses. The admiral just hunts treasures. Half-past six; you'll excuse me. There'll be some train despatches in a minute. "

Fitzgerald gave him a good cigar, took up his bag, and started off forthe main street; and once there he remembered with chagrin that he hadnot asked the agent the most important thing of all: Had the admiral adaughter? Well, at eight o'clock he would learn all about that. Pirates! It would be as good as a play. But where did he come in?And why was courage necessary? His interest found new life. 

Swan's Hotel was one of those nondescript buildings of wood which arenot worth more than a three-line paragraph even when they burn down. It was smelly. The kitchen joined the dining-room, and the dining-roomthe office, which was half a bar-room, with a few boxes of sawdustmathematically arranged along the walls. There were many like it upand down the coast. There were pictures on the walls of terriblewrecks at sea, naval battles, and a race horse or two. 

The landlord himself lifted Fitzgerald's bag to the counter. 

"A room for the night and supper, right away. "

"Here, Jimmy, " called the landlord to a growing, lumbering boy, "takethis satchel up to number five. "

The boy went his way, eying the labels respectfully and with some awe. This was the third of its kind he had ported up-stairs in the pasttwenty-four hours. 

Fitzgerald cast an idle glance at the loungers. There were half adozen of them, some of them playing cards and some displaying talent ona pool table, badly worn and beer-stained. There was nothingdistinctive about any of them, excepting the little man who was readingan evening paper, and the only distinctive thing about him was a pairof bright eyes. Behind their gold-rimmed spectacles they did not waverunder Fitzgerald's scrutiny; so the latter dismissed the room and itscompany from his mind and proceeded into dinner. As he was late, hedined alone on mildly warm chicken, greasy potatoes, and muddy coffee. He was used often to worse fare than this, and no complaint was eventhough of. After he had changed his linen he took the road to thehouse at the top of the hill. Now, then, what sort of an affair wasthis going to be, such as would bend a girl of her bearing to speak tohim on the street? Moreover, at a moment when he was playing agrown-up child's game? She had known that he was prevaricating when hehad stated that he represented a charitable organization; and he knewthat she knew he knew it. What, then? It could not be a joke; womennever rise to such extravagant heights. Pirates and treasures; hewouldn't have been surprised at all had Old Long John Silver hobbledout from behind any one of those vine-grown fences, and demanded hispurse. 

The street was dim, and more than once he stumbled over a loose boardin the wooden walk. If the admiral had been the right kind ofphilanthropist he would have furnished stone. But then, it was onething to give a country town something and another to force the towncouncil into accepting it. The lamp-posts, also of wood, stoodirregularly apart, often less than a hundred feet, and sometimes more, lighting nothing but their immediate vicinity. Fitzgerald could seethe lamps, plainly, but could separate none of the objects round orbeneath. That is why he did not see the face of the man who passed himin a hurry. He never forgot a face, if it were a man's; his onlydifficulty was in placing it at once. Up to this time one womanresembled another; feminine faces made no particular impression on hismemory. He would have remembered the face of the man who had justpassed, for the very fact that he had thought of it often. The man hadcome into the dim radiance of the far light, then had melted into theblackness of the night again, leaving as a sign of his presence thecreak of his shoes and the aroma of a cigarette. 

Fitzgerald tramped on cheerfully. It was not an unpleasant climb, onlydark. The millionaire's home seemed to grow up out of a fine park. There was a great iron fence inclosing the grounds, and the lights ontop of the gates set the dull red trunks of the pines a-glowing. Therewere no lights shining in the windows of the pretty lodge. Still, thepedestrians' gate was ajar. He passed in, fully expecting to begreeted by the growl of a dog. Instead, he heard mysterious footstepson the gravel. He listened. Some one was running. 

"Hello, there!" he called. 

No answer. The sound ceased. The runner had evidently taken to thesilent going of the turf. Fitzgerald came to a stand. Should he go onor return to the hotel? Whoever was running had no right here. Fitzgerald rarely carried arms, at least in civilized countries; astout cane was the best weapon for general purposes. He swung thislightly. 

"I am going on. I should like to see the library. "

He was not overfond of unknown dangers in the night; but he possessed akeen ear and a sharp pair of eyes, being a good hunter. A poacher, possibly. At any rate, he determined to go forward and ring the bell. 

Both the park and the house were old. Some of those well-trimmed pineshad scored easily a hundred and fifty years, and the oak, standingbefore the house and dividing the view into halves, was older still. No iron deer or marble lion marred the lawn which he was nowtraversing; a sign of good taste. Gardeners had been at work here, menwho knew their business thoroughly. He breathed the odor of trampledpine needles mingled with the harsher essence of the sea. It was tonic. 

In summer the place would be beautiful. The house itself was built onsevere and simple lines. It was quite apparent that in no time of itshistory had it been left to run down. The hall and lower left wingwere lighted, but the inner blinds and curtains were drawn. He did notwaste any time. It was exactly eight o'clock when he stepped up to thedoor and pulled the ancient wire bell. At once he saw signs of life. The broad door opened, and an English butler, having scrutinized hisface, silently motioned him to be seated. The young man in search ofan adventure selected the far end of the hall seat and dandled his hat. An English butler was a good beginning. Perhaps three minutes passed, then the door to the library opened and a young woman came out. Fitzgerald stood up. 

Yes, it was she. 

"So you have come?" There was welcome neither in her tone nor face, nor was there the suggestion of any other sentiment. 

"Yes. I am not sure that I gave you my name, Miss Killigrew. " He wassecretly confused over this enigmatical reception. 

She nodded. She had been certain that, did he come at all, he wouldcome in the knowledge of who she was. 

"I am John Fitzgerald, " he said. 

She thought for a space. "Are you the Mr. Fitzgerald who wrote thelong article recently on the piracy in the Chinese Seas?"

"Yes, " full of wonder. 

Interest began to stir her face. "It turns out, then, rather betterthan I expected. I can see that you are puzzled. I picked you out ofmany yesterday, on impulse, because you had the sang-froid necessary tocarry out your jest to the end. "

"I am glad that I am not here under false colors. What I did yesterdaywas, as you say, a jest. But, on the other hand, are you not playingme one in kind? I have much curiosity. "

"I shall proceed to allay it, somewhat. This will be no jest. Did youcome armed?"

"Oh, indeed, no!" smiling. 

She rather liked that. "I was wondering if you did not believe this tobe some silly intrigue. "

"I gave thought to but two things: that you were jesting, or that youwere in need of a gentleman as well as a man of courage. Tell me, whatis the danger, and why do you ask me if I am armed?" It occurred tohim that her own charm and beauty might be the greatest danger he couldpossibly face. More and more grew the certainty that he had seen hersomewhere in the past. 

"Ah, if I only knew what the danger was. But that it exists I ampositive. Within the past two weeks, on odd nights, there have beenstrange noises here and there about the house, especially in thechimney. My father, being slightly deaf, believes that these soundsare wholly imaginative on my part. This is the first spring in yearswe have resided here. It is really our summer home. I am not morethan normally timorous. Some one we do not know enters the house atwill. How or why I can't unravel. Nothing has ever disappeared, either money, jewels, or silver, though I have laid many traps. Thereis the huge fireplace in the library, and my room is above. I haveheard a tapping, like some one hammering gently on stone. I haveexamined the bricks and so has my father, but neither of us hasdiscovered anything. Three days ago I placed flour thinly on theflagstone before the fireplace. There were footprints in themorning--of rubber shoes. When I called in my father, the maid hadunfortunately cleaned the stone without observing anything. So myfather still holds that I am subject to dreams. His secretary, whom hehad for three years, has left him. The butler's and servants' quartersare in the rear of the other wing. They have never been disturbed. "

"I am not a detective, Miss Killigrew, " he remarked, as she paused. 

"No, but you seem to be a man of invention and of good spirit. Willyou help me?"

"In whatever way I can. " His opinion at that moment perhaps agreedwith that of her father. Still, a test could be of no harm. She was acharming young woman, and he was assured that beneath this presentconcern there was a lively, humorous disposition. He had a month foridleness, and why not play detective for a change? Then he recalledthe trespasser in the park. By George, she might be right!

"Come, then, and I will present you to my father. His deafness is notso bad that one has to speak loudly. To speak distinctly will besimplest. "

She thereupon conducted him into the library. His quick glance, thrownhere and there absorbingly, convinced him that there were at least fivethousand volumes in the cases, a magnificent private collection, considering that the owner was not a lawyer, and that these books werenot dry and musty precedents from the courts of appeals and supreme. He was glad to see that some of his old friends were here, too, andthat the shelves were not wholly given over to piracy. What a hobby tofollow! What adventures all within thirty square feet! And a shiverpassed over his spine as he saw several tattered black flags hangingfrom the walls; the real articles, too, now faded to a rusty brown. Over what smart and lively heeled brigs had they floated, thesesinister jolly rogers? For in a room like this they could not be otherthan genuine. All his journalistic craving for stories awakened. 

Behind a broad, flat, mahogany desk, with a green-shaded student lampat his elbow, sat a bright-cheeked, white-haired man, writing. Fitzgerald instantly recognized him. Abruptly his gaze returned to thegirl. Yes, now he knew. It was stupid of him not to have rememberedat once. Why, it was she who had given the bunch of violets that dayto the old veteran in Napoleon's tomb. To have remembered the fatherand to have forgotten the daughter!

"I was wondering where I had seen you, " he said lowly. 

"Where was that?"

"In Napoleon's tomb, nearly a year ago. You gave an old French soldiera bouquet of violets. I was there. "

"Were you?" As a matter of fact his face was absolutely new to her. "I am not very good at recalling faces. And in traveling one sees somany. "

"That is true. " Queer sort of girl, not to show just a little moreinterest. The moment was not ordinary by any means. He wasdisappointed. 

"Father!" she called, in a clear, sweet voice, for the admiral had notheard them enter. 

At the call he raised his head and took off his Mandarin spectacles. Like all sailors, he never had any trouble in seeing distances clearly;the difficulty lay in books, letters, and small type. 

"What is it, Laura?"

"This is Mr. Fitzgerald, the new secretary, " she answered blandly. 

"Aha! Bring a chair over and sit down. What did you say the name is, Laura?"

"Fitzgerald. "

"Sit down, Mr. Fitzgerald, " repeated the admiral cordially. 

Fitzgerald desired but one thing; the privilege of laughter!

CHAPTER V

NO FALSE PRETENSES

A private secretary, and only one way out! If the girl had been kindenough to stand her ground with him he would not have cared so much. But there she was vanishing beyond the door. There was a suggestion offeline cruelty in thus abandoning him. He dared not call her back. What the devil should he say to the admiral? There was one thing heknew absolutely nothing about, and this was the duties of a privatesecretary to a retired admiral who had riches, a yacht, a hobby, and abeautiful, though impulsive daughter. His thought became irrelevant, as is frequent when one faces a crisis, humorous or tragic; here indeedwas the coveted opportunity to study at close range the habits of a manwho spent less than his income. 

"Come, come; draw up your chair, Mr. Fitzgerald. "

"I beg your pardon; I--that is, I was looking at those flags, sir, "stuttered the self-made victim of circumstances. 

"Oh, those? Good examples of their kind; early part of the nineteenthcentury. Picked them up one cruise in the Indies. That faded onebelonged to Morgan, the bloodthirsty ruffian. I've always regrettedthat I wasn't born a hundred years ago. Think of bottling them up in ashallow channel and raking 'em fore and aft!" With a bang of his fiston the desk, setting the ink-wells rattling like old bones, "That wouldhave been sport!"

The keen, blue, sailor's eye seemed to bore right through Fitzgerald, who thought the best thing he could do was to sit down at once, whichhe did. The ticket agent had said that the admiral was of a quietpattern, but this start wasn't much like it. The fire in the blue eyessuddenly gave way to a twinkle, and the old man laughed. 

"Did I frighten you, Mr. Fitzgerald?"

"Not exactly. "

"Well, every secretary I've had has expected to see a red-nosed, swearing, peg-legged sailor; so I thought I'd soften the blow for you. Don't worry. Sailor?"

"Not in the technical sense, " answered Fitzgerald, warming. "I know astanchion from an anchor and a rope from a smoke-stack. But as fortravel, I believe that I have crossed all the high and middle seas. "

"Sounds good. Australia, East Indies, China, the Antilles, Gulf, andthe South Atlantic?"

"Yes; round the Horn, too, and East Africa. " Fitzgerald remembered hisinstructions and spoke clearly. 

"Well, well; you are a find. In what capacity have you taken thesevoyages?"

Here was the young man's opportunity. This was a likeable old sea-dog, and he determined not to impose upon him another moment. Some men, forthe sake of the adventure, would have left the truth to be found outlater, to the disillusion of all concerned. The abrupt manner in whichMiss Killigrew had abandoned him merited some revenge. 

"Admiral, I'm afraid there has been a mistake, and before we go anyfurther I'll be glad to explain. I'm not a private secretary and neverhave been one. I should be less familiar with the work than aChinaman. I am a special writer for the magazines, and have been atodd times a war correspondent. " And then he went on to describe thelittle comedy of the statuettes, and it was not without some charm inthe telling. 

Plainly the admiral was nonplussed. That girl; that minx, with herinnocent eyes and placid face! He got up, and Fitzgerald awaited theexplosion. His expectancy missed fire. The admiral exploded, but withlaughter. 

"I beg pardon, Mr. Fitzgerald, and I beg it again on my daughter'sbehalf. What would you do in my place?"

"Show me the door at once and have done with it. "

"I'm hanged if I do! You shall have a toddy for your pains, and, bycracky, Laura shall mix it. " He pushed the butler's bell. "Tell MissLaura that I wish to see her at once. "

"Very well, sir. "

She appeared shortly. If Fitzgerald admired her beauty he yet moreadmired her perfect poise and unconcern. Many another woman would haveevinced some embarrassment. Not she. 

"Laura, what's the meaning of this hoax?" the admiral demanded sternly. "Mr. Fitzgerald tells me that he had no idea you were hiring him as mysecretary. "

"I am sure he hadn't the slightest. " The look she sent Fitzgerald wasfull of approval. "He hadn't any idea at all save that I asked him tocome here at eight this evening. And his confession proves that Ihaven't made any mistake. "

"But what in thunder--"

"Father!"

"My dear, give me credit for resisting the desire to make the termstronger. Mr. Fitzgerald's joke, I take it, bothered no one. Yourshas put him in a peculiar embarrassment. What does it mean? You wentto the city to get me a first-class secretary. "

"Mr. Fitzgerald has the making of one, I believe. "

"But on your word I sent a capable man away half an hour gone. Hecould speak half a dozen languages. "

"Mr. Fitzgerald is, perhaps, as efficient. "

Fitzgerald's wonder grew and grew. 

"But he doesn't want to be a secretary. He doesn't know anything aboutthe work. And I haven't got the time to teach him, even if he wantedthe place. "

"Father, " began the girl, the fun leaving her eyes and her lipsbecoming grave, "I do not like the noises at night. I have notsuggested the police, because robbery is _not_ the motive. "

"Laura, that's all tommyrot. This is an old house, and the wood alwayscreaks with a change of temperature. But this doesn't seem to touchMr. Fitzgerald. "

The girl shrugged. 

"Well, I'm glad I told that German chap not to leave till he heardagain from me. I'll hire him. He looks like a man who wouldn't letnoises worry him. You will find your noises are entirely those ofimagination. "

"Have it that way, " she agreed patiently. 

"But here's Mr. Fitzgerald still, " said the admiral pointedly. 

"Not long ago you said to me that if ever I saw the son of DavidFitzgerald to bring him home. Till yesterday I never saw him; onlythen because Mrs. Coldfield pointed him out and wondered what he wasdoing with a tray of statuettes around his neck. As I could not invitehim to come home with me, I did the next best thing; I invited him tocall on me. I was told that he was fond of adventures, so I gave theinvitation as much color as I could. Do I stand pardoned?"

"Indeed you do!" cried Fitzgerald. So this was the Killigrew hisfather had known?

"David Fitzgerald, your father? That makes all the difference in theworld. " The admiral thrust out a hand. "Your father wasn't a goodbusiness man, nor was he in the navy, but he could draw charts of theAtlantic coast with his eyes shut. Laura, you get the whisky and sugarand hot water. You haven't brought me a secretary, but you havebrought under my roof the son of an old friend. "

She laughed. It was rich and free-toned laughter, good for any man tohear. As she went to prepare the toddy, the music echoed again throughthe hall. 

"Sometimes I wake up in the morning with a new gray hair, " sighed theadmiral. "What would you do with a girl like that?"

"I'd hang on to her as long as I could, " earnestly. 

"I shall, " grimly. "Your father and I were old friends. There wasn'ta yacht on these waters that could show him her heels, not even my own. You don't mean to tell me you're no yachtsman! Why, it ought to be inthe blood. "

"Oh, I can handle small craft, but I don't know much about theengine-room. What time does the next train return to New York?"

"For you there'll be no train under a week. You're going to stay here, since you've been the victim of a hoax. "

"Disabuse your mind there, sir. I don't know when I've enjoyedanything so thoroughly. "

"But you'll stay? Oh, yes!" as Fitzgerald shook his head. "Thesecretary can do the work here while you and I can take care of therats in the hold. Laura's just imagining things, but we'll humor her. If there's any trouble with the chimney, why, we'll get a bricklayerand pull it down. "

"Miss Killigrew may have some real cause for alarm. I saw a man, orrather, I heard him, running, as I came up the road from the gates. Icalled to him, but he did not answer. "

"Is that so? Wasn't the porter at the gates when you came in?"

"No. The footpath was free. "

"This begins to look serious. If the porter isn't there the gate bellrings, I can open it myself by wire. I never bother about it at night, unless I am expecting some one. But in the daytime I can see from herewhether or not I wish to open the gate. A man running in the park, eh?Little good it will do him. The house is a network of burglar alarms. "

"Wires can be cut and quickly repaired. "

"But this is no house to rob. All my valuables, excepting these books, are in New York. The average burglar isn't of a literary turn of mind. Still, if Laura has really heard something, all the more reason why youshould make us a visit. Wait a moment. I've an idea. " The admiralset the burglar alarm and tried it. The expression on his face wasblank. "Am I getting deafer?"

"No bell rang, " said Fitzgerald quickly. 

"By cracky, if Laura is right! But not a word to her, mind. When shegoes up-stairs we'll take a trip into the cellar and have a look at themain wire. You've got to stay; that's all there is about it. This isserious. I hadn't tested the wires in a week. "

"Perhaps it's only a fuse. "

"We can soon find out about that. Sh! Not a word to her!"

She entered with a tray and two steaming toddies, as graceful a beingas Hebe before she spilled the precious drop. The two men could notkeep their eyes off her, the one with loving possession, the other withadmiration not wholly free from unrest. The daring manner in which shehad lured him here would never be forgetable. And she had known him atthe start? And that merry Mrs. Coldfield in the plot!

"I hope this will cheer you, father. "

"It always does, " replied the admiral, as he took the second glass. "Ihave asked Mr. Fitzgerald to spend a week with us. "

"Thank you, father. It was thoughtful of you. If you had not askedhim, the pleasure of doing so would have been mine. Mrs. Coldfieldpointed you out to me as a most ungrateful fellow, because you nevercalled on your father's or mother's friends any more, but preferred togallivant round the world. You will stay? We are very unconventionalhere. "

"It is all very good of you. I am rather a lonesome chap. Thenewspapers and magazines have spoiled me. There's never a moment sohappy to me as when I am ordered to some strange country, thousands ofmiles away. It is in the blood. Thanks, very much; I shall be veryhappy to stay. My hand-bag, however, is at Swan's Hotel, and there'svery little in it. "

"A trifling matter to send to New York for what you need, " said theadmiral, mightily pleased to have a man to talk to who was not paid toreply. "I'll have William bring the cart round and take you down. "

"No, no; I had much rather walk. I'll turn up some time in themorning, say luncheon, if that will be agreeable to you. "

"As you please. Only, I should like to save you an unpleasant walk inthe dark. "

"I don't mind. A dark street in a country village this side of theAtlantic holds little or no danger. "

"I offered to build a first-class lighting plant if the town wouldagree to pay the running expenses; but the council threw it over. Theywant me to build a library. Not much! Hold on, " as Fitzgerald wasrising. "You are not going right away. I shan't permit that. Just alittle visit first. "

Fitzgerald resumed his chair. 

"Have a cigar. Laura is used to it. "

"But does Miss Killigrew like it?" laughing. 

"Cigars, and pipes, and cigarettes, " she returned. "I am really fondof the aroma. I have tried to acquire the cigarette habit, but I haveyet to learn what satisfaction you men get out of it. "

Conversation veered in various directions, and finally rested upon thesubject of piracy; and here the admiral proved himself a rare scholar. By some peculiar inadvertency, as he was in the middle of one of hisown adventures, his finger touched the burglar alarm. Clang! Brrrr!From top to bottom of the house came the shock of differently voicedbells. The two men gazed at each other dumfounded. But the girllaughed merrily. 

"You touched the alarm, father. "

"I rather believe I did. And a few minutes before you came in with thetoddies I tried it and it didn't work. "

It took some time to quiet the servants; and when that was doneFitzgerald determined to go down to the village. 

"Good night, Mr. Fitzgerald, " said the girl. "Better beware; thishouse is haunted. "

"We'll see if we can't lay that ghost, as they say, " he responded. 

The admiral came to the door. "What do you make of it?" he whispered. 

"You possibly did not press the button squarely the first time. " Andthat was Fitzgerald's genuine belief. 

"By the way, will you take a note for me to Swan's? It will not takeme a moment to scribble it. "

"Certainly. "

Finally the young man found himself in the park, heading quickly towardthe gates. He searched the night keenly, but this time he neitherheard nor saw any one. Then he permitted his fancy to take shortflights. Interesting situation! To find himself a guest here, when hehad come keyed up for something strenuous! Pirates and jolly-rogersand mysterious trespassers and silent bells, to say nothing of abeautiful young woman with a leaning toward adventure! But the mostsurprising turn was yet to come. 

In the office of Swan's hotel the landlord sat snoozing peacefullybehind the desk. There was only one customer. He was a gray-haired, ruddy-visaged old salt in white duck--at this time of year!--and a bluesack-coat dotted with shining brass buttons, the whole five-foot-fourtopped by a gold-braided officer's cap. He was drinking what isjocularly called a "schooner" of beer, and finishing this he lurchedfrom the room with a rolling, hiccoughing gait, due entirely to awooden peg which extended from his right knee down to a highly polishedbrass ferrule. 

Fitzgerald awakened the landlord and gave him the admiral's note. 

"You will be sure and give this to the gentleman in the morning?"

"Certainly, sir. Mr. Karl Breitmann, " reading the superscriptionaloud. "Yes, sir; first thing in the morning. "

CHAPTER VI

SOME EXPLANATIONS

Karl Breitmann! Fitzgerald pulled off a shoe, and carefully depositedit on the floor beside his chair. Private secretary to Rear AdmiralKilligrew, retired; Karl Breitmann! He drew off the second shoe, andplaced it, with military preciseness, close to the first. Absently, herose, with the intention of putting the pair in the hall, butremembered before he got as far as the door that it was not customaryin America to put one's shoes outside in the halls. Ultimately, theywould have been stolen or have remained there till the trump of doom. 

Could there be two Breitmanns by the name of Karl? Here and there, across the world, he had heard of Breitmann, but never had he seen himsince that meeting in Paris. And, simply because he had proved to bean enthusiastic student of Napoleon, like himself, he had taken the manto dinner. But that was nothing. Under the same circumstances hewould have done the same thing again. There had been somethingfascinating about the fellow, either his voice or his manner. Andthere could be no doubting that he had been at ebb tide; the shinycoat, the white, but ragged linen, the cracked patent leathers. 

A baron, and to reach the humble grade of private secretary to aneccentric millionaire--for the admiral, with all his kindliness andcommon sense, was eccentric--this was a fall. Where were hisnewspapers? There was a dignity to foreign work, even though in Europethe pay is small. There was trouble going on here and there, pettywars and political squabbles. Yes, where were his newspapers? Had hetried New York? If not, in that case, he--Fitzgerald--could be of somesolid assistance. And Cathewe knew him, or had met him. 

Fitzgerald had buffeted the high and low places; he seldom mademistakes in judging men offhand, an art acquired only after manyinitial blunders. This man Breitmann was no sham; he was a scholar, agentleman, a fine linguist, versed in politics and war. Well, thelittle mystery would be brushed aside in the morning. Breitmann wouldcertainly recognize him. 

But to have forgotten the girl! To have permitted a course of eventsto discover her! Shameful! He jumped into bed, and pulled thecoverlet close to his nose, and was soon asleep, sleep broken byfantastic dreams, in which the past and present mixed with theimprobable chances of the future. 

Thump-thump, thump-thump! To Fitzgerald's fogged hearing, it was likethe pulse beating in the bowels of a ship, only that it stopped andbegan at odd intervals, intermittently. At the fourth recurrence, hesat up, to find that it was early morning, and that the sea lay; grayand leaden, under the pearly haze of dawn. Thump-thump! He rubbed hiseyes, and laughed. It could be no less a person than the old sailor inthe summer-yachting toggery. Drat 'em! These sailors were alwaystrying to beat sun-up. At length, the peg left the room above, andbanged along the hall and bumped down the stairs. Then all becamestill once more, and the listener snuggled under the covers again, andslept soundly till eight. Outside, the day was full, clear, and windy. 

On the way to the dining-room, he met the man. The scars were a littledeeper in color and the face was thinner, but there was no shadow ofdoubt in Fitzgerald's mind. 

"Breitmann?" he said, with a friendly hand. 

The other stood still. There was no recognition in his eyes; at least, Fitzgerald saw none. 

"Breitmann is my name, sir, " he replied courteously. 

"I am Fitzgerald; don't you remember me? We dined in Paris last year, after we had spent the afternoon with the Napoleonic relics. Youhaven't forgotten Macedonia?"

Breitmann took the speaker by the arm, and turned him round. Fitzgerald had been standing with his back to the light. The scrutinywas short. The eyes of the Bavarian softened, though the quizzicalwrinkles at the corners remained unchanged. All at once his wholeexpression warmed. 

"It is you? And what do you here?" extending both hands. 

Some doubt lingered in Fitzgerald's mind; yet the welcome was perfect, from whichever point he chose to look. "Come in to breakfast, " hesaid, "and I'll tell you. "

"My table is here; sit by the window. Who was it said that the worldis small? Do you know, that dinner in Paris was the first decent mealI had had in a week? And I didn't recognize you at once! _HerrGott_!" with sudden weariness. "Perhaps I have had reason to forgetmany things. But you?"

Fitzgerald spread his napkin over his knees. There was only one otherman breakfasting. He was a small, wiry person, white of hair, andspectacled, and was at that moment curiously employed. He had pinnedto the table a small butterfly, yellow, with tiny dots on the wings. He was critically inspecting his find through a jeweler's glass. 

"I am visiting friends here, " began Fitzgerald. "Rear AdmiralKilligrew was an old friend of my father's. I did not expect toremain, but the admiral and his daughter insisted; so I am sending toNew York for my luggage, and will go up this morning. " He saw noreason for giving fuller details. 

"So it must have been you who brought the admiral's note. It is fate. Thanks. Some day that casual dinner may give you good interest"

The little man with the butterfly bent lower over his prize. 

"Do you believe in curses?" asked Breitmann. 

"Ordinary, every-day curses, yes; but not in Roman anathemas. "

"Neither of those. I mean the curse that sometimes dogs a man, day andnight; the curse of misfortune. I was hungry that night in Paris; Ihave been hungry many times since, I have held honorable places;to-day, I become a servant at seventy-five dollars a month and my breadand butter. A private secretary. "

"But why aren't you with some newspaper?" asked Fitzgerald, breakinghis eggs. 

Breitmann drew up his shoulders. "For the same reason that I amrenting my brains as a private secretary. It was the last thing Icould find, and still retain a little self-respect. My heart was deadwhen the admiral told me he had already engaged a secretary. But yournote brought me the position. "

"But the newspapers?"

"None of them will employ me. "

"In New York, with your credentials?"

"Even so. "

"I don't quite understand. "

"It would take too long to explain. "

"I can give you some letters. "

"Thank you. It would be useless. Secretly and subterraneously, I havehad the bottom knocked out from under my feet. Why, God knows! But nomore of that. Some day I will give you my version. "

The little man smiled over his butterfly, took out a wallet, somethingon the pattern of a fisherman's, and put the new-found specimen intoone of the mica compartments, in which other dead butterflies ofvariant beauty reposed. 

"So I become a private secretary, till the time offers somethingbetter. " Breitmann stared at the sea. 

"I am sorry. I wish I could help you. Better let me try. " Fitzgeraldstirred his coffee. "You are convinced that there is some cabalworking against you in the newspaper business? That seems strange. Some of them must have heard of your work--London, Paris, Berlin. Haveyou tried them all?"

"Yes. Nothing for me, but promises as thick as yonder sands. "

The little man rose, and walked out of the room, smiling. 

"Splendid!" he murmured. "What a specimen to add to my collection!"

"Do you know what your duties will be?" Fitzgerald inquired. 

"They will consist of replying to begging letters from the needy anddeserving, from crazy inventors, and ministers. In the meantime, I amto do translating, together with indexing a vast library devoted topirates. Droll, isn't it?" Breitmann laughed, but this time withoutbitterness. 

"It is a harmless hobby, " rather resenting Breitmann's tone. 

"More than that, " quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employme for some length of time. "

"When do they expect you?"

"At half-after ten. "

"We'll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral's daughter?"

"A daughter? Has he one?" Breitmann accepted this news with anexpression of disfavor. 

"Yes; and charming, I can tell you. It's all very odd. In Paris thatnight, they both sat at the next table. "

"Why did you not speak to them?"

"Didn't know who they were. The admiral was one of my father's boyhoodfriends, and I did not meet them till very recently;" which was alltrue enough. For some unaccountable reason, Fitzgerald found that hewas on guard. "I have ordered an open carriage. If you have anytrunks, I can take them up for you. "

"It will be good of you. "

They proceeded to finish the repast, and then sought the office, fortheir reckoning. Later, they strolled toward the water front. Fitzgerald, during moments when the talk lagged, thought over themeeting. There was a false ring to it somewhere. If Breitmann hadbeen turned down in all the offices in New York, there must have beensome good cause. Newspapers were not passing over men of this fellow'sexperience, unless he had been proved untrustworthy. Breitmann had nottold him everything; he had even told him too little. Still, he wouldwithhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject. Cathewe hadn't been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was neverinclined to enthusiasms. 

Passing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor intofull view. A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables. 

"There's a beauty, " said Fitzgerald admiringly. 

"She looks as if she could take care of herself. How fresh the greenwater-line looks! She'll be fast in moderate weather; a fair thousandtons, perhaps. "

"A close guess. "

"I understand she belongs to my employer. I hope he takes the seasoon. I suppose you know that I have knocked about some as a sailor. "

"That will help you into the good graces of the admiral. "

"How dull and uninteresting the coast-lines are here! No gardens, nopalms, nothing of beauty. "

"You must remember the immensity of this coast and that our summers arereally less than three months. Here comes one who can tell us aboutthe yacht, " cried Fitzgerald, espying the peg-legged sailor. "I say!"he hailed, as the old sailor drew nigh; "you are on the _Laura_, areyou not?"

"Yessir. An' I've bin on her since she wus commissioned as a pleasureyacht, sir. Capt'n. "

"Ah!"

"Fought under th' commodore in th' war, sir; an' he knows me, an' Iknows him; an' when Flanagan is on th' bridge, he doesn't signal nopilots between Key West an' St. Johns. "

"I am visiting the admiral, " said Fitzgerald, amused. 

"Oh!" Captain Flanagan ducked, with his hand to his cap. On land, hewas likely to imitate landsmen in manners and politeness; but on boardhe tipped his hat to nobody; leastwise, to nobody but Miss Laura, blessher heart! "I reckon one o' you is th' new sec'rety. "

"Yes, I am the new secretary, " replied Breitmann, unsmiling. 

"Furrin parts?"

"Yes. "

"Well, well!" as if, while he couldn't help the fact, it was none theless to be pitied. "You'll be comin' aboard soon, then. Off for th'Banks. Take my word for it, you'll find her as stiddy as one o' yourfloatin' hotels, sir, where you don't see no sailor but a deck hand asswabs th' scuppers when a beam sea's on. Good mornin'!" And CaptainFlanagan stumped off toward the village. 

Breitmann shrugged contemptuously. 

"He may not be in European yachting form, " admitted Fitzgerald, "buthe's the kind of man who makes a navy a good fighting machine. "

"But we usually pick out gentlemen to captain our private yachts. "

"Oh, this Flanagan is an exception. There is probably a fighting bondbetween him and the admiral; that makes some difference. You observed, he called the owner by the title of commodore, as he did thirty-fiveyears ago. Ten o'clock; we should be going up. "

The carriage was at the hotel when they returned. They bundled intheir traps, and drove away. 

The little man now dropped into the railway station, and stuck his headinto the ticket aperture. The agent, who was seated before thetelegraph keys, looked up. 

"No tickets before half-past ten, sir. "

"I am not wanting a ticket. I wish to know if I can send a cable fromhere. "

"A cable? Sure. Where to?"

"Paris. "

"Yes, sir. I telegraph it to the cable office in New York, and they dothe rest. Here are some blanks. "

The other wrote some hieroglyphics, which made the address impossibleto decipher, save that it was directed mainly to Paris. The body ofthe cablegram contained a single word. The writer paid the toll, andwent away. 

