[Illustration: "And who would ever believe anybody else guilty who knewyour guest was Michael Lanyard, alias 'The Lone Wolf'?"]

ALIAS

THE LONE WOLF

BY

LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

[Illustration: FRUCTUS QUAM FOLIA ]

1921

TO

ROBERT AITKEN SWAN

WHOSE FRIENDSHIP I HAVE TRIED

IN MANY OTHER WAYS, THIS

YARN WITH DIFFIDENCE IS

DEDICATED

NOTE: This is the fourth of the Lone Wolf stories. Its predecessorswere, in chronological sequence, "The Lone Wolf, " "The False Faces, ""Red Masquerade. "

Each story, however, is entirely self-contained and independent of theothers. 

If it matters.... 

LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

Westport--9 September, 1921. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I WALKING PAPERS

II ONE WALKS

III MEETING BY MOONLIGHT

IV EVE

V PHINUIT & CO

VI VISITATION

VII TURN ABOUT

VIII IN RE AMOR ET AL

IX BLIND MAN'S BUFF

X BUT AS A MUSTARD SEED

XI AU REVOIR

XII TRAVELS WITH AN ASSASSIN

XIII ATHENAIS

XIV DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

XV ADIEU

XVI THE HOUSE OF LILITH

XVII CHEZ LIANE

XVIII BROTHER AND SISTER

XIX SIX BOTTLES OF CHAMPAGNE

XX THE SYBARITES

XXI SOUNDINGS

XXII OUT OF SOUNDINGS

XXIII THE CIGARETTE

XXIV HISTORIC REPETITION

XXV THE MALCONTENT

XXVI THE BINNACLE

XXVII ÇA VA BIEN!

XXVIII FINALE

ALIAS

THE LONE WOLF

I

WALKING PAPERS

Through the suave, warm radiance of that afternoon of Spring in Englanda gentleman of modest and commonly amiable deportment bore a ruefulcountenance down Piccadilly and into Halfmoon street, where presentlyhe introduced it to one whom he found awaiting him in his lodgings, much at ease in his easiest chair, making free with his whiskey andtobacco, and reading a slender brown volume selected from his shelves. 

This dégagé person was patently an Englishman, though there were tracesof Oriental ancestry in his cast. The other, he of the doleful habit, was as unmistakably of Gallic pattern, though he dressed and carriedhimself in a thoroughly Anglo-Saxon fashion, and even seemed a traceintrigued when greeted by a name distinctively French. 

For the Englishman, rousing from his appropriated ease, dropped hisbook to the floor beside the chair, uprose and extended a cordial hand, exclaiming: "H'are ye, Monsieur Duchemin?"

To this the other responded, after a slight pause, obscurely enough:"Oh! ancient history, eh? Well, for the matter of that: How are you, Mister Wertheimer?"

Their hands fell apart, and Monsieur Duchemin proceeded to do away hishat and stick and chamois gloves; while his friend, straddling in frontof a cold grate and extending his hands to an imaginary blaze, coveredwith a mild complaint the curiosity excited by a brief study of thatface of melancholy. 

"Pretty way you've got of making your friends wait on your pleasure. Here I've wasted upwards of two hours of His Majesty's time... "

"How was I to know you'd have the cheek to force your way in here in myabsence and help yourself to my few poor consolations?" Ducheminretorted, helping himself to them in turn. "But then one never doesknow what fresh indignity Fate has in store... "

"After you with that whiskey, by your leave. I say: I'd give somethingto know where you ignorant furriners come by this precious pre-Warstuff. " But without waiting to be denied this information, Mr. Wertheimer continued: "Going on the evidence of your looks and temper, you've been down to Tilbury Docks this afternoon to see Karslake andSonia off. "

"A few such flashes of intelligence applied professionally, my friend, should carry you far. "

"And the experience has left you feeling a bit down, what?"

"I imagine even you do not esteem parting with those whom one loves anexhilarating pastime. "

"But when it's so obviously for their own good... "

"Oh, I know!" Duchemin agreed without enthusiasm. "If anything shouldhappen to Karslake now, it would break Sonia's heart, but... "

"And after the part he played in that Vassilyevski show his lease oflife wouldn't be apt to be prolonged by staying on in England. "

"I agree; but still--!" sighed Duchemin, throwing himself heavily intoa chair. 

"Which, " Wertheimer continued, standing, "is why we arranged to givehim that billet with the British Legation in Peking. "

"Didn't know you had a hand in that, " observed Duchemin, afterfavouring the other with a morose stare. 

"Oh, you can't trust me! When you get to know me better you'll find I'malways like that--forever flitting hither and yon, bestowing benefitsand boons on the ungrateful, like any other giddy Providence. "

"But one is not ungrateful, " Duchemin insisted. "God knows I wouldgladly have sped Karslake's emigration with Sonia to Van Dieman's Landor Patagonia or where you will, if it promised to keep him out of theway long enough for the Smolny Institute to forget him. "

"Since the said Smolny inconsiderately persists in failing to collapse, as per the daily predictions of the hopeful. "

"Just so. "

"But aren't you forgetting you yourself have given that Smolny lot thesame and quite as much reason for holding your name anathema?"

"Ah!" Duchemin growled--"as for me, I can take care of myself, thankyou. My trouble is, I want somebody else to take care of. I had adaughter once, for a few weeks, long enough to make me strangely fondof the responsibilities of a father; and then Karslake took her away, leaving me nothing to do with my life but twiddle futile thumbs andcontemplate the approach of middle age. " "Middle age? Why flatteryourself? With a daughter married, too!"

"Sonia's only eighteen... "

"She was born when you were twenty. That makes you nearly forty, andthat's next door to second childhood, Man!" the Englishman declaredsolemnly--"you're superannuated. "

"I know; and so long as I feel my years, even you can abuse me withimpunity. "

But Wertheimer would not hear him. "Odd, " he mused, "I never thought ofit before, that you were growing old. And I've been wondering, too, what it was that has been making you so precious slow and cautious andcranky of late. You're just doddering--and I thought you were simplytired out and needed a holiday. "

"Perhaps I am and do, " said Duchemin patiently. "One feels one hasearned a holiday, if ever anybody did in your blessed S. S. "

"Ah! You think so?"

"You'd think so if you'd been mucking round the East End all Winterwith your life in your hands. "

"Still--at your age--I'd be thinking about retiring instead of askingfor a rest. "

Although Duchemin knew very well that he was merely being ragged inthat way of deadly seriousness which so often amuses the English, hechose to suggest sourly: "My resignation is at your disposal any timeyou wish it. "

"Accepted, " said Wertheimer airily, "to take effect at once. "

To this Duchemin merely grunted, as who should say he didn't considerthis turn of conversation desperately amusing. And Wertheimer resuminghis chair, the two remained for some moments in silence, a silence sodoggedly maintained on both sides that Duchemin was presently aware ofdull gnawings of curiosity. It occurred to him that his caller shouldhave found plenty to do in his bureau in the War Office.... 

"And to what, " he enquired with the tedious irony of ennui, "is oneindebted for this unexpected honour on the part of the FirstUnder-Secretary of the British Secret Service? Or whatever yourhigh-sounding official title is... "

"Oh!" Wertheimer replied lazily--and knocked out his pipe--"I merelydropped in to say good-bye. "

Duchemin discovered symptoms of more animation. 

"Hello! Where are you off to?"

"Nowhere--worse luck! I mean I'm here to bid you farewell and Godspeedand what not on the eve of your departure from the British Isles. "

"And where, pray, am I going?"

"That's for you to say. "

Monsieur Duchemin meditated briefly. "I see, " he announced: "I'm tohave a roving commission. "

"Worse than that: none at all. "

Duchemin opened his eyes wide. 

"'The wind bloweth where it listeth, '" Wertheimer affirmed. "How do Iknow whither you'll blow, now you're a free agent again, entirely onyour own? I've got no control over your movements. "

"The S. S. Has. "

"Never no more. Didn't you tender me your resignation a moment ago?Wasn't it promptly accepted?"

"Look here: What the devil----!"

"Well, if you must know, " the Englishman interrupted hastily, "myinstructions were to give you your walking papers if you refused toresign. So your connection with the S. S. Is from this hour severed. And if you ain't out of England within twenty-four hours, we'll jollywell deport you. And that's that. "

"One perceives one has served England not wisely but too well. "

"Shrewd lad!" Wertheimer laughed. "You see, old soul, we admire you noend, and we're determined to save your life. Word has leaked throughfrom Petrograd that your name has been triple-starred on the Smolny'sIndex Expurgatorius. Karslake's too. An honour legitimately earned byyour pernicious collaboration in the Vassilyevski bust. Karslake'salready taken care of, but you're still in the limelight, and thatmakes you a public nuisance. If you linger here much longer the verdictwill undoubtedly be: Violent death at the hands of some person orpersons unknown. So here are passports and a goodish bit of money. Ifyou run through all of it before this blows over, we'll find a way, ofcourse, to get more to you. You understand: No price too high that buysgood riddance of you. And there will be a destroyer waiting atPortsmouth to-night with instructions to put ashore secretly anywhereyou like across the Channel. After that--as far as the British Empireis concerned--your blood be on your own head. "

The other nodded, investigating the envelope which his late chief hadhanded him, then from his letter of credit and passports looked up witha reminiscent smile. 

"It isn't the first time you've vouched for me by this style. Remember?"

"Well, you've earned as fair title to the name of Duchemin as I everdid to that of Wertheimer. "

But the smile was fading from the eyes of the man whom Englandpreferred to recognize as André Duchemin. 

"But where on earth is one to go?" "Don't ask me, " the Englishmanprotested. "And above all, don't tell me. I don't want to know. SinceI've been on this job, I've learned to believe in telepathy and mindreading and witchcraft and all manner of unholy rot. And I don't wantyou to come to a sudden end through somebody's establishing illicitintercourse with my subconscious mind. "

He took his leave shortly after that; and Monsieur Duchemin settleddown in the chair which his guest had quitted to grapple with hisproblem: where under Heaven to go?

After a wasted while, he picked up in abstraction the book whichWertheimer had been reading--and wondered if, by any chance, he hadleft it there on purpose, so strong seemed the hint. It was Stevenson's'Travels with a Donkey. ' Duchemin was familiar enough with the work, and had no need to dip anew into its pages to know it offered one fairsolution to his quandary. 

If--he assured himself--there were any place in Europe where one mightcount on being reasonably secure from the solicitous attentions of thegrudge-bearing Bolsheviki, it was the Cévennes, those little-knownhills in the south of France, well inland from the sea. 

II

ONE WALKS

A little place called Le Monastier, in a pleasant highland valleyfifteen miles from Le Puy ... Notable for the making of lace, fordrunkenness, for freedom of language, and for unparalleled politicaldissension was Mr. Stevenson's point of departure on his Travels with aDonkey. Monsieur Duchemin made it his as well; and on the fourthmorning of his hegira from England set out from Le Monastier afoot, avolume of Montaigne in his pocket, a stout stick in his fist--the fatrucksack strapped to his shoulders enabling this latter-day travellerto dispense with the society of another donkey. 

The weather was fine, his heart high, he was happy to be out of harnessand again his own man. More than once he laughed a little to think ofthe vain question of his whereabouts which was being mooted in theunderworld of Europe, where (as well he knew) men and women spat whenthey named him. For his route from the Channel coast to Le Monastierhad been sufficiently discreet and devious to persuade him that hisescape had been as cleanly executed as it was timely instigated. 

Thus for upwards of a fortnight he fared southward in the footsteps ofMr. Stevenson; and much good profit had he of the adventure. For it washis common practice to go to bed with the birds and rise with the sun;and more often than not he lodged in the inn of the silver moon, withmoss for a couch, leafy boughs for a canopy and the stars fornight-lights--accommodations infinitely more agreeable than thoseafforded by the grubby and malodorous auberge of the wayside average. And between sun and sun he punished his boots famously. 

Constant exercise tuned up muscles gone slack and soft with easyliving, upland winds cleansed the man of the reek of cities and madehis appetite a thing appalling. A keen sun darkened his face and hands, brushed up in his cheeks a warmer glow than they had shown in many ayear, and faded out the heavier lines with which Time had marked hiscountenance. Moreover, because this was France, where one may affect awhisker without losing face, he neglected his razors; and though thiswas not his first thought, a fair disguise it proved. For when, towardthe end of the second week, he submitted that wanton luxuriance to betamed by a barber of Florac, he hardly knew the trimly bearded mask ofbronze that looked back at him from a mirror. 

Not that it mattered to Monsieur Duchemin. From the first he met few ofany sort and none at all whom a lively and exacting distrust reckoned alikely factor in his affairs. It was a wild, bold land he traversed, and thinly peopled; at pains to avoid the larger towns, he sought bychoice the loneliest paths that looped its quiet hills; such as passedthe time of day with him were few and for the most part peasants, adull, dour lot, taciturn to a degree that pleased him well. So that hesoon forgot to be forever alert for the crack of an ambushed pistol orthe pattering footfalls of an assassin with a knife. 

It was at Florac, on the Tarnon, that he parted company with the trailof Stevenson. Here that one had turned east to Alais, whereas Ducheminhad been lost to the world not nearly long enough, he was minded towander on till weary. The weather held, there was sunshine in goldenfloods, and by night moonlight like molten silver. Between beetlingramparts of stone, terraced, crenellated and battlemented in motleystrata of pink and brown and yellow and black, the river Tarn hadgouged out for itself a canyon through which its waters swept andtumbled, as green as translucent jade in sunlight, profound emerald inshadow, cream white in churning rapids. The lofty profiles of itscliffs were fringed with stunted growths of pine and ash, a raggedstubble, while here and there châteaux, forsaken as a rule, andcrumbling, reared ruined silhouettes against the blue. Eighteen hundredfeet below, it might be more, the Tarn threaded lush bottom-lands, tilled fields, goodly orchards, plantations of walnut and Spanishchestnut, and infrequent, tiny villages that clung to precariousfootholds between cliffs and water. 

On high again, beyond the cliffs, stretched the Causses, vast, arid andbarren plateaux, flat and featureless save for an occasional low, rounded mound, a menhir or a dolmen, and (if such may be termedfeatures) great pits that opened in the earth like cold craters, whichthe countryfolk termed avens. A strange, bleak land, inhospitable, wind-harried, haunted, the home of seven howling devils of desolation... 

Rain at length interned the traveller for three days in a little placecalled Meyrueis, which lies sweetly in the valley of the Jonte, at itsconfluence with the Butézon, long leagues remote from railroads and theworld they stitch together--that world of unrest, uncertainty andintrigue which in those days seemed no better than a madhouse. 

The break in the monotony of daily footfaring proved agreeable. Itsuited one well to camp for a space in that quaint town, isolate in theheart of an enchanted land, with which one was in turn enchanted, andcontemplate soberly the grave issues of Life and Death. 

Here (said Duchemin) nothing can disturb me; and it is high time for meto be considering what I am to make of the remainder of my days. Toomany of them have been wasted, too great a portion of my span has beensacrificed to vanities. One must not forget one is in a fair way tobecome a grandfather; it is plainly an urgent duty to reconcile oneselfto that estate and cultivate its proper gravity and decorum. Yet alittle while and one must bid adieu to that Youth which one has soheedlessly squandered, a last adieu to Youth with its days of highadventure, its carefree heart, its susceptibility to the infiniteseductions of Romance. 

Quite seriously the adventurer entertained a premonition of histo-morrow, a vision of himself in skull-cap and seedy clothing (thetrousers well-bagged at the knees) with rather more than a mere hint ofan equator emphasized by grease-spots on his waistcoat, presiding overthe fortunes of one of those dingy little Parisian shops whereindebatable antiques accumulate dust till they fetch the ducats of thecredulous; and of a Sunday walking out, in a shiny frock-coat with hisribbon of the Legion in the buttonhole, a ratty topper crowning hisplacid brows, a humid grandchild adhering to his hand: a thrifty andrespectable bourgeois, the final avatar of a rolling stone!

Yes: it is amusing, but quite true; though it would need a deal ofcontriving, something little short of a revolution to bring it about, to precisely such a future as that did Duchemin most seriously proposeto dedicate himself. 

But always, they say, it is God who disposes.... 

And for all this mood of premature resignation to the bourgeois virtuesDuchemin was glad enough when his fourth day in Meyrueis dawned fair, and by eight was up and away, purposing a round day's tramp across theCausse Noir to Montpellier-le-Vieux (concerning which one heard curioustales), then on by way of the gorge of the Dourbie to Millau for thenight. 

Nor would he heed the dubious head shaken by his host of Meyrueis, whoearnestly advised a guide. The Causses, he declared, were treacherous;men sometimes lost their way upon those lofty plains and were neverheard of more. Duchemin didn't in the least mind getting lost, that isto say failing to make his final objective; at worst he could dependupon a good memory and an unfailing sense of direction to lead him backthe way he had come. 

He was to learn there is nothing more unpalatable than the repentanceof the headstrong.... 

He found it a stiffish climb up out of the valley of the Jonte. By thetime he had managed it, the sun had already robbed all vegetation ofits ephemeral jewellery, the Causse itself showed few signs of adownpour which had drenched it for seventy-two hours on end. To thatporous limestone formation water in whatever quantity is as beer to aboche. Only, if one paused to listen on the brink of an aven, therewere odd and disturbing noises to be heard underfoot, liquidwhisperings, grim chuckles, horrible gurgles, that told of subterraneanstreams in spate, coursing in darkness to destinations unknown, unguessable. 

His path (there was no trace of road) ran snakily through a denseminiature forest of dwarfed, gnarled pines, of a peculiarly sombregreen, ever and again in some scant clearing losing itself in a web ofsimilar paths that converged from all points of the compass; so thatthe wayfarer was fain to steer by the sun--and at one time foundhimself abruptly on the brink of a ravine that gashed the earth like acruel wound. He worked his way to an elevation which showed him plainlythat--unless by a debatable detour of several miles--there was no wayto the farther side but through the depths of the ravine itself. 

If that descent was a desperate business, the subsequent climb washeartbreaking. He needed a long rest before he was able to plod on, nowconceiving the sun in the guise of a personal enemy. The sweat thatstreamed from his face was brine upon his lips. For hours it was thuswith Duchemin, and in all that time he met never a soul. Once he sawfrom a distance a lonely château overhanging another ravine; but it wasapparently only one more of the many ruins indigenous to that land, andhe took no step toward closer acquaintance. 

Long after noon, sheer fool's luck led him to a hamlet whose meanauberge served him bread and cheese with a wine singularly thin andacid. Here he enquired for a guide, but the one able-bodied man inevidence, a hulking, surly animal, on learning that Duchemin wished tovisit Montpellier-le-Vieux, refused with a growl to have anything to dowith him. Several times during the course of luncheon he caught thefellow eyeing him strangely, he thought, from a window of the auberge. In the end the peasant girl who waited on him grudgingly consented toput him on his way. 

In a rocky gorge, called the Rajol, a spot as inhumanly grotesque as anightmare of Gustave Doré's, with the heat of a pit in Tophet, helaboured for hours. The hush of evening and its long shadows were onthe land when finally he scrambled out to the Causse again. Then helost his path another time, missed entirely the village of Maubert, where he had thought to find a conveyance, or at least a guide, and inthe silver and purple mystery of a perfect moonlight night foundhimself looking down from a hilltop upon Montpellier-le-Vieux. 

Rumour had prepared him to know the place when he saw it, nothing forits stupendous lunacy. Heaven knows what convulsion or measured processof Nature accomplished this thing. For his part Duchemin was unable toaccept any possible scientific explanation, and will go to his gravebelieving that some half-witted cyclops, back beyond the dimmest dawnof Time, created Montpellier-le-Vieux in an hour of idleness, buildinghim a play city of titanic monoliths, then wandered away and forgot italtogether. 

He saw what seemed to be a city at least two miles in length, more thanhalf as wide, a huddle of dwellings of every shape and size, alabyrinth of narrow, tortuous streets broken here and there by wide andstately avenues, with public squares and vast cirques (of suchamphitheatres he counted no less than six) and walls commanded by acitadel. 

But never door or window broke the face of any building, no chimneyexhaled a breath of smoke, neither wheel nor foot disturbed thesegrass-grown thoroughfares.... Montpellier-the-Old indeed! Ducheminreflected; but rather Montpellier-the-Dead--dead with the utterdeadness of that which has never lived. 

Marvelling, he went down into the city of stone and passed through itsdesolate ways, shaping a course for the southern limits, where hethought to find the road to Millau. Fatigue alone dictated this choiceof the short cut. But for that, he confesses he might have gone thelong way round; he was no more prone to childish terrors than any otherman, but to his mind there was something sinister in the portentousimmobility of the place; in its silence, its want of excuse for being, a sense of age-old evil like an inarticulate menace. 

Out of this mood he failed to laugh himself. Time and again he wouldcatch himself listening for he knew not what, approaching warily thecorner of the next huge monolith as if thinking to surprise behind itsome ghoulish rite, glancing apprehensively down the corridors hepassed, or overshoulder for some nameless thing that stalked him andwas never there when he looked, but ever lurked impishly just beyondthe tail of his eye. 

So that, when abruptly a man moved from behind a rock some thirty orforty paces ahead, Duchemin stopped short, with jangled nerves and abarely smothered exclamation. Possibly a shape of spectral terror wouldhave been less startling; in that weird place and hour humanity seemedmore incongruous than the supernatural. It was at once apparent thatthe man had neither knowledge of nor concern with the stranger. For aninstant he stood with his back to the latter, peering intently down theaisle which Duchemin had been following, a stout body filling out toowell the uniform of a private soldier in the American ExpeditionaryForces--that most ungainly, inutile, unbecoming costume that evergraced the form of man. 

Then he half turned, beckoned hastily to one invisible to the observer, and furtively moved on. As furtively his signal was answered by afellow who wore the nondescript garments of a peasant. And as suddenlyas they had come into sight, the two slipped round a rocky shoulder, and the street of monoliths was empty. 

III

MEETING BY MOONLIGHT

Now granting that a soldier should be free to spend his leave where hewill, unchallenged, it remained true that the last of the A. E. F. Hadlong since said farewell to the shores of France, while the Tarncountry seemed a far cry from the banks of the Rhine, in those daysstill under occupation by forces of the United States Regular Army. Then, too, it was a fact within the knowledge of Monsieur Duchemin thatthe uniform of the Americans had more than frequently been used bythose ancient acquaintances of his, the Apaches of Paris, as a cloakfor their own misdoings. So it didn't need the air of stealth thatmarked this business to persuade him there was mischief in the brew. 

But indeed he got in motion to investigate without stopping to debatean excuse for so doing, and several seconds before he heard the woman'scries. 

Of these the first sounded, shrill with alarm, as Duchemin turned thecorner where the prowlers had gone from sight. But a high wall of rockalone met his vision, and he broke into a run that carried him roundstill another corner and then plumped him headlong into the theatre ofvillainy. 

This was open ground, a breadth of turf bordering on one of the greatcirques--a rudely oval pit at a guess little less than seven hundredfeet in its narrowest diameter and something like four hundred indepth, a vast black well against whose darkness the blue-whitemoonglare etched a strange grouping of figures, seven in all. 

On his one hand Duchemin saw a woman in mourning clasping to her bosoma terrified young girl, the author of the screams; on the other, threemen close-locked in grimmest combat, one defending himself against twowith indifferent success; while in between stood a third woman with herback to and perilously near the chasm, shrinking from the threat of apistol in the hands of the fourth man. 

This last was the one nearest Duchemin, who was upon him so suddenlythat it would be difficult to say which was the more surprised whenDuchemin's stick struck down the pistol hand of the other with suchforce as must have broken his wrist. The weapon fell, he uttered anoath as he swung round, clutching the maimed member; and then, seeinghis assailant for the first time, he swooped down to recover the weaponso swiftly that it was in his left hand and spitting vicious tongues oforange flame before Duchemin was able to get in a second blow. 

But there was the abrupt end of that passage. Smitten cruelly betweenthe eyes, the fellow grunted thickly and went over backwards like abundle of rags, head and shoulders jutting out over the brink of theprecipice so far that, though his body checked perceptibly as it struckthe ground, his own weight carried him on, he shot out into space andvanished as though some unseen hand had lifted up from these darkdepths and plucked him down to annihilation. 

The young girl shrieked again, the woman gave a gasp of horror, Duchemin himself knew a sickish qualm. But he had no time to spare forthat: it was going ill with the man contending against two. Theadventurer's stick might have been bewitched that night, so magical wasits work; a single blow on the nearest head (but believe it wasselected with care!) and instantaneously that knot of contention wasresolved into its three several parts. 

The smitten clapped hands to his hurt, moaning. His brother scoundrelstarted back with staring eyes in which rage gave place to dismay as hegrasped the change in the situation and saw the stick swinging for hishead in turn. He ducked neatly; the stick whistled through thin air;and before Duchemin could recover the other had turned and was runningfor dear life. 

Duchemin delayed a bare instant; but manifestly his assistance was nomore needed here. In a breath he who had been so recently outmatchedrecollected his wits and took the initiative with admirable address. Duchemin saw him fly furiously at his late opponent, trip and lay himon his back; then turned and gave chase to the fugitive. 

This was the masquerader in the American uniform; and an amazinglyfleet pair of heels he showed, taking into account his heaviness ofbody. Already he had a fair lead; and had he maintained for long thepace he set in the first few hundred yards he must have won awayscot-free. But whether he lacked staying powers or confidence, he madethe mistake of adopting another and less fatiguing means of locomotion. Duchemin saw him swerve from his first course and steer for a vehiclestanding at some distance--evidently the conveyance which had broughtthe sightseers to view the spectacle of Montpellier-le-Vieux bymoonlight. 

Waiting in the middle of a broad avenue of misshapen obelisks, adilapidated barouche with a low body sagging the lower for debilitatedsprings, on either side its pole drooped two sorry specimens ofcrowbait. And their pained amazement was so unfeigned that Ducheminlaughed aloud when the fat rogue bounded to the box, snatched up reinsand whip and curled a cruel lash round their bony flanks. From this oneinferred that he was indifferently acquainted with the animals, certainly not their accustomed driver. And since it took them somemoments to come to their senses and appreciate that all this was not anevil dream, Duchemin's hands were clutching for the back of thecarriage when the horses broke suddenly into an awkward, lumberinggallop and whisked it out of reach. 

But not for long. Extending himself, Duchemin caught the folded top, jumped, and began to clamber in. 

The man on the box was tugging fretfully at something wedged in thehip-pocket of his breeches; proof enough that he was not the originaltenant of the uniform, since it fitted too snugly to permit readyextraction of a pistol in an emergency. 

But he got no chance whatever to use the weapon; for the momentDuchemin found his own feet in the swaying vehicle he leaped on theshoulders of the other and dragged him backwards from the box. 

What followed was not very clear to him, a mélange of impressions. Themock-American fought like a devil unchained, cursing Duchemin fluentlyin the purest and foulest argot of Belleville--which is not in theFrench vocabulary of the doughboy. The animals at the pole caught fireof this madness and ran away in good earnest, that wretched baroucherolled and pitched like a rudderless shell in a crazy sea, the two menfloundered in its well like fish in a pail. 