"Now, what would you think of that?" murmured the operator, scratchinghis head in perplexity. "Well, the company gets the money, so it's allthe same to me. Butterflies; and all the rest in French. Next timeit'll be bugs. All right; here goes!"

CHAPTER VII

A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY

The house at the top of the hill had two names. It had once beencalled The Watch Tower, for reasons but vaguely known by the presentgeneration of villagers. To-day it was generally styled The Pines. Yet even this had fallen into disuse, save on the occupant's letterpaper. When any one asked where Rear Admiral Killigrew lived, he wasdirected to "the big white house at the top o' the hill. "

The Killigrews had not been born and bred there. Its builder had beena friend of King George; that is, his sympathies had been with taxationwithout representation. One day he sold the manor cheap. His reasonswere sufficient. It then became the property of a wealthy trader, whodied in it. This was in 1809. His heirs, living, and preferring tolive, in Philadelphia, put up a sign; and being of careful disposition, kept the place in excellent repair. 

In the year 1816, it passed into the hands of a Frenchman, and duringhis day the villagers called the house The Watch Tower; for theFrenchman was always on the high balcony, telescope in hand, gazingseaward. No one knew his name. He dealt with the villagers throughhis servant, who could speak English, himself professing that he couldnot speak the language. He was a recluse, almost a hermit. At oddtimes, a brig would be seen dropping anchor in the offing. She wasalways from across the water, from the old country, as villagers tothis day insist upon calling Europe. The manor during these peacefulinvasions showed signs of life. Men from the brig went up to the bigwhite house, and remained there for a week or a month. And they werelean men, battle-scarred and fierce of eye, some with armless sleeves, some with stiff legs, some twisted with rheumatism. All spoke French, and spat whenever they saw the perfidious flag of old England. Thiswas not marked against them as a demerit, for the War of 1812 was yetsmoking here and there along the Great Lakes. Suddenly, they would upand away, and the manor would reassume its repellent aloofness. Eachtime they returned their number was diminished. Old age had succeededwar as a harvester. In 1822, the mysterious old recluse surrenderedthe ghost. His heirs--ignored and hated by him for their affiliationwith the Bourbons--sold it to the father of the admiral. 

The manor wasn't haunted. The hard-headed longshoremen and sailors wholived at the foot of the hill were a practical people, to whom spiritswere something mostly and generally put up in bottles, and emptied onsunless, blustery days. Still, they wouldn't have been human if theyhad not done some romancing. 

There were a dozen yarns, each at variance with the other. First, theold "monseer" was a fugitive from France; everybody granted that. Second, that he had helped to cut off King Lewis' head; but nobodycould prove that. Third, that he was a retired pirate; but retiredpirates always wound up their days in riotous living, so this theorydied. Fourth, that he had been a great soldier in the Napoleonic wars, and this version had some basis, as the old man's face was slashed andcut, some of his fingers were missing, and he limped. Again, he hadbeen banished from France for a share in the Hundred Days. But, alltold, nothing was proved conclusively, though the villagers burrowedand delved and hunted and pried, as villagers are prone to do when aperson appears among them and keeps his affairs strictly to himself. 

But the next generation partly forgot, and the present onlyindifferently remembered that, once upon a time, a French _emigré_ hadlived and died up there. They knew all there was to know about thepresent owner. It was all compactly written and pictured in a book ofhistory, which book agents sold over the land, even here in Dalton. 

All these things Fitzgerald and his companion learned from the driveron the journey up the incline. 

"Where was this Frenchman buried?" inquired Breitmann softly. 

"In th' cemet'ry jest over th' hill. But nobody knows jest where he isnow. Stone's gone, an' th' ground's all level that end. He wus on'y aFrenchman. But th' admiral, now you're talkin'! He pays cash, an'don't make no bargain rates, when he wants a job done. Go wan, y' ol'nag; what y' dreamin' of?"

"There might be history in that corner of the graveyard, " saidBreitmann. 

"Who knows? Good many strange bits of furniture found their way overhere during those tremendous times. Beautiful place in the daytime;eh?" Fitzgerald added, with an inclination toward The Pines. 

"More like an Italian villa than an Englishman's home. Good gardeners, I should say. "

"Culture and money will make a bog attractive. "

"Is the admiral cultured, then?"

"I should imagine so. But I am sure the daughter is. Not that veneerwhich passes for it, but that deep inner culture, which gives a deft, artistic touch to the hand, softens the voice, gives elegance to thecarriage, with a heart and mind nicely balanced. Judge for yourself, when you see her. If there is any rare knickknack in the house, itwill have been put there by the mother's hand or the daughter's. Theadmiral, I believe, occupies himself with his books, his butterflies, and his cruises. "

"A daughter. She is cultured, you say? Ah, if culture would only takebeauty in hand! But always she selects the plainer of two women. "

Fitzgerald smiled inwardly. "I have told you she is not plain. "

"Oh, beautiful, " thoughtfully. "Culture and beauty; I shall be pleasedto observe. "

"H'm! If there is any marrow in your bones, my friend, you'll showmore interest when you see her. " This was thought, not spoken. Fitzgerald wasn't going to rhapsodize over Miss Killigrew's charms. Itwould have been not only incautious, but suspicious. Aloud, he said:"She has a will of her own, I take it; however, of a quiet, resoluteorder. "

"So long as she is not capricious, and does not interfere with mywork--"

"Or peace of mind!" interrupted Fitzgerald, with prophetic suddenness, which was modified by laughter. 

"No, my friend; no woman has ever yet stirred my heart, though manyhave temporarily captured my senses. A man in my position has no rightto love, " with a dignity which surprised his auditor. 

Fitzgerald looked down at the wheels. There was something even morethan dignity, an indefinable something, a superiority whichFitzgerald's present attitude of mind could not approach. 

"This man, " he mused, "will afford some interesting study. One wouldthink that nothing less than a grand duke was riding in this rattlingold carryall. " There was silence for a time. "I must warn you, Breitmann, that, in all probability, you will have your meals at thetable with the admiral and his daughter; at least, in this house. "

"At the same table? It would hardly be so in Europe. But it pleasesme. I have been alone so much that I grow moody; and that is not good. "

There was always that trifling German accent, no matter what tongue heused, but it was perceptible only to the trained ear. And yet, toFitzgerald's mind, the man was at times something Gallic in hisliveliness. 

"You will never use your title, then?"

Breitmann laughed. "No. "

"You have made a great mistake. You should have fired the first shotwith it. You would have married an heiress by this time, " ironically, "and all your troubles would be over. "

"Or begun, " in the same spirit. "I'm no fortune hunter, in the senseyou mean. Pah! I have no debts; no crumbling _schloss_ to rebuild. All I ask is to be let alone, " with a flash of that moodiness of whichhe had spoken. "How long will you be here?"

"Can't say. Three or four days, perhaps. It all depends. What shallI say about you to them?"

"As little as possible. "

"And that's really about all I could say, " with a suggestion. 

But the other failed to meet the suggestion half-way. 

"You might forget about my ragged linen in Paris, " acridly. 

"I'll omit that, " good-naturedly. "Come, be cheerful; fortune's wheelwill turn, and it pulls up as well as down. Remember that. "

"I must be on the ascendancy, for God knows that I am at the nadir justat present. " He breathed in the sweet freshness which still clung tothe morning, and settled his shoulders like a recruiting sergeant. 

"How well the man has studied his English!" thought Fitzgerald. Herarely hesitated for a word, and his idioms were always nicely adjusted. 

The admiral was alone. He received them with an easy courtliness, which is more noticeable in the old world than in the new. He directedthe servants to take charge of the luggage, and to Breitmann there wasnever a word about work. That had all been decided by letter. Heurged the new secretary to return to the library as soon as he hadestablished himself. 

"Strange that you should know the man, " said the admiral. "It comes inpat. From what you say, he must be a brilliant fellow. But thissituation seems rather out of his line. "

"We all have our ups and downs, admiral. I've known a pinch or twomyself. We are an improvident lot, we writers, who wander round theglobe; rich to-day, poor to-morrow. But on the other hand, it'ssomething to set down on paper what a king says, the turn of a battle, to hobnob with famous men, explorers, novelists, painters, soldiers, scientists, to say nothing of the meat in the pie and the bottom crust. I'm going to write a novel some day myself. "

"Here, " said the admiral, with a sweep of the hand, which included therow upon row of books, "come here to do it. Make it a pirate story;there's always room for another. "

"But it takes a Stevenson to write it. It is very good of you, though. Where is Miss Killigrew this morning?"

"She hasn't returned from her ride. Ah! Come in, Mr. Breitmann, andsit down. By the way, you two must be fair horsemen. "

Breitmann smiled, and Fitzgerald laughed. 

"I dare say, " replied the latter, "that there's only one thing we twohaven't ridden: ostriches. Camels and elephants and donkeys; we'vedone some warm sprinting. Eh, Breitmann?"

The secretary agreed with a nod. He was rather grateful forFitzgerald's presence. This occupation was not going to be menial; atthe least, there would be pleasant sides to it. And, then, it mightnot take him a week to complete his own affair. There was nomisreading the admiral; he was a gentleman, affable, kindly, and a goodstory-teller, too, crisp and to the point, sailor fashion. Breitmanncleverly drew him out. Pirates! He dared not smile. Why, there washardly such a thing in the pearl zone, and China was on the highway torespectability. And every once in so often there was a futile treasurehunt! He grew cold. If this old man but knew!

"Do you know butterflies, Mr. Fitzgerald?"

"Social?"

The admiral laughed. "No. The law doesn't permit you to stick pins inthat kind. No; I mean that kind, " indicating the cases. 

Both young men admitted that this field had been left unexplored byeither of them. 

It was during a lull, when the talk had fallen to the desultory, thatthe hall door opened, and Laura came in. Her cheeks glowed like thesunny side of a Persian peach; her eyes sparkled; between her moist redlips there was a flash of firm, white teeth; the seal-brown hairglinted a Venetian red--for at that moment she stood in the path of thesunshine which poured in at the window--and blown tendrils inpicturesque disorder escaped from under her hat. 

The three men rose hastily; the father with pride, Fitzgerald withgladness, and Breitmann with doubt and wonder and fear. 

CHAPTER VIII

SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY

It might be truthfully said that the tableau lasted as long as shewilled it to last. Perhaps she read in the three masculine facesturned toward her a triangular admiration, since it emanated from threegiven points, and took from it a modest pinch for her vanity. Vain shenever was; still, she was not without a share of vanity, that vanity ofthe artless, needing no sacrifices, which is gratified and appeased bya smile. It pleased her to know that she was lovely; and it doubledher pleasure to realize that her loveliness pleased others. Shedemanded no hearts; she craved no jewels, no flattery. She warmed wheneyes told her she was beautiful; but she chilled whenever the lips tookup the speech, and voiced it. She was one of those happy beings ineither sex who can amuse themselves, who can hold pleasant communionwith the inner self, who can find romance in old houses, and yet lovebooks, who prefer sunrises and sunsets at first hand, still loving agood painting. 

Perhaps this trend of character was the result of her inherited love ofthe open. With almost unlimited funds under her own hand, she livedsimply. She was never happy in smart society, though it was alwaysmaking demands upon her. When abroad, she was generally prowlingthrough queer little shops instead of mingling with the dress paradeson the grand-hotel terraces. There was no great battle-field in Europeshe had not trod upon. She knew them so well that she could peopleeach field with the familiar bright regiments, bayonets and sabers, pikes and broadswords, axes and crossbowmen, matchlock and catapult, rifles and cannon. 

And what she did not know of naval warfare her father did. They werevery companionable. There was never any jealousy on the part of theadmiral. Indeed, he was always grateful when some young man evinced adeep regard for his daughter. He would have her always, married orunmarried. He was rich enough, and the son-in-law should live withhim. He was so assured of her good judgment, he knew that wheneverthis son-in-law came along, there would be another man in the family. He had long ceased to bother his head about the flylike buzzing offortune hunters. He had been father and mother and brother to thechild, and with wisdom. 

She smiled at her father, gave her hand to Fitzgerald, who found itwarm and moist from the ride, and glanced inquiringly at Breitmann. 

"My dear, " said her father, "this is Mr. Breitmann, my new secretary. "

That gentleman bowed stiffly, and the scars faded somewhat when heobserved that her hand was extended in welcome. This unconventionalityrather confused him, and as he took the hand he almost kissed it. Sheunderstood the innocence of the gesture, and saved him fromembarrassment by withdrawing the hand casually. 

"I hope you will like it here, " was the pleasant wish. 

"Thank you, I shall. "

"You are German?" quickly. 

"I was born in Bavaria, Miss Killigrew. "

"The name should have told me. " She excused herself. 

"Oho!" thought Fitzgerald, with malicious exultancy. "If she doesn'tinterfere with your work!"

But with introspection, this exultancy grew suddenly dim. How abouthimself? Yes. Here was a question that would bear some closeinspection. Was it really the wish to capture a supposable burglar?He made short work of this analysis. He never lied to others--not evenin his work, which every one knows is endowed with special licenses inregard to truth--nor did he ever play the futile, if soothing, game oflying to himself. This girl was different from the ordinary run ofgirls; she might become dangerous. He determined then and there not toprolong his visit more than three or four days; just to satisfy herthat there was no ghost in the chimney. Then he would return to NewYork. He had no more right than Breitmann to fall in love with thedaughter of a millionaire. Loving her was not impossible, but leavingat an early day would go toward lessening the probability. He was notafraid of Breitmann; he was foreigner enough to accept at once hisplace, and to appreciate that he and this girl stood at the two ends ofthe world. 

And Breitmann's mind, which had, up to this time, been deep andunruffled as a pool, became strangely disturbed. 

The time moved on to luncheon. Breitmann took the part of listener, and spoke only when addressed. 

"I must tell you, Mr. Breitmann, " said Laura, "that a ghost hasreturned to us. "

"A ghost?" interestedly. 

"Yes. My daughter, " said the admiral tolerantly, "believes that shehears strange noises at night, tapping, and such like. "

"Oh!" politely. Breitmann broke his bread idly. It was too bad. Shehad not produced upon him the impression that she was the sort of womanwhose imagination embraced the belief in spirits. "Where does thisghost do its tapping?"

"In the big chimney in the library, " she answered. 

No one observed Breitmann's hand as it slid from the bread, some ofwhich was scattered upon the floor. The scars, betraying emotion suchas no mental effort could control, deepened, which is to say that theskin above and below them had paled. 

"Might it not be some trial visit of your patron saint, Santa Claus?"he inquired, his voice well under control. 

"Really, it is no jest, " she affirmed. "For several nights I haveheard the noise distinctly; a muffled tapping inside the chimney. "

"Suppose we inspect it after luncheon?" suggested Fitzgerald. 

"It has been done, " said the admiral. Outwardly he was stillskeptical, but a doubt was forming in his mind. 

"It will do no harm to try it again, " said Breitmann. 

If Fitzgerald noted the subdued excitement in the man's voice, hecharged it to the moment. 

"Take my word for it, " avowed the admiral, "you will find nothing. Bring the coffee into the library, " he added to the butler. 

The logs were taken out of the fireplace, and as soon as the smokecleared the young men gave the inside of the chimney a thorough goingover. They could see the blue sky away up above. The opening waslarge, but far too small for any human being to enter down it. Themortar between the bricks seemed for the most part undisturbed. Breitmann made the first discovery of any importance. Just above hisheight, standing in the chimney itself, he saw a single brickprojecting beyond its mates. He reached up, and shook it. It wasloose. He wrenched it out, and came back into the light. 

"See! Nothing less than a chisel could have cut the mortar that way. Miss Killigrew is right. " He went back, and with the aid of the tongspoked into the cavity. The wall of bricks was four deep, yet the tongswent through. This business had been done from the other side. 

"Well!" exclaimed the admiral, for once at loss for a proper phrase. 

"You see, father? I was right. Now, what can it mean? Who is diggingout the bricks, and for what purpose? And how, with the alarms allover the house, to account for the footprints in the flour?"

"It is quite likely that something is hidden in the chimney, and someone knows that it is worth hunting for. This chimney is the original, I should judge. " Fitzgerald addressed this observation to the admiral. 

"Never been touched during my time or my father's. But we can soonfind out. I'll have a man up here. If there is anything in thechimney that ought not to be there, he'll dig it out, and save ourmidnight visitor any further trouble. "

"Why not wait a little while?" Fitzgerald ventured. "With Breitmannand me in the house, we might trap the man. "

"A good scheme!"

"He comes from the outside, somewhere; from the cellar, probably. Letus try the cellar. " Breitmann urged this with a gesture of his hands. 

"There'll be sport, " said Fitzgerald. 

The coffee was cold in the little cups when they returned to it. Thecellar, as far as any one could learn, was free from any signs ofrecent invasion. It was puzzling. 

"And the servants?" Breitmann intimated. 

"They have been in the family for years. " The admiral shook his headconvincedly. "I ask your pardon, my dear. My ears are not so keen asmight be. I'm an old blockhead to think that you were having an attackof ghosts. But we'll solve the riddle shortly, and then we shan't haveany trouble with our alarm bells, " with a significant glance atFitzgerald. "Well, Mr. Breitmann, suppose we take a look at the work?Laura, you show Mr. Fitzgerald the gardens. The view from the terraceis excellent. "

Fine weather. The orchard was pink with apple blossoms, giving the farend of the park a tint not unlike Sicilian almonds in bloom. And theintermittent breeze, as it waned or strengthened, carried delicateperfumes to and fro. Yon was the sea, with well-defined horizon, anddown below were the few smacks and the white yacht _Laura_, formallybowing to one another, or tossing their noses impudently; and, faraway, was the following trail of brown smoke from some ship which haddropped down the horizon. 

Fitzgerald, stood silent, musing, at the girl's side. He was fond ofvistas. There was rest in them, a peace not to be found even in thetwilight caverns of cathedrals; wind blowing over waters, the flutterof leaves, the bend in the grasses. To dwell in a haven like this. Nocare, no worry, no bother of grubbing about in one's pockets foroverlooked coins, no flush of excitement! It is, after all, thehomeless man who answers quickest the beckon of wanderlust. It is onlywhen he comes into the shelter of such a roof that he draws into hisheart the bitter truth of his loneliness. 

"You must think me an odd girl. "

"Pray why?"

"By the manner in which I brought you here. "

"On the contrary, you are one of the few women I ever met who knowsomething about scoring a good joke. Didn't your friend, Mrs. Coldfield, know my mother; and wasn't your father a great friend of myfather's? As for being odd, what about me? I believe I stood on thecorner, and tried to sell plaster casts, just to win a foolish clubwager. "

"Men can jest that way with impunity, but a woman may not. Still, Ireally couldn't help acting the way I did, " with a tinkle in her voiceand a twinkle in her eyes. 

"Convention is made up of many idiotic laws. Why we feel obliged toobey is beyond offhand study. Of course, the main block is sensible;it holds humanity together. It's the irritating, burr-like amendmentsthat one rages against. It's the same in politics. Some clear-headedfellow gets up and makes a just law. His enemies and his friends alikerealize that if the law isn't passed there will be a roar from thepublic. So they pass the bill with amendments. In other words, theykill its usefulness. I suppose that's why I am always happy to leaveconvention behind, to be sent to the middle of Africa, to Patagonia, orsign an agreement to go to the North Pole. "

"The North Pole? Have you been to the Arctic?"

"No; but I expect to go up in June with an Italian explorer. "

"Isn't it terribly lonely up there?"

"It can't be worse than the Sahara or our own Death Valley. Oneextreme is as bad as the other. Some time I hope your father will takeme along on one of those treasure hunts. I should like to be in at thefinding of a pirate ship. It would make a boy out of me again. "

His eyes were very handsome when he smiled. Boy? she thought. He wasscarce more than that now. 

"Pirates' gold! What a lure it has been, is, and will be! Bloodmoney, brrr! I can see no pleasure in touching it. And the poor, pathetic trinkets, which once adorned some fair neck! It takes a man'smind to pass over that side of the picture, and see only the fighting. But humanity has gone on. The pirate is no more, and the highwayman isa thing to laugh at. "

"Thanks to railways and steamships. It is beautiful here. "

"We are nearly always here in the summer. In the winter we cruise. But this winter we remained at home. It was splendid. The snow wasdeep, and often I joined the village children on their bobsleds. Imade father ride down once. He grumbled about making a fool ofhimself. After the first slide, I couldn't keep him off the hill. Hewants to go to St. Moritz next winter. " She laughed joyously. 

"I shall take the Arctic trip, " he said to himself irrelevantly. 

"Let us go and pick some apple blossoms. They last such a littlewhile, and they are so pretty on the table. So you were in Napoleon'stomb that day? I have cried over the king of Rome's toys. Did Mr. Breitmann receive those scars in battle?"

"Oh, no. It was a phase of his student life in Munich. But he hasbeen under fire. He has had some hard luck. " He wanted to add: "Poordevil!"

She did not reply, but walked down the terrace steps to the pathleading to the orchard. The sturdy, warty old trees leaned toward thewest, the single evidence of the years of punishment received at thehands of the winter sea tempests. It was a real orchard, composed ofseveral hundred trees, well kept, as evenly matched as might be, out ofweedless ground. From some hidden bough, a robin voiced his happiness, and yellowbirds flew hither and thither, and there was billing andcooing and nesting. Along the low stone wall a wee chipmunk scampered. 

"What place do you like best in this beautiful old world?" she asked, drawing down a snowy bough. Some of the blossoms fell and layentrapped in her hair. 

"This, " he answered frankly. She met his gaze quickly, and withsuspicion. His face was smiling, but not so his eyes. "Wherever I am, if content, I like that place best. And I am content here. "

"You fought with Greece?"

"Yes. "

"How that country always rouses our sympathies! Isn't there a littletoo much poetry and not enough truth about it?"

"There is. I fought with the Greeks because I disliked them less thanthe Turks. "

"And Mr. Breitmann?"

He smiled. "He fought with the Turks to chastise Greece, which heloves. "

"What adventures you two must have had! To be on opposing sides, likethat!"

"Opposing newspapers. The two angles of vision made our copyinteresting. There was really no romance about it. It was purely abusiness transaction. We offered our lives and our pencils for ahundred a week and our expenses. Rather sordid side to it, eh? And afourth-rate order or two--"

"You were decorated?" excitedly. "I am sure it was for bravery. "

"Don't you believe it. The king of Greece and the sultan bothconsidered the honor conferred upon us as good advertising. "

"You are laughing. "

"Well, war in the Balkans is generally a laughing matter. Soundsbrutal, I know, but it is true. "

"I know, " gaily. "You are conceited, and are trying to make me believethat you are modest. "

"A bull's-eye!"

"And this Mr. Breitmann has been decorated for valor? And yet to-dayhe becomes my father's private secretary. The two do not connect. "

"May I ask you to mention nothing of this to him? It would embarrasshim. I had no business to bring him into it. "

She grew meditative, brushing her lips with the blossoms. "He will besomething of a mystery. I am not overfond of mysteries outside of bookcovers. "

"There is really no mystery; but it is human for a man in his positionto wish to bury his past greatness. "

By and by the sun touched the southwest shoulder of the hill, and thetwo strolled back to the house. 

From his window, Breitmann could see them plainly. 

"Damn those scars!" he murmured, striking with his fist the disfiguredcheek, which upon a time had been a source of pride and honor. "Damnthem!"

CHAPTER IX

THEY DRESS FOR DINNER

Breitmann watched them as long as he could. There was no jealousy inhis heart, but there was bitterness, discontent, a savageself-pillorying. He was genuinely sorry that this young woman was sopretty; still, had she the graces of Calypso, he must have come. Shewould distract him, and he desired at that time distraction least ofall diversions. Concentration and singleness of purpose--upon thesetwo attributes practically hung his life. How strangely fate hadstepped with him. What if there had not been that advertisement for aprivate secretary? How then should he have gained a footing in thishouse? Well, here he was, and speculation was of no value, save in acongratulatory sense. The fly in the amber was the presence of theyoung American; Fitzgerald, shrewd and clever, might stumble uponsomething. Well, till against that time!

His room was pleasant, a corner which gave two excellent views, one ofthe sea and the other of the orchard. There was no cluttering offurniture; it was simple, substantial, decently old. On the plainwalls were some choice paintings. A landscape by Constable, a watercolor by Fortuny, and a rough sketch by Détaille; and the inevitablemarines, such as one might expect in the house of a fighting sailor. He examined these closely, and was rather pleased to find them valuableold prints. And, better to his mind than all these, was the deft, mysterious touch or suggestion of a woman's hand. He saw it in thepillows on the lounge, in the curtains dropping from the windows, inthe counterpane on the old four-poster. 

Did Americans usually house their private secretaries in rooms fit forguests of long and intimate acquaintance? Ah, yes; this sailor was arich man; and this mansion had not been erected yesterday. It amusedhim to think that these walls and richly polished floors were olderthan the French revolution. It seemed incredible, but it was true. 

"Pirates!" His laughter broke forth, not loudly but deeply, fired by abroad and ready sense of humor--a perilous gift for a man who isseeking fine hazards. It was droll, it was even fantastic. To cruiseabout the world in search of pirate treasures, as if there remained asingle isle, shore, promontory, known to have been the haunt ofpirates, which had not been dug up and dug up again! And here, underthe very hand---- He struck his palms. "Why not?"

He ran to the window. The sleek white yacht lay tugging at her cables, like an eager hound in the leash. "Seaworthy from stem to stern. Whynot? No better cloak than this. I may not make you a good secretary, admiral; but, the gods propitious, I can, if needs say must, take youtreasure hunting. It will be a fine stroke. Is it possible thatfortune begins to smile on me at last? Well, I have had the patienceto wait. The hour has come, and fortune shall not find me laggard. Ithas been something to wait as I have, never to have spoken, never tohave forgotten. France knows and Germany knows, but only me, not whatI have. They have even tried to drive me to crime. Wait, fools, wait!"

He drew his arms tightly over his heaving breast, for he was deeplymoved, while over his face came that indefinable light which, at times, illuminates the countenance of a great man. It came and went; as aflash of lightning betrays the oncoming storm. 

The chimney! His heart missed a beat. He had forgotten the chimney. The reaction affected him like a blow. A snarl twisted his mouth. What was this chimney to any other man? Only he of all men, knew. Andyet, here was some one stealthily at work, forestalling him, knockingthe bottom out of his great dream. There was nothing pleasant in thegrowing expression an his face; it was the tiger, waking. There couldbe only one way. 

Swiftly he dashed to his trunk, knelt and examined the lock, unscrewedit, and took out the documents more precious to him than the treasuresof a hundred Captain Kidds. Instantly, he returned to the window. Nothing was missing. But here was something he had never noticedbefore. On the face of the slip of parchment--a diagram, dim andfaded--was an oily thumb-mark. The oil from the lock; nothing more;doubtless he himself had touched it. How many times had he found anunknown touch among his few belongings? How often had he smiled?Still, to quell all rising doubts, he rubbed his right thumb on thelock, and made a second impression. The daylight was now insufficient, so he turned on the electricity, and compared them. Slowly, the scarsdeepened till they were the tint of cedar. Death's head itself couldnot have fascinated him more than the dissimilarity of these twothumb-prints. He said nothing, but a queer little strangling soundcame through his lips. 

Who? Where? His heart beat so violently that the veins in his throatswelled and threatened to burst. But he was no weakling. He summonedall his will. He must act, and act at once, immediately. 

Fitzgerald? No, not that clever, idling fool. But who, who? Hereplaced the papers and the lock. A hidden menace. Question as hewould, there was never any answer. 

He practised the pleasant deceit that the first mark had been therewhen the diagram had been given to him. It was not possible that anyone had discovered his hiding-place. Had he not with his own handscontrived it, alone and without aid, under that accursed mansard roof?Not one of his co-adventurers knew; they had advanced him funds on hisword. His other documents they had seen; these had sufficed them. Still, back it came, with deadly insistence; some one was digging atthe bricks in the chimney. The drama was beginning to move. Had hewaited too long?

Mechanically, he proceeded to dress for dinner. Since he was to sit atthe family table, he must fit his dress and manners to the hour. Hedid not resist the sardonic smile as he put on his fresh patentleathers and his new dinner coat. He recalled Fitzgerald'shalf-concealed glances of pity the last time they had dined together. 

In the room across the corridor, Fitzgerald was busy with a similaroccupation. The only real worry he had was the doubt of his luggagearriving before he left. He had neither tennis clothes norriding-habit, and these two pastimes were here among the regular eventsof the day. The admiral both played and rode with his daughter. Shewas altogether too charming. Had she been an ordinary society girl, hewould have stayed his welcome threadbare perhaps. But, he repeated, she was not ordinary. She had evidently been brought up with fewillusions. These she possessed would always be hers. 

The world, in a kindly but mistaken spirit, fosters all sorts ofbeliefs in the head of a child. True, it makes childhood happy, but itleaves its skin tender. The moment a girl covers her slippers withskirts and winds her hair about the top of her curious young head, things begin to jar. The men are not what she dreamed them to be, there never was such a person as Prince Charming; and the women embraceher--if she is pretty and graceful--with arms bristling with needles ofenvy and malice; and the rosal tint that she saw in the approach isnothing more or less than jaundice; and, one day disheartened andbewildered, she learns that the world is only a jumble of futile, ill-made things. The admiral had weeded out most of these illusions atthe start. 

"So much for suppositions and analysis, " panted Fitzgerald, reknottinghis silk tie. "As for me, I go to the Arctic; cold, but safe. I havenever fallen in love. I have enjoyed the society of many women, and tosome I've been silly enough to write, but I have never been maudlin. I'm no fool. This is the place where it would be most likely tohappen. Let us beat an orderly retreat. What the devil ails myfingers to-night? M'h! There; will you stay tied as I want you? Shehas traveled, she has studied, she is at home with grand dukes in Nice, and scribblers in a country village. She is wise without being solemn. She has courage, too, or I should not be here on a mere fluke. Now, myboy, you have given yourself due notice. Take care!"

He slipped his coat over his shoulders--and passably sturdy ones theywere--and took a final look into the glass. Not for vanity's sake;sometimes a man's tie will show above the collar of his coat. 

"Hm! I'll wager the trout are rising about this time. " He imitated acast which was supposed to land neatly in the corner. "Ha! Struck youthat time, you beauty!" All of which proved to himself, conclusively, that he was in normal condition. "I should get a wire to-morrow aboutBreitmann. I hate to do anything that looks underhand, but he puzzlesme. There was something about the chimney to-day; I don't know what. This is no place for him--nor for me, either, " was the shrewdsupplement. 

There was still some time before dinner, so he walked about, with hishands in his pockets, and viewed the four walls of his room. Heexamined the paints and admired the collection of blood-thirsty oldweapons over the mantel, but with the indirect interest of a man who isthinking of other things. At the end, he paused before the window, which, like the one in Breitmann's room, afforded a clear outlook tothe open waters. Night was already mistress of the sea; and below, thevillage lights twinkled from various points. 

Laura tried on three gowns, to the very great surprise of her maid. Usually her mistress told her in the morning what to lay out fordinner. Here there were two fine-looking young men about, and yet shewas for selecting the simplest gown of the three. The little Frenchmaid did not understand the reason, nor at that moment could hermistress have readily explained. It was easy to dress for the criticaleyes of rich young men, officers, gentlemen with titles; all that wasrequired was a fresh Parisian model, some jewels, and a bundle oforchids or expensive roses. But these two men belonged to a class sheknew little of; gentlemen adventurers, who had been in strange, unfrequented places, who had helped to make history, who receiveddecorations, and never wore them, who remained to the world at largeobscure and unknown. 

So, with that keen insight which is a part of a well-bred, intelligentwoman--and also rather inexplicable to the male understanding--shechose the simplest gown. She was hazily conscious that they wouldnotice this dress, whereas the gleaming satin would have passed as amatter of fact. Round her graceful throat she placed an Indianturquoise necklace; nothing in her hair, nothing on her fingers. Shewent down-stairs perfectly content. 

As she came into the hall, she heard soft music. Some one was in themusic-room, which was just off the library. She stopped to listen. Chopin, with light touch and tender feeling. Which of the twowanderers was it? Quietly, she moved along to the door. Breitmann;she rather expected to find him. Nearly all educated Germans played. The music stopped for a moment, then resumed. Another melody followed, a melody she had heard from one end of France to the other. Shefrowned, not with displeasure, but with puzzlement. For what purposedid a soldier of the German empire play the battle hymn of the Frenchrepublic? _The Marseillaise_? She entered the music-room, and the lowbut vibrant chords ceased instantly. Breitmann had been playing thesemelodies standing. He turned quickly. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said, but perfectly free from embarrassment. 

"I am very fond of music myself. Please play whenever the mood comesto you. _The Marseillaise_--"

"Ah!" he interrupted, laughing. "There was a bit of traitor in myfingers just then. But music should have no country; it should beuniversal. "

"Perhaps, generally speaking; but every land should have an anthem ofits own. The greatest composition of Beethoven or Wagner will nevertouch the heart as the ripple of a battle song. "

And when Fitzgerald joined them they were seriously discussing Wagnerand his ill-treatment in Munich, and of the mad king of Bavaria. 

As she had planned, both men noticed the simplicity of her dress. 

"It is because she doesn't care, " thought Breitmann. 

"It is because she knows we don't care, " thought Fitzgerald. And hewas nearer the truth than Breitmann. 

The dinner was pleasant, and there was much talk of travel. Theadmiral had touched nearly every port, Fitzgerald had been round threetimes, and Breitmann four. The girl experienced a sense of elation asshe listened. She knew most of her father's stories, but to-night hedrew upon a half-forgotten store. Without embellishment, as if theywere ordinary, every-day affairs, they exchanged tales of adventure instrange island wildernesses; and there were lion hunts and man huntsand fierce battles on land and sea. Never had any story-book opened alike world. She felt a longing for the Himalayas, the Indian jungles, the low-lying islands of the South Pacific. 

So far as the admiral was concerned, he was very well pleased with thenew secretary. 

Fitzgerald was not asleep. He had an idea, and he smoked his yellowAfrican gourd pipe till this same idea shaped itself into the form of aresolve. He laid the pipe on the mantel, turned over the logs--for thenights were yet chill, and a fire was a comfort--and raised a window. He would like to hear some of that tapping in the chimney. He wasfully dressed, excepting that he had exchanged shoes for slippers. 

He went out into the corridor. There was no light under Breitmann'sdoor. So much the better; he was asleep. Fitzgerald crept down thestairs with the caution of a hunter who is trailing new game. As hearrived at the turn of the first landing, he hesitated. He could hearthe old clock striking off the seconds in the lower hall. He cuppedhis ear. By George! Joining the sharp monotony of the clock wasanother sound, softer, intermittent. He was certain that it came fromthe library. That door was never closed. Click-click! Click-click!The mystery was close at hand. 

He moved forward. He wanted to get as close as possible to thefireplace. He peered in. The fire was all but dead; only the cornerof a log glowed dully. Suddenly, the glow died, only to reappear, unchanged. This phenomena could be due to one thing, a passing ofsomething opaque. Fitzgerald had often seen this in camps, when someone's legs passed between him and the fire. Some one else was in theroom. With a light bound, he leaped forward, to find himself locked ina pair of arms no less vigorous than his own. 

And even in that lively moment he remembered that the sound in thechimney went on!

CHAPTER X

THE GHOST OF AN OLD RÉGIME

It was a quick, silent struggle. The intruder wore no shoes. It wouldbe a test of endurance. Fitzgerald recalled some tricks he had learnedin Japan; but even as he stretched out his arm to perform one, the armwas caught by the wrist, while a second hand passed under his elbow. 

"Don't!" he gasped lowly. "I'll give in. " His arm would have snappedif he hadn't spoken. 

A muttered oath in German. "Fitzgerald?" came the query, in a whisper. 

"Yes. For God's sake, is this you, Breitmann?"

"Sh! Not so loud! What are you doing here?"

"And you?"

"Listen! It has stopped. He has heard our scuffling. "

"It seems, then, that we are both here for the same purpose?" saidFitzgerald, pulling down his cuffs, and running his fingers round hiscollar. 

"Yes. You came too late or too soon. " Breitmann stooped, and ran hishands over the rug. 

The other saw him but dimly. "What's the matter?"

"I have lost one of my studs, " with the frugal spirit of his mother'sforebears. "You are stronger than I thought. "

"Much obliged. "

"It's a good thing you did not get that hold first. You'd have brokenmy arm. "

"Wouldn't have given in, eh? I simply cried quits in order to startover again. There's no fair fighting in the dark, you know. "

"Well, we have frightened him away. It is too bad. "

"What have you on your feet?"

"Felt slippers. "

"Are you afraid of the cold?"

A laugh. "Not I!"

"Come with me. "

"Where?"

"First to the cellar. Remember that hot-air box from the furnace, thatbacks the chimney, way up?"

"I looked only at the bricks. "

"We'll go and have a look at that box. It just occurred to me thatthere is a cellar window within two feet of that box. "

"Let us hurry. Can you find the way?"

"I can try. "

"But lights?"

Fitzgerald exhibited his electric pocket lamp. "This will do. "

"You Americans!"

After some mistakes they found their way to the cellar. The window wasclosed, but not locked, and resting against the wall was a plank. Itleaned obliquely, as if left in a hurry. Fitzgerald took it up, andbridged between the box and the window ledge. Breitmann gave him a legup, and in another moment he was examining the brick wall of the greatchimney under a circular white patch of light. A dozen rows of brickshad been cleverly loosened. There were also evidences of chalk marks, something on the order of a diagram; but it was rather uncertain, as ithad been redrawn four or five times. The man hadn't been sure of hisground. 

"Can you see?" asked Fitzgerald. 

"Yes. " Only Breitmann himself knew what wild rage lay back of thatmonosyllable. He was sure now; that diagram brushed away any lingeringdoubt. The lock had been trifled with, but the man who had done thework had not been sure of his dimensions. 

"Clever piece of work. Took away the mortar in his pockets; no sign ofit here. The admiral had better send for his bricklayer, for morereasons than one. There'll be a defective flue presently. Now, whatthe devil is the duffer expecting to find?" Fitzgerald coolly turnedthe light full into the other's face. 

"It is beyond me, " with equal coolness; "unless there's a pirate'streasure behind there. " The eyes blinked a little, which was butnatural. 

"Pirate's treasure, you say?" Fitzgerald laughed. "That _would_ be ajoke, eh?"

"What now?" For Breitmann thought it best to leave the initiative withhis friend. 

"A little run out to the stables, " recalling to mind the rumor of thenight before. 

"The stables?"

"Why, surely. The fellow never got in here without some localassistance, and I am rather certain that this comes from the stables. Besides, no one will be expecting us. " He came down agilely. 

Breitmann nodded approvingly at the ease with which the other made thedescent. "It would be wiser to leave the cellar by the window, " hesuggested. 

"My idea, too. We'll make a step out of this board. The stars arebright enough. " Fitzgerald climbed out first, and then gave a hand toBreitmann. 

"I understood there was a burglar alarm in the house. "

"Yes; but this very window, being open, probably breaks the circuit. All cleverly planned. But I'm crazy to learn what he is looking for. Double your coat over your white shirt. "

Breitmann was already proceeding with this task. A dog-trot broughtthem into the roadway, but they kept to the grass. They were within ayard of the stable doors when a hound began bellowing. Breitmannsmothered a laugh and Fitzgerald a curse. 

"The quicker we get back to the cellar the better, " was the former'sobservation. 

And they returned at a clip, scrambling into the cellar as quickly andsilently as they could, and made for the upper floors. 

"Come into my room, " said Fitzgerald; "it's only midnight. "

Breitmann agreed. If he had any reluctance, he did not show it. Fitzgerald produced cigars. 

"Do my clothes look anything like yours?" asked Breitmann dryly, striking a match. 

"Possibly. "

They looked themselves over for any real damage. There were no rents, but there were cobwebs on the wool and streaks of coal dust on thelinen. 

"We shall have to send our clothes to the village tailor. Theadmiral's valet might think it odd. "

"Where do you suppose he comes from?"

"I don't care where. What's he after, to take all this trouble?Something big, I'll warrant. "

And then, for a time, they smoked like Turks, in silence. 

"By George, it's a good joke; you and I trying to choke each other, while the real burglar makes off. "

"It has some droll sides. "

"And you all but broke my arm. "

Breitmann chuckled. "You were making the same move. I was quicker, that was all. "

Another pause. 

"The admiral has seen some odd corners. Think of seeing, at closerange, the Japanese-Chinese naval fight!"

"He tells a story well. "

"And the daughter is a thoroughbred. "

"Yes, " non-committally. 

"By the way, I'm going to the Pole in June or August. "

"The Italian expedition?"

"Yes. "

"That ought to make fine copy. You will not mind if I turn in? A bitsleepy. "

"Not at all. Shall we tell the admiral?"

"The first thing in the morning. Good night. "

Fitzgerald finished his cigar, and went to bed also. "Interesting oldplace, " wadding a pillow under his ear. "More interesting to-morrow. "

Some time earlier, the individual who was the cause of this nocturnalexploit hurried down the hill, nursing a pair of skinned palms, andlaughing gently to himself. 

"Checkmate! I shall try the other way. "

On the morrow, Fitzgerald recounted the adventure in a semi-humorousfashion, making a brisk melodrama out of it, to the quiet amusement ofhis small audience. 

"I shall send for the mason this morning, " said the admiral. "I'vebeen dreaming of _The Black Cat_ and all sorts of horrible things. Ihate like sixty to spoil the old chimney, but we can't have this goingon. We'll have it down at once. A fire these days is only a nicetouch to the mahogany. "

"But you must tell him to put back every brick in its place, " saidLaura. "I could not bear to have anything happen to that chimney. Allthe same, I am glad the matter is going to be cleared up. It has beennerve-racking; and I have been all alone, waiting for I know not what. "

"You haven't been afraid?" said Fitzgerald. 

"I'm not sure that I haven't. " She sighed. 

"Nonsense!" cried the admiral. 

"I am not afraid of anything I can see; but I do not like the dark; Ido not like mysteries. "

"You're the bravest girl I know, Laura, " her father declared. "Now, Mr. Breitmann, if you don't mind. "

"Shall we begin at once, sir?"

"You will copy some of my notes, to begin with. Any time you're indoubt over a word, speak to me. There will not be much outside ofmanuscript work. Most of my mail is sorted at my bankers, and onlyimportant letters forwarded. There may be a social note occasionally. Do you read and write English as well as you speak it?"

"Oh, yes. "

Laura invited Fitzgerald to the tennis court. 

"In these shoes?" he protested. 

"They will not matter; it is a cement court. "

"But I shan't look the game. Tennis without flannels is like duckwithout apples. "

"Bother! We'll play till the mason comes up. And mind your game. I've been runner-up in a dozen tournaments. "

And he soon found that she had not overrated her skill. She servedstrongly, volleyed beautifully, and darted across the court with afleetness and a surety both delightful to observe. So interested werethey in the battle that they forgot all about the mason, till thebutler came out, and announced that the desecration had begun. 

In fact the broad marble top was on the floor, and the room full ofimpalpable dust. The admiral and the secretary were gravely stackingthe bricks, one by one, as they came out. 

"Found anything?" asked the girl breathlessly. 

"Not yet; but Mr. Donovan here has just discovered a hollow space abovethe mantel line. "

The admiral sneezed. 

Mr. Donovan, in his usual free and happy way, drew out two bricks, anddropped them on the polished floor. 

"There's your holler, sir, " he said, dusting his hands. 

Unbidden, Breitmann pushed his hand into the cavity. His arm went downto the elbow, and he was forced to stand on tiptoe. He was pale whenhe withdrew his arm, but in his hand was a square metal case, about thesize and shape of a cigar box. 

"By cracky! What's the matter, Mr. Breitmann?" The admiral steppedforward solicitously. 

Breitmann swayed, and fell against the side of the fireplace. "It isnothing; lost my balance for a moment. Will you open it, sir?"

"Lost his balance?" muttered Fitzgerald. "He looks groggy. Why?"

This was not a time for speculation. All rushed after the admiral, wholaid the case on his desk, and took out his keys. None of them wouldturn in the ancient lock. With an impatient gesture, which escaped theothers, the secretary seized Mr. Donovan's hammer, inserted the clawbetween the lock and the catch, and gave a powerful wrench. The lidfell back, crooked and scarred. 

The admiral put on his Mandarin spectacles. With his hands behind hisback, he bent and critically examined the contents. Then, verycarefully, he extracted a packet of papers, yellow and old, bound withheavy cording. Beneath this packet was a medal of the Legion of Honor, some rose leaves, and a small glove. 

"Know what I think?" said the admiral, stilling the shake in his voice. "This belonged to that mysterious Frenchman who lived here eighty yearsago. I'll wager that medal cost some blood. By cracky, what a find!"

"And the poor little glove and the rose leaves!" murmured the girl, inpity. "It seems like a crime to disturb them. "

"We shan't, my child. Our midnight friend wasn't digging yonder forfaded keepsakes. These papers are the things. " The admiral cut thestring, and opened one of the documents. "H'm! Written in French. Sois this, " looking at another, "and this. Here, Laura, cast your eyeover these, and tell us why some one was hunting for them. "

Fitzgerald eyed Breitmann thoughtfully. The whole countenance of theman had changed. Indeed, it resembled another face he had seensomewhere; and it grew in his mind, slowly but surely, as dawn grows, that Breitmann was not wholly ignorant in this affair. He had notknown who had been working at night; but that dizziness of the momentgone, the haste in opening the case, the eagerness of the search lastnight; all these, to Fitzgerald's mind, pointed to one thing: Breitmannknew. 

"I shall watch him. "

Laura read the documents to herself first. Here and there was a wordwhich confused her; but she gathered the full sense of the remarkablestory. Her eyes shone like winter stars. 

"Father!" she cried, dropping the papers, and spreading out her arms. "Father, it's the greatest thing in the world. A treasure!"

"What's that, Laura?" straining his ears. 

"A treasure, hidden by the soldiers of Napoleon; put together, franc byfranc, in the hope of some day rescuing the emperor from St. Helena. It is romance! A real treasure of two millions of francs!" clappingher hands. 

"Where?" It was Breitmann who spoke. His voice was not clear. 

"Corsica!"

"Corsica!" The admiral laughed like a child. Right under his verynose all these years, and he cruising all over the chart! "Laura, dear, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't take the yachtand go and dig up this pretty sum. "

"No reason in the world!" But the secretary did not pronounce thesewords aloud. 

"A telegram for you, sir, " said the butler, handing the yellow envelopeto Fitzgerald. 

"Will you pardon me?" he said drawing off to a window. 

"Go ahead, " said the admiral, fingering the medal of the Legion ofHonor. 

Fitzgerald read:

"Have made inquiries. Your man never applied to any of themetropolitan dailies. Few ever heard of him. "

He jammed the message into a pocket, and returned to the group aboutthe case. Where should he begin? Breitmann had lied. 

CHAPTER XI

PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS

The story itself was brief enough, but there was plenty of husk to thegrain. The old expatriate was querulous, long-winded, not niggard withhis ink when he cursed the English and damned the Prussians; and heobtained much gratification in jabbing his quill-bodkin into what hetermed the sniveling nobility of the old regime. Dog of dogs! was henot himself noble? Had not his parents and his brothers gone to theguillotine with the rest of them? But he, thank God, had no woodenmind; he could look progress and change in the face and follow theirbent. And now, all the crimes and heroisms of the Revolution, all theglorious pageantry of the empire, had come to nothing. A Bourbon, thick-skulled, sordid, worn-out, again sat upon the throne, while theGreat Man languished on a rock in the Atlantic. Fools that they hadbeen, not to have hidden the little king of Rome as against this verydog! It was pitiful. He never saw a shower in June that he did nothail curses upon it. To have lost Waterloo for a bucketful of water!Thousand thunders! could he ever forget that terrible race back toParis? Could he ever forget the shame of it? Grouchy for a fool andBlücher for a blundering ass. _Eh bien_; they would soon tumble theBourbons into oblivion again. 

A rambling desultory tale. And there were reminiscences of such andsuch a great lady's _salon_; the flight from Moscow; the day of theBastille; the poor fool of a Louis who donned a red-bonnet and wore thetricolor; some new opera dances; the flight of his cowardly cousins toAustria; Austerlitz and Jena; the mad dream in Egypt; the very day whenthe Great Man pulled a crown out of his saddle-bag and made himself anemperor. Just a little corporal from Corsica; think of it! And so on;all jumbled but keyed with tremendous interest to the listeners and toLaura herself. It was the golden age of opportunity, of reward, ofsudden generals and princes and dukes. All gone, nothing left but afew battle-flags; England no longer shaking in her boots, and the restof them dividing the spoils! No! There were some left, and in theirhands lay the splendid enterprise. 

Quietly they had pieced together this sum and that, till there was nowstored away two-million francs. Two or three frigates and a corvetteor two; then the work would go forward. Only a little while to wait, and then they would bring their beloved chief back to France and to hisown again. Had he not written: "Come for me, _mon brave_. They saythey have orders to shoot me. Come; better carry my corpse away thanthat I should rot here for years to come. " They would come. But thisyear went by and another; one by one the Old Guard died off, smallerand smaller had drawn the circle. The vile rock called St. Helenastill remained impregnable. On a certain day they came to tell himthat the emperor was no more. Soon he was all alone but one; thesebrave soldiers who had planned with him were no more. An alien, anoutcast, he too longed for night. And what should he do with it, thisvast treasure, every franc of which meant sacrifice and unselfishness, bravery and loyalty? Let the gold rot. He would bury all knowledge ofit in yonder chimney, confident that no one would ever find thetreasure, since he alone possessed the key to it, having buried ithimself. So passed the greatest Caesar of them all, the most brilliantempire, the bravest army. Ah! had the king of Rome lived! Had therebeen some direct Napoleonic blood to take up the work! Vain dreams!The Great Man's brothers had been knaves and fools. 

"And so to-night, " the narrator ended, "I bury the casket in thechimney; within it, my hopes and few trinkets of the past of which I aman integral part. Good-by, little glove; good-by, brave old medal! Iam sending a drawing of the chimney to the good Abbe le Fanu. He willoutlive me. He lives on forty-centime the day; treasures mean nothingto him; his cry, his eternal cry, is always of the People. He willprobably tear it up. The brig will never come again. So best. Deathwill come soon. And I shall die unknown, unloved, forgotten. _Bonnenuit_!"

Mr. Donovan alone remained in normal state of mind. 'Twas allfaradiddle, this talk of finding treasures. The old Frenchman had beenonly half-baked. He dumped his tools into his bag, and, with thewisdom of his kind, departed. There would be another job to-morrow, putting the bricks back. 

The others, however, were for the time but children, and like childrenthey all talked at once; and there was laughter and thumping of fistsand clapping of hands. The admiral had a new plan every five minutes. He would do this, or he would do that; and Fitzgerald would shake hishead, or Breitmann would point out the feasibility of the plan. Aboveall, he urged, there must be no publicity (with a flash towardFitzgerald); the world must know nothing till the treasure was in theirhands. Otherwise, there would surely be piracy on the high-seas. Twomillion francs was a prize, even in these days. There were plenty ofmen and plenty of tramp ships. Even when they found the gold, secrecywould be best. There might be some difficulty with France. Closelips, then, till they returned to America; after that Mr. Fitzgeraldwould become famous as the teller of the exploit. 

"I confess that, for all my excitement, " said Fitzgerald, "I amsomewhat skeptical. Still, your suggestion, Mr. Breitmann, is good. "

"Do you mean to say you doubt the existence of the treasure?" cried theadmiral, something impatient. 

"Oh, no doubt it once existed. But seventy-five or eighty years!There were others besides this refugee Frenchman. Who knows into whathands similar documents may have fallen?"

"And the unknown man who worked in the chimney?" put in the girlquietly. 

"That simply proves what I say. He knows that this treasure onceexisted, but not where. Now, it is perfectly logical that some otherman, years ago, might have discovered the same key as we have. He mayhave got away with it. The man might have plausibly declared that hehad made the money somewhere. The sum is not so large as to create anywide comment. "

"Ah, my boy, your father had more enthusiasm than that. " The admirallooked reproachful. 

"My dear admiral, " and Fitzgerald laughed in that light-hearted way ofhis, "I would go into the heart of China on a treasure hunt, for themere fun of it. Enthusiasm? Nothing would gratify me more than tostrike a shovel into the spot where this treasure, this pot of gold, issupposed to lie. It will be great sport; nothing like it. I wasmerely supposing. I have never heard of, or come into contact with, aman who has found a hidden treasure. I am putting up these doubtsbecause we are never sure of anything. Why, Mr. Breitmann knows; isn'tit more fun to find a dollar in an old suit of clothes than to know youhave ten in the suit you are wearing? It's not how much, it's thefinding that gives the pleasure. "

"That is true, " echoed Breitmann generously. He fingered the paperswith a touch that was almost a caress. "A pity that you will go to theArctic instead. "

"I am not quite sure that I shall go, " replied Fitzgerald. That thisman had deliberately lied to him rendered him indecisive. For thepresent he could not do or say anything, but he had a great desire tobe on hand to watch. 

"You are not your father's son if you refuse to go with us;" and theAdmiral sent home this charge with fist against palm. 

"'Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!'" parroted the girl drolly. "Youwill go, Mr. Fitzgerald. "

"Do you really want me to?" cleverly putting the decision with her. 

"Yes. " There was no coquetry in voice or eye. 

"When do you expect to go?" Fitzgerald put this question to theadmiral. 

"As soon as we can coal up and provision. Laura, I've just got tosmoke. Will you gentlemen join me?" The two young men declined. "Wecan go straight to Funchal in the Madieras and re-coal. With theclub-ensign up nobody will be asking questions. We can telegraph the_Herald_ whenever we touch a port. Just a pleasure-cruise. " Theadmiral fingered the Legion of Honor. "And here was Alladin's Lamphanging up in my chimney!" He broke in laughter. "By cracky! that manDonovan knows his business. He's gone without putting back the bricks. He has mulcted me for two days' work. "

"But crossing in the yacht, " hesitated Fitzgerald. He wished to soundthis man Breitmann. If he suggested obstacles and difficulties itwould be a confirmation of the telegram and his own singular doubts. 

"It is likely to be a rough passage, " said Breitmann experimentally. 

"He doesn't want me to go. " Fitzgerald stroked his chin slyly. 

"We have crossed the Atlantic twice in the yacht, " Laura affirmed witha bit of pride; "once in March too, and a heavy sea half the way. "

"Enter me as cabin-boy or supercargo, " said Fitzgerald. "If you don'tyou'll find a stowaway before two days out. "

"That's the spirit. " The admiral drew strongly on his cigar. He hadreally never been so excited since his first sea-engagement. "And itcomes in so pat, Laura. We were going away in a month anyway. Now wecan notify the guests that we've cut down the time two weeks. I tellyou what it is, this will be the greatest cruise I ever laid a courseto. "

"Guests?" murmured Fitzgerald, unconsciously poaching on Breitmann'sthought. 

"Yes. But they shall know nothing till we land in Corsica. And in aday or two this fellow would have laid hands on these things and we'dnever been any the wiser. "

"And may we not expect more of him?" said Breitmann. 

"Small good it will do him. "

"Corsica, " repeated the girl dreamily. 

"Ay, Napoleon. The Corsican Brothers' daggers and vendetta, therestless island! It is full of interest. I have been there. "Breitmann smiled pleasantly at the girl, but his thought was unsmiling. Versed as he was in reading at a glance expression, whether it lay inthe eyes, in the lips, or the hands, he realized with chagrin that hehad made a misstep somewhere. For some reason he would have given muchto know, Fitzgerald was covertly watching him. 

"You have been there, too, have you not, Mr. Fitzgerald?" asked Laura. 

"Oh, yes; but never north of Ajaccio. "

"Laura, what a finishing touch this will give to my book. " For theadmiral was compiling a volume of treasures found, lost and still beinghunted. "All I can say is, that I am really sorry that the moneywasn't used for the purpose intended. "

"I do not agree there, " said Fitzgerald. 

"And why not?" asked Breitmann. 

"France is better off as she is. She has had all the empires andmonarchies she cares for. Wonderful country! See how she has lived inspite of them all. There will never be another kingdom in France, atleast not in our generation. There's a Napoleon in Belgium and aBourbon in England; the one drills mediocre soldiers and the othershoots grouse. They will never go any further. "

The secretary spread his fingers and shrugged. "If there was only adirect descendant of Napoleon!"

"Well, there isn't, " retorted Fitzgerald, dismissing the subject intolimbo. "And much good it would do if there was. "

"This treasure would rightly be his, " insisted Breitmann. 

"It was put together to bring Napoleon back. There is no Napoleon tobring back. "

"In other words, the money belongs to the finder?"

"Exactly. "

"Findings is keepings, " the admiral determined. "That's CaptainFlanagan's rule. "

The girl could bring together no reasons for the mind inclining to thethought that between the two young men there had risen an antagonism ofsome sort, nothing serious but still armed with spikes of light in theeyes and a semi-truculent angle to the chin. Fitzgerald was also awareof this apparency, and it annoyed him. Still, sometimes instinctguides more surely than logic. After all, he and Breitmann were onlycasual acquaintances. There had never been any real basis forfriendship; and the possibility of this had been rendered nil by thetelegram. One can not make a friend of a man who has lied gratuitously. 

"Now, Mr. Breitmann, " interposed the admiral pacifically, for he wastoo keen a sailor not to have noted the chill in the air, "suppose wesend off those letters? Here, I'll write the names and addresses, andyou can finish them up by yourself. Please call up Captain Flanagan atSwan's Hotel and tell him to report this afternoon. " The admiralscribbled out the names of his guests, gathered up the preciousdocuments, and put them into his pocket. "Come along now, my children;we'll take the air in the garden and picture the Frenchman's brigrocking in the harbor. "

"It is all very good of you, " said Fitzgerald, as the trio eyed theyacht from the terrace. 

"Nonsense! The thing remains that all these years you ignored us. "

"I have been, and still am, confoundedly poor. There is a little; Isuppose I could get along in a hut in some country village; but thewandering life has spoiled me for that. "

"Fake pride, " rebuked the girl. 

"I suppose it is. "

"Your father had none. Long after the smash he'd hunt me up for aweek's fishing. Isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the yacht. 

"She is, " the young man agreed, with his admiration leveled at thelovely profile of the girl. 

"Let me see, " began the admiral; "there will be Mr. And Mrs. Coldfield, first-class sailors, both of them. What's the name of that singer whois with them?"

"Hildegarde von Mitter. "

"Of the Royal Opera in Munich?" asked Fitzgerald. 

"Yes. Have you met her? Isn't she lovely?"

"I have only heard of her. "

"And Arthur Cathewe, " concluded the admiral. 

"Cathewe? That will be fine, " Fitzgerald agreed aloud. But in hisheart he swore he would never forgive Arthur for this trick. And heknew all the time! "He's the best friend I have. A great hunter, witha reputation which reaches from the Carpathians to the Himalayas, fromAbyssinia to the Congo. "

"He is charming and amusing. Only, he is very shy. "

At four that afternoon Captain Flanagan presented his respects. Theadmiral was fond of the old fellow, a friendship formed in the blur ofbattle-smoke. He had often been criticized for officering his yachtwith such a gruff, rather illiterate man, when gentlemen were to be hadfor the asking. But Flanagan was a splendid seaman, and the admiralwould not have exchanged him for the smartest English naval-reserveafloat. There was never a bend in Flanagan's back; royalty andcommonalty were all the same to him. And those who came to criticizegenerally remained to admire; for Flanagan was the kind of sailor fastdisappearing from the waters, a man who had learned his seamanshipbefore the mast. 

"Captain, how long will it take us to reach Funchal in the Madieras?"

"Well, Commodore, give us a decent sea an' we can make 'er in fourteendays. But I thought we wus goin' t' th' Banks, sir?"

"Changed my plans. We'll put out in twelve days. Everythingshipshape?"

"Up to the buntin', sir, and down to her keel. I sh'd say aboutsix-hundred tons; an' mebbe twelve days instead of fourteen. An'what'll be our course after Madeery, sir?"

"Ajaccio, Corsica. "

"Yessir. "

If the admiral had said the Antarctic, Flanagan would never have battedan eye. 

"You have spoken the crew?"

"Yessir; deep-sea men, too, sir. Halloran 'll have th' injins as us'l, sir. Shall I run 'er up t' N' York fer provisions? I got your list. "

"Triple the order. I'll take care of the wine and tobacco. "

"All right, sir. "

"That will be all. Have a cigar. "

"Thank you, sir. What's the trouble?" extending a pudgy hand towardthe chimney. 

"I'll tell you all about that later. Send up that man Donovan again. "It occurred to the admiral that it would not be a bad plan to cover Mr. Donovan's palm. They had forgotten all about him. He had overheard. 

Very carefully the captain put away the cigar and journeyed back to thevillage. He regretted Corsica. He hated Dagos, and Corsica was Dago;thieves and cut-throats, all of them. 

This long time Breitmann had despatched his letters and gone to hisroom, where he remained till dinner. He was a servant in the house. He must not forget that. He had been worse things than this, and stillhe had not forgotten. He had felt the blush of shame, yet he hadremembered, and white anger had embossed the dull scars; it wasimpossible that he should forget. 

He had grown accustomed, even in this short time, to the windowoverlooking the sea, and he leaned that late afternoon with his armsresting on the part where the two frames joined and locked. The seawas blue and gentle breasted. Flocks of gulls circled the littleharbor and land-birds ventured daringly forth. 

With what infinite care and patience had he gained this place! Whatstruggles had ensued! Like one of yonder birds he had been blownabout, but even with his eyes hunting for this resting. He had foundit and about lost it. A day or so later! He had come to rob, to lie, to pillage, any method to gain his end; and fate had led him over thisthreshold without dishonor, ironically. Even for that, thank God!

Dimly he heard Fitzgerald whistling in his room across. The soundentered his ear, but not his trend of thought. God in Heaven what asmall place this earth was! In his hand, tightly clutched, was a ballof paper, damp from the sweat of his palm. He had gnawed it, he hadpressed it in despair. Cathewe was a man, and he was not afraid of anyman living. Besides, men rarely became tellers of tales. But thewoman: Hildegarde von Mitter! How to meet her, how to look into hergreat eyes, how to hear the sound of her voice!

He flung the ball of paper into the corner. She could break him as onebreaks a dry and brittle reed. 

CHAPTER XII

M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF. 

"Yessir, Mr. Donovan, " said Captain Flanagan, his peg-leg crossed andone hand abstractedly polishing the brass ferrule; "Yessir, thequestion is, what did y' hear?"

Mr. Donovan caressed his beer-glass and reflected. The two were seatedin the office of Swan's Hotel. "Well, I took them bricks out an' itseems that loony ol' Frenchman our grandpas use to blow about had hid abox in th' chimbley. "

"A box in the chimbley. An' what was in the box?"

Mr. Donovan considered again. "I'll tell you the truth, Cap'n. It wusa lot of rigermarole about a treasure. I wanted t' laugh. Yourcommodore's a hoodoo on pirates an' treasures, an' he ain't foundeither yet. "

"No jokin'; keep a clear course. "

"No harm. Th' admiral's all right, and don't you forget it. As I wussayin', they finds this 'ere box. The dockeyments wus in French, butth' daughter read 'em off sumpin wonderful. You've heard of Napoleon?"

"Yes; I recollects the name, " replied the captain, with quiet ridicule. 

"Well, this business pertained t' him. Seems some o' his friends gotmoney t'gether t' rescue him from some island or other. "

"St. Helena. "

"That wus it. They left the cash in a box in Corsiker, 'nother island;I-talyan, I take it. But I'll bet a dollar you never find anythin'there. "

"That is as may be. " The captain liberated a full sigh and dug a handinto a trousers pocket. He looked cautiously about. The two of themwere without witnesses. The landlord was always willing to serve beerto those in quest of it; but immediately on providing it, he resumedhis interrupted perusal of the sporting column. At this moment hissoul was flying around the track at Bennington. When the captainpulled out his hand it seemed full of bright autumn leaves. Donovan'sglass was suspended midway between the table and his lips. Slowly theglass retraced the half-circle and resumed its perpendicular positionupon the oak. 

"Beauties; huh?" said the captain. 

"Twenty-dollar bills!"

"Yessir; every one of 'em as good as gold; payable to bearer on demand, says your Uncle Sam. "

"An' why are you makin' me envious this way?" said Donovan crossly. 

"Donovan, you and me's been friends off an' on these ten years, eversince th' commodore bought th' _Laura_. Well, says he t' me 'Capt'n, we forgot that Mr. Donovan was in th' room at th' time o' th'discovery. Will you be so kind as to impress him with the fact thatthis expedition is on the Q. T. ? Not that I think he will say anythin', but you might add these few bits o' paper to his promise not t' speak. 'Says I, 'I'll trust Mr. Donovan. ' An' I do. You never broke nopromise yet. "

"It pays in the long run, " replied Mr. Donovan, vainly endeavoring tocount the bills. 

"Well, this 'ere little fortune is yours if you promise to abide by th'conditions. "

"That I keeps my mouth shut. "

"An' _not_ open it even to th' Mrs. "

Mr. Donovan permitted a doubt to wrinkle his brow. "That'll be a toughproposition. "

"Put th' money in th' bank and say nothin' till you hear from me, "advised the captain. 

"That's a go. "

"Then I give you these five nice ones with th' regards o' th'commodore. " The captain stripped each bill and slowly laid it down onthe table for the fear that by some curious circumstance there might besix. 

"One hundred? Capt'n, I'm a--" Mr. Donovan emptied his glass with afew swift gulps and banged the table. "Two more. "

The landlord lowered his paper wearily (would they never let himalone?) and stepped behind the bar. At the same time Mr. Donovanfolded the bills and stowed them away. 

"Not even t' th' Mrs. , " he swore. "Here's luck, Capt'n. "

"Same t' you; an' don't get drunk this side o' Jersey City. "

And with this admonition the captain drank his beer and thumped off forthe water front, satisfied that the village would hear nothing from Mr. Donovan. Nevertheless, it was shameful to let a hundred go that easy;twenty would have served. He was about to hail the skiff when he wasaccosted by the quiet little man he had recently observed sitting alonein the corner of Swan's office. 

"Pardon, but you are Captain Flanagan of the yacht _Laura_?"

"Yessir, " patiently. "But the owner never lets anybody aboard he don'tknow, sir. "

"I do not desire to come aboard, my Captain. What I wish to know is ifhis excellency the admiral is at home. "

"His excellency" rather confounded the captain for a moment; but hecame about without "takin' more'n a bucketful, " as he afterwardexpressed it to Halloran the engineer. "I knew right then he wus afurriner; I know 'em. They ain't no excellencies in th' navy. But Itells him that the commodore was snug in his berth up yonder, and withthat he looks to me like I wus a lady. I've seen him in Swan's atnight readin'; allus chasin' butterflies when he sees 'em in thestreet. " And the captain rounded out this period by touching hisforehead as a subtle hint that in his opinion the foreigner carried noballast. 