They fought by no rules, with no science, but bit and kicked and gougedand wrenched and struck as occasion offered and each to the best of hisability. Duchemin caught glimpses of a face like a Chinese devil-mask, hideously distorted with working features and disfigured with smears ofsoot through which insane eyeballs rolled and glared in the moonlight. Then a hand like a vice gripped his windpipe, he was on his back, hishead overhanging the edge of the floor, a thumb was feeling for one ofhis eyes. Yet it could not have been much later when he and hisopponent were standing and swaying as one, locked in an embrace ofwrestlers. 

Still, Duchemin knew as many tricks of hand-to-hand fighting as theother, perhaps a few more. And then he was, no doubt, in far bettercondition. At all events the fellow was presently at his mercy, in ahold that gave one the privilege of breaking his back at will. A man ofmistaken scruples, Duchemin failed to do so, but held the otherhelpless only long enough to find his hip-pocket and rip out thepistol--a deadly Luger. Then a thrust and a kick, which he enjoyedinfinitely, sent the brute spinning out to land on his head. 

The fall should have broken his neck. At the worst it should havestunned him. Evidently it didn't. When Duchemin had scrambled up to thebox, captured the reins and brought the nags to a stop--no great featthat; they were quite sated with the voluptuousness of running away andwell content to heed the hand and voice of authority--and when, finally, he swung them round and drove back toward the cirque, he sawno sign of his Apache by the roadside. 

So he congratulated himself on the forethought which had possessed himof the pistol. Otherwise the assassin, since he had retained sufficientwit and strength to crawl into hiding, could and assuredly would havepotted Monsieur Duchemin with neither difficulty nor compunction. 

Not five figures but four only were waiting beside the cirque when, wheeling the barouche as near the group as the lay of the groundpermitted, he climbed down. A man lay at length in the coarse grass, his head pillowed in the lap of one woman. Another woman stood aside, trembling and wringing aged hands. The third knelt beside the supineman, but rose quickly as Duchemin drew near, and came to meet him. 

In this one he recognised her to whose salvation Chance had first ledhim, and now found time to appreciate a face of pallid loveliness, intelligent and composed, while she addressed him quietly and directlyto the point in a voice whose timbre was, he fancied, out of characterwith the excellent accent of its French. An exquisite voice, nevertheless. English, he guessed, or possibly American, but much athome in France.... 

"Monsieur d'Aubrac has been wounded, a knife thrust. It will benecessary to get him to a surgeon as quickly as possible. I fancy therewill be none nearer than Nant. Do you know the way?"

"One can doubtless find it, " said Duchemin modestly. "But I myself amnot without knowledge of wounds. Perhaps... "

"If monsieur would be so good. "

Duchemin knelt beside the man, who welcomed him with open eyes and awry smile that was almost as faint as his voice. 

"It is nothing, monsieur--a clean cut in the arm, with some loss ofblood. "

"But let me see. "

The young girl in whose lap rested the head of Monsieur d'Aubrac satback and watched Duchemin with curious, grave eyes in which traces ofmoisture glimmered. 

"Had the animal at my mercy, I thought, " d'Aubrac apologised, "whensuddenly he drew that knife, stuck me and broke away. "

"I understand, " Duchemin replied. "But don't talk. You'll want all yourstrength, my friend. "

With his pocket-knife he laid open the sodden sleeves of coat andshirt, exposing an upper arm stained dark with blood that welled inugly jets from a cut both wide and deep. 

"Artery severed, " he announced, and straightened up and looked about, at a loss. "My pack--?"

One's actions in moments of excitement are apt to be largely directedby the subconscious, he knew; still he found it hard to believe that hecould unwittingly have unshipped and dropped his rucksack while makingready to pursue the American uniform. Nevertheless, it seemed, that wasjust what he had done. 

The woman who had spoken to him found and fetched it from no greatdistance; and its contents enabled Duchemin to improvise a tourniquet, and when the flow of blood was checked, a bandage. During the operationd'Aubrac unostentatiously fainted. 

The young girl caught her breath, a fluttering hiss. 

"Don't be alarmed, mademoiselle, " Duchemin soothed her. "He will comeround presently, he will do splendidly now till we get him to bed; andthen his convalescence will be merely the matter of a while of rest. "

He slipped his arms beneath the unconscious man, gathered him up bodilyand bore him to the carriage--and, thanks to man's amusing amourpropre, made far less of the effort than it cost him. Then, withd'Aubrac disposed as comfortably as might be on the back seat, onceagain pillowed in a fashion to make any man envious, Duchemin turned tofind the other women at his elbow. To the eldest he offered a bowsuited to her condition and a hand to help her into the barouche. 

"Madame ... "

Her agitation had measurably subsided. The gentle inclination of theaged head which acknowledged his courtesy was as eloquent of herquality as he found the name which she gave him in quavering accents. 

"Madame de Sévénié, monsieur. "

"With madame's permission: I am André Duchemin. "

"Monsieur Duchemin has placed us all deeply in his debt. Louise ... "The girl in the carriage looked up and bowed, murmuring. "Mademoisellede Montalais, monsieur: my granddaughter. And Eve ... " She turned tothe third, to her whose voice of delightful accent was not inDuchemin's notion wholly French: "Madame de Montalais, my daughter byadoption, widow of my grandson, who died gloriously for his country atLa Fère-Champenoise. "

IV

EVE

When she had graciously permitted Duchemin to assist her to a place inthe carriage, Madame Sévénié turned immediately to comfort hergranddaughter. It was easy to divine an attachment there, betweend'Aubrac and Louise de Montalais; Duchemin fancied (and, as it turnedout, rightly) the two were betrothed. 

But Madame de Montalais was claiming his attention. 

"Monsieur thinks--?" she enquired in a guarded tone, taking advantageof the diversion provided by the elder lady to delay a little beforeentering the barouche. 

"Monsieur d'Aubrac is in no immediate danger. Still, the services of agood surgeon, as soon as may be ... "

"Will it be dangerous to wait till we get to Nant?"

"How far is that, madame?"

"Twelve miles. "

Duchemin looked aside at the decrepit conveyance with its unhappyhorses, and summed up a conclusion in a shrug. 

"Millau is nearer, is it not, madame?"

"But Nant is not far from the Château de Montalais; and at LaRoque-Sainte-Marguerite our automobile is waiting, less than two milesbelow. The chauffeur advised against bringing over the road from LaRoque to Montpellier; it is too rough and very steep. "

"Oh!" said Duchemin, as one who catches a glimmering of light. 

"Pardon, monsieur?"

"Madame's chauffeur is waiting with the automobile, no doubt?"

"But assuredly, monsieur. "

He recollected himself. "We shall see what we shall see, then, at LaRoque. With an automobile at your disposal, Nant is little more distantthan Millau, certainly. Nevertheless, let us not delay. "

"Monsieur is too good. "

Momentarily a hand slender and firm and cool rested in his own. Thenits owner was setting into place beside Madame de Sévénié, and Ducheminclambering up to his on the box. 

The road proved quite as rough and declivitous as its reputation. Onesurmised that the Spring rains had found it in a bad way and donenothing to better its condition. Deep ruts and a liberal sprinkling ofsmall boulders collaborated to keep the horses stumbling, plunging andpitching as they strained back against the singletrees. Duchemin wasgrateful for the moonlight which alone enabled him to keep the road andavoid the worst of the going--until he remembered that without the moonthere would have been no expedition that night to view the mock ruinsof Montpellier by its unearthly light, and consequently no adventure toentangle him. 

Upon this reflection he swore softly but most fervently into hisbecoming beard. He was well fed up with adventures, thank you, andcould have done very well without this latest. And especially at a timewhen he desired nothing so much as to be permitted to remain thefootloose wanderer in a strange land, a bird of passage without ties orresponsibilities. 

He thought it devilish hard that one may never do a service to anotherwithout incurring a burden of irksome obligations to the served; thatbonds of interest forged in moments of unpremeditated and generousimpulse are never readily to be broken. 

Now because Chance had seen fit to put him in the way of saving ahapless party of sightseers from robbery or worse, he found himselfhopelessly committed to take a continuing interest in them. It appearedthat their home was a château somewhere in the vicinity of Nant. Well, after their shocking experience, and with the wounded man on theirhands--and especially if La Roque-Sainte-Marguerite told the story oneconfidently expected--Duchemin could hardly avoid offering to see themsafely as far as Nant. And once there he would be definitely in thetoils. He would have to stop in the town overnight; and in the morninghe would be able neither in common decency to slip away without callingto enquire after the welfare of d'Aubrac and the tranquillity of theladies, nor in discretion to take himself out of the way of the civilinvestigation which would inevitably follow the report of what hadhappened in Montpelier. 

No: having despatched a bandit to an end well-earned, it now devolvedupon André Duchemin to satisfy Society and the State that he had doneso only with the most amiable motives, on due provocation, to save hisown life and possibly the lives of others. 

He had premonitions of endless delays while provincial authoritieswondered, doubted, criticised, procrastinated, investigated, reported, and--repeated. 

And then there was every chance that the story, thanks to theprominence of the persons involved, for one made no doubt that thenames of Sévénié and Montalais and d'Aubrac ranked high in that part ofthe world--the story would get into the newspapers of the larger townsin the department. And what then of the comfortable pseudonymity ofAndré Duchemin? Posed in an inescapable glare of publicity, how longmight he hope to escape recognition by some acquaintance, friend orenemy? Heaven knew he had enough of both sorts scattered widely overthe face of Europe!

It seemed hard, indeed.... 

But it was--of course! he assured himself grimly--all a matter offatality with him. Never for him the slippered ease of middle age, thepursuit of bourgeois virtues, of which he had so fondly dreamed inMeyrueis. Adventures were his portion, as surely as humdrum andeventless days were many another's. Wars might come and wars might go:but his mere presence in its neighbourhood would prove enough to turnthe Palace of Peace itself into Action Front. 

Or so it seemed to him, in the bitterness of his spirit. 

Nor would he for an instant grant that his lot was not without its own, peculiar compensations. 

At La Roque, a tiny hamlet huddled in the shadow of Montpellier andliving almost exclusively upon the tourists that pass that way, it wasas Duchemin had foreseen, remembering the American uniform and the facesmudged with soot--that favourite device of the French criminal of thelower class fearing recognition. For there it appeared that, whereasthe motor car was waiting safe and sound enough, its chauffeur hadvanished into thin air. Not a soul could be found who recalled seeingthe man after the barouche Tiad left the village. Whereupon Ducheminasked whether the chauffeur had been a stout man, and being informedthat it was so, considered the case complete. Mesdames de Sévénié et deMontalais, he suggested, might as well then and there give up all hopeof ever again seeing that particular chauffeur--unless by somemischance entirely out of the reckoning of the latter. The landlord ofthe auberge, a surly sot, who had supplied the barouche with the man toact as driver and guide in one, took with ill grace the charge that hisemployee had been in league with the bandits. But this was true on theword of Madame de Montalais; it was their guide, she said, whomDuchemin had driven over the cliff. And (as Duchemin had anticipated)her name alone proved enough to silence the landlord's virtuousprotestations. One could not always avoid being deceived, he declared;he knew nothing of the dead man more than that he had come wellrecommended. With which he said no more, but lent an efficient ifsullen hand to the task of transferring d'Aubrac to the motor car. 

D'Aubrac came to, while this was being accomplished, begged feebly forwater, was given it with a little brandy to boot and, comfortablysettled in the rear seat, between Louise de Montalais and hergrandmother, relapsed once more into unconsciousness. 

Learning that Madame de Montalais would drive, Duchemin dissembled asigh of relief and, standing beside the car, doffed his cap to saygood-bye. He was only too happy to have been of such slight service asthe circumstances had permitted; and if at any time he could do more, aline addressed to him at Nimes, poste restante .... 

"But if Monsieur Duchemin would be good enough, " Madame de Sévéniéinterposed in a fretful quaver--"and if it would not be taking him toofar out of his way--it is night, anything may happen, the car mightbreak down, and I am an old woman, monsieur, with sorely triednerves--"

Looking down at him from her place at the wheel, Madame de Montalaisadded: "It would be an act of charity, I think, monsieur, if it doesnot inconvenience you too greatly. "

"On the contrary, " he fabricated without blushing, "you will beobliging a weary man by putting him several miles on his way. "

He had no cause to regret his complaisance. Seated beside Madame deMontalais, he watched her operate the car with skilful hands, makingthe best of a highway none too good, if a city boulevard in comparisonwith that which they had covered in the barouche. 

Following the meandering Dourbie, it ran snakily from patches ofstaring moonlight to patches of inky shadows, now on narrow ledges highover the brawling stream, now dipping so low that the tyres were almostlevel with the plane of broken waters. 

The sweep of night air in his face was sweet and smooth, not cold--fora marvel in that altitude--and stroked his eyelids with touches asbland as caresses of a pretty woman's fingers. He was sensible ofdrowsiness, a surrender to fatigue, to which the motion of the motorcar, swung seemingly on velvet springs, and the shifting, blendingchiaroscuro of the magic night were likewise conducive. So that therecame a lessening of the tension of resentment in his humour. 

It was true that Life would never let him rest in the quiet byways ofhis desire; but after all, unrest was Life; and it was good to be alivetonight, alive and weary and not ill-content with self, in a motor carswinging swiftly and silently along a river road in the hills ofSouthern France, with a woman lovely, soignée and mysterious at thewheel. 

Perhaps instinctively sensible of the regard that dwelt, warm withwonder, on the fair curve of her cheek, the perfect modelling of hernose and mouth, she looked swiftly askance, after a time, surprised hisadmiration, and as if not displeased smiled faintly as she returnedattention to the road. 

Duchemin was conscious of something like a shock of emotion, a suddensurging of some hunger that had long lain dormant in his being, unsuspected, how long he could not surmise, gaining strength inlatency, waiting to be awakened and set free by one careless, sidelonglook and smile of a strange woman. 