In the intervening time the subject of this light suggestion wasclimbing the hill with that tireless resiliant step of one born tomountains. No task appeared visibly to weary this man. Small as hewas, his bones were as strong and his muscles as stringy as a wolf's. If the butterfly was worth while he would follow till it fell to hisnet or daylight withdrew its support. Never he lost patience, neverhis smile faltered, never his mild spectacled eyes wavered. He was asavant by nature; he was a secret agent by choice. Who knows anythingabout rare butterflies appreciates the peril of the pursuit; one neverpicks the going and often stumbles. He was a hunter of butterflies bynature; but he possessed a something more than a mere smattering ofother odd crafts. He was familiar with precious gems, marbles he knewand cameos; he could point out the weakness in a drawing, the falseeffort in a symphony; he was something of mutual interest to every manand woman he met. 

So it fell out very well that Admiral Killigrew was fond ofbutterflies. Still, he should have been equally glad to know that thesailor's hobby inclined toward the exploits of pirates. M. Ferraud wasa modest man. That his exquisite brochure on lepidopterous insects wasin nearly all the public libraries of the world only gratified, butadded nothing to his vanity. 

As it oftentimes happens to a man whose mind is occupied with otherthings, the admiral, who received M. Ferraud in the library, sawnothing in the name to kindle his recollection. He bade the savant tobe seated while he read the letter of introduction which had beenwritten by the secretary of the navy. 

"MY DEAR KILLIGREW:

"This will introduce to you Monsieur Ferraud, of the butterfly fame. He has learned of the success of your efforts in the West Indies andSouth America and is eager to see your collection. Do what you can forhim. I know you will, for you certainly must have his book. I myselfdo not know a butterfly from a June-bug, but it will be a pleasure tobring you two together. "

Breitmann arranged his papers neatly and waited to be dismissed. Hehad seen M. Ferraud at Swan's, but had formed no opinion regarding him;in fact, the growth of his interest had stopped at indifference. Onhis part, the new arrival never so much as gave the secretary a secondglance--the first was sufficient. And while the admiral read on, M. Ferraud examined the broken skin on his palms. 

"Mr. Ferraud! Well, well; this is a great honor, I'm sure. It wasvery kind of them to send you here. Where is your luggage?"

"I am stopping at Swan's Hotel. "

"We shall have your things up this very night. "

"Oh!" said Ferraud, in protest; though this was the very thing hedesired. 

"Not a word!" The admiral summoned the butler, who was the generalfactotem at The Pines, and gave a dozen orders. 

"Ah, you Americans!" laughed M. Ferraud, pyramiding his ringers. "Youleave us breathless. "

"Your book has delighted me. But I'm afraid my collection will not payyou for your trouble. "

"That is for me to decide. My South American specimens are allseconds. On the other hand, you have netted yours yourself. "

And straightway a bond of friendship was riveted between these two menwhich still remains bright and untarnished by either absence orforgetfulness. They bent over the cases, agreed and disagreed, the onewith the sharp gestures, the other with the rise and fall of the voice. For them nothing else existed; they were truly engrossed. 

Breitmann, hiding a smile that was partly a yawn, stole quietly away. Butterflies did not excite his concern in the least. 

M. Ferraud was charmed. He was voluble. Never had he entered a morehomelike place, large enough to be called a chateau, yet as cheerful asa writer's fire. And the daughter! Her French was the elegant speechof Tours, her German Hanoverian. Incomparable! And she was notmarried? _Helas_! How many luckless fellows walked the worlddesolate? And this was M. Fitzgerald the journalist? And M. Breitmannhad also been one? How delighted he was to be here! All this flowedon with perfect naturalness; there wasn't a false note anywhere. Atdinner he diffused a warmth and geniality which were infectious. Laurawas pleased and amused; and she adored her father for these impulseswhich brought to the board, unexpectedly, such men as M. Ferraud. 

M. Ferraud did not smoke, but he dissipated to the extent of drinkingthree small cups of coffee after dinner. 

"You are right, " he acknowledged--there had been a slight disputerelative to the methods of roasting the berry--"Europe does not roastits coffee, it burns it. The aroma, the bouquet! I am beaten. "

"So am I, " Fitzgerald reflected sadly, snatching a vision of the girl'sanimated face. 

Three days he had ridden into the country with her, or played tennis, or driven down to the village and inspected the yacht. He had beenlonely so long and this beautiful girl was such a good comrade. Onemoment he blessed the prospective treasure hunt, another he execratedit. To be with this girl was to love her; and whither this pleasurableidleness would lead him he was neither blind nor self-deceiving. Butwith the semi-humorous recklessness which was the leaven of hissuccess, he thrust prudence behind him and stuck to the primrose path. He had played with fire before, but never had the coals burned sobrightly. He did not say that she was above him; mentally and by birththey were equals; simply, he was compelled to admit of the truth thatshe was beyond him. Money. That was the obstacle. For what man willlive on his wife's bounty? Suppose they found the treasure (and withhis old journalistic suspicion he was still skeptical), and divided it;why, the interest on his share would not pay for her dresses. To theordinary male eye her gowns looked inexpensive, but to him who hadpicked up odd bits of information not usually in the pathway of man, tohim there was no secret about it. That bodice and those sleeves of oldVenetian point would have eaten up the gains of any three of his mostprosperous months. 

And Breitmann, dropping occasionally the ash of his cigarette on thetray, he, too, was pondering. But his German strain did not make it soeasy for him as for Fitzgerald to give concrete form to his thought. The star, as he saw it, had a nebulous appearance. 

M. Ferraud chatted gaily. Usually a man who holds his audience is ofsingle purpose. The little Frenchman had two aims: one, to keep theconversation on subjects of his own selection, and the other, to studywithout being observed. Among one of his own tales (butterflies) hetold of a chase he once had made in the mountains of the Moors, inAbyssinia. To illustrate it he took up one of the nets standing in thecorner. In his excitable way he was a very good actor. And when heswooped down the net to demonstrate the end of the story, it caught ona button on Breitmann's coat. 

"Pardon!" said M. Ferraud, with a blithe laugh. "The butterfly I wasdescribing was not so big. "

Breitmann freed himself amid general laughter. And with Laura's risingthe little after-dinner party became disorganized. 

It was yet early; but perhaps she had some thought she wished to bealone with. This consideration was the veriest bud in growth; still, it was such that she desired the seclusion of her room. She swungacross her shoulders the sleepy Angora and wished the men good night. 

The wire bell in the hall clock vibrated twice; two o'clock of themorning. A streak of moon-shine fell aslant the floor and broke offabruptly. Before the safe in the library stood Breitmann, a small tapein his hand. For several minutes he contemplated somberly the nickelcombination wheel. He could open it for he knew the combination. Toopen it would be the work of a moment. Why, then, did he hesitate?Why not pluck it forth and disappear on the morrow? The admiral hadnot made a copy, and without the key he might dig up Corsica till thecrack of doom. The flame on the taper crept down. The man gave aquick movement to his shoulders; it was the shrug, not of impatiencebut of resignation. He saw the lock through the haze of a conjuredface. He shut his eyes, but the vision remained. Slowly he drew hisfingers over the flame. 

Yet, before the flame died wholly it touched two points of light in thedoorway, the round crystals of a pair of spectacles. 

"Two souls with but a single thought!" the secret agent murmured. "Poor devil! why does he hesitate? Why does he not take it and begone? Is he still honest? _Peste_! I must be growing old. I shallnot ruin him, I shall save him. It is not goot politics, but it isgood Christianity. _Schlafen Sie wohl, Hochwohl geboren_!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE WOMAN WHO KNEW

"Don't you sometimes grow weary for an abiding place?" Laura pulledoff her gauntlets and laid her hot hands on the cool lichen-grownstones of the field-wall. The bridle-rein hung over her arm. Fitzgerald had drawn his through a stirrup. "Think of wandering hereand there, with never a place to come back to. "

"I have thought of it often in the few days I have been here. I have ahome in New York, but I could not possibly afford to live in it; so Irent it; and when I want to go fishing there's enough under hand to paythe expenses. My poor old dad! He was always indorsing notes for hisfriends, or carrying stock for them; and nothing ever came back. I amafraid the disillusions broke his heart. And then, perhaps I was abitter disappointment. I was expelled from college in my junior year. I had no head for figures other than that kind which inhabit the Louvreand the Vatican. "

Her face became momentarily mirthful. 

"So I couldn't take hold of the firm for him, " he continued. "And Isuppose the last straw was when I tried my hand at reporting on one ofthe newspapers. He knew that the gathering of riches, so far as I wasconcerned, was a closed door. But I found my level; the business wasand is the only one that ever interested me or fused my energy withreal work. "

"But it is real work. You are one of those men who have donesomething. Most men these days rest on their fathers' laurels. "

"It's the line of the least resistance. I never knew that the Jerseycoast was so picturesque. What a sweep! Do you know, your house onthat pine-grown crest reminds me of the Villa Serbelloni, only yonderis the sea instead of Como?"

"Como. " Her eyes became dreamily half-shut. Recollection put on itsseven-league boots and annihilated the space between the wall under herelbows and the gardens of Serbelloni. Fitzgerald half understood thethought. "Isn't Mr. Breitmann just a bit of a mystery to you?" sheasked. The seven-league boots had returned at a bound. 

"In some ways, yes. " He rather resented the abrupt angle; it was notin poetic touch with the time being. 

"He is inclined to be too much reserved. But last night Mr. Ferraudsucceeded in tearing down some of it. If I could put in a book whatall you men have seen and taken part in! Mr. Breitmann would be almosthandsome but for those scars. "

He kicked the turf at the foot of the wall. "In Germany they areconsidered beauty-spots. "

"I am not in sympathy with that custom. "

"Still, it requires courage of a kind. "

"The noblest wounds are those that are carried unseen. Student scarsare merely patches of vanity. "

"He has others besides those. He was nearly killed in the Soudan. "Fitzgerald was compelled to offer some defense for the absent. ThatBreitmann had lied to him, that his appearance here had been in theregular order of things, did not take away the fact that the Bavarianwas a man and a brave one. Closely as he had watched, up to thepresent he had learned absolutely nothing; and to have shown Breitmannthe telegram would have accomplished nothing further than to have puthim wholly on guard. 

"Have you no scars?" mischief in her eyes. 

"Not yet;" and the force of his gaze turned hers aside. "Yet I mustnot forget my conscience; 'tis pretty well battered up. "

She greeted this with laughter. She had heard men talk like thisbefore. "You have probably never done a mean or petty thing in allyour life. "

"Mean and petty things never disturb a man's conscience. It's the bigthings that scar. "

"That's a platitude. "

"Then my end of the conversation is becoming flat. "

"Confess that you are eager to return to the great highways once more. "

"I shall confess nothing of the sort. I should like to stay here for ahundred years. "

"You would miss us all very much then, " merrily. "And Napoleon'streasure would have gone in and out of innumerable pockets!"

"Do you really and truly believe that we shall bring home a singlefranc of it?" facing her with incredulous eyes. 

"Really and truly. And why not? Treasures have been found before. Fie on you for a Doubting Thomas!"

"We sometimes go many miles to find, in the end, that the treasure wasall the time under our very eyes. "

"Hyperbole!" But she looked down at the lichen again and began pealingit off the stone. She thought of a duke she knew. At this instant hewould have been telling her that she was the most beautiful woman sinceHelen. What a relief this man at her side was! She was perfectlyaware that he admired her, but he veiled his tributes with half-smilesand flashes of humor. "What a gay little man that Mr. Ferraud is!"

"Lively as a cricket. Your father, I understand, is to take him as faras Marseilles. After to-night everything will be quite formal, Isuppose. Honestly, I feel ill at ease in accepting your splendidhospitality. I'm an interloper. I haven't even the claim of anordinary introduction. It has been very, very kind of you. "

"You know Mrs. Coldfield. I will, if you wish it, ask her to presentyou to me. "

"I am really serious. "

"So am I. "

"They will be here to-morrow?"

"Yes. And in four days we sail. Oh, it is all so beautiful! A realtreasure hunt. "

"It does not seem possible that I have been here a week. It has been along time since I enjoyed myself so thoroughly. Have you ever wonderedwhat has become of the other man?"

"The other man?"

"Yes; the other one in or outside the chimney. I've been thinkingabout him this long while. Hasn't it occurred to you that he may haveother devices?"

"If he has he will find that he has waited too long. But I would liketo know how he found out. You see, " triumphantly, "he believed thatthere is one. " She shook the rein, for the sleek mare was nozzling hershoulder and pawing slightly, "Let us be off. "

She put her small booted foot on his palm and vaulted into the saddle, and he swung on to his mount. He stuffed his cap into a pocket, for hewas no fair-weather horseman, but loved the tingle of the wind rushingthrough his hair; and the two cantered down the clear sandy road. 

"_En avant_!" she cried joyously, with a light stroke of her whip. 

For half a mile they ran and drew in at the fork in the road. Exhilaration was in the eyes of both of them. 

"There's nothing equal to it. You feel alive. And off there, " with awave of the whip toward the sea, "off there lies our fortunes. O happyday! to take part in a really truly adventure, without the assistanceof a romancer!"

"I think you are one of the most charming women I have ever met, " hereplied. 

"Some women would object to the modification, but I rather like it. "

"I withdraw the modification. " The smile on his lips was not reflectedin his eyes. 

The antithesis of the one expression to the other did not annoy her;rather she was sensitive to a tender exultance the recurrence of which, later in the day, subdued her: for Breitmann at tea turned a fewphrases of a similar character. Fitzgerald was light-hearted andboyish, Breitmann was grave and dignified; but in the eyes of eachthere was a force she had encountered so seldom as to forget its being. Breitmann, in his capacity of secretary, was not so often in hercompany as Fitzgerald; nevertheless she was subtly attracted towardhim. When he was of the mind he could invent a happy compliment with afelicity no less facile than Fitzgerald. And the puzzling thing of itall was, both men she knew from their histories had never beenornaments at garden-parties where compliments are current coin. Sheliked Fitzgerald, but she admired Breitmann, a differentiation whichshe had no inclination to resolve into first principles. ThatBreitmann was a secretary for hire drew no barrier in her mind. Shehad known many gentlemen of fine families who had served in likesituations. There were no social distinctions. On the other hand, shenever felt wholly comfortable with Breitmann. There was not the leastmistrust in this feeling. It was rather because she instinctively feltthat he was above his occupation. To sum it up briefly, Breitmann wasdifficult to understand and Fitzgerald wasn't. 

Fitzgerald had an idea; boldly put, it was a grave suspicion. Not oncehad he forgotten the man in the chimney. Once the finger had pointedat Breitmann or some one with whom he was in understanding. This hadproved to be groundless. But he kept turning over the incident andinspecting it from all sides. There were others a-treasure hunting;persons unknown; and a man might easily become desperate in the pursuitof two-million francs, almost half a million of American money, more, for some of these coins would be rare. He had thoroughly searched theground outside the cellar-window, but the sea gravel held its secretwith a tenacity as baffling as the mother-sea herself. There was a newunder-groom, or rather there had been. He had left, and where he hadgone no one knew. Fitzgerald dismissed the thought of him; at the mosthe could have been but an accomplice, one to unlock the cellar-window. 

While Breitmann lingered near Laura, offering what signs of admirationhe dared, and while the admiral chatted to his country neighbors whowere gathered round the tea-table, Fitzgerald and M. Ferraud werebraced against the terrace wall, a few yards farther on, and exchangedviews on various peoples. 

"America is a wonderful country, " said M. Ferraud, when they hadexhausted half a dozen topics. He spread out his hands, Frenchman-wise. 

"So it is. " Fitzgerald threw away his cigarette. 

"And how foolish England was over a pound of tea. "

"Something like that. "

"But see what she lost!" with a second gesture. 

"In one way it would not have mattered. She would patronize us as shestill does. "

"Do you not resent it, this patronizing attitude?"

"Oh, no--we are very proud to be patronized by England, " cynically. "It's a fine thing to have a lord tell you that you wear your clothesjolly well. "

"I wonder if you are serious or jesting. "

"I am very serious at this moment, " said Fitzgerald quietly catchingthe other by the wrist and turning the palm. 

M. Ferraud looked into his face with an astonishment on his own, mostgenuine. But he did not struggle. "Why do you do that?"

"I am curious, Mr. Ferraud, when I see a hand like this. Would youmind letting me see the other?"

"Not in the least. " M. Ferraud offered the other hand. 

Fitzgerald let go. "What was your object?"

"Mon dieu! what object?"

Fitzgerald lowered his voice. "What was your object in digging holesin yonder chimney? Did you know what was there? And what do youpropose to do now?"

M. Ferraud coolly, took off his spectacles and polished the lenses. Itneeded but a moment to adjust them. "What are you talking about?"

"You are really M. Ferraud?" said the young man coldly. 

The Frenchman produced a wallet and took out a letter. It was writtenby the president of France, introducing M. Ferraud to the ambassador atWashington. Next, there was a passport, and far more important thaneither of these was the Legion of Honor. "Yes, I am Anatole Ferraud. "

"That is all I desire to know. "

"Shall we return to the ladies?" asked M. Ferraud, restoring histreasures. 

"Since there is nothing more to be said at present. It seems strangeto me that foreign politics should find its way here. "

"Politics? I am only a butterfly hunter. "

"There are varieties. But you are the man. I shall find out!"

"Possibly, " returned M. Ferraud thinking hard. 

"I give you fair warning that if anything is missing--"

"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald!"

"I shall know where to look for it, " with a smile which had no humor init. 

"Why not denounce me now?"

"Would it serve your purpose?"

"No, " with deeper gravity. "It would be a great disaster; how great, Ican not tell you. "

"Then, I shall say nothing. "

"About what?" dryly, even whimsically. 

"About your being a secret agent from France. "

This time M. Ferraud's glance proved that he was truly startled. Onlythree times in his career had his second life been questioned orsuspected. He eyed his hands accusingly; they had betrayed him. Thisyoung man was clever, cleverer than he had thought. He had been tooconfident and had committed a blunder. Should he trust him? With thatswift unerring instinct which makes the perfect student of character, he said: "You will do me a great favor not to impart this suspicion toany one else. "

"Suspicion?"

"It is true: I am a secret agent;" and he said it proudly. 

"You wish harm to none here?"

"_Mon dieu_! No. I am here for the very purpose of saving you allfrom heartaches and misfortune and disillusion. And had I set to workearlier I should have accomplished all this without a single one of youknowing it. Now the matter will have to go on to its end. "

"Can you tell me anything?"

"Not now. I trust you; will you trust me?"

Fitzgerald hesitated for a space. "Yes. "

"For that, thanks, " and M. Ferraud put out a hand. "It is clean, Mr. Fitzgerald, for all that the skin is broken. "

"Of that I have no doubt. "

"Before we reach Corsica you will know. "

And so temporarily that ended the matter. But as Fitzgerald went overto the chair just vacated by the secretary, he found that there was adouble zest to life now. This would be far more exciting than dodgingice-floes and freezing one's toes. 

Laura told him the news. Their guests would arrive that evening intime for dinner. 

It was Breitmann's habit to come down first. He would thrum a littleon the piano or take down some old volume. To-night it was Heine. Hehad not met any of the guests yet, which he considered a piece of goodfortune. But God only knew what would happen when _she_ saw him. Hedreaded the moment, dreaded it with anguish. She was a woman, schooledin acting, but a time comes when the best acting is not sufficient. Ifonly in some way he might have warned her; but no way had opened. Shewould find him ready, however, ready with his eyes, his lips, hisnerves. What would the others think or say if she lost her presence ofmind? His teeth snapped. He read on. The lamp threw the light on thescarred side of his face. 

He heard some one enter, and his gaze stole over the top of his book. This person was a woman, and her eyes traveled from object to objectwith a curiosity tinged with that incertitude which attacks us all whenwe enter an unfamiliar room. She was dressed in black, showing thewhite arms and neck. Her hair was like ripe wheat after a rain-storm:oh, but he knew well the color of her eyes, blue as the Adriatic. Shewas a woman of perhaps thirty, matured, graceful, handsome. The sightof her excited a thrill in his veins, deny it how he would. 

She scanned the long rows of books, the strange weapons, the heroic andsinister flags, the cases of butterflies. With each inspection shestepped nearer and nearer, till by reaching out his hand he might havetouched her. Quietly he rose. It was a critical moment. 

She was startled. She had thought she was alone. 

"Pardon me, " she said, in a low, musical voice; "I did not know thatany one was here. " And then she saw his face. Her own blanched andher hands went to her heart. "Karl?"

CHAPTER XIV

THE DRAMA BEGINS

She swayed a little, but recovered as the pain of the shock wassucceeded by numbness. That out of the dark of this room, into thelight of that lamp, in this house so far removed from cities that itseemed not a part of the world . . . There should step this man! Whyhad there been no hint of his presence? Why had not the clairvoyanceof despair warned her? One of her hands rose and pressed over hereyes, as if to sponge out this phantom. It was useless; it was nodream; he was still there, this man she had neither seen nor heard offor five years because her will was stronger than her desire, this manwho had broken her heart as children break toys! And deep below allthis present terror was the abiding truth that she still loved him andalways would love him. The shame of this knowledge did more than allelse to rouse and to nerve her. 

"Karl?" It was like an echo. 

"Yes. " There was war in his voice and attitude and not without reason. He had wronged this woman, not with direct intention it was true, butnevertheless he had wronged her; and her presence here could meannothing less than that fate had selected this spot for the reckoning. She could topple down his carefully reared schemes with the same easewith which he had blown over hers. And to him these schemes were lifeto his breath and salt to his blood, everything. What was one woman?cynically. "Yes, it is I, " in the tongue native to them both. 

"And what do you here?"

"I am Admiral Killigrew's private secretary. " He wet his lips. He wasnot so strong before this woman as he had expected to be. The glamourof the old days was faintly rekindled at the sight of her. And she_was_ beautiful. 

"Then, this is the house?" in a whisper. 

"It is. "

"You terrify me!"

"Hildegarde, this is your scheme, " shrugging. "Tell them all you know;break me, ruin me. Here is a fair opportunity for revenge. "

"God forbid!" she cried with a shiver. "Were you guilty of all crimes, I could only remember that once I loved you. "

"You shame me, " he replied frankly, but with infinite relief. "Youhave outdone me in magnanimity. Will you forgive me?"

"Oh, yes. Forgiveness is one of the few things you men can not rob usof. " She spoke without bitterness, but her eyes were dim and her lipsdropped. "What shall we do? They must not know that we have met. "

"Cathewe knows, " moodily. 

"I had forgotten!"

"I leave all in your hands. Do what you will. If you break me--andGod knows well that you can do it--it would be only an act of justice. I have been a damned scoundrel; I am man enough to admit of that. "

She saw his face more clearly now. Time had marked it. There were newlines at the corners of his eyes and the cheek-bones were moreprominent. Perhaps he had suffered too. "You will always have thecourage to do, " she said, "right or wrong in a great manner. "

"Am I wrong to seek--"

"Hush! I know. It is what you must thrust aside or break to reach it, Karl. The thing itself is not wrong, but you will go about it wrongly. You can not help that. "

He did not reply. Perhaps she was right. Indeed, was she not herselfan example of it? If there was one thing in his complex career that heregretted more than another it was the deception of this woman. He didnot possess the usual vanity of the sex; there was nothing here to beproud of; his dream of conquest was not over the kingdom of women. 

"Some one is coming, " he said, listening. 

"Leave it all to me. "

"Ah! . . . " with a hand toward her. 

"Do not say it. I understand the thought. If only you loved me, youwould say!" the iron in her voice unmistakable. 

He let his hand fall. He was sorry. 

Presently the others made their entrance upon the scene, a singularanticlimax. The admiral rang for the cocktails. Introductionsfollowed. 

"Is it not strange?" said the singer to Laura. "I stole in here tolook at the trophies, when I discovered Mr. Breitmann whom I once knewin Munich. "

"Mr. Cathewe, " said the young hostess, "this is Mr. Breitmann, who isaiding father in the compilation of his book. "

"Mr. Breitmann and I have met before, " said Cathewe soberly. 

The two men bowed. Cathewe never gave his hand to any but hisintimates. But Laura, who was not aware of this ancient reserve, thought that both of them showed a lack of warmth. And Fitzgerald, whowas watching all comers now, was sure that the past of his friend andBreitmann interlaced in some way. 

"So, young man, " said Mrs. Coldfield, a handsome motherly woman, "youhave had the impudence to let five years pass without darkening mydoors. What excuse have you?"

"I'm guilty of anything you say, " Fitzgerald answered humbly. "Whatshall be my punishment?"

"You shall take Miss Laura in and I shall sit at your left. "

"For my sins it shall be as you say. But, really, I have been solittle in New York, " he added. 

"I forgive you simply because you have not made a failure of yourmother's son. And you look like her, too. " It is one of theprivileges of old persons to compare the young with this or that parent. 

"You are flattering me. Dad used to say that I was as homely as ahedge-fence. "

"Now you're fishing, and I'm too old a fish to rise to such a cast. "

"I heard you sing in Paris a few years ago, " said M. Ferraud. 

"Yes?" Hildegarde von Mitter wondered who this little man could be. 

"And you sing no more?"

"No. The bird has flown; only the woman remains. " They were at thetable now, and she absently plucked the flowers beside her plate. 

"Ah, to sing as you did, and then to disappear, to vanish! You had noright to do so. You belonged to the public, " animatedly. 

"The public is always selfish; it always demands more than any singleperson can give to it. Pardon?" she said as Cathewe leaned to speak toher. "I did not hear. "

M. Ferraud nibbled his crisp celery. 

"I asked, what will you do?" repeated Cathewe for her ear only. 

"What do you mean?"

"Did you know that he was here?"

"I should not have been seated at this table had I known. "

"Some day you are going to tell me all about it, " he asserted; "and youare going to smile when you answer me. "

"Thank you. I forgot. My dear friend, I am never going to tell youall about it. Why did you not come first?" her voice vibrating. 

"You still love him. "

"That is not kind, " striving hard to keep the smile on her tremblinglips. "Oh, I beg of you, do not make this friendship impossible. Donot rob me of the one man I trust. "

Cathewe motioned aside the fish and reached for his sauterne. "I haveloved you faithfully and loyally for seven years. I have tried to winyou by all those roads a man may honorably traverse in quest of the onewoman. For seven years; and for something like three I have stayedaway at your command. Will you believe it? Sometimes my hands achefor his throat . . . Smile, they are looking. "

It was a crooked smile. "Why did I ever tell you?"

"Why did you ever tell me . . . Only part? It is the other part I wishto know. Till I learn what that is I shall never leave you. You willfind that there is a difference between love and infatuation. "

"As I have never known infatuation I can not tell the difference. Now, no more, unless you care to see me break down before them. For if youtell me that you have loved me seven years, I have loved him eight, "cruelly, for Cathewe was pressing her cruelly. 

"Devil take him! What do you find in the man?"

"What do you find in me?" her eyes filled with anger. 

"Forgive me, Hildegarde; I am blind and mad to-night. I did not expectto find him here either. "

Breitmann had tried ineffectually to read their lips. She had givenher word, and once given, he knew of old that she never broke it; buthe was keenly alive that in some way he was the topic of the inaudibleconversation. As he sat here to-night he knew why he had never lovedHildegarde, why in fact, he had never loved any woman. The one greatpassion which comes in the span of life was centered in the girl besidehim, dividing her moments between him and Fitzgerald. Strange, but hehad not known it till he saw the two women together. For once his nicecalculations had ceased to run smoothly; there appeared now a knot inthe thread for which he saw no untying. 

"You do not sing now?" asked Laura across the table. 

"No, " Hildegarde answered, "my voice is gone. "

"Oh, I am so sorry. "

"It does not matter. I can hum a little to myself; there is yet somepleasure in that. But in opera, no, never again. Has not Mrs. Coldfield told you? No? Imagine! One night in Dresden, in the middleof the aria, my voice broke miserably and I could not go on. "

"And her heart nearly broke with it, " interposed Mrs. Coldfield, withthe best intentions, nearer the truth than she knew. "I am sorry, Laura, that I never told you before. "

Hildegarde laughed. "Sooner or later this must happen. I worked toohard, perhaps. At any rate, the opera will know me no more. "

There was the hard blue of flint in Cathewe's eyes as they met and heldBreitmann's. There was a duel, and the latter was routed. But hateburned fiercely in the breast against the man who could compel him tolower his eyes. Some day he would pay back that glance. 

Now, M. Ferraud had missed nothing. He twisted the talk into otherchannels with his usual adroitness, but all the while there wasbubbling in his mind the news that these two men had met before. Thehistory of Hildegarde von Mitter was known to him. But how much didshe know, or this man Cathewe? The woman was a thoroughbred. He, Anatole Ferraud, knew; it was his business to know; and that she shouldhappen upon the scene he considered as one of these rare good pieces ofluck that fall to the lot of few. There would be something more thantreasure hunting here; an intricate comedy-drama, with as manywell-defined sides as a diamond. He ate his endive with pleasure andsipped the old yellow _Pol Roger_ with his eyes beaming toward thegods. To be, after a fashion, the prompter behind the scenes; to beable to read the final line before the curtain! Butterflies andbutterflies and pins and pins. 

Did Laura note any of the portentous glances, those exchanged betweenthe singer and Cathewe and Breitmann? Perhaps. At all events she felta curiosity to know how long Hildegarde von Mitter had known herfather's secretary. There was no envy in her heart as again sheacknowledged the beauty of the other woman; moreover, she liked her andwas going to like her more. Impressions were made upon her almostinstantly, for good or bad, and rarely changed. 

She turned oftenest to Fitzgerald, for he made particular effort toentertain, and he succeeded better than he dreamed. It kept turningover in her mind what a whimsical, capricious, whirligig was at work. It was droll, this man at her side, chatting to her as if he had knownher for years, when, seven or eight days ago, he had stood, a man allunknown to her, on a city corner, selling plaster of Paris statuetteson a wager; and but for Mrs. Coldfield, she had passed him for ever. Out upon the prude who would look askance at her for harmless daring!

"Drop into my room before you turn in, " urged Fitzgerald to Cathewe. 

"That I shall, my boy. I've some questions to ask of you. "

But a singular idea came into creation, and this was for him, Cathewe, to pay Breitmann a visit on the way to Fitzgerald's room. Not one manin a thousand would have dared put this idea into a plan of action. But neither externals nor conventions deterred Cathewe when he sought athing. He rapped lightly on the door of the secretary's room. 

"Come in. "

Cathewe did so, gently closing the door behind him. Breitmann was inhis shirt-sleeves. He rose from his chair and laid down his cigarette. A faint smile broke the thin line of his mouth. He waited for hisguest, or, rather, this intruder, to break the silence. And as Cathewedid not speak at once, there was a tableau during which each wasspeculatively busy with the eyes. 

"The vicissitudes of time, " said Cathewe, "have left no distinguishablemarks upon you. "

Breitmann bowed. He remained standing. 

And Cathewe had no wish to sit. "I never expected to see you in thishouse. "

"A compliment which I readily return. "

"A private secretary; I never thought of you in that capacity. "

"One must take what one can, " tranquilly. 

"A good precept. " Cathewe rolled the ends of his mustache, a trifleperplexed how to put it. "But there should be exceptions. What, " andhis voice became crisp and cold, "what was Hildegarde von Mitter toyou?"

"And what is that to you?"

"My question first. "

"I choose not to answer it. "

Again they eyed each other like fencers. 

"Were you married?"

Breitmann laughed. Here was his opportunity to wring this man's heart;for he knew that Cathewe loved the woman. "You seem to be in herconfidence. Ask her. "

"A poltroon would say as much. There is a phase in your make-up I havenever fully understood. Physically you are a brave man, but morallyyou are a cad and a poltroon. "

"Take care!" Breitmann stepped forward menacingly. 

"There will be no fisticuffs, " contemptuously. 

"Not if you are careful. I have answered your questions; you hadbetter leave at once. "

"She is loyal to you. It was not her voice that broke that night; itwas her heart, you have some hold over her. "

"None that she can not throw off at any time. " Breitmann's mind wasworking strangely. 

"If she would have me I would marry her tomorrow, " went on Cathewe, playing openly, "I would marry her to-morrow, priest or protestant, forher religion would be mine. "

There was a spark of admiration in Breitmann's eyes. This man Cathewewas out of the ordinary. Well, as for that, so was he himself. Hewalked silently to the door and opened it, standing aside for the otherto pass. "She is perfectly free. Marry her. She is all and more thanyou wish her to be. Will you go now?"

Cathewe bowed and turned on his heel. Breitmann had really got thebetter of him. 

A peculiar interview, and only two strong men could have handled it inso few words. Not a word above normal tones; once or twice only, inthe flutter of the eyelids or in the gesture of the hands, was thereany sign that had these been primitive times the two would have gonejoyously at each other's throats. 

"I owed her that much, " said Breitmann as he locked the door. 

"It did not matter at all to me, " was Cathewe's thought, as he knockedon Fitzgerald's door and heard his cheery call, "I only wanted to knowwhat sort of man he is. "

"Oh, I really don't know whether I like him or not, " declaredFitzgerald. "I have run across him two or three times, but we wereboth busy. He has told me a little about himself. He's been knockedabout a good deal. Has a title, but doesn't use it. "

"A title? That is news to me. Probably it is true. "

"I was surprised to learn that you knew him at all. "

"Not very well. Met him in Munich mostly. "

A long pause. 

"Isn't Miss Killigrew just rippin'? There's a comrade for some man. Lucky devil, who gets her! She is new to me every day. "

"I think I warned you. "

"You were a nice one, never to say a word that you knew the admiral!"

"Are you complaining?"

Fitzgerald laughed; no not exactly; he wasn't complaining. 