"Eve, " he whispered, unheard, "Eve de Montalais ... "

Then of a sudden he caught himself up sharply. It was natural enoughthat one should be susceptible to gentler impulses, at such a time, under circumstances so strange, so unforeseen, so romantic; but he mustnot, dared not, would not yield. That way danger lay. 

Not that he feared danger; for like most of mankind he loved it well. 

But here the danger held potentialities if not the certainty ofpain--pain, it might be, not for one alone. 

Besides, it was too absurd .... 

V

PHINUIT & CO. 

In the upshot, however, the necessity of his dismal forebodings hadnothing to do with the length of time devoted by Monsieur Duchemin tokicking idle heels in the town of Nant; where the civil authoritiesproved considerate in a degree that--even making allowance for thelocal prestige of the house of Montalais--gratified and surprised theconfirmed Parisian. For that was just what the good man was at heartand would be till he died, the form in which environment of youngeryears had moulded him: less French than Parisian, sharing the almostinsular ignorance of life in the provinces characteristic of the nativeboulevardier; to whom the sun is truly nothing more or less than aspotlight focussed exclusively on Paris, leaving the rest of France ina sort of crepuscular gloom, the world besides steeped in eternalnight. 

The driver-guide of La Roque turned out to have been a thorough-pacedscamp, well and ill-known to the gendarmerie; the wound sustained byMonsieur d'Aubrac bore testimony to the gravity of the affair, amplyexcusing Duchemin's interference and its fatal sequel; while thestatements of Mesdames de Sévénié et de Montalais, duly becoming publicproperty, bade fair to exalt the local reputation of André Duchemin toheroic stature. And, naturally, his papers were unimpeachable. 

So that he found himself, before his acquaintance with Nant wasthirty-six hours of age, free once more to humour the dictates of hisown sweet will, to go on to Nimes (his professed objective) or to thedevil if he liked. A freedom which, consistent with the nativeinconsistency of man, he exercised by electing to stop over in Nant foranother day or two, at least; assuring himself that he found the townaltogether charming, more so even than Meyrueis--and sometimesbelieving this fiction for as much as twenty minutes at a stretch. 

Besides, the weather was unsettled .... 

The inn, which went by the unpretending style of the Grand Hôtel del'Univers, he found clean, comfortable, and as to its cuisinepraiseworthy. The windows of the cubicle in which he had beenlodged--one of ten which sufficed for the demands of the itinerantUniverse--not only overlooked the public square and its amusing life ofa minor market town, but commanded as well a splendid vista of thevalley of the Dourbie, with its piquant contrast of luxuriant alluvialverdure and grim scarps of rock that ran up, on either side the wanton, glimmering river, into two opposed and overshadowing pinnacles of crag, the Roc Nantais and the Roc de Saint Alban--peaks each a rendezvousjust then for hosts of cloud that scowled forbiddingly down upon thepeaceful, sun-drenched valley. 

Moreover, even from the terrasse of the café below, one needed only tolift one's eyes to see, afar, perched high upon a smiling slope ofgreen, with the highway to Millau at its foot and a beetling cliffbehind, the Château de Montalais. Seated on that terrasse, late in theafternoon of his second day in Nant, discussing a Picon and avillainous caporal cigarette of the Régie (to whose products a ruggedconstitution was growing slowly reconciled anew) Duchemin let hisvision dwell upon the distant château almost as constantly as histhoughts. 

He was to dine there that very evening. Even taking into account thesignal service Duchemin had rendered, this wasn't easy to believe whenone remembered the tradition of social conservatism among Frenchgentlefolk. Still, it was true: Duchemin of the open road was bidden todine en famille at the Château de Montalais. In his pocket lay theinvitation, penned in the crabbed antique hand of Madame de Sévénié andfetched to the hotel by a servitor quite as crabbed and antique:Monsieur Duchemin would confer a true pleasure by enabling the ladiesof the château to testify, even so inadequately, to their sense ofobligation, etc. ; with a postscript to say that Monsieur d'Aubrac wasresting easily, his wound mending as rapidly as heart could wish. 

Of course Duchemin was going, had in fact already despatched hisacceptance by the hand of the same messenger. Equally of course he knewthat he ought not to go. For a man of his years he was, as a matter oftraining and habit, amazingly honest with himself. He knew quite wellwhat bent his inclination toward visiting the Château de Montalais justonce before effecting, what he was resolved upon, a completeevanishment from the ken of its people. He had yet to hold one minuteof private conversation with Eve de Montalais, he had of her no sign towarrant his thinking her anything but utterly indifferent to him; andyet.... 

No; he wasn't ass enough to dream that he was in love with the woman;to the contrary, he was wise enough, knew himself well enough, to knowthat he could be, easily, and would be, given half a chance to lose hishead. 

His warning had been clear beyond mistake, in that hour in the motorcar on the road from La Roque to Nant, when Nature, as she sometimeswill, incautiously had shown her hand to one whom she herself hadschooled to read shrewdly, letting him discern what was her will withhim, the snare that was laid for his feet and in which he must soonfind himself trapped beyond extrication ... Always providing he lackedthe wit and resolution to fly his peril, who knew through bitterest oflearning that love was never for him. 

Now he had seen Madame de Montalais another time, and had found thatshe fitted to the sweetest detail of perfection his ideal of Woman. 

On the previous afternoon, meeting the ladies of the château byarrangement in the bureau of the maire, Duchemin had sat opposite andwatched and listened to Eve de Montalais for upwards of two hours--ascompletely devoted to covert study of her as if she had been the onewoman in the room, as if the girl Louise, Madame de Sévénié, and theofficials and functionaries of Nant had not existed in the same worldwith her. And in that tedious and constrained time of formalities hehad learned much about her, but first of all, thanks to theuncompromising light of day that filled the cheerless room, thatmoonlight had not enhanced but rather tempered the charms of personwhich had the night before so stirred his pulses. 

Posed with consummate grace in a comfortless chair, a figure of slenderelegance in her half-mourning, she had narrated quietly her version oflast night's misadventure, an occasional tremor of humour lighteningthe moving modulations of her voice. A deep and vibrant voice, contralto in quality, hinting at hidden treasures of strength in thewoman whose superficial mind it expressed. A fair woman, slim butround, with brown eyes level and calm, a translucent skin of matchlesstexture, hair the hue of bronze laced with intimations of gold ... 

Her story told, and taken down in longhand by a withered clerk, shesupplied without reluctance or trace of embarrassment such intimatepersonal information as was necessary in order that her signature tothe document might be acceptable to the State. 

Her age, she said, was twenty-nine; her birthplace, the City of NewYork; her parents, Edmund Anstruther, once of Bath, England, but at thetime of her birth a naturalised citizen of the United States, and EveMarie Anstruther, née Legendre, of Paris. Both were dead. In June 1914she had married, in Paris, Victor Maurice de Montalais, who had beenkilled in action at La Fère-Champenoise on the ninth of Septemberfollowing. Her home? The Château de Montalais. 

On the hand she stripped in order to sign her deposition Duchemin saw ablue diamond of such superb water that this amateur of precious stonescaught his breath for sheer wonder at its beauty and excellence andworth. Such jewels, he knew, were few and far to seek outside thecollections of princes. 

Out of these simple elements imagination reconstructed a tragedy, atragedy of life singularly close to the truth as he later came to learnit, a story not at all calculated to lessen his interest in the woman. 

Such women, he knew, are the product of a cultivation seldom to beachieved by poverty. This one had been made before, and not by, hermarriage. Her father, then, had commanded riches. And when one knew, asDuchemin knew, what delights New York has for young women of wealth andfashion, one perceived a radiant and many-coloured background for thisdrab life of a recluse, expatriate from the high world of herinheritance, which Eve de Montalais must lead, and for the six years ofher premature widowhood must have led, in that lonely château, burieddeep in the loneliest hills of all France, the sole companion andcomfort of her husband's bereaved sister and grandmother, chained bysorrow to their sorrow, by an inexorable reluctance to give them painby seeming to slight the memory of the husband, brother and grandsonthrough turning her face toward the world of life and light and gaietyof which she was so essentially a part, isolate from which she was soinevitably a thing existing without purpose or effect. 

How often, Duchemin wondered, had she in hours of solitude andrestlessness felt her spirit yearning toward Paris, the nearest gatewayto her world, and had cried out: How long, O Lord! how long?... 

The mellow resonance of a two-toned automobile horn, disturbing theearly evening hush and at the same time Duchemin's meditations, recalled him to Nant in time to see a touring car of majesticproportions and mien which, coming from the south, from the directionof the railroad and Nimes, was sweeping a fine curve round two sides ofthe public square. Arriving in front of the Hôtel de l'Univers itexecuted a full stop and stood curbed yet palpitant, purring heavily:an impressive brute of a car, all shining silver plate and lustrousgreen paint and gold, the newest model of the costliest and bestautomobile manufactured in France. 

Instantly, as the wheels ceased to turn, a young man in the smartestlivery imaginable, green garnished with gold, leaped smartly from thedriver's seat, with military precision opened the door of the tonneauand, holding it, immobilised himself into the semblance of a waxworkimage with the dispassionate eye, the firm mouth, and the closelyrazored, square jowls of the model chauffeur. Rustics and townsfolkwere already gathering, a gaping audience, when from the tonneaudescended first a long and painfully emaciated gentleman, whose facewas a cadaverous mask of settled melancholy and his chosen toilette formotoring (as might be seen through the open and flapping front of hisulster) a tightly tailored light grey cutaway coat and trousers, with adouble-breasted white waistcoat, a black satin Ascot scarf transfixedby a single splendid pearl, and spotless white spats. 

His hand, as gaunt as a skeleton's, assisted to alight a young womanwhose brilliant blonde beauty, viewed for the first time in eveningshadows, was like a shaft of sunlight in a darkened room. A well-madecreature, becomingly and modishly gowned for motoring, spirited yetdignified in carriage, she was like a vision of, as she was palpably avisitation from, the rue de la Paix. 

Following her, a third passenger presented the well-nourished, indeedrotund, person of a Frenchman of thirty devoted to "le Sport"; aswitness his aggressively English tweeds and the single glass screwedinto his right eye-socket. His face was chubby, pink and white, hislook was merry, he was magnificently self-conscious and débonnaire. 

Like shapes from some superbly costumed pageant of High Life in theTwentieth Century this trio drifted, rather than merely walked likemortals, across the terrasse and into the Café de l'Univers (whichseemed suddenly to shrink in proportion as if reminded of itscomparative insignificance in the Scheme of Things) where an awed staffof waiters, led by the overpowered propriétaires, monsieur et madamethemselves, welcomed these apparitions from Another and A Better Worldwith bowings and scrapings and a vast bustle and movement of chairs andtables; while all Nant, all of it, that is, that was accustomed toforegather in the café at this the hour of the aperitif, looked on withawed and envious eyes. 

It was all very theatrical and inspiring--to Monsieur Duchemin, too;who, lost in the shuffle of Nant and content to be so, murmured tohimself that serviceable and comforting word of the time, "Profiteers!"and contemplated with some satisfaction his personal superiority tosuch as these. 

But there was more and better to come. 

There remained in the car a mere average man, undistinguished but by alack of especial distinction, sober of habit, economical of gesture, dressed in a simple lounge suit such as anybody might wear, beneath arough and ready-made motorcoat. When the car stopped he had stood up inhis place beside the chauffeur as if meaning to get out, but ratherremained motionless, resting a hand on the windshield and thoughtfullygazing northwards along the road that, skirting the grounds of theChâteau de Montalais, disappeared from view round the sleek shoulder ofa hill. 

Now as the pattern chauffeur shut the door to the tonneau with theproperly arrogant slam, the man who lingered in the car nodded gravelyto some private thought, unlatched the door, got down, and turnedtoward the café, but before following his companions of more brilliantplumage paused for a quiet word with the chauffeur. 

"We dine here, Jules, " he announced in English. 

Settling into place behind the wheel Jules saluted with fine finish anddeference. 

"Very good, Mr. Phinuit, sir, " he said meekly, in the same tongue. Tothis he added, coolly, without the least flicker of a glance aside, without moving one muscle other than those involved by the act ofspeech, and in precisely the tone of respect that became his livery:"What's the awful idea, you big stiff?"

Mr. Phinuit betrayed not the slightest sense of anything untoward inthis mode of address, but looked round to the chauffeur with a slow, not unfriendly smile. 

"Why, " he said pleasantly--"you misbegotten garage hound--why do youask?"

In the same manner Jules replied: "Can't you see it's going to rain?"

Mr. Phinuit cocked a calm, observant eye heavenwards. Involuntarily butunobtrusively, under cover of the little tubbed trees that hedged theterrasse apart from the square, Duchemin did likewise, and sodiscovered, or for the first time appreciated, the cause of theuncommonly early dusk that loured over Nant. 

Between the sentinel peaks that towered above the valley blackbattalions of storm cloud were fraternising, joining forces, coalescinginto a vast and formidable army of ominous aspect. 

"So it is, " Mr. Phinuit commented amiably; indeed, not without acertain hint of satisfaction. "Blessed if you don't see everything!"

"Well, then: what about it?"

"Why, _I_ should say you'd better find a place to put the car undercover in case it comes on to storm before we're finished--and put upthe top. "

"You don't mean to go on in the rain?" Jules protested--yet studiouslyin no tone of protest. 

"But naturally... "

"How do you get that way? Do you want us all to get soaked to ourskins?"

"My dear Jules!" Mr. Phinuit returned with a winning smile--"I don'tgive a tupenny damn if we do. " With that he went to join his company;while Jules, once the other's back was turned, permitted himself, forthe sake of his own respect and the effect upon the assembled audience, the luxury of a shrug that outrivalled words in expression of hispersonal opinion of the madness that contemplated further travel onsuch a night as this promised to be. 

Then, like the well-trained servant that he was not, he meshed gearssilently and swung the car away to seek shelter, taking with him thesympathy as well as the wonder of the one witness of this bit ofby-play who had been able to understand the tongue in which it wascouched; and who, knowing too well what rain in those hills could mean, was beginning to regret that his invitation to the château had not beenfor another night. 

As for the somewhat unusual tone of the passage to which he had justlistened, his nimble wits could invent half a dozen plausibleexplanations. It was quite possible, indeed when one judged Mr. Phinuitby his sobriety in contrast with the gaiety of the others it seemedquite plausible, that he was equally with Jules a paid employee ofthose ostensible nouveaux riches: and that the two, the chauffeur andthe courier (or whatever Mr. Phinuit was in his subordinate socialrating) were accustomed to amuse themselves by indulging in reciprocalabuse. 

But what Duchemin could by no means fathom was the reason why Phinuitshould choose, and how he should rule the choice of his party, in theface of such threatening weather, to stop in Nant for an earlydinner--with Millau only an hour away and the chances fair that beforethe storm broke the automobile would reach the latter city with itssuperior hotel and restaurant accommodations. 

But it was after all none of the business of André Duchemin. He lightedanother cigarette, observing the group of strangers in Nant with anopen inquisitiveness wholly Gallic, therefore inconspicuous. The entireclientèle of the Café de l'Univers was doing the same; Mr. Phinuit'sparty was the focal point of between twenty and thirty pair of staringeyes, and was enduring this with much equanimity. 

Mr. Phinuit was conferring earnestly over the menu with madame lapropriétaire. The others were ordering aperitifs of a waiter. Throughthe clatter of tongues that filled the café one caught the phrase"veeskysoda" uttered by the monsieur in tweeds. Then the tall manconsulted the beautiful lady as to her preference, and Duchemin caughtthe words "madame la comtesse" spoken in the rasping nasal drawl of anAmerican. 

Evidently a person of rich humour, the speaker: "madame la comtesse"was abruptly convulsed with laughter; the chubby gentleman roared; Mr. Phinuit looked up from the carte with an enquiring, receptive smile;the waiter grinned broadly. But the cause of all this merriment woreonly an expression of slightly pained bewilderment on his death-mask ofa face. 

At that moment arrived the calèche which Duchemin had commanded todrive him to the château; and with a ride of two miles before him andrain imminent, he had no more time to waste. 

VI

VISITATION

Dinner was served in a vast and sombre hall whose darkly panelled wallsand high-beamed ceiling bred a multitude of shadows that danced aboutthe table a weird, spasmodic saraband, without meaning or end, restlessly advancing and retreating as the candles flickered, failedand flared in the gusty draughts. 

There was (Duchemin learned) no other means of illumination but bycandle-light in the entire château. The time-old structure had beenthoroughly renovated and modernised in most respects, it was furnishedwith taste and reverence (one could guess whose the taste and purse)but Madame de Sévénié remained its undisputed chatelaine, a belatedspirit of the ancien régime, stubbornly set against the conveniences ofthis degenerate age. Electric lighting she would never countenance. Thetelephone she esteemed a convenience for tradespeople and vulgarians ingeneral, beneath the dignity of leisured quality. The motor car shedisapproved yet tolerated because, for all her years, she was of abrisk and active turn and liked to get about, whereas since the Wargood horseflesh was difficult to find in France and men to care for itmore scarce still. 

So much, and more besides, she communicated to Duchemin at intervalsduring the meal, comporting herself toward him with graciousness notaltogether innocent of a certain faded coquetry. Having spoken ofherself as one born too late for her time, she paused and eyed himkeenly, a gleam of light malice in her bright old eyes. 

"And you, too, monsieur, " she added suddenly. "But you, I think, belongto an even earlier day... "

"I, madame? And why do you say that?"

"I should have been guillotined under the Terror; but you, monsieur, you should have been hanged long before that--hanged for a buccaneer onthe Spanish Main. "

"Madame may be right, " said Duchemin, amused. "And quite possibly Iwas, you know. "

Then he wondered a little, and began to cultivate some respect for theshrewdness of her intuitions. 

He sat on her left, the place of honour going by custom immemorial tomonsieur le curé of Nant. For all that, Duchemin declined to feelslighted. Was he not on the right of Eve de Montalais?

The girl Louise was placed between the curé and her sister-in-law. Duchemia could not have been guilty of the offence of ignoring her; butthe truth is that, save when courtesy demanded that he pay her someattention, he hardly saw her. She was pretty enough, but very quiet andself-absorbed, a slender, nervous creature with that pathetically eagerlook peculiar to her age and caste in France, starving for the life shemight not live till marriage should set her free. A pale andineffective wraith beside Eve, whose beauty, relieved in candleglowagainst the background of melting darkness, burned like some rareexotic flower set before a screen of lustreless black velvet. And likea flower to the sun she responded to the homage of his admiration--which he was none the less studious to preserve from the sinof obviousness. For he was well aware that her response wasimpersonal; it was not his but any admiration that she craved as aparched land wants rain. 

Less than three months a wife, more than five years a widow, stillyoung and ardent, nearing the noontide of her womanhood, and immolatedin this house of perennial mourning, making vain oblation of her youth, her beauty, the rich wine of life that coursed so lustily through herbeing, upon the altar of a memory whose high priestess was only an old, old woman.... 

He perceived that it would be quite possible for him, did he yield tothe bent of his sympathies, to dislike Madame de Sévénié mostintensely. 

Not that he was apt to have much opportunity to encourage such agratuitous aversion: to-morrow would see him on the road again, hisback forever turned to the Château de Montalais.... 

Or, if not to-morrow, then as soon as the storm abated. 

It was raging now as if it would never weaken and had the will to razethe château though it were the task of a thousand years. From time totime the shock of some great blast of air would seem to rock upon itsfoundations even that ancient pile, those heavy walls of hewn stonebuilded in times of honest workmanship by forgotten Sieurs de Montalaiswho had meant their home to outlast the ages. 

Rain in sheets sluiced the windows without rest. Round turrets andgables the wind raved and moaned like a famished wild thing denied itskill. Occasionally a venturesome gust with the spirit of a minor demonwould find its way down the chimney to the drawing-room fire and sendsparks in volleys against the screen, with thin puffs of wood smokethat lingered in the air like acrid ghosts. 

At such times the curé, sitting at piquet with Madame de Sévénié, afterdinner, would cough distressingly and, reminded that he had a bed toreach somehow through all this welter, anathematise the elements, helphimself to a pinch of snuff, and proceed with his play. 

Duchemin sat at a little distance, talking with Madame de Montalaisover their cigarettes. To smoking, curiously enough, Madame de Sévéniéoffered no objection. Women had not smoked in her day, and she for herpart would never. But Eve might: it was "done"; even in those circlesof hidebound conservatism, the society of the Faubourg St. Germain, ladies of this day smoked unrebuked. 

Louise had excused herself--to sit, Duchemin had no doubt, by thebedside of d'Aubrac, under the duenna-like eye of an old nurse of thefamily. 

Being duly encouraged, Duchemin talked about himself, of his wanderingsand adventures, all with discretion, with the neatest expurgations, andwith an object, leading cunningly round to the subject of New York. 

At mention of it he saw a new light kindle in Eve's eyes. Her breathcame more quickly, gentle emotion agitated her bosom. 

Monsieur knew New York?

But well: he had been there as a boy, again as a young man; and thenlater, in the year when America entered the Great War; not since ... 

"It is my home, " said Eve de Montalais softly, looking away. 

(One noted that she said "is"--not "was. ")

So Duchemin had understood. Madame had not visited her home recently?

Not in many years; not in fact since nineteen-thirteen. She assumed thecity must have changed greatly. 

Duchemin thought it was never the same, but forever changing itselfovernight, so to speak; and yet always itself, always like no othercity in the world, fascinating.... 

"Fascinating? But irresistible! How I long for it!" She was distraitfor an instant. "My New York! Monsieur--would you believe?--I dream ofit!"

He had found a key to one chamber in the mansion of her confidence. Asmuch to herself as to him, unconsciously dropping into English, shebegan to talk of her life "at home".... 

Her father had been a partner in a great jewellery house, Cottier's, ofParis, London, and New York. (So that explained it! She was wearing theblue diamond again tonight, with other jewels worth, in the judgment ofa keen connoisseur, a king's ransom. ) Schooled at an exclusiveestablishment for the daughters of people of fashion, Eve at an earlyage had made her début; but within the year her father died, and hermother, whose heart had always been in the city of her nativity, closedthe house on East Fifty-seventh street and removed with her daughter toParis. There Eve had met her future husband. Shortly after, her motherdied. Eve returned to New York to attend to some business in connectionwith her estate, remaining only a few weeks, leaving almostreluctantly; but the new love was very sweet, she had looked forwardjoyfully to the final transplanting of her affections. 

And then the War, the short month of long, long days in the apartmenton the avenue des Champs-Elysées, waiting, waiting, while the earthtrembled to the tramp of armed men and the tireless rumbling ofcaissons and camions, and the air was vibrant with the savage dialogueof cannon, ever louder, daily more near.... 

She fell silent, sitting with bowed head and gaze remote. 

From the splendid jewels that adorned the fingers twisting together inher lap, the firelight struck coruscant gleams. 

"Now I hate Paris, I wish never to see it again. "

Duchemin uttered a sympathetic murmur. 

"But New York--?"

"Ah, but sometimes I think I would give anything to be there oncemore!"

The animation with which this confession was delivered provedtransient. 

"Then I remind myself I have no one there--a few friends, yes, acquaintances; but no family ties, no one dear to me. "

"But--pardon--you stay here?"

"It is beautiful here, monsieur. "

"But such solitude, such isolation--for you, madame!"

"I know. Still, I am fond of the life here; it was here I found myselfagain, after my grief. And I am fond of my adopted mother and Louise, too, and they of me. Indeed, I am all they have left. Louise, ofcourse, will marry before long, Georges"--she used d'Aubrac's givenname--"will take her away, then Madame de Sévénié will have nobody butme. And at her age, it would be too sad... "

Across the drawing-room that lady looked up from her cards and sharplyinterrogated a manservant who had silently presented himself to herattention. 

"What is it you want, Jean?"

The servant mumbled his justification: An automobile had broken down onthe highroad near the château, the chauffeur was unable to move the caror make any repairs in the storm, a gentleman had come to the door toask.... 

He moved aside, indicating the doorway to the entrance hall, beyondwhich Mr. Phinuit was to be seen, standing with cap in hand, tinyrivulets running from the folds of his motor-coat and forming pools onthe polished flooring. As in concerted movement Madame de Sévénié, Evede Montalais, the curé and Duchemin approached, his cool, intelligent, good-humoured glance surveyed them swiftly, each in turn, and withunerring instinct settled on the first as the one to whom he mustaddress himself. 

But the bow with which he also acknowledged the presence of Eve washardly less profound; Duchemin himself, at his best, could hardly havebettered it. His manner, in fact, left nothing to be desired; and theFrench in which immediately he begged a thousand pardons for theintrusion was so admirable that it seemed hard to believe he was thesame man who had, only a few hours earlier, composedly traded the slangof the States with a chauffeur in front of the Café de l'Univers. 

Mr. Phinuit was desolated to think he might be imposing on madame'sgood nature, but the accident was positive, the night truly inclement, madame la comtesse was already suffering from the cold, and if onemight beg shelter for her and the gentlemen of the party while onetelephoned or sent to Nant for another automobile.... 

But monsieur might feel very sure Madame de Sévénié would never forgiveherself if the hospitality of the Château de Montalais failed at such atime. She would send servants to the car at once with lights, wraps, umbrellas.... 

There was no necessity for that. The remainder of the party had, itseemed, presumed upon her courtesy in anticipation, and was not farfrom the heels of its ambassador. Even while madame was speaking, Jeanwas opening the great front doors to those who proved--formalintroductions being duly effect by Mr. Phinuit--to be Madame laComtesse de Lorgnes, monsieur le comte, her husband (this was thewell-fed body in tweeds) and Mr. Whitaker Monk, of New York. 

These personages were really not at all in a bad way. Their wraps werewell peppered with rain, they were chilly, the footgear of madame lacomtesse was wet and needed changing. But that was the worst of theirplight. And when Mr. Phinuit, learning that there was no telephone, hadaccepted an offer of the Montalais motor car to tow the other undercover and so enable Jules to make repairs, and Eve de Montalais hadcarried madame la comtesse off to her own apartment to change her shoesand stockings, the gentlemen trooped to the drawing-room fire, at theinstance of Madame de Sévénié, and grew quite cheerful under thecombined influence of warmth and wine and biscuits; Duchemin standingby with a half-rejected doubt to preoccupy him, vaguely disturbed bythe oddness of this rencontre considered in relation to thatinjudicious stop for dinner at Nant in the face of the impending storm, and with Mr. Phinuit's declaration that he didn't give a tupenny damnif they did all get soaked to their skins. 

It seemed far-fetched and ridiculous to imagine that people of theirintelligence--and they were most of them unusually intelligent andalert, if demeanour and utterances might be taken as criterion--shouldadopt any such elaborate machinery of mystification and duplicity inorder to gain an introduction to the Château de Montalais. With whatpossible motive... ?

But there was the devil of having a mind like Duchemin's: once itconceived a notion like that, it was all but impossible for him todislodge it unless or until something happened to persuade him of hisstupidity. 

Now to make his suspicions seem at all reasonable, a motive waslacking. And that worried the man hugely. He desired most earnestly tojustify his captiousness; and to this end exercised a power ofconscientious observation on his new acquaintances. 

Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes he was disposed to pass at face value, asan innocuous being, good natured enough but none too brilliant, withmuch of the disposition of an overgrown boy and a rather boyishtendency to admire and imitate in others qualities which he did nothimself possess. 

Mr. Phinuit had not returned, so there was no present opportunity totake further note of him; though Duchemin first inferred from Mr. Monk's manner, and later learned through a chance remark of his, thatPhinuit was his secretary. 

Upon this Mr. Monk Duchemin concentrated close attention, satisfiedthat he had here to do with an extraordinary personality, if not oneunique. 

Mr. Whitaker Monk might have been any age between thirty-five andfifty-five, so non-committal was that lantern-jawed countenance of adroll, with its heavy, black, eloquent eyebrows, its high and narrowforehead merging into an extensive bald spot fringed with greyish hair, its rather small, blue, illegible eyes, its high-bridged nose andprominent nostrils, its wide and thin-lipped mouth, its ratherstartling pallor. Taller by a head than anybody in the room exceptDuchemin, his figure was remarkably thin, yet not ill-proportioned. Neither was Mr. Monk ill at ease or ungraceful in his actions. Clothedin that extravagantly correct costume--correct, at least, for adrawing-room, if never for motoring--he had all the appearance of acomedian fresh from the hands of his dresser. One naturally expected ofhim mere grotesqueries--and found simply the courteous demeanour of agentleman of the world. So much for externals. But what more? Natureherself had cast Mr. Monk in the very mould of a masquerader. Whatmanner of man was hidden behind the mask? His words and deeds alonewould tell; Duchemin could only weigh the one and await the other. 

In the meantime Mr. Monk was sketching rapidly for the benefit ofMadame de Sévénié the excuse for his present plight. 

A chance meeting at Monte Carlo, he said, with his old friends, theComte et Comtesse de Lorgnes, had resulted in their yielding to hisinsistence that they tour with him back to Paris by this roundaboutway. 

"A whim of my age, madame. " Somehow the nasal intonation of theAmerican suited singularly well his fluent French; he seemed to haveless trouble with his R's than most Anglo-Saxons. "As a young man--ayounger man--ah, well, in Ninety-four, then--I explored this country ona walking tour, inspired by Stevenson. You know, perhaps, his divertingTravels with a Donkey? But I daresay its spirit would hardly havesurvived translation.... At all events, I had the whim to revisit someof those well-remembered scenes. I say some, for naturally it would beimpossible, even with the vastly improved roads of to-day, for myautomobile to penetrate everywhere I wandered afoot. Nor would I wishit to; a few disappointments, a few failures to recapture something ofthat first fine careless rapture, would instill a lyric melancholy; buttoo many would make one morbid.... Well, then: at Nant, in those olddays, I once had a famous dinner; and naturally, returning, I must tryto duplicate it, even though it meant going on to Millau in the rain. But alas! the Café de l'Univers is no more what it was--or I am grownover critical. "

What now of Duchemin's doubts? To tell the sad truth, they were just asstrong as ever. The man was somehow prejudiced: he found Monk's storyentirely too glib, and knew a mean sense of gratification when the curéinterposed a gentle correction. 

"But in Ninety-four, monsieur, there was no Café de l'Univers in Nant. "

Astonished eyebrows climbed the forehead of Mr. Monk. 

"No, monsieur le curé? Truly not? Then it must have been another. Howone's memory will play one false!"

"How strange, then, is coincidence, " Madame de Sévénié suggested. "Youwho made a walking tour of this country so long ago, monsieur, regardthere that good Monsieur Duchemin, himself engaged upon just such anundertaking. "

Duchemin acknowledged with a humorous little nod Mr. Monk's look ofmoderate amazement at this so strange coincidence. 

"A whim of my age, monsieur, " he said--"a project I have entertainedsince youth but always, till of late, lacked leisure to put intoexecution. "

"But is there anything more wonderful than the workings of the goodGod?" madame pursued. "Observe that, if Monsieur Duchemin had beensuffered to indulge his inclination in youth, we should all, I, mydaughter, my grand-daughter, even poor Georges d'Aubrac, would quiteprobably be lying dead at the bottom of a cirque at Montpellier-le-Vieux. "

Naturally the strangers required to know about that, and Madame deSévénié would talk, in fact doted on telling the tale of that greatadventure. Duchemin made a face of resignation, and heard himselfextolled as a paladin for strength, address and valour; the truth beingthat he was not at all resigned and would infinitely liefer have beenleft out of the limelight. The more he was represented as a person ofconsequence, the less fair his chance to study these others at hisleisure, in the comfortable obscurity of their indifference. 

Now the enigmatic eyes of Monk were boring into him, seeking to searchhis soul, with a question in their stare which he could not read and, quite likely, would have declined to answer if he could. Also the eyesof Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes were very round and constant to him. And before Madame de Sévénié was finished, Phinuit strolled in andheard enough to make him subject Duchemin to a not unfriendly, steadyand open inspection. 

And when the trumpets had been flourished finally for Duchemin, and hehad dutifully assured madame that she was too generous and hadacknowledged congratulations on his exploit, Phinuit strolled over andoffered a hand. 

"Good work, " he said in English. "Seen you before, haven't I, somewhere, Mr. Duchemin?"

Under other circumstances Duchemin, not at all hoodwinked by this tooobvious stratagem, would have taken mean pleasure in looking blank andbegging monsieur to interpret himself in French. But, with or withoutcunning, Phinuit's question was well-timed: Eve de Montalais was atthat moment entering the drawing-room with Madame la Comtesse deLorgnes, and she knew very well that Duchemin's English was quite asgood as his French. 

"At the Café de l'Univers, this afternoon, " he replied frankly. 

"I remember. You drove away, just before the storm broke, in aramshackle rig that must have come out of the Ark. "

"To come here, Mr. Phinuit. "

"Funny, " said Phinuit, with hesitation, "your being there, and then ourturning up here. "

Duchemin thought he knew what was on the other's mind. "I was immenselyentertained--do you mind my saying so?--to hear the way your chauffeurtalked to you, monsieur. Tell me: Is it the custom in your country--?"

"Oh, Jules!" said Phinuit, and laughed. "Jules is my younger brother. When he was demobilised his job was gone, back home, and I wished himon Mr. Monk as a chauffeur. We're always kidding each other like that. "

Now what could be more reasonable? Duchemin wondered, and concludedthat, if anything, it would be the truth. But he did not pretend tohimself that he wasn't, quite illogically and with no provocationwhatsoever, most vilely prejudiced against the lot of them. 

"But you must know America, to speak the language as well as you do. "

Duchemin nodded: "But very slightly, monsieur. "

"I was wondering ... Somehow I can't get it out of my head I've seenyou somewhere before to-day. "

"It is quite possible: when one moves about the world, one isvisible--n'est-ce pas, monsieur? But my home, " Duchemin added, "isParis. "

"I guess, " said Phinuit in a tone of singular disappointment, "it musthave been there I saw you. "

Duchemin's bow signified that he was content to let it go at that. Moreover, Monk was signalling to Phinuit with his expressive eyebrows. 

"What about the car, Phin?"

Examining his wrist watch, Phinuit drew near his employer. "Julesshould not need more than half an hour now, monsieur. "

Was there, in this employment of French to respond to a questioncouched in English, the suggestion of a subtle correction? From employéto employer? If not, why must Duchemin have thought so? If so, why didMonk, without betraying a sign of feeling the reproof, continue inFrench?

"Did Jules say half an hour?"

"Yes, monsieur. "

"My God!" Monk addressed the company: "If I were pressed for time, Iwould rather have one of Jules' half-hours than anybody else's hour anda half. "

"Let us hope, however, " the Comtesse de Lorgnes interposed sweetly, "bythat time this so dreadful tempest will have moderated. "

"One has that hope, " her husband uttered in a sepulchral voice. 

"But, if the storm continue, " Madame de Sévénié said, "you must notthink of travelling farther--on such a night. The château is large, there is ample accommodation for all... "

There was a negligible pause, during which Duchemin saw the long lashesof the Comtesse de Lorgnes curtain momentarily her disastrous violeteyes: it was a sign of assent. Immediately it was followed by the leastof negative movements of her head. She was looking directly at Phinuit, who, so far as Duchemin could see, made no sign of any sort, whoneither spoke nor acted on the signals which, indubitably, he hadreceived. On the other hand, it was Monk who acknowledged the profferedcourtesy. 

"Madame de Sévénié is too good, but we could not dream of imposing ... No, but truly, madame, I am obliged to ask my guests to proceed with meto Millau to-night regardless of the weather. Important despatchesconcerning my business await me there; I must consider them and replyby cable to-night without fail. It is really of the most pressingnecessity. Otherwise we should be honoured... "

Madame de Sévénié inclined her head. "It must be as monsieur thinksbest. "

"But Monsieur Monk!" madame la comtesse exclaimed with vivacity: "doyou know what I have just discovered? You and Madame de Montalais arecompatriots. She is of your New York. You must know each other. "

"I have been wondering, " Monk admitted, bowing to Eve, "if it werepossible I could be misled by a strong resemblance. "

Eve turned to him with a look of surprise. "Yes, monsieur?"

"It is many years ago, you were a young girl then, if it was truly you, madame; but I have a keen eye for beauty, I do not soon forget it ... Iwas in the private office of my friend, Edmund Anstruther, ofCottier's, one afternoon, selecting a trinket with his advice, and--"

"That was my father, monsieur. "

"Then it was you, madame; I felt sure of it. You came in unannounced, to see your father. He made me known to you as a friend of his, andrequested you to wait in an adjoining office. But that was notnecessary, I had already made up my mind, I left almost immediately. Doyou by any chance remember?"

The effort of the memory knitted Eve's brows; but in the end she shookher head. "I am sorry, monsieur--"

"But why should you be? Why should you have remembered me? You were ayoung girl, then, as I say, and I already a man of middle age. You sawme once, for perhaps two minutes. It would have been a miracle had Iremained in your memory for as long as a single day. Nevertheless, _I_remembered. "

"I am so glad to meet a friend of my father's, monsieur. "

"And I to recall myself to his daughter. I have often wondered ... Would you mind telling me something, Madame de Montalais?"

"If I can... "

"Your father and I entertained one passion in common, one which he wasbetter able than I to gratify, for good diamonds and emeralds. I haveoften wondered what became of his collection. He had some superbstones. "

"I inherited them, monsieur. "

"They did not find their way into Cottier's stock, then?"

The Comtesse de Lorgnes gave a gesture of excitement. "But what afortunate woman! You truly have those magnificent emeralds, thosealmost matchless diamonds, of which one has heard--the Anstruthercollection?"

"I have them, Madame la Comtesse, " said Eve with a smiling nod--"yes. "

"But, one presumes, in Paris, in some impregnable strong-box. "

"No, madame, here. "

"But not here, Madame de Montalais!" To this Eve gave another nod andsmile. "But are you not afraid--?"

"Of what, madame? That they will be stolen? No. They have been in mypossession for years--indeed, I should be unhappy otherwise, for I haveinherited my father's fondness for them--and nobody has ever evenattempted to steal them. "

"But what of the affair at Montpellier the other night?" enquired theComte de Lorgnes--"that terrible attack upon you of which Madame deSévénié has just told us? Surely you would call that an attempt tosteal. "

"Simple highway robbery, if you like, monsieur le comte. But even hadit proved successful, I had very few jewels with me. All that mattered, all that I would have minded losing, were here, in a safe place. "

"Nevertheless, " said Monk--"if you will permit me to offer a word ofadvice--I think you are very unwise. "

"It may be, monsieur. "

"Nonsense!" Madame de Sévénié declared. "Who would dare attempt toburglarise the Château de Montalais? Such a thing was never heard of. "

"There is always the first time for everything, Madame, " Monk suggestedgently. "I fancy it was your first experience of the sort, atMontpellier. "

"A rascally chauffeur from Paris, a few low characters of thedepartment. Since the war things are not as they were. "

"That is the very reason why I suggest, madame--"

"But, monsieur, I assure you all my life I have lived at Montalais. Monsieur le curé will tell you I know every face hereabouts. And I knowthat these poor country-folk, these good-natured dolts of peasants havenot the imagination, much less the courage--"

"But what of criminals from outside, from the great cities, from Londonand Paris and Berlin? They have the imagination, the courage, theskill; and if they ever get wind of the fortune Madame de Montalaiskeeps locked up here... "

"What of the Lone Wolf?" the Comtesse de Lorgnes added. "I have heardthat one is once more in France. "

Duchemin blinked incredulously at the speaker. "But when did you hearthat, madame la comtesse?"

"Quite recently, monsieur. "

"I had understood that the monsieur in question had long sinceretired. "

"Only for the duration of the war, monsieur, I am afraid. "

"It is true, according to all reports, " the Comte de Lorgnes said:"Monsieur Lanyard--that was the name, was it not?"

"If memory serves, monsieur le comte, " Duchemin agreed. 

"Yes. " The count screwed his chubby features into a laughable mask ofgravity. "Now one remembers quite well. He passed as a collector ofobjets d'art, especially of fine paintings, in Paris, for years beforethe War--this Monsieur Michael Lanyard. Then he disappeared. It wasrumoured that he was of good service to the Allies as a spy, actingindependently; and after the Armistice, I have heard, he did well forEngland in the matter of a Bolshevist conspiracy over there. But notlong ago, according to my information, Monsieur the Lone Wolf resignedfrom the British Secret Service and returned to France--doubtless toresume his old practices. "

"Perhaps not, " Duchemin suggested. "Possibly his reformation wasgenuine and lasting. "

The Comtesse de Lorgnes laughed that laugh of light derision which isalmost exclusively the laugh of the Parisienne of a certain class. Remarking this, Duchemin eyed her mildly. 