"You remember the caravan trails in the Lybian desert; the old ones onthe way to Khartoum? The pathway behind her is like that, marked withthe bleached bones of princely and ducal and common hopes. " Cathewestretched out in his chair. "Since she was eighteen, Jack, she hascrossed the man-trail like a sandstorm, and quite as innocently, too. "

"Oh, rot! I'm no green and salad youth. "

"Your bones will be only the tougher, that's all. "

Another pause. 

"But what's your opinion regarding Breitmann?"

Cathewe laced his fingers and bent his chin on them. "There's a greatrascal or a great hero somewhere under his skin. "

CHAPTER XV

THEY GO A-SAILING

Five o'clock in the afternoon, and a mild blue sea flashing under theever-deepening orange of the falling sun. Golden castles and graycastles and castles of shadowed-white billowed in the east; turretsrose and subsided and spires of cloud-cities formed and re-formed. Theyacht _Laura_, sleek and swan-white, her ensign and colors folding andunfolding, lifting and sinking, as the shore breeze stirred them, wasmaking ready for sea; and many of the villagers had come down to thewater front to see her off. Very few sea-going vessels, outside offreighters, ever stopped in this harbor; and naturally the departuresof the yacht were events equalled only by her arrivals. The railroadstation was close to the wharves, and the old sailors hated the sightof the bright rails; for the locomotive had robbed them of theexcitement of the semi-weekly packets that used to coast up and downbetween New York and Philadelphia. 

"Wonder what poor devil of a pirate is going to have his bones turnedover this trip?" said the station-agent to Mr. Donovan, who, amongothers on the station platform, watched the drab anchor as it clankedjerkily upward to the bows, leaving a swivel and a boil on the waterswhich had released it so grudgingly. 

"I guess it ain't goin' t' be any ol' pirate this time, " replied Mr. Donovan, with a pleasurable squeeze of the pocket-book over his heart. 

"Well, I hope he finds what he's going after, " generously. "He is themainstay of this old one-horse town. Say, she's a beauty, isn't she?Why, man, that anchor alone is worth more than we make in four months. And think of the good things to eat and drink. If I had a million, nopirates or butterflies for mine. I'd hie me to Monte Carlo and bat thetiger all over the place. "

Mr. Donovan knew nothing definite about Monte Carlo, but he would haveliked to back up against some of those New York contractors on theirown grounds. 

"Hi! There she goes. Good luck!" cried the station-agent, swinginghis hat with gusto. 

The yacht swam out gracefully. There was a freshening blow from thesouthwest, but it would take the yacht half an hour to reach thedeep-sea swells outside. Her whistle blew cheerily and was answered bythe single tug-boat moored to the railroad wharf. And after that thevillagers straggled back to their various daily concerns. Even thelandlord of Swan's Hotel sighed as he balanced up his books. Businesswould be slack for some days to come. 

The voyagers were gathered about the stern-rail and a handkerchief ortwo fluttered in the wind. For an hour they tarried there, keeping inview the green-wooded hills and the white cottages nestling at theirbase. And turn by turn there were glimpses of the noble old house atthe top of the hill. And some looked upon it for the last time. 

"I've had a jolly time up there, " said Fitzgerald. The gulls swooped, as they crossed and recrossed the milky wake. "Better time than Ideserved. "

"Are you still worried about that adventure?" Laura demanded. "Dismissit from your mind and let it be as if we had known each other for manyyears. "

"Do you really mean that?"

"To be sure I do, " promptly. "I have stepped to the time of conventionso much that a lapse once in a while is a positive luxury. But Mrs. Coldfield had given me a guaranty before I addressed you, so theadventure was only a make-believe one after all. "

There never was a girl quite like this one. He purloined a sidelongglance at her which embraced her wholly, from the chic gray cap on thetop of her shapely head to the sensible little boots on her feet. Shewore a heavy, plaid coat, with deep pockets into which her hands weresnugly buried; and she stood braced against the swell and the windwhich was turning out strong and cold. The rich pigment in the bloodmantled her cheeks and in her eyes there was still a bit of captivesunshine. He knew now that what had been only a possibility was anassured fact. Never before had he cursed his father's friends, but hedid so now, silently and earnestly; for their pilfering fingers andtheir plausible lies had robbed his father's son of a fine inheritance. Money. Never had he desired it so keenly. A few weeks ago it hadmeant the wherewithal to pay his club-dues and to support a decenttable when he traveled. Now it was everything; for without it he nevercould dare lift his eyes seriously to this lovely picture so close tohim, let alone dream of winning her. He recalled Cathewe's lightwarning about the bones of ducal hopes. What earthly chance had he?Unconsciously he shrugged. 

"You are shrugging!" she cried, noting the expression; for, if he wassecretly observing her, she was surreptitiously contemplating his ownadvantages. 

"Did I shrug?"

"You certainly did. "

"Well, " candidly, "it was the thought of money that made me do it. "

"I detest it, too. "

"Good heavens, I didn't say I detested it! What I shrugged about wasmy own dreary lack of it. "

"Bachelors do not require much. "

"That's true; but I no longer desire to remain a bachelor. " The verything that saved him was the added laughter, forced, miserably forced. Fool! The words had slipped without his thinking. 

"Gracious! That sounds horribly like a proposal. " She beamed upon himmerrily. 

And his heart sank, for he had been earnest enough, for all hisblunder. Manlike, he did not grasp the fact that under thecircumstance merriment was all she could offer him, if she would savehim from his own stupidity. 

"But I do hate money, " she reaffirmed. 

"I shouldn't. Think of what it brings. "

"I do; begging letters, impostures, battle-scarred titles, humbuggingshop-keepers, and perhaps one honest friend in a thousand. And if Imarried a title, what equivalent would I get for my money, to put itbrutally? A chateau, which I should have to patch up, and tolerancefrom my husband's noble friends. Not an engaging prospect. "

She threw a handful of biscuit to the gulls, and there was fighting andscreaming almost in touch of the hands. Then of a sudden the red rimof the sun vanished behind the settling landscape, and all the grimloneliness of the sea rose up to greet them. 

"It is lonely; let us go and prepare for dinner. Look!" pointing to abright star far down the east. "And Corsica lies that way. "

"And also madness!" was his thought. 

"Oh, it seems not quite true that we are all going a-venturing as theydo in the story-books. The others think we are just going to Funchal. Remember, you must not tell. Think of it; a real treasure, every francof which must tell a story of its own; love, heroism and devotion. "

"Beautiful! But there must be a rescuing of princesses and fightingand all that. I choose the part of remaining by the princess. "

"It is yours. " She tilted back her head and breathed and breathed. She knew the love of living. 

"Lucky we are all good sailors, " he said. "There will be a fair sea onall night. But how well she rides!"

"I love every beam and bolt of her. "

Shoulder to shoulder they bore forward to the companionway, andimmediately the door banged after them. 

Breitmann came out from behind the funnel and walked the deck for atime. He had studied the two from his shelter. What were they saying?Oh, Fitzgerald was clever and strong and good to look at, but . . . !Breitmann straightened his arms before him, opened and shut his handsviolently. Like that he would break him if he interfered with any ofhis desires. It would be fully twenty days before they made Ajaccio. Many things might happen before that time. 

Two or three of the crew were lashing on the rail-canvas, and the snapand flap of it jarred on Breitmann's nerves. For a week or more hisnerves had been very close to the surface, so close that it hadrequired all his will to keep his voice and hands from shaking. As hepassed, one of the sailors doffed his cap and bowed with great respect. 

"That's not the admiral, Alphonse, " whispered another of the crew, chuckling. "It's only his privit secretary. "

"Ah, I haf meestake!"

But Alphonse had made no mistake. He knew who it was. His mates didnot see the smile of irony, of sly ridicule, which stirred his lips ashe bowed to the passer. Immediately his rather handsome effeminateface resumed a stolid vacuity. 

His name was not Alphonse; it was a captious offering by the crew, which, on this yacht, never went further than to tolerate the additionof a foreigner to their mess. He had signed a day or two beforesailing; he had even begged for the honor to ship with CaptainFlanagan; and he gave his name as Pierre Picard, to which he had nomore right than to Alphonse. As Captain Flanagan was too good a sailorhimself to draw distinctions, he was always glad to add a foreigntongue to his crew. You never could tell when its use might come inhandy. That is why Pierre Picard was allowed to drink his soup in theforecastle mess. 

Breitmann continued on, oblivious to all things save his cogitations. He swung round the bridge. He believed that he and Cathewe couldhenceforth proceed on parallel lines, and there was much to be gratefulfor. Cathewe was quiet but deep; and he, Breitmann, had knocked aboutamong that sort and knew that they were to be respected. In all, hehad made only one serious blunder. He should never have permitted thevision of a face to deter him. He should have taken the things fromthe safe and vanished. It had not been, a matter of compunction. Andyet . . . Ah, he was human, whatever his dream might be; and he lovedthis American girl with all his heart and mind. It was not lawlesslove, but it was ruthless. When the time was ripe he would speak. Only a little while now to wait. The course had smoothed out, thesailing was easy. The man in the chimney no longer bothered him. Whoever and whatever he was, he had not shot his bolt soon enough. 

Hildegarde von Mitter. He stopped against the rail. The yacht wasburying her nose now, and the white drift from her cut-water seemedstrangely luminous as it swirled obliquely away in the fading twilight. Hildegarde von Mitter. Was she to be the flaw in the chain? No, no;there should be no regret; he had steeled his heart against any suchweakness. She had been necessary, and he would be a fool to pause overa bit of sentimentality. Her appearance had disorganized his nerves, that was all. Peering into his watch he found that he had only half anhour before dinner. And it may be added that he dressed with singularcare. 

So did Fitzgerald, for that matter. 

It took Cathewe just as long, but he did not make two or threeselections of this or that before finding what he wanted. He wasengrossed most of the time in the sober contemplation of the rubberflooring or the running sea outside the port-hole. 

And this night Hildegarde von Mitter was meditating on the last throwfor her hopes. She determined to cast once more the full sun of herbeauty into the face of the man she loved; and if she failed to win, the fault would not be hers. Why could she not tear out this maddeningheart of hers and fling it to the sea? Why could she not turn ittoward the man who loved her? Why, why? Why should God make her sounhappy? Why such injustice? Why this twisted interlacing of lives?And yet, amid all these futile seekings, with subconscious deftness herhands went on with their appointed work. Never again would thesplendor of her beauty burn as it did this night. 

Laura, alone among them all, went serenely about her toilet. She wasyoung, and love had not yet spread its puzzle before her feet. 

As for the others, they were on the far side of the hill, whence thepaths are smooth and gentle and the prospect is peacefulness and theretrospect is dimly rosal. They dressed as they had done those twentyodd years, plainly. 

On the bridge the first officer was standing at the captain's side. 

"Captain, " he shouted, "where did you get that Frenchman?"

"Picked him up day before yestiddy. Speaks fair English an' a bit o'Dago. They're allus handy on a pleasure-boat. He c'n keep off th'riffraff boatmen. An' _you_ know what persistent cusses they be in theMed'terranean. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, if he's a good sailor. Notice his hands?"

"Why, no!"

"Soft as a woman's. "

"Y' don't say! Well, we'll see 'em tough enough before we sightFunchal. Smells good up here; huh?"

"Yes; but I don't mind three months on land, full pay. Not me. Butthis Frenchman?"

"Oh, he had good papers from a White Star liner; an' you can leave itto me regardin' his lily-white hands. By th' way, George, will youhave them bring up my other leg? Th' salt takes th' color out o' thishere brass ferrule, an' rubber's safer. "

"Yes, sir. "

There was one vacant chair in the dining-salon. M. Ferraud wasindisposed. He could climb the highest peak, he could crossice-ridges, with a sheer mile on either side of him, with never anattack of vertigo; but this heaving mystery under his feet always gotthe better of him the first day out. He considered it the one flaw inan otherwise perfect system. Thus, he misled the comedy and thetragedy of the eyes at dinner, nor saw a woman throw her all and loseit. 

CHAPTER XVI

CROSS-PURPOSES

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Fitzgerald, venturing hishead into M. Ferraud's cabin. 

"Nothing; to-morrow it will all be gone. I am always so. Themiserable water!" M. Ferraud drew the blanket under his chin. 

"When you are better I should like to ask you some questions. "

"My friend, you have been very good. I promise to tell you all whenthe time comes. It will interest you. "

"Breitmann?"

"What makes you think I am interested in Mr. Breitmann?"

Fitzgerald could not exactly tell. "Perhaps I have noticed youwatching him. "

"Ah, you have good eyes, Mr. Fitzgerald. Have you observed that I havebeen watching you also?"

"Yes. You haven't been quite sure of me. " Fitzgerald smiled a little. "But you may rest your mind. I never break my word. "

"Nor do I, my friend. Have patience. Satan take these small boats!"He stifled a groan. 

"A little champagne?"

"Nothing, nothing; thank you. "

"As you will. Good night. "

Fitzgerald shut the door and returned to the smoking-room. Somethingor other, concerning Breitmann; he was sure of it. What had he done, or what was he going to do, that France should watch him? There was nodoubt in his mind now; Breitmann had known of this treasure and hadcome to The Pines simply to put his hands on the casket. M. Ferraudhad tried to forestall him. This much of the riddle was plain. Butthe pivots upon which these things turned! There was something morethan a treasure in the balance. Well, M. Ferraud had told him to wait. There was nothing else for him to do. 

A little rubber at bridge was in progress. The admiral was playingwith Mrs. Coldfield and Cathewe sat opposite Hildegarde. The lattertwo were losing. She was ordinarily a skilful player, as Cathewe knew;but to-night she lost constantly, was reckless with her leads, andplayed carelessly into her opponents' hands. Cathewe watched hergravely. Never had he seen her more beautiful; and the apprehensionthat she would never be his was like a hand straining over his heart. 

Yes, she was beautiful; but he did not know that there was death in hereyes and death in her smile. Once upon a time he had believed that herheart had broken; but she was learning that the heart breaks, rebreaks, and breaks again. 

How many times he stood on the precipice during the dinner hour, Breitmann doubtless would never be told. A woman scorned is an oldstory; still, the story goes on, retold each day. Education may smooththe externals, but underneath the fire burns just as furiously as ofold. To this affront the average woman's mind leaps at once torevenge; and that she does not always take it depends upon two things;opportunity, and love, which is more powerful than revenge. Sometimes, on hot summer nights, clouds form angrily in the distance; vividflashes dartle hither and about, which serve to intensify the eveningdarkness. Thus, a similar phenomenon was taking place in Hildegardevon Mitter's mind. The red fires of revenge danced before her eyes, blurring the spots, on the cards, the blackness of despair crowdingupon each flash. Let him beware! With a word she could shatter hisdream; ay, and so she would. What! sit there and let him turn theknife in her heart and receive the pain meekly? No! It was thethoughtless brutality with which he went about this new affair that bitso poignantly. To show her, so indurately, that she was nothing, that, despite her magnificent sacrifice, she had never been more than aconvenience, was maddening. There was no spontaneity in his heart; hislife was a calculation to which various sums were added or subtracted. With all her beauty, intellect, genius and generosity, she had not beenable to stir him as this young girl was unconsciously doing. She heldno animosity for the daughter of her host; she was clear-visionedenough to put the wrong where it belonged. 

"It is your lead, " said the admiral patiently. 

"Pardon me!" contritely. The gentle reproach brought her back to thesurroundings. 

"It is the motion of the boat, " hazarded Cathewe, as he saw her leadthe ace. "I often find myself losing count in waiting for the nextroll. "

"Mr. Cathewe is very kind, " she replied. "The truth is, however, I amsimply stupid to-night. "

Breitmann continued to speak lowly to Laura. He was evidently amusing, for she smiled frequently. Nevertheless, she smiled as often uponFitzgerald. Never a glance toward the woman who held his fortunes, asthey both believed, in the hollow of her hand. Breitmann appeared tohave forgotten her existence. 

When the rubber was finished Cathewe came into the breach by suggestingthat they two, he and his partner, should take the air for a while; andHildegarde thanked him with her eyes. They tramped the port side, saying nothing but thinking much. His arm was under hers to steadyher, and he could feel the catch each time she breathed, as when onestifles sobs that are tearless. Ah, to hold her close and to shieldher; but a thousand arms may not intervene between the heart and thepain that stabs it. He knew; he knew all about it, and there wasmurder in his thought whenever his thought was of Breitmann. To bealone with him somewhere, and to fight it out with their bare hands. 

She had been schooled in the art of acting, but not in the art ofdissimulation; she had been of the world without having been worldly;and sometimes she was as frank and simple as a child. And worldlinessmakes a buffer in times like these. Cathewe thanked God for his ownshell, toughened as it had been in the war of life. 

"Look!" he exclaimed, thankful for the diversion. "There goes a bigliner for Sandy Hook. How cheerful she looks with all her lights!Everybody's busy there. There will be greetings to-morrow, among thesundry curses of those who have not declared their Parisian models. "

They paused by the rail and followed the great ship till all the lightshad narrowed and melted into one; and then, almost at once, thelimitless circle of pitching black water seemed tenanted by themselvesalone. 

Without warning she bent swiftly and kissed the hand which lay upon therail. "How kind you are to me!"

"Oh, pshaw!" But the touch of her lips shook his soul. 

Cathewe was one of those sure, quiet men, a staff to lean on, that awoman may find once in a life-time. They are, as a usual thing, alwaysloving deeply and without success, but always invariably cheerful andbuoyant, genuine philosophers. They are not given much to writingsonnets or posing; and they can stand aside with a brave heart as theother man takes the dream out of their lives. This is not to affirmthat they do not fight stoutly to hold this dream; simply, that theyaccept defeat like good soldiers. There are many heroes who have neverheard war's alarms. He knew that the whole heart of Hildegarde vonMitter had yielded to another. But it had been thrown, as it were, against a wall; there was this one hope, dimly burning, that some dayhe might catch it on the rebound. 

"Why are not all men like you?" she asked. 

"The world would not be half so interesting. Some men shall befortunate and others shall not; everything has to balance in some way. I am necessary to one side of the scales, as a weight. " He spoke witha levity he by no means felt. 

"You are always making sport of yourself. "

"Would it be wise to weep? Not at all. I laugh because I enjoy it, just the same as I enjoy hunting or going on voyages of discovery. "

"To have met _you_!" childishly. 

"Don't talk like that. It always makes me less sad than furious. Andhow do you know? If it had been written that you should care for me, would any one else have mattered? No. It just is, that's all. Sowe'll go on as we have done in the past, good friends. Call me whenyou need me, and wherever I am I shall come. "

"How pitifully weak I must seem to you!"

"You would be no happier if you wore a mask. Hildegarde, what hashappened? What power has this adventurer over you? I can notunderstand. He was man enough to say that you were guiltless of anywrong. "

"He said that?" turning upon him sharply. She could forgive much. 

He could not see her face, but by the tone of her voice he knew it hadbrightened. "Yes. I did a freakish thing the night we arrived at theKilligrews'. I forced him into a corner, but it did not pan out as Ihoped. So far as it touched me, it wasn't necessary, as I have toldyou a thousand times. Your past is nothing to me; your future iseverything, and I want it. God knows how I want it! Well, I wished tofind out what kind of man he is, but I wasn't very successful. Hildegarde, " and he pressed his hand down hard over hers, "I could finda priest the day we land if you would love me. You will alwaysremember that. "

"As if I could ever forget your kindness! But you forced him; there isno merit in such a confession. And I wonder how you forced him. Itwas not by fear. Much as I know him there are still some unfilledpages. I would call him a scoundrel did I not know that in parts hehas been a hero. What sacrifices the man has made, and with whatpatience!"

"To what end?" quietly. 

"No, no, Arthur! I have promised him. "

He took her by the arm roughly. "Let us make two or three rounds andgo back. We shan't grow any more cheerful talking this way. "

"He loves her. I saw it in his eyes; and I must stand aside and watch!"

"So must I, " he said. "Aren't you just a little selfish, Hildegarde?"

"I am wretched, Arthur; and I am a fool, besides. Oh, that I werecold-blooded like your women, that I could eat out my heart in secret;but I can't, I can't!"

"But you have courage; only use it. If what you say of him is true, rest easy. She is not in his orbit. She will not be impressed by anadventurer of his breed. "

"Thank you!" with a broken laugh. "I am only an opera-singer, here onsuffrance. "

"Oh, good Lord! I did not mean it that way. Let us finish the walk, "savagely. 

On the afternoon of the second day out, tea was served under theawning, and Captain Flanagan condescended to leave his bridge for halfan hour. Through a previous hint dropped by the admiral they lured thecaptain into spinning yarns; and well-salted hair-breadth escapes theywere. He understood that the admiral's guests always expected theseflights, and he was in nowise niggard. An ordinary sailor would havebeen dead these twenty years, under any one of the exploits. 

"Marvelous!" said M. Ferraud from the depths of his rugs. "And hestill lives to tell it?"

"It's the easiest thing in the world, sir, if y' know how, " the captaindeclared complacently. Indeed, he had recounted these yarns so manytimes that he was beginning to regard them as facts. His statement, ambiguous as it was, passed unchallenged, however; for not one had thedaring to inquire whether he referred to the telling or the living ofthem. So he believed that he was looked upon as an apostle of truth. Only the admiral had the temerity to look his captain squarely in theeye and wink. 

"Captain, would you mind if I put these tales in a book?" Fitzgeraldput this question with a seriousness which fooled no one but thecaptain. 

"You come up t' the bridge some afternoon, when we've got a smooth sea, and I'll give y' some _real_ ones. " The captain's vanity was soothed, but he was not aware that he had put doubt upon his own veracity. 

"That's kind of you. "

"An' say!" went on the captain, drinking his tea, not because he likedit but because it was customary, "I've got a character forwards. I'mallus shippin' odds and ends. Got a Frenchman; hands like a lady. "

Breitmann leaned forward, and M. Ferraud sat up. 

"Yessir, " continued the captain; "speaks I-talyan an' English. An' ifI ever meets a lady with long soft hands like his'n, I'm for a perttalk, straightway. "

"What's the matter with his hands?" asked the admiral. 

"Why, Commodore, they're as soft as Miss Laura's here, an' yet when th'big Swede who handles th' baggage was a-foolin' with him this mornin', it was the Swede who begs off. Nary a callous, an' yet he bowls thebig one round the deck like he was a liner being pierced by a sassytug. An' what gets me is, he knows every bolt from stem to stern, sir, an' an all-round good sailor int' th' bargain; an' it don' take memore'n twelve hours t' find that out. Well, I'm off t' th' bridge. Good day, ladies. "

When he was out of earshot the admiral roared. "He's the dearest oldliar since Münchhausen. "

"Aren't they true stories?" asked Hildegarde. 

"Bless you, no! And he knows we know it, too. But he tells them sowell that I've never had the courage to sheer him off. "

"It's amusing, " said Laura; "but I do not think that it's always fairto him. "

"Why, Laura, you're as good a listener as any I know. Read him atract, if you wish. "

Breitmann rose presently and sauntered forward, while M. Ferraudsnuggled down in his rugs again. The others entered into a game ofdeck-cricket. 

But M. Ferraud was not so ill that he was unable to steal from hiscabin at half after nine, at night, without even the steward beingaware of his departure. It can not be said that he roamed about thedeck, for whenever he moved it was in the shadow, and always forward. By and by voices drifted down the wind. One he knew and expected, Breitmann's; of the other he was not sure, though the French he spokewas of classic smoothness. M. Ferraud was exceedingly interested. Hehad been waiting for this meeting. Only a phrase or two could be hearddistinctly. But words were not necessary. What he desired above allthings was a glimpse of this Frenchman's face. After several minutesBreitmann went aft. M. Ferraud stepped out cautiously, and luck waswith him. The sailor to whom Breitmann had spoken so earnestly waslolling against the rail, in the act of lighting a cigarette. Thelight from the match was feeble, but it sufficed the keen eyes of thewatcher. He gasped a little. Strong hands indeed! Here in the garbof a common sailor, was one of the foremost Orleanists in France!

CHAPTER XVII

A QUESTION FROM KEATS

Breitmann and the admiral usually worked from ten till luncheon, unlessit was too stormy; and then the admiral took the day off. The businessunder hand was of no great moment; it was rather an outlet for theadmiral's energy, and gave him something to look forward to as each daycame round. Many a morning he longed for the quarter-deck of his oldbattle-ship; the trig crew and marines lined up for inspection; therevelries of the foreign ports; the great manoeuvres; the targetpractice. Never would his old heart swell again under the full-dressuniform nor his eyes sparkle under the plume of his rank. He wasretired on half-pay. Only a few close friends knew how his half-paywas invested. There remained perhaps ten of the old war-crew, andamong them every Christmas the admiral's half-pay was divided. Thisand his daughter were the two unalloyed joys of his life. 

Since his country had no further use for him, and as it was asnecessary as air to his lungs that he tread the deck of a ship, he hadpurchased the _Laura_; and, when he was not stirring up the bones ofdead pirates, he was at Cowes or at Brest or at Keil or on the Hudson, wherever the big fellows indulged in mimic warfare. 

"That will be all this morning, Mr. Breitmann, " he said, rising andlooking out of the port-hole. 

"Very well, sir. I believe that by the time we make Corsica we shallhave the book ready for the printers. It is very interesting. "

"Much obliged. You have been a good aid. As you know, I am writingthis rubbish only because it is play and passable mental exercise. "

"I do not agree with you there, " returned the secretary, with hispleasant smile. "The book will be really a treasure of itself. It isfar more interesting than any romance. "

The admiral shook his head dubiously. 

"No, no, " Breitmann averred. "There is no flattery in what I say. Flattery was not in our agreement. And, " with a slight lift of thejaw, "I never say what I do not honestly mean. It will be a good book, and I am proud to have had a hand, however light, in the making. "

The admiral chuckled. "That is the kind of flattery no man may shuthis ears to. It has been a great pleasure to me; it has kept meout-of-doors, in the open, where I belong. Come in, Laura, come in. "

The girl stood framed in the low doorway, a charming picture to the oldman and a lovely one to the secretary. She balanced herself with ahand on each side of the jam. 

"Father, how can you work when the sun is so beautiful outside? Goodmorning, Mr. Breitmann, " cordially. 

"Good morning. "

"Work is over, Laura. Come in. " The admiral reached forth an arm andcaught her, drawing her gently in and finally to his breast. 

Breitmann would have given an eye for that right. The picture set hisnerves twitching. 

"I am not in the way?"

"Not at all, " answered the secretary. "I was just leaving. " And withgood foresight he passed out. 

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever, " murmured the admiral. 

"Fudge!" and she laughed. 

"We are having a fine voyage. "

"Splendid! Why is it that I am always happy?"

"It is because you do not depend upon others for it, my dear. I amhappy, too. I am as happy as a boy with his first boat. But never hasa ship gone slower than this one of mine. I am simply crazy to dropanchor in the Gulf of Ajaccio. I find it on the tip of my tongue, every night at dinner, to tell the others where we are bound. "

"Why not? Where's the harm now?"

"I don't know, but something keeps it back. Laura, " looking into hereyes, "did we ever cruise with brighter men on board?"

"What is it you wish to know, father?" merrily. "You dear old sailor, don't you understand that these men are different? They are men whoaccomplish things; they haven't time to bother about young women. "

"You don't say!" pinching the ear nearest. 

"This is the seventh day out, and not one of them has ceased to beinteresting yet. "

"Would they cease to be interesting if they proposed?" quizzing. 

These two had no unshared secrets. They were sure of each other. Heknew that when this child of his divided her affection with anotherman, that man would be deserving. 

"I would rather have them all as they are. They make fine comrades. "

He sighed thankfully. "Arthur seems to be out of the race. "

"Rather say I am!" with laughter. "Why, a child could read ArthurCathewe's face when he looks at her. Isn't she simply beautiful?"

"Very. But there are types and types. "

"Am I really pretty?" Sometimes she grew shy under her father's openadmiration. She was afraid it was his love rather than his judgmentthat made her beautiful in his eyes. 

"My child, there's more than one man who will agree with me when I saythat there is no one to compare with you. You are the living quotationfrom Keats. "

"I shall kiss you for that. " And straightway she did. 

"What do you think of Mr. Breitmann?" soberly. 

"He is charming sometimes; but he has a little too much reserve. Doubtless he sees his position too keenly. He should not. "

"Do you like him?"

"Yes, " frankly. 

"So do I; and yet there are moments when I do not. " The admiral filledhis pipe carefully. 

"But your reason?" surprised. 

"That's just the trouble. I haven't any tangible reason. The doubtexists, and I can't explain it. The sea often looks smooth and mild, and the sky is cloudless; yet an old sailor will suddenly growsuspicious; he will see a storm, a heavy blow. And why, he couldn'tsay for the life of him. Flanagan will tell you. "

The girl grew studious and grave. Had there not been an echo of thisdoubt in her own mind? Immediately she smiled. 

"We are talking nonsense and wasting the sunshine. "

"How about Fitzgerald?"

"Oh, he's the most sensible of them all. He proposed to me the firstnight out. "

"What?" The admiral dropped his pipe. 

"Not so loud!" she warned. And then the clear music of her laughterpenetrated beyond the cabin; and Fitzgerald, wandering about withoutpurpose, heard it and paused. 

"You minx!" growled the admiral; "to scare your old father like that!"

"Dearest, weren't you fishing to be scared?"

"Let's get out into the sunshine. I never could get the best of you. But you really don't mean--"

"I really do not. He's too busy telling me the plot of this novel heis going to write to make love to a girl who doesn't want more than oneman in the family, and that's her foolish old father. "

And they went outside, arm in arm, laughing together like the goodcomrades they were. M. Ferraud joined them. 

"I wish, " said he, "that I was a poet. "

"What would you do?" she asked. 

"I should write a sonnet to your eyebrows this morning, is it not?"

"Mercy, no! That kind of poetry has long been _passé_. "

"_Helas_!" mournfully. 

It was a beautiful morning, a sharp blue sky and a sea of runningsilver; warm, too, for they were bearing away into the southern seasnow. Every one had sea-legs by this time, and the larder dwindled in arespectable manner. 

Fitzgerald viewed his case dispassionately. But what to do? Athousand times he had argued out the question, with a single result, that he was a fool for his pains. He became possessed with suddeninexplicable longings for land. He could not get away from this yacht;on land there would have been a hundred straight lines to the woods andthe fisherman's philosophy. Things were going directly to one end, andpresently he would have no more power to stem the words. At least onething was certain, the admiral could not drop him overboard. 

"The villain?"

He was moved suddenly out of his dream, for the object of it stoodsmiling at his side. A wisp of hair was blowing across her eyes andshe was endeavoring to adjust it under her cap. 

"The villain?" making a fine effort to remarshal his thoughts. 

"Yes. We were talking about him last night. Where did you leave him?"

"He was still pursuing, I believe. "

"Why don't you make him a real villain, a man who never kills any one, but who makes every one unhappy?"

"But that's a problem-villain; what we must have is a romance-villain, the kind every one is sorry for. Look at that old Portugueseman-o'-war, " pointing to the crest of a near-by wave. "Funny littlecodger!"

"When do you expect to begin the story on paper?"

"When I have _all_ the material, " not afraid of her eyes at that moment. 

She propped her elbows on the rail. It was a seductive pose, and camevery near being the young man's undoing. 

"Does it seem impossible to you, " she said, "that in these prosaictimes we are treasure hunting? Must we not wake up and find it adream?"

"Most dreams are perishable, but in this case we have the dream tightlybound. But what are we going to do with all this money when we findit?"

"Divide it or start a soldiers' home. I've never thought of it asmoney. "

"Heaven knows, I have!"

"Why?"

"Do you really wish to know?" in a voice new to her ear. "Do you wishto know why I want money, lots and lots of it?"

She dropped her arms and turned. The tone agitated and alarmed herstrangely. "Why, yes. With plenty of money you could devote all yourtime to writing; and I am sure you could write splendid stories. "

"That was not my exact thought, " he replied, resolutely pulling himselftogether. "But it will serve. " By George! he thought, that was closeenough. 

She did not ask him what his exact thought was, but she suspected it. There was a little shock of pleasure and disappointment; the one risingfrom the fact that he had stopped where he did and the other that hehad not gone on. And she grew angry over this second expression. Sheliked him; she had never met a young man whom she liked more. Butliking is never loving, and her heart was as free and unburdened as thewind. As once remarked, many of the men with whom she had come intocontact had been bred in idleness, and her interest in them had nevergone above friendly tolerance. Her admiration was for men, young orold, who cut their way roughly through the world's great obstacles, whoachieved things in pioneering, in history, in science; and she admiredthem because they were rather difficult to draw out, being morefamiliar with startling journeys, wildernesses, strange peoples, thanwith the gilded metaphors of the drawing-room. 

And here were three of them to meet daily, to study and to ponder over. And types as far apart as the three points of a triangle; the man ather side, young, witty, agreeable; Cathewe, grave, kindly, andsometimes rather saturnine; Breitmann, proud and reserved; and each ofthem having rung true in some great crisis. If ever she loved aman . . . The thought remained unfinished and she glanced up and metFitzgerald's eyes. They were sad, with the line of a frown above them. How was she to keep him under hand, and still erect an impassablebarrier! It was the first time she had given the matter seriousthought. The joy of the sea underfoot, the tang of the rushing air, the journey's end, these had occupied her volatile young mind. But now!

"I am dull, " said he gloomily. 

"Thank you!"

"I mean that I am stupid, doubly stupid, " he corrected. 

"Cricket will be a cure for that. "

"I doubt it, " approaching dangerous ground once more. 

"Let's go and talk to Captain Flanagan, then. "

"There!" with sudden spirit, "the very thing I've been wanting!"'

It was of no importance that they both knew this to be a prevaricationabout which St. Peter would not trouble his hoary head nor take thepains to indite in his great book of demerits. 

But all through that bright day the girl thought, and there were timeswhen the others had to speak to her twice; not at all a reassuring sign. 

CHAPTER XVIII

CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES

One day they dropped anchor in the sapphire bay of Funchal, in thesummer calm, hot and glaring; Funchal, with its dense tropical growth, its cloud-wreathed mountains, its amethystine sisters in the fadedsoutheast. And for two days, while Captain Flanagan recoaled, theyplayed like children, jolting round in the low bullock-carts, climbingthe mountains or bumping down the corduroy road. It was the strangesttreasure hunt that ever left a home port. It was more like a page outof a boy's frolic than a sober quest by grown-ups. That danger, menaceand death hid in covert would have appealed to them (those who knew) asridiculous, impossible, obsolete. The story of cutlass and pistol andhighboots had been molding in archives these eighty-odd years. Dangers? From whom, from what direction? No one suggested thepossibility, even in jest; and the only man who could have advanced, with reasonable assurance, that danger, real and serious, existed, wastoo busy apparently with his butterfly-net. Still, he had not yet beenconsulted; he was not supposed to know that this cruise was weightedwith something more than pleasure. 

Fitzgerald waited with an impatience which often choked him. A secretagent had not so adroitly joined this expedition for the pleasure ofseeing a treasure dug up from some reluctant grave. What was he after?If indeed Breitmann was directly concerned, if he knew of thetreasure's existence, of what benefit now would be his knowledge? Ashare in the finding at most. And was Breitmann one who wasconditioned of such easy stuff that he would rather be sure and sharethan to strike out for all the treasure and all the risks? The more hegave his thought to Breitmann the more that gentleman retracted intothe fog, as it were. On several occasions he had noticed signs of apreoccupation, of suppressed excitement, of silence and moroseness. Fitzgerald could join certain squares of the puzzle, but this ledforward scarce a step. Breitmann had entered the employ of the admiralfor the very purpose for which M. Ferraud had journeyed sundrily intothe cellar and beaten futilely on the chimney. It resolved to onething, and that was the secretary had arrived too late. He was surethat Breitmann had no suspicion regarding M. Ferraud. But for a casualglance at the little man's hands, neither would he have had any. Hedetermined to prod M. Ferraud. He was well trained in repression; so, while he often lost patience, there was never any external sign of it. Besides, there was another affair which over-shadowed it and at timesengulfed it. 

Love. The cross-tides of sense and sentiment made a prettydisturbance. And still further, there was another counter-tide. Lovedoes not necessarily make a young man keen-sighted, but it generallyhighly develops his talent for suspicion. By subtle gradations, Breitmann had shifted in Fitzgerald's mind from a possible friend to aprobable rival. Breitmann did not now court his society when thesmoking bouts came round, or when the steward brought the whisky andsoda after the ladies had retired. Breitmann was moody, and whatevervariance his moods had, they retained the gray tone. This Fitzgeraldsaw and dilated upon; and it rankled when he thought that thishypothetical adventurer had rights, level and equal to his, alwayssupposing he had any. 

In this state of mind he drooped idly over the rail as the yacht drewout of the bay, the evening of the second day. The glories of thesouthern sunset lingered and vanished, a-begging, without his sensesbeing roused by them; and long after the sea, chameleon-like, changedfrom rose to lavender, from lavender to gray, the mountains yetjealously clung to their vivid aureolas of phantom gold. Fitzgeraldsaw nothing but writing on the water. 

"Well, my boy, " said Cathewe, lounging affectionately againstFitzgerald, "here we are, rolled over again. "

"What?"

Cathewe described a circle with his finger lazily. 

"Oh!" said Fitzgerald, listless. "Another day more or less, crowdedinto the past, doesn't matter. "

"Maybe. If we could only have the full days and deposit the others anddraw as we need them; but we can't do it. And yet each day meanssomething; there ought always to be a little of it worth remembering. "

"Old parson!" cried Fitzgerald, with a jab of his elbow. 

"All bally rot, eh? I wish I could look at it that way. Yet, when aman mopes as you are doing, when this sunset. . . "

"New one every day. "

"What's the difficulty, Jack?"

"Am I walking around with a sign on my back?" testily. 

"Of a kind, yes. "

Cathewe spoke so solemnly that Fitzgerald looked round, and saw thatwhich set his ears burning. Immediately he lowered his gaze and soughtthe water again. 

"Have I been making an ass of myself, Arthur?"

"No, Jack; but you are laying yourself open to some wonder. For threeor four days now, except for the forty-eight hours on land there, you've been a sort of killjoy. Even the admiral has remarked it. "

"Tell him it's my liver, " with a laugh not wholly free ofembarrassment. "Suppose, " he continued, in a low voice; "suppose--"But he couldn't go on. 

"Yes, suppose, " said Cathewe, taking up the broken thread; "supposethere was a person who had a heap of money, or will have some day; andsuppose there's another person who has but little and may have less indays to come. Is that the supposition, Jack? The presumption of anold friend, a right that ought never to be abrogated. " Cathewe laid ahand on his young friend's shoulder; there was a silent speech ofknowledge and brotherhood in it such as Fitzgerald could not mistake. 

"That's the supposition, " he admitted generously. 

"Well, money counts only when you buy horses and yachts and houses, itnever really matters in anything else. "

"It is easy to say that. "

"It is also easy to learn that it is true. "

"Isn't there a good deal of buying these days where there should begiving?"

"Not among real people. You have had enough experience with both typesto be competent to distinguish the one from the other. You have birthand brains and industry; you're a decent sort of chap besides, "genially. "Can money buy these things when grounded on self-respect asthey are in you? Come along now; for the admiral sent me after you. It's the steward's champagne cocktail; and you know how good they are. And remember, if you will put your head into the clouds, don't takeyour feet off the deck. "

Fitzgerald expanded under his tactful interpretation. A long breath ofrelief issued from his heart, and the rending doubt was dissipated: thevulture-shadow spread its dark pennons and wheeled down the west. Apriceless thing is that friend upon whom one may shift the part of aburden. It seemed to be one of Cathewe's occupations in life toabsorb, in a kindly, unemotional manner, other people's troubles. Itis this type of man, too, who rarely shares his own. 

It would be rather graceless to say that after drinking the cocktailFitzgerald resumed his aforetime rosal lenses. He was naturally atheart an optimist, as are all men of action. And so the admiral, whohad begun to look upon him with puzzled commiseration, came to theconclusion that the young man's liver had resumed its normal functions. An old woman would have diagnosed the case as one of heart (as Mrs. Coldfield secretly and readily and happily did); but an old fellow likethe admiral generally compromises on the liver. 

When one has journeyed for days on the unquiet sea, a touch of landunderfoot renews, Antaeus-wise, one's strength and mental activity; soa festive spirit presided at the dinner table. The admiral determinedto vault the enforced repression of his secret. Inasmuch as it must betold, the present seemed a propitious moment. He signed for theattendants to leave the salon, and then rapped on the table forsilence. He obtained it easily enough. 

"My friends, " he began, "where do you think this boat is really going?"

"Marseilles, " answered Coldfield. 

"Where else?" cried M. Ferraud, as if diversion from that course wassomething of an improbability. 

"Corsica. We can leave you at Marseilles, Mr. Ferraud, if you wish;but I advise you to remain with us. It will be something to tell inyour old age. "

Cathewe glanced across to Fitzgerald, as if to ask: "Do you knowanything about this?" Fitzgerald, catching the sense of this muteinquiry, nodded affirmatively. 

"Corsica is a beautiful place, " said Hildegarde. "I spent a spring inAjaccio. "

"Well, that is our port, " confessed the admiral, laying his preciousdocuments on the table. "The fact is, we are going to dig up atreasure, " with a flourish. 

Laughter and incredulous exclamations followed this statement. 

"Pirates?" cried Coldfield, with a good-natured jeer. He had cruisedwith the admiral before. "Where's the cutlass and jolly-roger? Yo-ho!and a bottle o' rum!"

"Yes. And where's the other ship following at our heels, as theyalways do in treasure hunts, the rival pirates who will cut our throatswhen we have dug up the treasure?"--from Cathewe. 

"Treasures!" mumbled M. Ferraud from behind his pineapple. Carefullyhe avoided Fitzgerald's gaze, but he noted the expression onBreitmann's face. It was not pleasant. 

"Just a moment, " the admiral requested patiently. "I know it smellsfishy. Laura, go ahead and read the documents to the unbelievinggiaours. Mr. Fitzgerald knows and so does Mr. Breitmann. "

"Tell us about it, Laura. No joking, now, " said Coldfield, surrendering his incredulity with some hesitance. "And if the treasureinvolves no fighting or diplomatic tangle, count me in. Think of it, Jane, " turning to his wife; "two old church-goers like you and me, a-going after a pirate's treasure! Doesn't it make you laugh?"

Laura unfolded the story, and when she came to the end, the excitementwas hot and Babylonic. Napoleon! What a word! A treasure puttogether to rescue him from St. Helena! Gold, French gold, Englishgold, Spanish and Austrian gold, all mildewing in a rotting chestsomewhere back of Ajaccio! It was unbelievable, fantastic as one ofthose cinematograph pictures, running backward. 

"But what are you going to do with it when you find it?"

"Findings is keepings, " quoted the admiral. "Perhaps divide it, perhaps turn it over to France, providing France agrees to use it forcharitable purposes. "

"A fine plan, is it not, Mr. Breitmann?" said M. Ferraud. 

"Findings is keepings, " repeated Breitmann, with a pale smile. 

The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned. Could she butread what lay behind that impassive face! And he took it all with asmile! What would he do? what would he do now? kept recurring in hermind. She knew the man, or at least she thought she did; and she wasaware that there existed in his soul dark caverns which she had neverdared to explore. Yes, what would he do now? How would he put hishand upon this gold? She trembled with apprehension. 

And later, when she found the courage to put the question boldly, heanswered with a laugh, so low and yet so wild with fury that she drewaway from him in dumb terror. 

CHAPTER XIX

BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER

The secretary nerved himself and waited; and yet he knew what her replywould be, even before she framed it, knew it with that indescribablecertainty which prescience occasionally grants in the space of amoment. Before he had spoken there had been hope to stand upon, forshe had always been gentle and kindly toward him, not a whit less thanshe had been to the others. 

"Mr. Breitmann, I am sorry. I never dreamed of this;" nor had she. She had forgotten Europeans seldom understand the American girl as sheis or believe that the natural buoyancy of spirit is as free frompurpose or intent as the play of a child. But in this moment sheremembered her little and perfectly inconsequent attentions toward thisman, and seeing them from his viewpoint she readily forgave him. Abroad, she was always on guard; but here, among her own compatriotswho accepted her as she was, she had excusably forgotten. "I am sorryif you have misunderstood me in any way. "

"I could no more help loving you than that those stars should cease toshine to-night, " his voice heavy with emotion. 

"I am sorry, " she could only repeat. Men had spoken to her like thisbefore, and always had the speech been new to her and always had agreat and tender pity charged her heart. And perhaps her pity for thisone was greater than any she had previously known; he seemed so lonely. 

"Sorry, sorry! Does that mean there is no hope?"

"None, Mr. Breitmann, none. "

"Is there another?" his throat swelling. But before she could answer:"Pardon me; I did not mean that. I have no right to ask such aquestion. "

"And I should not have answered it to any but my father, Mr. Breitmann. " She extended her hand. "Let us forget that you havespoken. I should like you for a friend. "

Without a word he took the hand and kissed it. He made no effort tohold it, and it slipped from his clasp easily. 

"Goodnight. "

"Good night. " And he never lost sight of her till she entered thesalon-cabin. He saw a star fall out of nothing into nothing. She wassorry! The moment brewed a thousand wild suggestions. To abduct her, to carry her away into the mountains, to cast his dream to the fourwinds, to take her in spite of herself. He laid his hand on the teakrailing, wondering at the sudden wracking pain, a pain which unlinkedcoherent thought and left his mind stagnant and inert. For the firsttime he realized that his pain was a recurrence of former ones similar. Why? He did not know. He only remembered that he had had the pain atthe back of his head and that it was generally followed by a burningfury, a rage to rend and destroy things. What was the matter?

The damp rail was cool and refreshing, and after a spell the paindiminished. He shook himself free and stood straight, his jaws hardand his eyes, absorbing what light there was from the stars, chatoyant. Sorry! So be it. To have humbled himself before this American girland to be snubbed for his pains! But, patience! Two million francsand his friends awaiting the word from him. She was sorry! Helaughed, and the laughter was not unlike that which a few nights gonehad startled the ears of the other woman to whom he had once appealedin passionate tones and not without success. 

"Karl!"

The sight of Hildegarde at this moment neither angered nor pleased him. He permitted her hand to lay upon his arm. 

"My head aches, " he said, as if replying to the unspoken question inher eyes. 

"Karl, why not give it up?" she pleaded. 

"Give it up? What! when I have come this far, when I have gone throughwhat I have? Oh, no! Do not think so little of me as that. "

"But it is a dream!"

He shook off her hand angrily. "If there is to be any reckoning Ishall pay, never fear. But it will not, _shall_ not fail!"

She would have liked to weep for him. "I would gladly give you myeyes, Karl, if you might see it all as I see it. Ruin, ruin! Can youtouch this money without violence? Ah, my God, what has blinded you tothe real issues?"

"I have not asked you to share the difficulties. "

"No. You have not been that kind to me. "

To-night there were no places in his armor for any sentiment but hisown. "I want nothing but revenge. "

"I think I can read, " her own bitterness getting the better of hertongue. "Miss Killigrew has declined. "

"You have been listening?" with a snarl. 

"It has not been necessary to listen; I needed only to watch. "

"Well, what is it to you?"

"Take care, Karl! You can not talk to me like that. "

"Don't drive me, then. Oh, " with a sudden turn of mind, "I am sorrythat you can not understand. "

"If I hadn't I should never have given you my promise not to speak. There was a time when you had right on your side, but that time ceasedto be when you lied to me. How little you understood me! Had youspoken frankly and generously at the start, God knows I shouldn't haverefused you. But you set out to walk over my heart to get thatmiserable slip of paper. Ah! had I but known! I say to you, you willfail utterly and miserably. You are either blind or mad!"

Without a word in reply to this prophecy he turned and left her; and assoon as he had vanished she kissed the spot on the rail where his handhad rested and laid her own there. When at last she raised it, therail was no longer merely damp, it was wet. 

"Now there, " began Fitzgerald, taking M. Ferraud firmly by the sleeve, "I have come to the end of my patience. What has Breitmann to do withall this business?"

"Will you permit me to polish my spectacles?" mildly asked M. Ferraud. 

"It's the deuce of a job to get you into a corner, " Fitzgeralddeclared. "But I have your promise, and you should recollect that Iknow things which might interest Mr. Breitmann. "

"_Croyez-vous qu'il pleuve? Il fait bien du vent_, " adjusting hisspectacles and viewing the clear sky and the serene bosom of theMediterranean. Then M. Ferraud turned round with: "Ah, Mr. Fitzgerald, this man Breitmann is what you call 'poor devil, ' is it not? At dinnerto-night I shall tell a story, at once marvelous past belief andpathetic. I shall tell this story against my best convictions becauseI wish him no harm, because I should like to save him from black ruin. But, attend me; my efforts shall be as wind blowing upon stone; and Ishall not save him. An alienist would tell you better than I can. Listen. You have watched him, have you not? To you he seems like anyother man? Yes? Keen-witted, gifted, a bit of a musician, a good dealof a scholar? Well, had I found that paper first, there would havebeen no treasure hunt. I should have torn it into one thousand pieces;I should have saved him in spite of himself and have done my duty also. He is mad, mad as a whirlwind, as a tempest, as a fire, as a sandstorm. "

"About what?"

"To-night, to-night!"

And the wiry little man released himself and bustled away to his chairwhere he became buried in rugs and magazines. 

CHAPTER XX

AN OLD SCANDAL

"Corsica to-morrow, " said the admiral. 

"Napoleon, " said Laura. 

"Romance, " said Cathewe. 

"Treasures, " said M. Ferraud. 

Hildegarde felt uneasy. Breitmann toyed with the bread crumbs. He wasinattentive besides. 

"Napoleon. There is an old scandal, " mused M. Ferraud. "I don't thinkthat any of you have heard it. "

"That will interest me, " Fitzgerald cried. "Tell it. "

M. Ferraud cleared his throat with a sharp ahem and proceeded toburnish his crystals. Specks and motes were ever adhering to them. Heheld them up to the light and pretended to look through them: he sawnothing but the secretary's abstraction. 

"We were talking about treasures the other night, " began the Frenchman, "and I came near telling it then. It is a story of Napoleon. "

"Never a better moment to tell it, " said the admiral, rubbing his handsin pleasurable anticipation. 

"I say to you at once that the tale is known to few, and has never hadany publicity, and must never have any. Remember that, if you please, Mr. Fitzgerald, and you also, Mr. Breitmann. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Breitmann. "I was not listening. "

M. Ferraud repeated his request clearly. 

"I am no longer a newspaper writer, " Breitmann affirmed, clearing thefog out of his head. "A story about Napoleon; will it be true?"

"Every word of it. " M. Ferraud folded his arms and sat back. 

During the pause Hildegarde shivered. Something made her desire madlyto thrust a hand out and cover M. Ferraud's mouth. 

"We have all read much about Napoleon. I can not recall how many livesrange shoulder to shoulder on the booksellers' shelves. There havebeen letters and memoirs, anecdotes by celebrated men and women whowere his contemporaries. But there is one thing upon which we shallall agree, and that is that the emperor was in private life somethingof a beast. As a soldier he was the peer of all the Caesars; as ahusband he was vastly inferior to any of them. This story does notconcern him as emperor. If in my narrative there occurs anythingoffensive, correct me instantly. I speak English fluently, but thereare still some idioms I trip on. "

"I'll trust you to steer straight enough, " said the admiral. 

"Thank you. Well, then, once upon a time Napoleon was in Bavaria. Thecountry was at that time his ablest ally. There was a pretty peasantgirl. "

A knife clattered to the floor. "Pardon!" whispered Hildegarde toCathewe. "I am clumsy. " She was as white as the linen. 

Breitmann went on with his crumbs. 

"I believe, " continued M. Ferraud, "that it was in the year 1813 thatthe emperor received a peculiar letter. It begged that a title beconferred upon a pretty little peasant boy. The emperor was a grimhumorist, I may say in passing; and for this infant he created abaronetcy, threw in a parcel of land, and a purse. That was the end ofit, as far as it related to the emperor. Waterloo came and with itvanished the empire; and it would be a long time before a baron of theempire returned to any degree of popularity. For years the matter wasforgotten. The documents in the case, the letters of patent, the deedsand titles to the land, and a single Napoleonic scrawl, these gathereddust in the loft. When I heard this tale the thing which appealed tome most keenly was the thought that over in Bavaria there exists theonly real direct strain of Napoleonic blood: a Teuton, one of those whohad brought about the downfall of the empire. "

"You say exists?" interjected Cathewe. 

"Exists, " laconically. 

"You have proofs?" demanded Fitzgerald. 

"The very best in the world. I have not only seen those patents, but Ihave seen the man. "

"Very interesting, " agreed Breitmann, brushing the crumbs into his handand dropping them on his plate. "But, go on. "

"What a man!" breathed Fitzgerald, who began to see the drift of things. 

"I proceed, then. Two generations passed. I doubt if the thirdgeneration of this family has ever heard of the affair. One day thelast of his race, in clearing up the salable things in his house--forhe had decided to lease it--stumbled on the scant history of hisforebears. He was at school then; a promising youngster, brave, cheerful, full of adventure and curiosity. Contrary to the naturalsequence of events, he chose the navy, where he did very well. But insome way Germany found out what France already knew. Here was a finechance for a stroke of politics. France had always watched; withoutfear, however, but with half-formed wonder. Germany considered thecase: why not turn this young fellow loose on France, to worry and toharry her? So, quietly Germany bore on the youth in that cold-blooded, Teutonic way she has, and forced him out of the navy. 

"He was poor, and poverty among German officers, in either branch, is abad thing. Our young friend did not penetrate the cause of this atfirst; for he had no intention of utilizing his papers, save to dreamover them. The blood of his great forebear refused to let him bowunder this unjust stroke. He sought a craft, an interesting one. Thenet again closed in on him. He began to grow desperate, anddesperation was what Germany desired. Desperation would make a tool ofthe young fellow. But our young Napoleon was not without wit. Heplotted, but so cleverly and secretly that never a hand could reach outto stay him. Germany finally offered him an immense bribe. He threwit back, for now he hated Germany more than he hated France. Youwonder why he hated France? If France had not discarded her empire--Ido not refer to the second empire--he would have been a great personageto-day. At least this must be one of his ideas. 

"And there you are, " abruptly. "Here we have a Napoleon, indeed withall the patience of his great forebear. If Germany had left him alonehe would to-day have been a good citizen, who would never havepermitted futile dreams to enter his head, and who would havecontemplated his greatness with the smile of a philosopher. And whocan say where this will end? It is pitiful. "

"Pitiful?" repeated Breitmann. "Why that?" calmly. 

M. Ferraud repressed the admiration in his eyes. It was a singularduel. "When we see a madman rushing blindly over a precipice it is ahuman instinct to reach out a hand to save him. "

"But how do you know he is rushing blindly?" Breitmann smiled thisquestion. 

Hildegarde sent him a terrified glance. But for the stiff back of herchair she must have fallen. 

M. Ferraud demolished an olive before he answered the question. "Hehas allied himself with some of the noblest houses in France; that isto say, with the most heartless spendthrifts in Europe. Napoleon IV?They are laughing behind his back this very minute. They are making acat's-paw of his really magnificent fight for their own ignoble ends, the Orleanist party. To wreak petty vengeance on France, for whichnone of them has any love; to embroil the government and the army thatthey may tell of it in the boudoirs. This is the aim they have inview. What is it to them that they break a strong man's heart? Whatis it to them if he be given over to perpetual imprisonment? Did aBourbon ever love France as a country? Has not France alwaysrepresented to them a purse into which they might thrust theirdishonest hands to pay for their base pleasures? Oh, beware of theconspirator whose sole portion in life is that of pleasure! I wishthat I could see this young man and tell him all I know. If I couldonly warn him. "

Breitmann brushed his sleeve. "I am really disappointed in yourclimax, Mr. Ferraud. "

"I said nothing about a climax, " returned M. Ferraud. "That has yet tobe enacted. "

"Ah!"

"A descendant of Napoleon, direct! Poor devil!" The admiral wasthunderstruck. "Why, the very spirit of Napoleon is dead. Nothingcould ever revive it. It would not live even a hundred days. "

"Less than that many hours, " said M. Ferraud. "He will be arrested themoment he touches a French port. "

"Father, " cried Laura, with a burst of generosity which not only warmedher heart but her cheeks, "why not find this poor, deluded young manand give him the treasure?"

"What, and ruin him morally as well as politically? No, Laura; withmoney he might become a menace. "

"On the contrary, " put in M. Ferraud; "with money he might be made toput away his mad dream. But I'm afraid that my story has made you allgloomy. "

"It has made me sad, " Laura admitted. "Think of the struggle, theself-denial, and never a soul to tell him he is mad. "

The scars faded a little, but Breitmann's eyes never wavered. 

"The man hasn't a ghost of a chance. " To Fitzgerald it was now nopuzzle why Breitmann's resemblance to some one else had haunted him. He was rather bewildered, for he had not expected so large an orderupon M. Ferraud's promise. "Fifty years ago. . . "

"Ah! Fifty years ago, " interrupted M. Ferraud eagerly, "I should havethrown my little to the cause. Men and times were different then; theworld was less sordid and more romantic. "

"Well, I shall always hold that we have no right to that treasure. "

"Fiddlesticks, Laura! This is no time for sentiment. The questionsbuzzing in my head are: Does this man know of the treasure's existence?Might he not already have put his hand upon it?"

"Your own papers discredit that supposition, " replied Cathewe. "Astunning yarn, and rather hard to believe in these skeptical times. What is it?" he asked softly, noting the dead white on Hildegarde'scheeks. 

"Perhaps it is the smoke, " she answered with a brave attempt at a smile. 

The admiral in his excitement had lighted a heavy cigar and wasconsuming it with jerky puffs, a bit of thoughtlessness ratherpardonable under the stress of the moment. For he was beginning toentertain doubts. It was not impossible for this Napoleonic chap tohave a chart, to know of the treasure's existence. He wished he hadheard this story before. He would have left the women at home. Corsica was not wholly civilized, and who could tell what might happenthere? Yes, the admiral had his doubts. 

"I should like to know the end of the story, " said Breitmann musingly. 

"There is time, " replied M. Ferraud; and of them all, only Fitzgeraldcaught the sinister undercurrent. 

"So, Miss Killigrew, you believe that this treasure should be handedover to its legal owner?" Breitmann looked into her eyes for the firsttime that evening. 

"I have some doubt about the legal ownership, but the sentimental andmoral ownership is his. A romance should always have a pleasantending. "

"You are thinking of books, " was Cathewe's comment. "In life there ismore adventure than romance, and there is seldom anything moreincomplete in every-day life than romance. "

"That would be my own exposition, Mr. Cathewe, " said Breitmann. 

The two fenced briefly. They understood each other tolerably well;only, Cathewe as yet did not know the manner of the man with whom hewas matched. 

The dinner came to an end, or, rather, the diners rose, the dinnerhaving this hour or more been cleared from the table; and each went tohis or her state-room mastered by various degrees of astonishment. Fitzgerald moved in a kind of waking sleep. Napoleon IV! That therewas a bar sinister did not matter. The dazzle radiated from a singlepoint: a dream of empire! M. Ferraud had not jested; Breitmann wasmad, obsessed, a monomaniac. It was grotesque; it troubled the sensesas a Harlequin's dance troubles the eyes. A great-grandson ofNapoleon, and plotting to enter France! And, good Lord! with what?Two million francs and half a dozen spendthrifts. Never had there beena wilder, more hopeless dreamer than this! Whatever antagonism oranger he had harbored against Breitmann evaporated. Poor devil, indeed!

He understood M. Ferraud now. Breitmann was mad; but till he made adecisive stroke no man could stay him. So many things were clear now. He was after the treasure, and he meant to lay his hands upon it, peacefully if he could, violently if no other way opened. That day inthe Invalides, the old days in the field, his unaccountable appearanceon the Jersey coast; each of these things squared themselves in whathad been a puzzle. But, like the admiral, he wished that there were nowomen on board. There would be a contest of some order, going forward, where only men would be needed. Pirates! He rolled into his bunk witha dry laugh. 

Meantime M. Ferraud walked the deck alone, and finally when Breitmannapproached him, it was no more than he had been expecting. 

"Among other things, " began the secretary, with ominous calm, "I shouldlike to see the impression of your thumb. "

"That lock was an ingenious contrivance. It was only by the merestaccident I discovered it. "

"It must be a vile business. "

"Serving one's country? I do not agree with you. Wait a moment, Mr. Breitmann; let us not misunderstand each other. I do not know whatfear is; but I do know that I am one of the few living who put aboveall other things in the world, France: France with her wide andbeautiful valleys, her splendid mountains, her present peace andprosperity. And my life is nothing if in giving it I may confer abenefit. "

"Why did you not tell the whole story? A Frenchman, and to denyoneself a climax like this?"

M. Ferraud remained silent. 

"If you had not meddled! Well, you have, and these others must bearthe brunt with you, should anything serious happen. "

"Without my permission you will not remain in Ajaccio a single hour. But that would not satisfy me. I wish to prove to you your blindness. I will make you a proposition. Tear up those papers, erase the memoryfrom your mind, and I will place in your hands every franc of those twomillions. "

Breitmann laughed harshly. "You have said that I am mad; very well, Iam. But I know what I know, and I shall go on to the end. You areclever. I do not know who you are nor why you are here with yourwarnings; but this will I say to you: to-morrow we land, and every houryou are there, death shall lurk at your elbow. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly. So well, that I shall let you go freely. "

"A warning for each, then; only mine has death in it. "

"And mine, nothing but good-will and peace. "

CHAPTER XXI

CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE

The isle of Corsica, for all its fame in romance and history, is yetsingularly isolated and unknown. It is an island whose people havestood still for a century, indolent, unobserving, thriftless. Nosmoke, that ensign of progress, hangs over her towns, which are squalidand unpicturesque, save they lie back among the mountains. But thecountry itself is wildly and magnificently beautiful: great mountainsof granite as varied in colors as the palette of a painter, emeraldstreams that plunge over porphyry and marble, splendid forests of pineand birch and chestnut. 

The password was, is, and ever will be, Napoleon. Speak that name andthe native's eye will fire and his patois will rattle forth and tinglethe ear like a snare-drum. Though he pays his tithe to France, he isItalian; but unlike the Italian of Italy, his predilection is neitherfor gardening, nor agriculture, nor horticulture. Nature gave him afew chestnuts, and he considers that sufficient. For the most part hesubsists upon chestnut-bread, stringy mutton, sinister cheeses, and ahorrid sour wine. As a variety he will shoot small birds and in thewinter a wild pig or two; his toil extends no further, for his wife isthe day-laborer. Viewing him as he is to-day, it does not seempossible that his ancestors came from Genoa la Superba. 

Napoleon was born in Ajaccio, but the blood in his veins was Tuscan, and his mind Florentine. 

These days the world takes little or no interest in the island, savefor its wool, lumber and an inferior cork. Great ships pass it on thenorth and south, on the east and west, but only cranky packets anddismal freighters drop anchor in her ports. 

The Gulf of Ajaccio lies at the southwest of the island and ishalf-moon in shape, with reaches of white sands, red crags, and brushcovered dunes, and immediately back of these, an embracing range ofbald mountains. 

A little before sunrise the yacht _Laura_ swam into the gulf. Themountains, their bulks in shadowy gray, their undulating creststhreaded with yellow fire, cast their images upon the smooth tidelesssilver-dulled waters. Forward a blur of white and red marked the town. 

"Isn't it glorious?" said Laura, rubbing the dew from the teak rail. "And oh! what a time we people waste in not getting up in the morningswith the sun. "

"I don't know, " replied Fitzgerald. "Scenery and sleep; of the two Iprefer the latter. I have always been routed out at dawn and neverallowed to turn in till midnight. You can always find scenery, butsleep is a coy thing. "

"There's a drop of commercial blood in your veins somewhere, the bloodof the unromantic. But this morning?"

"Oh, sleep doesn't count at all this morning. The scenery iseverything. "

And as he looked into her clear bright eyes he knew that before thisquest came to its end he was going to tell this enchanting girl that heloved her "better than all the world"; and moreover, he intended totell it to her with the daring hope of winning her, money or no money. Had not some poet written--some worldly wise poet who rather had thehang of things--

 "He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all. "

Money wasn't everything; she herself had made that statement the firstnight out. He had been afraid of Breitmann, but somehow that fear wasall gone now. Did she care, if ever so little?

He veered his gaze round and wondered where Breitmann was. Could theman be asleep on a morn so vital as this? No, there he was, on thevery bowsprit itself. The crew was busy about him, some getting themotor-boat in trim, others yanking away at pulleys, all thepreparations of landing. A sharp order rose now and then; a servantpassed, carrying Captain Flanagan's breakfast to the pilot-house. Toall this subdued turmoil Breitmann seemed apparently oblivious. Whatmad dream was working in that brain? Did the poor devil believe inhimself; or did he have some ulterior purpose, unknown to any buthimself? Fitzgerald determined, once they touched land, never to lethim go beyond sight. It would not be human for him to surrender anypart of the treasure without making some kind of a fight for it, cunning or desperate. If only the women-folk remained on board!

Breitmann gazed toward the town motionless. It was difficult forFitzgerald not to tell the great secret then and there; but his cautionwhispered warningly. There was no knowing what effect it would haveupon the impulsive girl at his side. And besides, there might havebeen a grain of selfishness in the repression. All is fair in love orwar; and it would not have been politic to make a hero out of Breitmann. 

"You haven't said a word for five minutes, " she declared. How boyishhe looked for a man of his experience!

"Silence is sometimes good for the soul, " sententiously. 

"Of what were you thinking?"

His heart struck hard against his breast. What an opening, what amoment in which to declare himself! But he said: "Perhaps I wasthinking of breakfast. This getting up early always makes me ravenous. The smell of the captain's coffee may have had something to do with it. "

"You were thinking of nothing of the sort, " she cried. "I know. Itwas the treasure and this great-grandson of Napoleon. Sometimes I feelI only dreamed these things. Why? Because, whoever started out on atreasure quest without having thrilling adventures, shots in the dark, footsteps outside the room, villains, and all the rest of theparaphernalia? I never read nor heard of such a thing. "

"Nor I. But there's land yonder, " he said, without an answering smile. 

"Then, " in an awed whisper, "you believe something is going to happenthere?"

"One thing I am certain of, but I can not tell you just at this moment. "

A bit of color came to her cheeks. As if, reading his eyes, she didnot know this thing he was so certain of! Should she let him tell her?Not a real eddy in the current, unless it was his fear of money. Ifonly she could lose her money, temporarily! If only she had an ogrefor a parent, now! But she hadn't. He was so dear and so kind and soproud of her that if she told him she was going to be married thatmorning, his only questions would have been: At what time? Why, thissort of romance was against all accepted rules. She was inordinatelyhappy. 

"There is only one thing lacking; this great-grandson himself. He willbe yonder somewhere. For the man in the chimney was he or his agent. "

"And aren't you afraid?"

"Of what?" proudly. 

"It will not be a comedy. It is in the blood of these Napoleons thatnothing shall stand in the path of their desires, neither men's livesnor woman's honor. "

"I am not afraid. There is the sun at last What a picture! And theshame of it! I am hungry!"