"Madame la Comtesse does not believe that. Well--who knows?--perhapsshe is right. Possibly she knows more of the nature and habits of thecriminal classes than we, sharing as she does, no doubt, the apparentlyaccurate and precise sources of information of monsieur le comte. "

"At all events, " Phinuit put in promptly, "I know what I would do if Ipossessed a little fortune in jewels, and learned that a thief of theability of this Lone Wolf was at large in France: I would charter anarmoured train to convey the loot to the strongest safe deposit vaultin Paris. "

"Thereby advertising to the Lone Wolf the exact location of the jewels, monsieur, so that he might at his leisure make his plans perfect toburglarise the vaults?"

"Is that likely?" Phinuit jeered. 

Duchemin gave a slight shrug. 

"One has heard that the fellow had real ability, " he said. 

The servant Jean came in, caught the eye of Madame de Sévénié, andannounced:

"The chauffeur of Monsieur Monk wishes me to say he has completedrepairs on the automobile, and the rain has ceased. "

VII

TURN ABOUT

Duchemin took back with him to Nant, that night, not only monsieur lecuré in the hired calèche, but food in plenty for thought, togetherwith a nebulous notion, which by the time he woke up next morning hadtaken shape as a fixed conviction, that he had better resign himself tostop on indefinitely at the Grand Hôtel de l'Univers and ... See whathe should see. 

That fatality on which he had so bitterly reflected when; acting asemergency coachman en route from Montpellier-le-Vieux to LaRoque-Sainte-Marguerite, had him now fairly by the heels, as it werehis very shadow, something as tenacious, as inescapable. Or he had beengiven every excuse for believing that such was the case. Impossible--and the more so the longer he pondered it--to credit tomere coincidence the innuendoes uttered at the château by Mr. Monk andhis party. 

No: there had been malice in that, Duchemin was satisfied, if not somedarker purpose which perplexed the most patient scrutiny. 

Now malice without incentive is unthinkable. But Duchemin searched hismemory in vain for anything he could have said or done to make anybodydesire to discredit him in the sight of the ladies of the Château deMontalais. Still the attempt so to do had been unmistakable: the LoneWolf had been lugged into the conversation literally by his legendaryears. 

Surely, one would think, that nocturnal prowler of pre-War Paris hadbeen so long dead and buried even the most ghoulish gossip shouldrespect his poor remains and not disinter them merely to demonstratethat the Past can never wholly die!

Had he, then, some enemy of old hidden under one of those sleeksurfaces?

An excellent visual memory reviewed successively the physicalcharacteristics of Messieurs Monk, Phinuit and de Lorgnes, and theirchauffeur Jules; with the upshot that Duchemin could have sworn that hehad never before known any of these. 

And Madame la Comtesse? In respect of that one memory again drew ablank, but remained unsatisfied. When one thought of her some remote, faint chord of reminiscence thrilled and hummed, but neverrecognisably. Not that there was anything remarkable in this: if onecared to look for them, the world was thronged with women such as she, handsome, spirited, well-groomed animals endued with some littledistinction of manner, native or acquired, with every appeal to thesenses and more or less, generally spurious, to the intelligence. Theymade the theatre possible in France, leavened the social life of thehalf-world, fluttered conspicuously and often disastrously throughcircles of more sedate society, had their portraits in every Salon, their photographs in every issue of the fashionable journals. Some madehistory, others fiction: either would be insufferably dull lackingtheir influence. But they were as much alike as so many peas, out oftheir several shells, and the man who saw one inevitably rememberedall. 

Setting aside then the theory of positive personal animus, what otherreason could there be for the effort to fasten upon Duchemin suspicionof identity with the late Lone Wolf?

A sinister consideration, if any, and one, Duchemin suspected, notunconnected with the much-talked-about jewels of Madame de Montalais... 

But it was absurd to believe that persons fostering a design of suchnature would so deliberately and obviously advertise their purpose!

Cheerfully admitting that he was an imbecile to think of such a thing, Duchemin set his mental alarm for six the following morning, rose atthat hour, and by eight had tramped the five miles between Nant and thenearest railway station, Combe-Redonde; where he despatched a codetelegram to London, requesting any information it might have or be ableto obtain concerning Mr. Whitaker Monk of New York and the severalmembers of his party; the said information to be forwarded in code toawait the arrival of Andre Duchemin at the Hôtel du Commerce, Millau. 

And then, partly to kill time, partly to get himself in trim forto-morrow's trip, which he meant to make strictly in character as thepedestrian tourist, he walked round three sides of a square inreturning to Nant--by way, that is, of Sauclières and the upper valleyof the Dourbie. 

In the rich sunshine that fell from a cloudless sky--even the twinpeaks that stood sentinel over Nant had shamelessly put off theiryashmaks for the day--the rain-fresh world was sweet to see; andDuchemin found himself consuming leagues with heels strangely light; orhe thought their lightness strange until he discovered the buoyance ofhis heart, which wasn't strange at all. He knew too well the cause ofthat; and had given over fretting about the inevitable. The sum of hisphilosophy was now: _What must be, must_ . It would have been difficultto be unhappy in the knowledge that one retained still the capacity tolove generously, honourably, expecting nothing, exacting nothing, regretting nothing, not even in anticipation of the ultimate, inevitable heartache. 

Toward mid-afternoon a solitary mischance threw a passing shadow uponhis content. As he trudged along the river road, on the last lap of hisjourney--Nant almost in sight--he heard a curious, intermittent rumbleon a steep hillside whose foot was skirted by the road, and sought itscause barely in time to leap for life out of the path of a greatboulder that, dislodged from its bed, possibly by last night's deluge, was hurtling downhill with such momentum that it must have crushedDuchemin to a pulp had he been less alert. 

Striking the road with an impact that left a deep, saucer-shaped dent, with one final bound the huge stone, amid vast splashings, found itslast resting place in the river. 

Duchemin moved out of the way of the miniature avalanche that followed, and for some minutes stood reviewing with a truculent eye the face ofthe hillside. But nothing moved thereon, it was quite bare of goodcover, little more than a slant of naked earth and shale, dottedmanywhere with boulders, cousins to that which sought his life--none, however, so large. If human agency had moved it, the stone had comefrom the high skyline of the hill; and by the time one could climb tothis last, Duchemin was sure, there would be nobody there to find. 

The remainder of the afternoon was wasted utterly on the terrasse ofthe Café de l'Univers, with the château ever in view, wishing it wereconvenable to make one's duty call without more delay. But it wasn't;not to wait a decent interval would be self-betraying, since Ducheminhad no longer any immediate intention of moving on from Nant; finally, he rather hoped to get news at Millau that would strengthen a prayer toEve de Montalais to be sensible and remove her jewels to a place ofsafe-keeping before it was too late. 

Millau, however, disappointed. At the end of a twenty-mile walk on aday of suffocating heat, Duchemin plodded wearily into the Hôtel duCommerce, engaged a room for the night, and was given a telegram fromLondon which rewarded decoding to some such effect as this:

"MONK AMERICAN INDEPENDENT MEANS GOOD REPUTE NO INFORMATION AS TOOTHERS HAVE ASKED SURÉTÉ CONCERNING LORGNES WOULD GIVE SOMETHING TOKNOW WHAT MISCHIEF YOU ARE MEDDLING WITH THIS TRIP AND WHY THE DEUCEYOU MUST. "

Few things are better calculated to curdle the milk of human kindnessthan to find that one's fellow-man has meanly contrived to keep hisreputation fair when one is satisfied it should be otherwise. Ducheminused bitter language in strict confidence with himself, disliked hisdinner and, after conscientiously loathing the sights of Millau for anhour or two, sought his bed in the devil's own humour. 

Though he waited till eleven of the following forenoon, there was nosupplementary telegram: London evidently meant him to understand thatthe Surété in Paris had communicated nothing to the discredit ofMonsieur le Comte de Lorgnes and his consort. 

Enquiry of the administration of the Hôtel de Commerce elicited theinformation that the Monk party had stopped there on the night of thestorm, doubled back in the morning to visit Montpellier-le-Vieux, returning for midday déjeuner, and had then proceeded for Paris, justlike any other well-behaved company of tourists. 

There was nothing more to be done but go back to Nant and--what made iteven more disgusting--nothing to be done there except ... Wait... 

Thoroughly disgruntled, more than half persuaded he had staked a claimfor a mare's-nest, he took the road in the heat of a day even moreoppressive than its yesterday. In the valley of the Dourbie the air wasstagnant, lifeless. After eight miles of it Duchemin was guilty of twomistakes of desperation. 

In the first instance he paused in La Roque-Sainte-Marguerite and, tormented by thirst, refreshed himself at the auberge where thebarouche and guide had been hired to convey the party from Montalais onto Montpellier. The landlord remembered Duchemin and made believe hedidn't, serving the wayfarer with a surly grace the only drink he wouldadmit he had to sell, an atrociously acid cider fit to render the laststage of thirst worse than the first. 

Duchemin, however, thought it safer than the water of the place, whenhe had spied out the associations of the well. 

He drank sitting on a bench outside the door of the auberge. He couldhear the voice of the landlord inside, grumbling and growling, to whatpurport he couldn't determine. But it wasn't difficult to guess; andbefore Duchemin was finished he had testimony to the rightness of hissurmise, finding himself the cynosure of more than a few pair of eyesset in the ill-favoured faces of natives of La Roque. 

One gathered that the dead guide had enjoyed a fair amount of localpopularity. 

While Duchemin drank and smoked and pored over a pocket-map of thedepartment, a lout of a lad shambled out of the auberge wearing a fixedscowl in no degree mitigated by the sight of the customer. In thedooryard, which was also the stableyard, the boy caught and saddled adreary animal, apparently a horse designed by a Gothic architect, mounted, and rode off in the direction of Nant. 

Then Duchemin committed his second error of judgment, which consistedin thinking to find better and cooler air on the heights of the CausseLarzac, across the river, together with a shorter way toNant--indicated on the pocket-map as a by-road running in a tolerablydirect line across the plateau--than that which followed the windingsof the stream. 

Accordingly he crossed the Dourbie, toiled up a zig-zag path cut in theface of the frowning cliff, reached the top in a bath of sweat, and satdown to cool and breathe himself. 

The view was splendid, almost worth the climb. Duchemin could see formiles up and down the valley, a panorama wildly picturesque and limnedlike a rainbow. Across the way La Roque-Sainte-Marguerite stood outprominently and with such definition in that clear air that Ducheminidentified the figure of the landlord, standing in the door of theauberge with arms raised and elbows thrust out on a level with hiseyes: the pose of a man using field-glasses. 

Duchemin wondered if he ought to feel complimented. Then he looked upthe valley and saw, far off, a tiny cloud of dust kicked up by theheels of the horse ridden by the boy from the auberge, making good timeon the highway to Nant. And again Duchemin wondered... 

Having rested, he picked himself up, found his road, a mere trail ofwagon tracks, and mindful of the cooling drinks to be had in the Caféde l'Univers, put his best foot foremost. 

After a time something, call it instinct, impelled him to look back theway he had come. Half a mile distant he saw the figure of a peasantfollowing the same road. Duchemin stopped and waited for the other tocome up, thinking to get a better look at him, perhaps some definiteinformation about the road and in particular as to his chances offinding drinkable water. But when he stopped the man stopped, sat himdown upon a rock, filled a pipe, and conspicuously rested. 

Duchemin gave an impatient gesture and moved on. After another mile heglanced overshoulder again. The same peasant occupied the same relativedistance from him. 

But if the fellow were following him with a purpose, he could readilylose himself in that wild land before Duchemin could run him down; andif, on the contrary, he proved to be only a peaceable wayfarer, he wasbound to be a dull companion on the road, and an unsavory one to boot. So Duchemin did nothing to discourage his voluntary shadow; but lookingback from time to time, never failed to see that squat, round-shouldered figure in the middle distance of the landscape, following him with the doggedness of Fate. Toward evening, however, ofa sudden--between two glances--the fellow disappeared as completely andmysteriously as if he had fallen or dived into an aven. 

Thus definite mental irritation was added to the physical discomfortshe suffered. For if anything it was hotter on the high causse than ithad been in the valley. An intermittent breeze imitated to viciousperfection draughts from a furnace. And if this were a short cut toNant, Duchemin's judgment was gravely at fault. 

Otherwise the journey was not unlike an exaggerated version of his walkfrom Meyrueis to Montpellier-le-Vieux, except that the road was clearlymarked and he found less climbing to do. He saw neither hamlets norfarmsteads, and found no water. By the middle of the afternoon histhirst had become sheer torture. 

In dusk of evening he stumbled down into the valley again and struckthe river road about midway between the Château de Montalais and Nant. At this junction several dwellings clustered, in that fading light darkmasses on either side of the road. Duchemin noticed a few shadowyshapes loitering about, but was too far gone in fatigue and thirst topay them any heed. He had no thought but to stop at the first house andbeg a cup of water. As he lifted a hand to knuckle the door he wasattacked. 

With no more warning than a cry, the signal for the onslaught, and thesudden scuffling noise of several pair of feet, he wheeled, foundhimself already closely pressed by a number of men, and struck out atrandom. His stick landed on somebody's head with a resounding thumpfollowed by a yell of pain. Then three men were grappling with him, twomore seeking to aid them, and another lay in the roadway clutching afractured skull and spitting oaths and groans. 

His stick was seized and wrenched away, he was over-whelmed by numbers. The knot of struggling figures toppled and went to the dust, Ducheminunderneath, so weighed down that he could not for the moment move ahand toward his pistol. 

Half-stifled by the reek of unwashed flesh, he heard broken phrasesgrowled in voices hoarse with effort and excitement:

"The knife!" ... "Hold him!" ... "Stand clear and let me--!" ... "Theknife!"