At half after six the yacht let go her anchor a few hundred yards fromthe quay. Every one was astir by now; but at the breakfast table therewas one vacant chair--Breitmann's. M. Ferraud and Fitzgerald exchangedsignificant glances. In fact, the Frenchman drank his coffee hurriedlyand excused himself. Breitmann was not on deck; neither was he in hisstate-room. The door was open. M. Ferraud, without any unnecessaryqualms of conscience, went in. One glance at the trunk was sufficient. The lock hung down, disclosing the secret hollow. For once the littleman's suavity forsook him, and he swore like a sailor, but softly. Herushed again to the deck and sought Captain Flanagan, who was enjoyinga pipe forward. 

"Captain, where is Mr. Breitmann?"

"Breitmann? Oh, he went ashore in one of the fruit-boats. Missed th'motor. "

"Did he take any luggage?"

"Baggage?" corrected Captain Flanagan. "Nothin' but his hat, sir. Anythin' wrong?"

"Oh, no! We missed him at breakfast. " M. Ferraud turned about, painfully conscious that he had been careless. 

Fitzgerald hove in sight. "Find him?"

"Ashore!" said M. Ferraud, with a violent gesture. 

"Isn't it time to make known who he is?"

"Not yet. It would start too many complications. Besides, I doubt ifhe has the true measurements. "

"There was ample time for him to make a copy. "

"Perhaps. "

"Mr. Ferraud?"

"Well?"

"I've an idea, and I have had it for some time, that you wouldn't feelhorribly disappointed if our friend made away with the money. "

M. Ferraud shrugged; then he laughed quietly. 

"Well, neither would I, " Fitzgerald added. 

"My son, you are a man after my own heart. I was furious for themoment to think that he had outwitted me the first move. I did notwant him to meet his confederates without my eyes on him. And thereyou have it. It is not the money, which is morally his; it is hisfriends, his lying, mocking friends. "

"Are we fair to the admiral? He has set his heart on this thing. "

"And shall we spoil his pleasure? Let him find it out later. "

"Do you know Corsica?"

"As the palm of my hand. "

"But the women?"

"They will never be in the danger zone. No blood will be spilled, unless it be mine. He has no love for me, and I am his only friend, save one. "

"Suppose this persecution of Germany's was only a blind?"

"My admiration for you grows, Mr. Fitzgerald. But I have dug toodeeply into that end of it not to be certain that Germany has tossedthis bombshell into France without holding a string to it. Did youknow that Breitmann had once been hit by a spent bullet? Here, "pointing to the side of his head. "He is always conscious of what hedoes but not of the force that makes him do it. Do you understand me?He is living in a dream, and I must wake him. "

The adventurers were now ready to disembark. They took nothing butrugs and hand-bags, for there would be no preening of fine feathers onhotel verandas. With the exception of Hildegarde all were eager andexcited. Her breast was heavy with forebodings. Who and what was thisman Ferraud? One thing she knew; he was a menace to the man she loved, aye, with every throb of her heart and every thought of her mind. 

The admiral was like a boy starting out upon his firstfishing-excursion. To him there existed nothing else in the worldbeyond a chest of money hidden somewhere in the pine forest of Aïtone. He talked and laughed, pinched Laura's ears, shook Fitzgerald'sshoulder, prodded Coldfield, and fussed because the motor wasn'tsixty-horse power. 

"Father, " Laura asked suddenly, "where is Mr. Breitmann?"

"Oh, I told him last night to go ashore early, if he would, and arrangefor rooms at the Grand Hotel d'Ajaccio. He knows all about the place. "

M. Ferraud turned an empty face toward Fitzgerald, who laughed. Thegreat-grandson of Napoleon, applying for hotel accommodations, as agentleman's gentleman, and within a few blocks of the house in whichthe self-same historic forebear was born! It had its comic side. 

"Are there any brigands?" inquired Mrs. Coldfield. She was beginningto doubt this expedition. 

"Brigands? Plenty, " said the admiral, "but they are all hotelproprietors these times, those that aren't conveniently buried. Fromhere we go to Carghese, where we spend the night, then on to Evisa, andanother night. The next morning we shall be on the ground. Isn't thatthe itinerary, Fitzgerald?"

"Yes. "

"And be sure to take an empty carriage to carry canned food and bottledwater, " supplemented Cathewe. "The native food is frightful. Thefirst time I took the journey I was ignorant. Happily it was in theautumn, when the chestnuts were ripe. Otherwise I should have starved. "

"And you spent a winter or spring here, Hildegarde?" said Mrs. Coldfield. 

"It was lovely then. " There was a dream in Hildegarde's eyes. 

The hotel omnibus was out of service, and they rode up in carriages. The season was over, and under ordinary circumstances the hotel wouldhave been closed. A certain royal family had not yet left, and thisfact made the arrangements possible. It was now very warm. Dust layeverywhere, on the huge palms, on the withered plants, on the chairsand railings, and swam palpable in the air. Breitmann was nowhere tobe found, but he had seen the manager of the hotel and secured roomsfacing the bay. Later, perhaps two hours after the arrival, heappeared. In this short time he had completed his plans. As he viewedthem he could see no flaw. 

Now it came about that Captain Flanagan, who had not left the ship onceduring the journey, found his one foot aching for a touch and feel ofthe land. So he and Holleran, the chief-engineer, came ashore a littlebefore noon and decided to have a bite of maccaroni under the shade ofthe palms in the _Place des Palmiers_. A bottle of warm beer wasdivided between them. The captain said Faugh! as he drank it. 

"Try th' native wine, Capt'n, " suggested the chief-engineer. 

"I have a picture of Cap'n Flanagan drinkin' the misnamed vinegar. NoDago's bare fut on the top o' mine, when I'm takin' a glass. An'that's th' way they make ut. This Napoleyun wus a fine man. He pushed'em round some. "

"Sure, he had Irish blood in 'im, somewheres, " Holleran assented. "ButI say, " suddenly stretching his lean neck, "will ye look t' see who'scomin' along!"

Flanagan stared. "If ut ain't that son-of-a-gun ov a Picard, I'll eatmy hat!" The captain grew purple. "An' leavin' th' ship withoutorders!"

"An' the togs!" murmured Holleran. 

"Watch me!" said Flanagan, rising and squaring his peg. 

Picard, arrayed in clean white flannels, white shoes, a panama setrakishly on his handsome head, his fingers twirling a cane, camehead-on into the storm. The very jauntiness of his stride was as a redrag to the captain. So then, a hand, heavy and charged with righteousanger, descended upon Picard's shoulder. 

"Right about face an' back to th' ship, fast as yer legs c'n make ut!"

Picard calmly shook off the hand, and, adding a vigorous push whichsent the captain staggering among the little iron-tables, proceedednonchalantly. Holleran leaped to his feet, but there was a glitter inPicard's eye that did not promise well for any rough-and-tumble fight. Picard's muscular shoulders moved off toward the vanishing point. Holleran turned to the captain, and with the assistance of a waiter, the two righted the old man. 

"Do you speak English?" roared the old sailor. 

"Yes, sir, " respectfully. 

"Who wus that?"

The waiter, in reverent tones, declared that the gentleman referred towas well known in Ajaccio, that he had spent the previous winter there, and that he was no less a person than the Duke of--But the waiter nevercompleted the sentence. The title was enough for the irascibleFlanagan. 

"Th'--hell--he--is!" The captain subsided into the nearest chair, bereft of future speech, which is a deal of emphasis to put on thephrase. Picard, a duke, and only that morning his hands had beenyellow with the stains of the donkey-engine oil! And by and by thequestion set alive his benumbed brain; what was a duke doing on theyacht _Laura_? "Holleran, we go t' the commodore. The devil's t' pay. What's a dook doin' on th' ship, and we expectin' to dig up gold inyonder mountains? Look alive, man; they's villany afoot!"

Holleran's jaw sagged. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT

"What's this you're telling me, Flanagan?" said the admiral perturbed. 

"Ask Holleran here, sir; he wus with me when th' waiter said Picard wusa dook. I've suspicioned his han's this long while, sir. "

"Yes, sir; Picard it was, " averred Holleran. 

"Bah! Mistaken identity. "

"I'm sure, sir, " insisted Holleran. "Picard has a whisker-mole on hischin, sir, like these forriners grow, sir. Picard, sir, an' nomistake. "

"But what would a duke . . . "

"Ay, sir; that's the question, " interrupted Flanagan; and added in awhisper: "Y' c'n buy a dozen dooks for a couple o' million francs, sir. Th' first-officer, Holleran here, an' me; nobody else knows what we'reafter, sir; unless you gentlemen abaft, sir, talked careless. I say'tis serious, Commodore. _He_ knows what we're lookin' fer. "

Holleran nudged his chief. "Tell th' commodore what we saw on th' wayhere. "

"Picard hobnobbin' with Mr. Breitmann, sir. "

Breitmann? The admiral's smile thinned and disappeared. There mightbe something in this. Two million francs did not appeal to him, but herealized that to others they stood for a great fortune, one worthy ofhazards. He would talk this over with Cathewe and Fitzgerald and learnwhat they thought about the matter. If this fellow Picard was a dukeand had shipped as an ordinary hand foreward . . . Peace went out ofthe admiral's jaw and Flanagan's heart beat high as he saw the oldwar-knots gather. Oh, for a row like old times! For twenty years hehad fought nothing bigger than a drunken stevedore. Suppose this wasthe beginning of a fine rumpus? He grinned, and the admiral, notingthe same, frowned. He wished he had left the women at Marseilles. 

"Say nothing to any one, " he warned. "But if this man Picard comesaboard again, keep him there. "

"Yessir. "

"That'll be all. "

"What d' y' think?" asked Holleran, on the return to the _Place desPalmiers_, for the two were still hungry. 

"Think? There's a fight, bucko!" jubilantly. 

"These pleasure-boats sure become monotonous. " Holleran rubbed hisdark hands. "When d' y' think it'll begin?"

"I wish ut wus t'day. "

"I've seen y' do some fine work with th' peg. "

They had really seen Picard and Breitmann talking together. Theacquaintanceship might have dated from the sailing of the _Laura_, andagain it mightn't. At least, M. Ferraud, who overheard the major partof the conversation, later in the day, was convinced that Picard hadjoined the crew of the _Laura_ for no other purpose than to be in touchwith Breitmann. There were some details, however, which would beacceptable. He followed them to the Rue Fesch, to a _trattoria_, butentered from the rear. M. Ferraud never assumed any disguises, butdepended solely upon his adroitness in occupying the smallest spacepossible. So, while the two conspirators sat at a table on thesidewalk, M. Ferraud chose his inside, under the grilled window whichwas directly above them. 

"Everything is in readiness, " said Picard. 

"Thanks to you, duke. "

"To-night you and your old boatman Pietro will leave for Aïtone. Theadmiral and his party will start early to-morrow morning. No matterwhat may happen, he will find no drivers till morning. The drivers allunderstand what they are to do on the way back from Evisa. I almostcame to blows with that man Flanagan. I wasn't expecting him ashore. And I could not stand the grime and jeans a minute longer. Perhaps hewill believe it a case of mistaken identity. At any rate he will notfind out the truth till it's too late for him to make a disturbance. We have had wonderful luck!"

A cart rumbled past, and the listener missed a few sentences. What didthe drivers understand? What was going to happen on the way back fromEvisa? Surely, Breitmann did not intend that the admiral should do thework and then be held up later. The old American sailor wasn't afraidof any one, and he would shoot to kill. No, no; Breitmann meant tosecure the gold alone. But the drivers worried M. Ferraud. He mightbe forced to change his plans on their account. He wanted fulldetails, not puzzling components. Quiet prevailed once more. 

"Women in affairs of this sort are always in the way, " said Picard. 

M. Ferraud did not hear what Breitmann replied. 

"Take my word for it, " pursued Picard, "this one will trip you; and youcan not afford to trip at this stage. We are all ready to strike, man. All we want is the money. Every ten francs of it will buy a man. Weleave Marseilles in your care; the rest of us will carry the word on toLyons, Dijon and Paris. With this unrest in the government, the armyscandals, the dissatisfied employees, and the idle, we shall raise awhirlwind greater than '50 or '71. We shall reach Paris with half amillion men. "

Again Breitmann said something lowly. M. Ferraud would have liked tosee his face. 

"But what are you going to do with the other woman?"

Two women: M. Ferraud saw the ripple widen and draw near. One woman hecould not understand, but two simplified everything. The drivers andtwo women. 

"The other?" said Breitmann. "She is of no importance. "

M. Ferraud shook his head. 

"Oh, well; this will be, your private affair. Captain Grasset willarrive from Nice to-morrow night. Two nights later we all should be onboard and under way. Do you know, we have been very clever. Not asuspicion anywhere of what we are about. "

"Do you recollect M. Ferraud?" inquired Breitmann. 

"That little fool of a butterfly-hunter?" the duke asked. 

M. Ferraud smiled and gazed laughingly up at the grill. 

"He is no fool, " abruptly. "He is a secret agent, and not one movehave we made that is unknown to him. "

"Impossible!"

M. Ferraud could not tell whether the consternation in Picard's voicewas real or assumed. He chose to believe the latter. 

"And why hasn't he shown his hand?"

"He is waiting for us to show ours. But don't worry, " went onBreitmann. "I have arranged to suppress him neatly. "

And the possible victim murmured: "I wonder how?"

"Then we must not meet again until you return; and then only at thelittle house in the Rue St. Charles. "

"Agreed. Now I must be off. "

"Good luck!"

M. Ferraud heard the stir of a single chair and knew that thegreat-grandson was leaving. The wall might have been transparent, sosure was he of the smile upon Picard's face, a sinister speculatingsmile. But his imagination did not pursue Breitmann, whose lips alsowore a smile, one of irony and bitterness. Neither did he hear Picardmurmur "Dupe!" nor Breitmann mutter "Fools!"

When Breitmann saw Hildegarde in the hotel gardens he did not avoid herbut stopped by her chair. She rose. She had been waiting all day forthis moment. She must speak out or suffocate with anxiety. 

"Karl, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing, " unsmilingly. 

"You will let the admiral find and keep this money which is yours?"

Breitmann shrugged. 

"You are killing me with suspense!"

"Nonsense!" briskly. 

"You are contemplating violence of some order. I know it, I feel it!"

"Not so loud!" impatiently. 

"You are!" she repeated, crushing her hands together. 

"Well, all there remains to do is to tell the admiral. He will, perhaps, divide with me. "

"How can you be so cruel to me? It is your safety; that is all I wishto be assured of. Oh, I am pitifully weak! I should despise you. Take this chest of money; it is yours. Go to England, to America, andbe happy. "

"Happy? Do you wish me to be happy?"

"God knows!"

"And you?" curiously. 

"I have no time to ask you to consider me, " with a clear pride. "I donot wish to see you hurt. You are courting death, Karl, death. "

"Who cares?"

"I care!" with a sob. 

The bitterness in his face died for a space. "Hildegarde, I'm notworth it. Forget me as some bad dream; for that is all I am or evershall be. Marry Cathewe; I'm not blind. He will make you happy. Ihave made my bed, or rather certain statesmen have, and I must lie init. If I had known what I know now, " with regret, "this would not havebeen. But I distrusted every one, myself, too. "

She understood. "Karl, had you told me all in the first place, Ishould have given you that diagram without question, gladly. "

"Well, I am sorry. I have been a beast. Have we not always been such, from the first of us, down to me? Forget me!"

And with that he left her standing by the side of her chair and walkedswiftly toward the hotel. When next she realized or sensed anythingshe was lying on her bed, her eyes dry and wide open. And she did notgo down to dinner, nor did she answer the various calls on her door. 

Night rolled over the world, with a cool breeze driving under hermillion planets. The lights in the hotel flickered out one by one, andin the third corridor, where the adventurers were housed, only a wick, floating in a tumbler of oil, burned dimly. 

Fitzgerald had waited in the shadow for nearly an hour, and he wasgrowing restless and tired. All day long he had been obsessed with theconviction that if Breitmann ever made a start it would be some timethat night. Distinctly he heard the light rattle of a carriage. Itstopped outside the gardens. He pressed closer against the wall. Thedoor to Breitmann's room opened gently and the man himself stepped outcautiously. 

"So, " began Fitzgerald lightly, "your majesty goes forth to-night?"

But he overreached himself. Breitmann whirled, and all the hate in hisbreast went into his arm as he struck. Fitzgerald threw up his guard, but not soon enough. The blow hit him full on the side of the head andtoppled him over; and as the back of his head bumped the floor, theworld came to an end. When he regained his senses his head waspillowed on a woman's knees and the scared white face of a woman bentover his. 

"What's happened?" he whispered. There were a thousand wicks wherethere had been one and these went round and round in a circle. Presently the effect wore away, and he recognized Laura. Then heremembered. "By George!"

"What is it?" she cried, the bands of terror about her heart loosening. 

"As a hero I'm a picture, " he answered. "Why, I had an idea thatBreitmann was off to-night to dig up the treasure himself. Gone! Andonly one blow struck, and I in front of it!"

"Breitmann?" exclaimed Laura. She caught her dressing-gown closerabout her throat. 

"Yes. The temptation was too great. How did you get here?" He oughtto have struggled to his feet at once, but it was very comfortable tofeel her breath upon his forehead. 

"I heard a fall and then some one running. Are you badly hurt?"

The anguish in her voice was as music to his ears. 

"Dizzy, that's all. Better tell your father immediately. No, no; Ican get up alone. I'm all right. Fine rescuer of princesses, eh?"with an unsteady laugh. 

"You might have been killed!"

"Scarcely that. I tried to talk like they do in stories, with thisresult. The maxim is, always strike first and question afterward. Youwarn your father quietly while I hunt up Ferraud and Cathewe. "

Seeing that he was really uninjured she turned and flew down the darkcorridor and knocked at her father's door. 

Fitzgerald stumbled along toward M. Ferraud's room, murmuring: "Allright, Mr. Breitmann; all right. But hang me if I don't hand you backthat one with interest. Where the devil is that Frenchman?" as hehammered on Ferraud's door and obtained no response. He tried theknob. The door opened. The room was black, and he struck a match. M. Ferraud, fully dressed, lay upon his bed. There was a handkerchiefover his mouth and his hands and feet were securely bound. His eyeswere open. 

CHAPTER XXIII

CATHEWE ASKS QUESTIONS

The hunter of butterflies rubbed his released wrists and ankles, triedhis collar, coughed, and dropped his legs to the floor. 

"I am getting old, " he cried in self-communion; "near-sighted and old. I've worn spectacles so long in jest that now I must wear them inearnest. "

"How long have you been here?" asked Fitzgerald. 

"I should say about two hours. It was very simple. He came to thedoor. I opened it. He came in. _Zut_! He is as powerful as a lion. "

"Why didn't you call?"

"I was too busy, and suddenly it became too late. Gone?"

"Yes. " And Fitzgerald swore as he rubbed the side of his head. Briefly he related what had befallen him. 

"You have never hunted butterflies?"

"No, " sharply. "Shall we start for him while his heels are hot?"

"It is very exciting. It is the one thing I really care for. There isoften danger, but it is the kind that does not steal round your back. Hereafter I shall devote my time to butterflies. You can makebelieve--is that what you call it?--each butterfly is a great rascal. The more difficult the netting, the more cunning the rascal . . . Whatdid you say?"

"Look here, Ferraud, " cried Fitzgerald angrily; "do you want to catchhim or not? He's gone, and that means he has got the odd trick. "

"But not the rubber, my son. Listen. When you set a trap for a rat ora lion, do you scare the animal into it, or do you lure him with atempting bait? I have laid the trap; he and his friend will walk intoit. I am not a police officer. I make no arrests. My business is toavert political calamities, without any one knowing that thesecalamities exist. That is the real business of a secret agent. Lethim dig up his fortune. Who has a better right? _Peste_! The popewill not crown him in the gardens of the Tuileries. What!" with a ringin his voice Fitzgerald had never heard before; "am I one to beovercome without a struggle, without a call for help? The trap is set, and in forty-eight hours it will be sprung. Be calm, my son. Tonightwe should not find a horse or carriage in the whole town of Ajaccio. "

"But what are you going to do?"

"Go to Aïtone, to find a hole in the ground. "

"But the admiral!"

"Let him gaze into the hole, and then tell him what you will. I owehim that much. Come on!"

"Where?"

"To the admiral, to tell him his secretary is a fine rogue and that hehas stolen the march on us. A good chase will soften his finaldisappointment. "

"You're a strange man. "

"No; only what you English and Americans call a game sport. To starton even terms with a man, to give him the odds, if necessary. What!have beaters for my rabbits, shoot pigeons from traps? _Fi donc_!"

"Hang it!" growled the young man, undecided. 

"My son, give me my way. Some day you will be glad. I will tell youthis: I am playing against desperate men; and the liberty, perhapshonor, of one you love is menaced. "

"My God!"

"Sh! Ask me nothing; leave it all to me. There! They are coming. Not a word. "

The admiral's fury was boundless, and his utterances were touched hereand there by strong sailor expressions. The scoundrel! The black-leg!And he had trusted him without reservation. He wanted to start atonce. Laura finally succeeded in calming him, and the cold reason ofM. Ferraud convinced him of the folly of haste. There was a comic sideto the picture, too, but they were all too serious to note it; thevaried tints of the dressing-gowns, the bath-slippers and bare feet, the uncovered throats, the tousled hair, the eyes still heavy withsleep. Every one of the party was in Ferraud's room, and their voiceshummed and murmured and their arms waved. Only one of them did Ferraudwatch keenly; Hildegarde. How would she act now?

Fitzgerald's head still rang, and now his mind was being tortured. Laura in danger from this madman? No, over his body first, over hisdead body. How often had he smiled at that phrase; but there was nomelodrama in it now. Her liberty and perhaps her honor! His strongfingers worked convulsively; to put them round the blackguard's throat!And to do nothing himself, to wait upon this Frenchman's own good time, was maddening. 

"Your head is all right now?" as she turned to follow the others fromthe room. 

"It was nothing. " He forced a smile to his lips. "I'm as fit as afiddle now; only, I'll never forgive myself for letting him go. Willyou tell me one thing? Did he ever offend you in any way?"

"A woman would not call it an offense, " a glint of humor in her eyes. "Real offense, no. "

"He proposed to you?"

The suppressed rage in his tone would have amused if it hadn't thrilledher strangely. "It would have been a proposal if I had not stopped it. Good night. "

He could not see her eyes very well; there was only one candle burning. Impulsively he snatched at her hand and kissed it. With his life, ifneed be; ay, and gladly. And even as she disappeared into the corridorthe thought intruded: Where was the past, the days of wandering, theactive and passive adventures, he had contemplated treasuring up for aclub career in his old age? Why, they had vanished from his mind asthin ice vanishes in the spring sunshine. To love is to be borne again. 

And Laura? She possessed a secret that terrified her one moment andenraptured her the next. And she marveled that there was no shame inher heart. Never in all her life before had she done such a thing;she, who had gone so calmly through her young years, wondering what itwas that had made men turn away from her with agony written on theirfaces! She would never be the same again, and the hand she held softlyagainst her cheek would never be the same hand. Where was thetranquillity of that morning?

Fitzgerald found himself alone with Ferraud again. There was going tobe no dissembling; he was going to speak frankly. 

"You have evidently discovered it. Yes, I love Miss Killigrew, wellenough to die for her. "

"_Zut_! She will be as safe as in her own house. Had Breitmann notgone to-night, had any of us stopped him, I could not say. Unless youtell her, she will never know that she stood in danger. Don't youunderstand? If I marred one move these men intend to make, if I showeda single card, they would defeat me for the time; for they would makenew plans of which I should not have the least idea. You comprehend?"

Fitzgerald nodded. 

"It all lies in the hollow of my hand. Breitmann made one mistake; heshould have pushed me off the boat, into the dark. _He_ knows that Iknow. And there he confuses me. But, I repeat, he is not vicious, only mad. "

"Where will it be?"

"It will _not_ be;" and M. Ferraud smiled as he livened up the burntwick of his candle. 

"Treachery on the part of the drivers? Oh, don't you see that you cantrust me wholly?"

"Well, it will be like this;" and reluctantly the secret agent outlinedhis plan. "Now, go to bed and sleep, for you and I shall need some todraw upon during the next three or four days. Hunting for buriedtreasures was never a junketing. The admiral will tell you that. Atdawn!" Then he added whimsically: "I trust we haven't disturbed theroyal family below. "

"Hang the royal family!"

"Their own parliament, or Reichstag, will arrange for that!" and thelittle man laughed. 

Dawn came soon enough, yellow and airless. 

"My dear, " said Mrs. Coldfield, "I really wish you wouldn't go. "

"But Laura and Miss von Mitter insist on going. I can't back out now, "protested Coldfield. "What are you worried about? Brigands, gun-shots, and all that?"

"He will be a desperate man. "

"To steal a chest full of money is one thing; to shoot a man isanother. Besides, the admiral will go if he has to go alone; and Ican't desert him. "

"Very well. You will have to take me to Baden for nervous prostration. "

"Humph! Baden; that'll mean about two-thousand in fresh gowns fromVienna or Paris. All right; I'm game. But, no nerves, no Baden. "

"Go, if you will; but _do_ take care of yourself; and let the admiralgo _first_, when there's any sign of danger. "

Coldfield chuckled. "I'll get behind him every time I think of it. "

"Kiss me. They are waiting for you. And be careful. "

It was only a little brave comedy. She knew this husband and partnerof hers, hard-headed at times, but full of loyalty and courage; and shewas confident that if danger arose the chances were he would be gettingin front instead of behind the admiral. A pang touched her heart asshe saw him spring into the carriage. 

The admiral had argued himself hoarse about Laura's going; but he hadto give in when she threatened to hire a carriage on her own accountand follow. Thus, Coldfield went because he was loyal to his friends;Laura, because she would not leave her father; Hildegarde, because toremain without knowing what was happening would have driven her mad; M. Ferraud, because it was a trick in the game; and Cathewe andFitzgerald, because they loved hazard, because they were going with thewomen they loved. The admiral alone went for the motive apparent toall: to lay hands on the scoundrel who had betrayed his confidence. 

So the journey into the mountains began. In none of the admiral'sdocuments was it explained why the old Frenchman had hidden thetreasure so far inland, when at any moment a call might have been madeon it. Ferraud put forward the supposition that they had been watched. As for hiding it in Corsica at all, every one understood that it was amatter of sentiment. 

Fitzgerald keenly inspected the drivers, but found them of the ordinarybreed, in velveteens, red-sashes, and soft felt hats. As they made thenoon stop, one thing struck him as peculiar. The driver of theprovision carriage had little or nothing to do with his companions. "That is because _he_ is mine, " explained M. Ferraud in a whisper. They were all capable horsemen, and on this journey spared their horsesonly when absolutely necessary. The great American _signori_ were in ahurry. They arrived at Carghese at five in the afternoon. The admiralwas for pushing on, driving all night. He stormed, but the driverswere obdurate. At Carghese they would remain till sunrise; that wasfinal. Besides, it was not safe at night, without moonshine, for manya mile of the road lipping tremendous precipices was without curb orparapet. Not a foot till dawn. 

In the little _auberge_, dignified but not improved by the name ofHôtel de France, there was room only for the two women and the oldermen. Fitzgerald and Cathewe had to bunk the best they could in atenement at the upper end of the town; two cots in a single room, carpetless and ovenlike for the heat. 

Cathewe opened his rug-bag and spread out a rug in front of his cot, for he wasn't fond at any time of dirty, bare boards under his feet. He began to undress, silently, puffing his pipe as one unconscious ofthe deed. Cathewe looked old. Fitzgerald hadn't noticed the changebefore; but it certainly was a fact that his face was thinner than whenthey put out to sea. Cathewe, his pipe still between his teeth, absently drew his shirt over his head. The pipe fell to the rug and hestamped out the coals, grumbling. 

"You'll set yourself afire one of these fine days, " laughed Fitzgeraldfrom his side of the room. 

"I'm safe enough, Jack, you can't set fire to ashes, and that's aboutall I amount to. " Cathewe got into his pajamas and sat upon the bed. "Jack, I thought I knew something about this fellow Breitmann; but itseems I've something to learn. "

The younger man said nothing. 

"Was that yarn of Ferraud's fact or tommy-rot?"

"Fact. "

"The great-grandson of Napoleon! Here! Nothing will ever surprise meagain. But why didn't he lay the matter before Killigrew, like a man?"

Fitzgerald patted and poked the wool-filled pillow, but withoutsuccess. It remained as hard and as uninviting as ever. "I've thoughtit over, Arthur. I'd have done the same as Breitmann, " as if reluctantto give his due to the missing man. 

"But why didn't this butterfly man tell the admiral all?"

"He had excellent reasons. He's a secret agent, and has the idea thatBreitmann wants to go into France and make an emperor of himself. "

"Do men dream of such things to-day, let alone try to enact them?"incredulously. 

"Breitmann's an example. "

"Are you taking his part?"

"No, damn him! May I ask you a pertinent question?"

"Yes. "

"Did he know Miss von Mitter very well in Munich?"

"He did. "

"Was he quite square?"

"I am beginning to believe that he was something between a cad and ascoundrel. "

"Did you know that among her forebears on her mother's side was theAbbe Fanu, who left among other things the diagram of the chimney?"

"So that was it?" Cathewe's jaws hardened. 

Fitzgerald understood. Poor old Cathewe!

"Most women are fools!" said Cathewe, as if reading his friend'sthought. "Pick out all the brutes in history; they were always betterloved than decent men. Why? God knows! Well, good night;" andCathewe blew out his candle. 

So did Fitzgerald; but it was long before he fell asleep. He wasstraining his ears for the sound of a carriage coming down from Evisa. But none came. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PINES OF AITONE

Before sun-up they were on the way again. They circled throughmagnificent gorges now, of deep red and salmon tinted granite, storm-worn, strangely hollowed out, as if some Titan's hand had been atwork; and always the sudden disappearance and reappearance of the blueMediterranean. 

The two young women rode in the same carriage. Occasionally the mengot down out of theirs and walked on either side of them. Whenever anabrupt turn showed forward, Fitzgerald put his hand in his pocket. From whichever way it came, he, at least, was not going to be foundunprepared. Sometimes, when he heard M. Ferraud's laughter drift backfrom the admiral's carriage, he longed to throttle the aggravatinglittle man. Yet, his admiration of him was genuine. What a chap tohave wandered round with, in the old days! He began to realize whatFrenchmen must have been a hundred years gone. And the strongest pointin his armor was his humanity; he wished no one ill. Gradually theweight on Fitzgerald's shoulders lightened. If M. Ferraud could laugh, why not he?

"Isn't that view lovely!" exclaimed Laura, as the _Capo di Rosso_glowed in the sun with all the beauty of a fabulous ruby. "Are youafraid at all, Hildegarde?"

"No, Laura; I am only sad. I wish we were safely on the yacht. Yes, yes; I _am_ afraid, of something I know not what. "

"I never dreamed that he could be dishonest. He was a gentleman, somewhere in his past. I do not quite understand it all. The moneydoes not interest my father so much as the mere sport of finding it. You know it was agreed to divide, his share among the officers andseamen, and the balance to our guests. It would have been such fun. "

And the woman who knew everything must perforce remain silent. Withwhat eloquence she could have defended him!

"Do you think we shall find it?" wistfully. 

"No, Laura. "

"How can he find his way back without passing us?"

"For a desperate man who has thrown his all on this one chance, he willfind a hundred ways of returning. "

A carriage came round one of the pinnacled _calenches_. It was empty. M. Ferraud casually noted the number. He was not surprised. He hadbeen waiting for this same vehicle. It was Breitmann's, but the mandriving it was not the man who had driven it out of Ajaccio. He was anEvisan. A small butterfly fluttered alongside. M. Ferraud jumped outand swooped with his hat. He decided not to impart his discovery tothe others. He was assured that the man from Evisa knew absolutelynothing, and that to question him would be a waste of time. At thisvery moment it was not unlikely that Breitmann and his confederate werecrossing the mountains; perhaps with three or four sturdy donkeys, their panniers packed with precious metal. And the dupe would gostraight to his fellow-conspirators and share his millions. Curiousold world!

They saw Evisa at sunset, one of the seven glories of the earth. Thelittle village rests on the side of a mountain, nearly three-thousandfeet above the sea, the sea itself lying miles away to the west, V-shaped between two enormous shafts of burning granite. Even theadmiral forgot his smoldering wrath. 

The hotel was neat and cool, and all the cook had to do was to furnishdishes and hot water for tea. There was very little jesting, and whatthere was of it fell to the lot of Coldfield and the Frenchman. Thespirit in them all was tense. Given his way, the admiral would havegone out that very night with lanterns. 

"Folly! To find a given point in an unknown forest at night;impossible! Am I not right, Mr. Cathewe? Of course. Breitmann's manknew Aïtone from his youth. Suppose, " continued M. Ferraud, "that wespend two days here?"

"What? Give him all the leeway?" The admiral was amazed that M. Ferraud could suggest such a stupidity. "No. In the morning we makethe search. If there's nothing there we'll return at once. "

M. Ferraud spoke to the young woman who waited on the table. "Pleasefind Carlo, the driver, and bring him here. "

Ten minutes later Carlo came in, hat in hand, curious. 

"Carlo, " began the Frenchman, leaning on his elbows, his sharp eyesboring into the mild brown ones of the Corsican, "we shall not returnto Carghese to-morrow but the day after. "

"Not return to-morrow?" cried Carlo dismayed. 

"Ah, but the _signore_ does not understand. We are engaged day afterto-morrow to carry a party to Bonifacio. We have promised. We mustreturn to-morrow. "

Fitzgerald saw the drift and bent forward. The admiral fumed becausehis Italian was an indifferent article. 

"But, " pursued M. Ferraud, "we will pay you twenty francs the day, justthe same. "

"We are promised. " Carlo shrugged and spread his hands, but the glitterin his questioner's eyes disquieted him. 

"What's this about?" growled the admiral. 

"The man says he must take us back to-morrow, or leave us, as he haspromised to return to Ajaccio to carry a party to Bonifacio, " M. Ferraud explained. 

"Then, if we don't go to-morrow it means a week in this forsaken hole?"

"It is possible. " M. Ferraud turned to Carlo once more. "We will makeit fifty francs per day. "

"Impossible, _signore_!"

"Then you will return to-morrow without us. "

Carlo's face hardened. "But--"

"Come outside with me, " said M. Ferraud in a tone which brooked nofurther argument. 

The two stepped out into the hall, and when the Frenchman came back hisface was animated. 

"Mr. Ferraud, " said the admiral icily, "my daughter has informed mewhat passed between you. I must say that you have taken a deal uponyourself. "

"Mr. Ferraud is right, " put in Fitzgerald. 

"You, too?"

"Yes. I think the time has come, for Mr. Ferraud to offer fullexplanations. "

The butterfly-hunter resumed his chair. "They will remain or carry uson to Corte. From there we can take the train back to Ajaccio, savinga day and a half. Admiral, I have a confession to make. It willsurprise you, and I offer you my apologies at once. " He paused. Heloved moments like this, when he could resort to the dramatic inperfect security. "_I_ was the man in the chimney. "

The admiral gasped. Laura dropped her hands to the table. Cathewe satback stiffly. Coldfield stared. Hildegarde shaded her face with thenewspaper through which she had been idly glancing. 

"Patience!" as the admiral made as though to press back his chair. "Mr. Fitzgerald knew from the beginning. Is that not true?"

"It is, Mr. Ferraud. Go on. "

"Breitmann is the great-grandson of Napoleon. By this time he istraveling over some mountain pass, with his inheritance snug under hishand. You will ask, why all these subterfuges, this dodging in andout? Thus. Could I have found the secret of the chimney--I workedfrom memory--none of us would be here, and one of the greatconspiracies of the time would have been nipped in the bud. What doyou think? Breitmann proposes to go into France with the torch ofanarchy in his hand; and if he does, he will be shot. He proposes todivide this money among his companions, who, with their pockets full ofgold, will desert him the day he touches France. Do you recollect thescar on his temple? It was not made by a saber; it is the mark of abullet. He received it while a correspondent in the Balkans. Well, itleft a mark on his brain also. That is to say, he is conscious of whathe does but not why he does it. He is a sane man with an obsession. This wound, together with the result of Germany's brutal policy towardhim and France's indifference, has made him a kind of monomaniac. Youwill ask why I, an accredited agent in the employ of France, have notstepped in and arrested him. My evidence might bring him to trial, butit would never convict him. Once liberated, he would begin all overagain, meaning that I also would have to start in at a new beginning. So I have let him proceed to the end, and in doing so I shall save himin spite of himself. You see, I have a bit of sentiment. "

Hildegarde could have reached over and kissed his hand. 

"Why didn't he tell this to me?" cried the admiral. "Why didn't hetell me? I would have helped him. "

"To his death, perhaps, " grimly. "For the money was only a means, notan end. The great-grandson of Napoleon: well, he will never rise fromhis obscurity. And sometime, when the clouds lift from his brain, hewill remember me. I have seen in your American cottages the mottohanging on the walls--_God Bless Our Home_. Mr. Breitmann will placemy photograph beside it and smoke his cigarette in peace. "

And this whimsical turn caused even the admiral to struggle with asmile. He was a square, generous old sailor. He stretched his handacross the table. M. Ferraud took it, but with a shade of doubt. 

"You are a good man, Mr. Ferraud. I'm terribly disappointed. All mylife I have been goose-chasing for treasures, and this one I had set myheart on. You've gone about it the best you could. If you had told mefrom the start there wouldn't have been any fun. "

"That is it, " eagerly assented M. Ferraud. "Why should I spoil yourinnocent pleasure? For a month you have lived in a fine adventure, andno harm has befallen. And when you return to America, you will have anunrivaled story to tell; but, I do not think you will ever tell all ofit. He will have paid in wretchedness and humiliation for hisinheritance. And who has a better right to it? Every coin mayrepresent a sacrifice, a deprivation, and those who gave it freely, gave it to the blood. Is it sometimes that you laugh at Frenchsentiment?"

"Not in Frenchmen like you, " said the admiral gravely. 

"Good! To men of heart what matters the tongue?"

"Poor young man!" sighed Laura. "I am glad he has found it. Didn't Iwish him to have it?"

"And you knew all this?" said Cathewe into the ear of the woman heloved. 

Thinly the word came through her lips: "Yes. "

Cathewe's chin sank into his collar and he stared at the crumbs on thecloth. 

"But what meant this argument with the drivers?" asked Coldfield. 

"Yes! I had forgotten that, " supplemented the sailor. 

"On the way back to Carghese, we should have been stopped. We were tobe quietly but effectively suppressed till our Napoleon set sail forMarseilles. " M. Ferraud bowed. He had no more to add. 

The admiral shook his head. He had come to Corsica as one might go toa picnic; and here he had almost toppled over into a gulf!

The significance of the swift glance which was exchanged between M. Ferraud and Fitzgerald was not translatable to Laura, who alone caughtit in its transit. An idea took possession of her, but this idea hadnothing to do with the glance, which she forgot almost instantly. Woman has a way with a man; she leads him whither she desires, andnever is he any the wiser. She will throw obstacles in his way, or shewill tear down walls that rise up before him; she will make a mile outof a rod, or turn a mountain into a mole-hill: and none but the CumaeanSibyl could tell why. And as Laura was of the disposition to walk downby the cemetery, to take a final view of the sea before it melted intothe sky, what was more natural than that Fitzgerald should follow her?They walked on in the peace of twilight, unmindful of the curiosity ofthe villagers or of the play of children about their feet. The twowere strangely silent; but to him it seemed that she must presentlyhear the thunder of his insurgent heart. At length she paused, gazingtoward the sea upon which the purples of night were rapidly deepening. 

"And if I had not made that wager!" he said, following aloud his trainof thought. 

"And if I had not bought that statuette!" picking up the thread. Ifshe had laughed, nothing might have happened. But her voice was lowand sweet and ruminating. 

The dam of his reserve broke, and the great current of life rushed overhis lips, to happiness or to misery, whichever it was to be. 

"I love you, and I can no more help telling you than I can helpbreathing. I have tried not to speak, I have so little to offer. Ihave been lonely so long. I did not mean to tell you here; but I'vedone it. " He ceased, terrified. His voice had diminished down to amere whisper, and finally refused to work at all. 

Still she stared out to sea. 

He found his voice again. "So there isn't any hope? There is some oneelse?" He was very miserable. 

"Had there been, I should have stopped you at once. "

"But . . . !"

"Do you wish a more definite answer . . . John?" And only then did sheturn her head. 

"Yes!" his courage coming back full and strong. "I want you to tell meyou love me, and while my arms are round you like this! May I kissyou?"

"No other man save my father shall. "

"Ah, I haven't done anything to deserve this!"

"No?"

"I'm not even a third-rate hero. "

"No?" with gentle raillery. 

"Say you love me!"

"_Amo, ama, amiamo_ . . . "

"In English; I have never heard it in English. "

"So, " pushing back from him, "you have heard it in Italian?"

"Laura, I didn't mean that! There was never any one else. Say it!"

So she said it softly; she repeated it, as though the utterance was assweet to her lips as it was to his ears. And then, for the first time, she became supine in his arms. With his cheek touching the hair on herbrow, they together watched but did not see the final conquest of theday. 

"And I have had the courage to ask you to be my wife?" It waswonderful. 

Napoleon, his hunted great-grandson, the treasure, all these had ceasedto exist. 

"John, when you lay in the corridor the other night, and I thought youwere dying, I kissed you. " Her arm tightened as did his. "Will youpromise never to tell if I confess a secret?"

"I promise. "

"You never would have had the courage to propose if I hadn'tdeliberately brought you here for that purpose. It was I who proposedto you. "

"I'm afraid I don't quite get that, " doubtfully. 

"Then we'll let the subject rest where it is. You might bring it up inafter years. " Her laughter was happy. 

He raised his eyes reverently toward heaven. She would never know thatshe had stood in danger. 

"But your father!" with a note of sudden alarm. And all the worldlysides to the dream burst upon him. 

"Father is only the 'company, ' John. "

And so the admiral himself admitted when, an hour later, Fitzgerald putthe affair before him, briefly and frankly. 

"It is all her concern, my son, and only part of mine. My part is tosee that you keep in order. I don't know; I rather expected it. Ofcourse, " said the admiral, shifting his cigar, "there's a business endto it. I'm a rich man, but Laura isn't worth a cent, in money. Youngmen generally get the wrong idea, that daughters of wealthy parentsmust also be wealthy. " He was glad to hear the young man laugh. Itwas a good sign. 

"My earnings and my income amount to about seven-thousand a year; andwith an object in view I can earn more. She says that will be plenty. "

"She's a sensible girl; that ought to do to start on. But let there beno nonsense about money. Laura's happiness; that's the only thingworth considering. I used to be afraid that she might bring a dukehome. " It was too dark for Fitzgerald to see the twinkle in the eyesof his future father-in-law. "If worst comes to worst, why, you can bemy private secretary. The job is open at present, " dryly. "I've beenwatching you; and I'm not afraid of your father's son. Where's it tobe?"

"We haven't talked that over yet. "

The admiral drew him down to the space beside him on the parapet andoffered the second greatest gift in his possession: one of his selectedperfectos. 

The course of true love does not always run so smoothly. A shortdistance up the road Cathewe was grimly fighting for his happiness. 

"Hildegarde, forget him. Must he spoil both our lives? Come with me, be my wife. I will make any and all sacrifices toward yourcontentment. "

"Have we not threshed this all out before, my friend?" sadly. "Do notask me to forget him rather let me ask you to forget me. "

"He will never be loyal to any one but himself. He is selfish to thecore. Has he not proved it?" Where were the words he needed for thislast defense? Where his arguments to convince her? He was losing; inhis soul he knew it. If his love for her was strong, hers for thisoutcast was no less. "I have never wished the death of any man, but ifhe should die . . . !"

She interrupted him, her hands extended as in pleading. Never had heseen a woman's face so sad, "Arthur, I have more faith in you than inany other man, and I prize your friendship above all other things. Butwho can say _must_ to the heart? Not you, not I! Have I not foughtit? Have I not striven to forget, to trample out this fire? Have youyourself not tried to banish me from your heart? Have you succeeded?Do you remember that night in Munich? My voice broke, miserably, andmy public career was ruined. What caused it? A note from him, sayingthat he had tired of the role and was leaving. It was not my love hewanted after all; a slip of paper, which at any time would have beenhis for the asking. Arthur, my friend, when you go from me presentlyit will be with loathing. That night you went to his room . . . Helied to you. "

"About what?"

"I mean, if I can not be his wife, I can not in honor be any man's. God pity me, but must I make it plainer?"

Here, he believed, was his last throw. "Have I not told you thatnothing mattered, nothing at all save that I love you?"

"I can not argue more, " wearily. 

"He will tire of you again, " desperately. 

"I know it. But in my heart something speaks that he will need me; andwhen he does I shall go to him. "

"God in heaven! to be loved like that!"

Scarcely realizing the violence of his action, he crushed her to hisheart, roughly, and kissed her face, her eyes, her hair. She did notstruggle. It was all over in a moment. Then he released her andturned away toward the dusty road. She was not angry. She understood. It was the farewell of the one man who had loved her in honor. Presently he seemed to dissolve into the shadows, and she knew that outof her life he had gone for ever. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE DUPE

The next morning Fitzgerald found Cathewe's note under his plate. Heopened it with a sense of disaster. 

"MY DEAR OLD JACK:

I'm off. Found a pony and shall jog to Ajaccio by the route we came. Please take my luggage back to the Grand Hotel, and I'll pick it up. And have my trunk sent ashore, too. I shan't go back to America withthe admiral, bless his kindly old heart! I'm off to Mombassa. Alwayskeep a shooting-kit there for emergencies. I suppose you'llunderstand. Be kind to her, and help her in any way you can. I hope Ishan't run into Breitmann. I should kill him out of hand. Happinessto you, my boy. And maybe I'll ship you a trophy for the wedding. Explain my departure in any way you please. 

 "CATHEWE. "

The reader folded the note and stowed it away. Somehow, the bloom wasgone from things. He was very fond of Cathewe, kindly, gentle, brave, and chivalrous. What was the matter with the woman, anyhow? How toexplain? The simplest way would be to state that Cathewe had gone backto Ajaccio. The why and wherefore should be left to the imagination. But, oddly enough, no one asked a second question. They acceptedCathewe's defection without verbal comment. What they thought was ofno immediate consequence. Fitzgerald was gloomy till that moment whenLaura joined him. To her, of course, he explained the situation. 

Neither she nor Hildegarde cared to go up to the forest. They wouldfind nothing but a hole. And indeed, when the men returned from thepines, weary, dusty, and dissatisfied, they declared that they hadgone, not with the expectation of finding anything, but to certify afact. 

M. Ferraud was now in a great hurry. Forty miles to Corte; night ornot, they _must_ make the town. There was no dissention; the spell ofthe little man was upon them all. 

Hildegarde rode alone, in the middle carriage. Such had been herdesire. She did not touch her supper. And when, late at night, theyentered the gates of Corte and stepped down before the hotel lights, Laura observed that Hildegarde's face was streaked by the passage ofmany burning tears. She longed to comfort her, but the older womanheld aloof. 

Men rarely note these things, and when they do it has to be forced uponthem. Fitzgerald, genuine in his regret for Cathewe, was otherwise atpeace with the world. He alone of them all had found a treasure, theincomparable treasure of a woman's love. 

Racing his horses all through the night, scouring for fresh ones atdawn and finding them, and away again, climbing, turning, climbinground this pass, over that bridge, through this cut, thus flewBreitmann, the passion of haste upon him. By this tremendous pace hesucceeded in arriving at Evisa before the admiral had covered half thedistance to Carghese. 

How clear and keen his mind was as on he rolled! A thousand placeswove themselves to the parent-stem. He even laughed aloud, sending ashiver up the spine of the driver, who was certain his old _padrone_was mad. The face of Laura drifted past him as in a dream, and thenagain, that of the other woman. No, no; he regretted nothing, absolutely nothing. But he had been a fool there; he had wasted timeand lent himself to a despicable intrigue. For all that he outcriedit, there was a touch of shame on his cheeks when he remembered that, had he asked, she would have given him that scrap of paper the firsthour of their meeting. Somewhere in Hildegarde von Mitter lay dormantthe spirit of heroes. He had made a mistake. 

Two millions of shining money, gold, silver, and English notes! And helaughed again as he recalled M. Ferraud, caught in a trap. He wasclever, but not clever enough. What a stroke! To make prisoners ofthe party on their return, to carry the girl away into the mountains!Would any of them think of treasures, of conspiracies, with her as ahostage? He thought not. In the hue and cry for her, these elementsin the game would fall to a minor place. Well he knew M. Ferraud: hewould call to heaven for the safety of Laura. Love her? Yes! She wasthe one woman. But men did not make captives of women and obtain theirlove. He knew the futility of such coercion. He had committed two orthree scoundrelly acts, but never would he or could he sink to such alevel. No. He meant no harm at all. Frighten her, perhaps, andterrorize the others; and mayhap take a kiss as he left her to thecoming of her friends. Nothing more serious than that. 

Two millions in gold and silver and English notes! He would have hisrevenge, for all these years of struggle and failure; for the cold andcallous policies of state which had driven him to this piece ofroguery, on their heads be it. Two thousand in Marseilles, ready athis beck and call, a thousand more in Avignon, in Lyons, in Dijon, andso on up to Paris, the Paris he had cursed one night from under hismansard. In a week he would have them shaking in their boots. Theunemployed, the idlers, thieves, his to a man. If he saw his own deathat the end, little he cared. He would have one great moment, pay offthe score, France as well as Germany. He would at least live to seethem harrying each other's throats. To declare to France that he wasonly Germany's tool, put forward for the sole purpose of destroyingpeace in the midst of a great military crisis. He had other papers, and the prying little Frenchman had never seen those; clever forgeries, bearing the signature of certain great German personages. These shouldthey find at the selected moment. Let them rip one another's throats, the dogs! Two million of francs, enough to purchase a hundred thousandmen. 

"Ah, my great-grandsire, if spirits have eyes, yours will see somethingpresently. And that poor little devil of a secret agent thinks I wanta crown on my head! There was a time . . . Curse these infernalheadaches!"

On, on; hurry, hurry. The driver was faithful, a sometime brigand andlater a harbor boatman; and of all his confederates this one was theonly man he dared trust on an errand of this kind. 

Evisa. They did not pause. They ate their supper on the way. Withthree Sardinian donkeys, strong and patient little brutes, withlanterns and shovels and sacks, the two fared into the pines. Aïtonewas all familiar ground to the Corsican who, in younger days, had takenhis illegal tithe from these hills. They found the range soon enough, but made a dozen mistakes in measurements; and it was long towardmidnight, when the oil of the lanterns ran low, that their shovels boredown into the precious pocket. The earth flew. They worked likemadmen, with nervous energy and power of will; and when the chestfinally came into sight, rotten with age and the soak of earth, theyfell back against a tree, on the verge of collapse. The hair was dampon their foreheads, their breath came harshly, almost in sobs. 

Suddenly Breitmann fell upon his knees and laughed hysterically, plunged his blistered hands into the shining heap. It played throughhis fingers in little musical cascades. He rose. 

"Pietro, you have been faithful to me. Put your two hands in there. "

"I, _padrone_?" stupefied. 

"Go on! Go on! As much as your two hands can hold is yours. Dig themin deep, man, dig them in deep!"

With a cry Pietro dropped and burrowed into the gold and silver. Adozen times he started to withdraw his hands, but they trembled so thatsome of the coins would slip and fall. At last, with one desperateplunge, the money running down toward his elbows, he turned aside andlet fall his burden on the new earth outside the shallow pit. Herolled beside it, done for, in a fainting state. Breitmann laughedwildly. 

"Come, come; we have no time. Put it into your pockets. "

"But, _padrone_, I have not counted it!" naively. 

"To-morrow, when we make camp for breakfast. Let us hurry. "

Quickly Pietro stuffed his pockets. Jabbering in his patois, swearingso many candles to the Virgin for this night's work. Then began theloading of the sacks, and these were finally dumped into thedonkey-panniers. 

"Now, Pietro, the shortest cut to Ajaccio. First, your hand on youramulet, and oath never to reveal what has happened. "

Pietro swore solemnly. "I am ready now, _padrone_!"

"Lead on, then, " replied Breitmann. Impulsively he raised his handshigh above his head. "Mine, all mine!"

He wiped his face and hands, pulled his cap down firmly, lighted acigarette, struck the rear donkey, and the hazardous journey began. 

Seven men, more or less young, with a genial air of dissipation abouttheir eyes and a varied degree of recklessness lurking at the comers oftheir mouths; seven men sat round a table in a house in the Rue St. Charles. They had been eating and drinking rather luxuriously forAjaccio. The Rue St. Charles is neither spacious nor elegant as athoroughfare, but at that point where it turns into the _Place Letitia_it is quiet and unfrequented at night. A film of tobacco smoke waveredin and out among the guttering candles and streamed round the empty andpart empty champagne bottles. At the head of the table sat Breitmann, still pale and weary from his Herculean labors. His face was immobile, but his eyes were lively. 

"To-morrow, " said Breitmann, "we leave for France. On board the moneyswill be equally divided. Then, for the work. " His voice was cold, authoritative. 

"Two millions!" mused Picard, from behind a fresh cloud of smoke. Hepicked up a bottle and gravely filled his glass, beckoning to theothers to follow his example. At another sign all rose to their feet, Breitmann alone remaining seated, "To the Day!"

Breitmann's lips grew thinner; that was the only sign. 

Outside, glancing obliquely through the grilled window, stood M. Ferraud. He had not seen these worthies together before. He knew allof them. There was not a shoulder among them that he could not lay ahand upon and voice with surety the order of the law. Courage of akind they all had, names once written gloriously in history but nowmerely passports into dubious traffics. Heroes of boulevard exploits, duelists, card-players; could it be possible that any sane man shouldbe their dupe? After the strange toast he heard many things, some hehad known, some he had guessed at, and some which surprised him. Onlyloyalty was lacking to make them feared indeed. Presently he sawBreitmann rise. He was tired; he needed sleep. On the morrow, then;and in a week the first blow of the new terror. They all bowedrespectfully as he passed out. 

The secret agent followed him till he reached the _Place des Palmiers_. He put a hand on Breitmann's arm. The latter, highly keyed, swungquickly. And seeing who it was (the man he believed to be at thatmoment a prisoner in the middle country!), he made a sinister movetoward his hip. M. Ferraud was in peril, and he realized it. 

"Wait a moment, Monsieur; there is no need of that. I repeat, I wishyou well, and this night I will prove it. What? do you not know that Icould have put my hand on you at any moment? Attend. Return with meto the little house in Rue St. Charles. "

Breitmann's hand again stole toward his hip. 

"You were listening?"

"Yes. Be careful. My death would not change anything. I wish todisillusion you; I wish to prove to you how deeply you are the dupe ofthose men. All your plans have been remarkable, but not one of themhas remained unknown to me. You clasp the hand of this duke who playsthe sailor under the name of Picard, who hails you as a future emperor, and stabs you behind your back? How? Double-face that he is, have Inot proof that he has written detail after detail of this conspiracy tothe _Quai d'Orsay_, and that he has clung to you only to gain his shareof what is yours? _Zut_! Come back with me and let your own earstestify. The fact that I am not in the mountains should convince youhow strong I am. "

Breitmann hesitated, wondering whether he had best shoot this meddlerthen and there and cut for it, or follow him. 

"I will go with you. But I give you this warning: if what I hear isnot what you expect me to hear, I promise to put a bullet into yourmeddling head. "

"I agree to that, " replied the other. He did not underestimate hisdanger; neither did he undervalue his intimate knowledge of humannature. 

With what emotions Breitmann returned to the scene of his triumph, hisself-appointed companion could only surmise. He had determined to savethis young fool in spite of his madness, and never had he failed tobring his enterprises to their fore-arranged end. And there wassentiment between all this, sentiment he would not have been ashamed toavow. Upon chance, then, fickle inconstant chance, depended thesuccess of the seven years' labor. If by this time the wine had notloosened their tongues, or if they had disappeared!

But fortune favors the persistent no less than the brave. Theprofligates were still at the table, and there were fresh bottles ofwine. They were laughing and talking. In all, not more than fifteenminutes had elapsed since Breitmann's departure. M. Ferraud stationedhim by the window and kept a hand lightly upon his arm, as one mightplace a finger on a pulse. 

Of what were they talking? Ostend. The ballet-dancers. The races inMay. The shooting at Monte Carlo. Gaming-tables, empty purses. Andagain ballet-dancers. 

"To divide two millions!" cried one. "That will clear my debts, with alittle for Dieppe. "

"Two hundred and fifty thousand francs! Princely!"

And then the voice of the master-spirit, pitiless, ironical; Picard's. "Was there ever such a dupe? And not to laugh in his face is penancefor my sins. A Dutchman, a bullet-headed clod from Bavaria, the landof sausage, beer, and daschunds; and this shall be written Napoleon IV!Ye gods, what farce, comedy, vaudeville! But, there was always thathope: if he found the money he would divide it. So, kowtow, kowtow!Opera bouffe!"

Breitmann shuddered. M. Ferraud, feeling that shudder under his hand, relaxed his shoulders. He had won!

"An empire! Will you believe it?"

"I suggest the eagle rampant on a sausage!"

"No, no; the lily on the beer-pot!"

The scene went on. The butt of it heard jest and ridicule. They werepillorying him with the light and matchless cruelty of wits. And he, poor fool, had believed them to be _his_ dupes, whereas he was_theirs_! Gently he disengaged himself from M. Ferraud's grasp. 

"What are you going to do?" whispered the hunter of butterflies. 

"Watch and see. "

Breitmann walked noiselessly round to the entrance, and M. Ferraud lostsight of him for a few moments. Picard was on his feet, mimicking hisdupe by assuming a Napoleonic pose. The door opened and Breitmannstood quietly on the threshold. A hush fell on the revelers. Therewas something kingly in the contempt with which Breitmann swept thestartled faces. He stepped up to the table, took up a full glass ofwine and threw it into Picard's face. 

"Only one of us shall leave Corsica, " said the dupe. 

"Certainly it will not be your majesty, " replied Picard, wiping hisface with a serviette. "His majesty will waive his rights to meet me. To-morrow morning I shall have the pleasure of writing finis to thisNapoleonic phase. You fool, you shall die for that!"

"That, " returned Breitmann, still unruffled as he went to the door, "remains to be seen. Gentlemen, I regret to say that your monetarydifficulties must continue unchanged. "

"Oh, for fifty years ago!" murmured the little scene-shifter from thedark of his shelter. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF THE DREAM

It took place on the road which runs from Ajaccio to the _Cap de laParata_, not far from _Iles Sanguinaires_; not a main-traveled road. The sun had not yet crossed the mountains, but a crisp gray light layover land and sea. They fired at the same time. The duke lowered hispistol, and through the smoke he saw Breitmann pitch headforemost intothe thick white dust. Presently, nay almost instantly, the dust at theleft side of the stricken man became a creeping blackness. The surgeonsprang forward. 

"Dead?" asked Picard. 

"No! through the shoulder. He has a fighting chance. "

"The wine last night; my hand wasn't steady enough. Some day the foolwill curse me as a poor shot. The devil take the business! Not a soufor my pocket, out of all the trouble I have had. But for the want ofa clear head I should be a rich man to-day. Who thought he would comeback?"

"I did, " answered M. Ferraud. 

"You?"

"With pleasure! I brought him back; thank me for your empty pockets, Monsieur. If I were you I should not land at Marseilles. Try Livarno, by all means, Livarno. "

"For this?" asked Picard, with a jerk of his head toward Breitmann, whowas being carefully lifted on to the carriage seat. 

"No, for certain letters you have _not_ sent to the _Quai d'Orsay_. You comprehend?"

"What do you mean?" truculently; for Picard was not in a kindly moodthis morning. 

But the little Bayard of the _Quai_ laughed. "Shall I explain here, Monsieur? Be wise. Go to Italy, all of you. This time youoverreached, _Monsieur le Duc_. Your ballet-dancers must wait!" Andwith rare insolence, M. Ferraud showed his back to his audience, climbed to the seat by the driver, and bade him return slowly to theGrand Hotel. 

Hildegarde refused to see any one but M. Ferraud. Hour after hour shesat by the bed of the injured man. Knowing that in all probability hewould live, she was happy for the first time in years. He needed her;alone, broken, wrecked among his dreams, he needed her. He hadrecovered consciousness almost at once, and his first words were acurse on the man who had aimed so badly. He could talk but little, buthe declared that he would rip the bandages if they did not prop hispillows so he could see the bay. The second time he woke he sawHildegarde. She smiled brokenly, but he turned his head aside. 

"Has the yacht gone yet?"

"No. "

"When will it sail?"

"To-morrow. " Her heart swelled with bitter pain. The woman he lovedwould be on that yacht. But toward Laura she held nothing but kindnesstinged with a wondering envy. Was not she, Hildegarde, as beautiful?Had Laura more talents than she, more accomplishments? Alas, yes; one!She had had the unconscious power of making this man love her. 

To and fro she waved the fan. For a while, at any rate, he would behers. And when M. Ferraud said that the others wished to say farewell, she declined. She could look none of them in the face again, nor didshe care. She was sorry for Cathewe. His life would be as broken ashers; but a man has the world under his feet, scenes of action, changesto soothe his hurt: a woman has little else but her needle. 

All through the day and all through the night she remained on guard, surrendering her vigil only to M. Ferraud. With cold cloths she keptdown the fever, wiping the hot face and hands. He would pull through, the surgeon said, but he would have his nurse to thank. There wassomething about the man the doctor did not understand: he acted as ifhe did not care to live. 

The morning found her still at her post. Breitmann awoke early, andappeared to take little interest in his surroundings. 

"Why do you waste your time?" his voice was colorless. 

"I am not wasting my time, Karl. "

His head rolled slowly over on the pillow till he could see outside. Only two or three fishing-boats were visible. 

"When will the yacht sail?"

Always that question! "Go to sleep. I will wake you when I see it. "

"I've been a scoundrel, Hildegarde;" and he closed his eyes. 

Where would she go when he left this room? For the future was alwaysrising up with this question. What would she do, how would she live?She too shut her eyes. 

The door opened. The visitor was M. Ferraud. He touched his lips witha finger and stole toward the bed. 

"Better?"

She nodded. 

"Are you not dead for sleep?"

"It does not matter. "

Breitmann's eyes opened, for his brain was wide awake. "Ferraud?"

"Yes. They wished me to say good-by for them. "

"To me?" incredulously. 

"They have none but good wishes. "

"She will never know?"

"Not unless Mr. Fitzgerald tells her. "

"Hildegarde, I had planned her abduction. Don't misunderstand. I havesunk low indeed, but not so low as that. I wanted to harry them. Theywould have left me free. She was to be a pawn. I shouldn't have hurther. "

"You do not care to return to Germany?"

"Nor to France, M. Ferraud. "

"There's a wide world outside. You will find room enough, " diffidently. 

"An outlaw?"

"Of a kind. "

"Be easy. I haven't even the wish to be buried there. There is moreto the story, more than you know. My name is Herman Stüler . . . If Ilive. There is not a drop of French blood in my veins. Breitmann diedon the field in the Soudan, and I took his papers. " His eyes burnedinto Ferraud's. 

"Perhaps that would be the best way, " replied M. Ferraud pensively. 

"What shall I do with the money? It is under the bed. "

"Keep it. No one will contest your right to it, Herman Stüler; andbesides, your French, fluent as it is, still possesses the Teutonicburr. Yes, Herman Stüler; very good, indeed. "

Hildegarde eyed them in wonder. Were they both mad?

"Will you be sure always to remember?" said M. Ferraud to thebewildered woman. "Herman Stüler; Karl Breitmann, who was the greatgrandson of Napoleon, died of a gunshot in Africa. If you will alwaysremember that, why even Paris will be possible some day. "

Hildegarde was beginning to understand. She was coming to bless thislittle man. 

"I do not believe that the money under the bed is safe there. I shall, if you wish, make arrangements with the local agents of the CreditLegonnais to take over the sum, _without question_, and to issue youtwo drafts, one on London and the other on New York, or in two lettersof credit. Two millions; it is a big sum to let repose under one'sbed, anywhere, let alone Corsica, where the amount might purchase halfthe island. "

"I am, then, a rich man; no more crusades, no more stale bread andcheap tobacco, no more turning my cuffs and collars and clipping thefrayed edges of my trousers. I am fortunate. There is a joke, too. Picard and his friends advanced me five thousand francs for theenterprise. "

"I marvel where they got it!"

"I am sorry that I was rough with you. "

"I bear you not the slightest ill-will. I never have. Herman Stüler;I must remember to have them make out the drafts in that name. "

Breitmann appeared to be sleeping again. After waiting a moment ortwo, his guardian-angel tiptoed out. 

An hour went by. 

"Hildegarde, have you any money?"

"Enough for my needs. "

"Will you take half of it?"

"Karl!"

"Will you?"

"No!"

He accepted this as final. And immediately his gaze became fixed onthe bay. A sleek white ship was putting out to sea. 

"They are leaving, Karl, " she said, and the courage in her eyes beatdown the pain in her heart. 

"In my coat, inside; bring them to me. " As he could move only hisright arm and that but painfully, he bade her open each paper and holdit so that he could read plainly. The scrawl of the Great Captain; adeed and title; some dust dropping from the worn folds: how he strainedhis eyes upon them. He could not help the swift intake of air, and thestab which pierced his shoulder made him faint. She began to refoldthem. "No, " he whispered. "Tear them up, tear them up!"

"Why, Karl. "

"Tear them up, now, at once. I shall never look at them again. Do it. What does it matter? I am only Herman Stüler. Now!"

With shaking fingers she tipped the tattered sheets, and the tears ranover and down her cheeks. It would not have hurt her more had she tornthe man's heart in twain. He watched her with fevered eyes till thelast scrap floated into her lap. 

"Now, toss them into the grate and light a match. "

And when he saw the reflected glare on the opposite wall, he sankdeeper into the pillow. The woman was openly sobbing. She came backto his side, knelt, and laid her lips upon his hand. There was nowonly a dim white speck on the horizon, and with that strange sea-magicthe hull suddenly dipped down, and naught but a trail of smokeremained. Then this too vanished. Breitmann withdrew his hand, but helaid it upon her head. 

"I am a broken man, Hildegarde; and in my madness I have been somethingof a rascal. But for all that, I had big dreams, but thus they go, theone in flames and the other out to sea. " He stroked her hair. "Willyou take what is left? Will you share with me the outlaw, be the wifeof a disappointed outcast? Will you?"

"Would I not follow you to any land? Would I not share with you anymiseries? Have you ever doubted the strength of my love?"

"Knowing that there was another?"

"Knowing even that. "

"It is I who am little and you who are great. Hildegarde, we'll haveour friend Ferraud seek a priest this afternoon and square accounts. "

Her head dropped to the coverlet. 

After that there was no sound except the crisp metallic rattle of thepalms in the freshening breeze. 

THE END