Struggling madly, he worked a leg free and kicked with all his might. One of his assailants howled aloud and fell back to nurse a brokenshin. Two others scrambled out of the way, leaving one to pin him downwith knees upon his chest, another to wield the knife. 

Staring eyes caught a warning gleam on descending steel. Ducheminsquirmed frantically to one side, and felt cold metal kiss the skinover his ribs as the blade penetrated his clothing, close under thearmpit. 

Before the man with the knife could strike again, Duchemin, roused to amightier effort, threw off the ruffian on his chest, got on his kneesand, raining blows right and left as the others closed in again, somehow managed to scramble to his feet. 

Fist-work told. For an instant he stood quite free, the centre of acircle of uncertain assassins whose cowardice gave him time to whip outhis pistol. But before he could level it a man was on his back, hiswrist was seized and the weapon twisted from his grasp. 

A cry of triumph was echoed by exclamations of alarm as, disarmed, Duchemin was again left free, the thugs standing back to let the pistoldo its work. In that instant a broad sword of light swung round anearby corner and smote the group: the twin, glaring eyes of a motorcar flooded with blue-white radiance that tableau of one man at bay inthe middle of the road, in a ring of merciless enemies. 

Duchemin's cry for help was uttered only an instant before his pistolexploded in alien hands. The headlights showed him distinctly the faceof the man who fired, the same face of fat features black with sootthat he had seen by moonlight at Montpellier-le-Vieux. 

But the bullet went wild, and the automobile did not stop, but drovedirectly at the group and so swiftly that the flash of the shot wasstill vivid in Duchemin's vision when the car swept between him andthose others, scattering them like chickens. 

Simultaneously the brakes were set, the dark bulk began to slide withlocked wheels to a stop, and a voice cried: "Quickly, monsieur, quickly!"--the voice of Eve de Montalais. 

In two bounds Duchemin overtook the car and before it had come to astandstill leaped upon the running-board and grasped the side. He hadone glimpse of the set white face of Eve, en profile, as she bentforward, manipulating the gear-shift. Then the pistol spat again, itsbullet struck him a blow of sickening agony in the side. 

Aware that he was dangerously wounded, he put all that he had left ofstrength and will into one final effort, throwing his body across thedoor. As he fell sprawling into the tonneau consciousness departed likea light withdrawn. 

VIII

IN RE AMOR ET AL. 

In the course of two weeks or so Duchemin was able to navigate awheeled chair, bask on the little balcony outside his bedchamberwindows in the Château de Montalais, and even--strictly againstorders--take experimental strolls. 

The wound in his side still hurt like the very deuce at everyill-considered movement; but Duchemin was ever the least patient of menunless the will that coerced him was his own; constraint to another's, however reasonable, irked him to exasperation; so that these falteringsin forbidden ways were really (as he assured Eve de Montalais when, oneday, she caught him creeping round his room, one hand pressed againstthe wall for support, the other to his side) in the nature of a sop tohis self-respect. 

"You've only got to tell me not to do a thing often enough, " hecommented as she led him back to his chair, "to fill me with unholydesire to do it if I die in the attempt. "

"Isn't that a rather common human failing?" she asked, wheeling theinvalid chair through one of the french windows to the balcony. 

"That's what makes it all seem so unfair. "

Smiling, the woman turned the back of the chair to the brightest glareof sunshine, draped a light rug over the invalid's knees, and seatedherself in a wicker chair, facing him. 

"Makes all what seem so unfair?"

"The indignity of being born human. " He accepted a cigarette and waxeddidactic: "The one thing that the ego can find to reconcile it withexistence is belief in its own uniquity. "

"I don't think, " she interrupted with a severe face belied by amusedeyes, "that sounds quite nice. "

"Uniquity? Because it sounds like iniquity? They are not unrelated. What makes iniquity seem attractive is as a rule its departure from thecommonplace. "

"But you were saying--?"

"Merely it's our personal belief that our emotions and sensations andways of thought are peculiar to ourselves, individually, that sometimesmakes the game seem worth the scandal. "

"Yes: one presumes we all do think that... "

"But no sooner does one get firmly established in that particular phaseof self-complacence than along comes Life, grinning like a gamin, andkicks over our pretty house of cards--shows us up to ourselves byrevealing our pet, exclusive idiosyncrasies as simple infirmities allmortal flesh is heir to. "

"Monsieur is cynic... "

"Madame means obvious. Well: if I patter platitudes it is to conceal asense of gratification. " Eve arched her eyebrows. "I mean, you haveshown me that I share at least one quality with you: instinctiveresentment of the voice of reason. "

She pronounced a plaintive "Mon Dieu!" and appealing to Heaven forcompassion declared: "He means again to wrestle spiritually with meabout the proper disposition of my jewels. "

"No, madame: pardon. I am contemplating a long series of exhaustivearguments designed to prove it your duty to leave your jewels wherethey are, in all their noble insecurity. This in the firm belief thatto plead with you long enough to adopt this course will result in yourgoing and doing otherwise out of sheer... "

"Perversity, monsieur?"

"Humanity, madame!"

Eve de Montalais laughed the charming, low-keyed laugh of a happilydiverted woman. 

"But spare yourself, monsieur. I surrender at discretion: I will do asyou wish. "

"Truly? Rather than listen to my discourse, you actually agree toremove your jewels to a safe place?"

"Even so, monsieur. As soon as you are able to get about, and theChâteau de Montalais lacks a guest, I will leave Louise to take care ofmadame ma mère for a few days while I journey to Paris--"

"Alone?"

"But naturally. "

"Taking your jewels with you?"

"Why else do I go?"

"But, madame, you must not--"

"And why?"

"You, a woman! travel alone to Paris with a treasure in jewels? Ah, no!I should say not!"

"Monsieur is emphatic, " Eve suggested demurely. 

"Monsieur means to be. Rather than let you run such a risk I wouldsteal the jewels myself, convey them to Paris, put them in safekeeping, and send you the receipt. "

"What a lot of trouble monsieur would save me, if he would only be sokind as to do as he threatens. "

"And how amusing if he were arrested en route, " Duchemin supplementedwith a wry smile. 

"I am quite confident of your ability to elude the police, monsieur. "

"Do I hear you compliment me?"

"If you take it so... "

"But suppose you were not confident of my good will?"

"Impossible. "

"Madame is too flattering; one is sure she is too wise to put so greata temptation in the way of any man. "

"Monsieur is the reverse of flattering; he implies that one does notknow where one can repose trust. "

"I must warn madame there are those in this world who would call herfaith misplaced. "

"Doubtless. But what of that? Am I to distrust you because others mightwho do not know you so well?"

"But--madame--you can hardly claim to know me well. 

"Listen, my friend. " Eve de Montalais flicked away her cigarette andsat forward, elbows on knees, hands laced, her level gaze holding his. "It is true, our acquaintance is barely three weeks old; but you doinjustice to my insight if you assume I have learned nothing about youin all that time. You have not been secretive with me. The mask youhold between yourself and the world, lest it pry into what does notconcern it, has been lowered when you have talked with me; and I havehad eyes to see what was revealed--"

"Ah, madame!"

"--the nature of a man of honour, monsieur, simple of heart andgenerous, as faithful as he is brave. "

Eve had spoken impulsively, with warmth of feeling unrealised until toolate. Now slow colour mantled her cheeks. But her eyes remainedsteadfast, candid, unashamed. It was Duchemin who dropped his gaze, abashed. 

And though nothing had any sense in his understanding other than thewords which he had just heard from the lips of the woman who held hislove--as he had known now these many days--some freak of dualconsciousness made him see, for the first time, in that moment, howoddly bleached and wasted seemed the powerful, nervous, brown handsthat rested on his knees. And he thought: It will be long before I amstrong again. 

With a troubled smile he said: "I would give much to be worthy of whatyou think of me, madame. And I would be a poor thing indeed if I failedto try to live up to your faith. "

"You will not fail, " she replied. "What you are, you were before myfaith was, and will be afterwards, when... "

She did not finish, but of a sudden recollected herself, lounged backin her chair, and laughed quietly, with humorous appeal to hissympathy. 

"So, that is settled: I am not to be permitted to take my jewels toParis alone. What then, monsieur?"

"I would suggest you write your bankers, " said Duchemin seriously, "andtell them that you contemplate bringing to Paris some valuables toentrust to their care. Say that you prefer not to travel withoutprotection, and request them to send you two trusted men--detectives, they may call them--to guard you on the way. They will do so withouthesitation, and you may then feel entirely at ease. "

"Not otherwise, you think?"

"Not otherwise, I feel sure. "

"But why? You have been so persistent about this matter, monsieur. Eversince that night when those curious people stopped here in the rain.... Can it be that you suspect them of evil designs upon my trinkets?"Duchemin shrugged. "Who knows, madame, what they were? You call them'curious'; for my part I find the adjective apt. "

"I fancy I know what you thought about them... "

"And that is--?"

"That they rather led the conversation to the subject of my jewels. "

"Such was my thought, indeed. "

"Perhaps you were right. If so, they learned all they needed to know. "

"Except possibly the precise location of your strong box. "

"They may have learned even that. "

"How, madame?"

"I don't know; but if they were what you suspect they were, they wereclever people, far more clever than poor provincials like us. " She tooka moment for thought. "But I am puzzled by their harping on the subjectof--I think they called him the Lone Wolf. Now why should they dothat?"

Duchemin was constrained to take refuge in another shrug. "Who knows?"he iterated. "If they were as clever as we assume, doubtless they wereclever enough to have a motive even for that. "

"He really existed, this Lone Wolf? He was more than a creature offable?"

"Assuredly, madame. For years he was the nightmare and the scourge ofpeople of wealth in every capital of Europe. "

"Why did they call him the Lone Wolf, do you know?"

"I believe some imaginative Parisian journalist fixed that sobriquet onhim, in recognition of the theory upon which, apparently, he operated. "

"And that was--?"

"That a criminal, at least a thief, to be successful must be absolutelyanonymous and friendless; in which case nobody can betray him. Asmadame probably understands, criminals above a certain level ofintelligence are seldom caught by the police except through thetreachery of accomplices. The Lone Wolf seems to have exercised a fairamount of ingenuity and prudence in making his coups; and inasmuch ashe had no confederates, not a living soul in his confidence, there wasno one who could sell him to the authorities. "

"Still, in the end--?"

"Oh, no, madame. He was never caught. He simply ceased to thieve. "

"I wonder why... "

"I believe because he fell in love and considered good faith with theobject of his affections incompatible with a career of crime. "

"So he gave up crime. How romantic! And the woman: did she appreciatethe sacrifice?"

"While she lived, yes, madame. Or so they say. Unfortunately, shedied. "

"And then--?"

"So far as is known the converted enemy to Society did not backslide;the Lone Wolf never prowled again. "

"An extraordinary story. "

"But is not every story that has to do with the workings of the humansoul? What one of us has not buried in him a story quite as strange?Even you--"

"Monsieur deceives himself. I am simply--what you see. "

"But what I see is not simple, but complex and intriguing beyondexpression. A woman of your sort walling herself up in a wilderness, renouncing the world, renouncing life itself in its very heyday--!"

"But hardly that, monsieur. "

"Then I am stupid... "

"I will explain. " The sleekly coiffured brown head bent low over handsthat played absently with their jewels. "To a woman of my sort, monsieur, life is not life without love. I lived once for a littletime, then love was taken out of my life. When my sorrow had spentitself, I knew that I must find love again if I were to go on living. What was I to do? I knew that love is not found through seeking. So Iwaited... "

"Such philosophy is rare, madame. "

"Philosophy? No: I will not call it that. It was knowledge--the heartwise in its own wisdom, surpassing mine, telling me that if I would butbe patient love would one day seek me out again, wherever I might wait, and give me once more--life. "

She rose and went to the window, paused there, turning back to Duchemina face composed but fairer for a deepened flush. 

"But this is not writing to my bankers, monsieur, " she said in achanged but steady voice. "I must do that at once if I am to get theletter in to-day's post. "

"If madame will accept the advice of one not without someexperience... "

"What else does monsieur imagine I am doing?"

"Then you will write privately and burn your blotting paper; afterwhich you will post the letter with your own hands, letting nobody seethe address. "

"And when shall I say I will make the journey?"

"As soon as your bankers can send their people to the Château deMontalais. "

"That will be in three days... "

"Or less. "

"As soon as your bankers can send their people to the Château deMontalais. "

"That will be in three days... "

"Or less. " "But you will not be strong enough to leave us withinanother week. "

"What has that to do--?"

"This: that I refuse positively to go away while you are our guest, monsieur. Somebody must watch over you and see that you come to noharm. "

"But madame--!"

"No: I am quite resolved. Monsieur has too rare a genius for getting inthe way of danger. I shall not leave the château before you do. So Ishall set this day week for the date of my journey. "

IX

BLIND MAN'S BUFF

In short, Monsieur Duchemin considered convalescence at the Chateau deMontalais one of the most agreeable of human estates, and counted thecost of admission thereunto by no means dear; and with all his grousing(in respect of which he was conscientious, holding it at once a dutyand a perquisite of his disability) he was at heart in no hastewhatever to be discharged as whole and hale. The plain truth is, theman malingered shamelessly and even took a certain pride in the lowcunning which enabled him to pose on as the impatient patient when hewas so very well content to take his ease, be waited on and catered to, and listen for the footsteps of Eve de Montalais and the accents of herdelightful voice. 

These last he heard not often enough by half. Still, he seldom lackedcompany in the long hours when Eve was busy with the petty duties ofher days, and left him lorn. Madame de Sévénié had taken a flatteringfancy to him, and frequently came to gossip beside his bed or chair. Hefound her tremendously entertaining, endowed as she was with anexcellent and well-stored memory, a gift of caustic characterizationand a pretty taste in the scandal of her bygone day and generation, aswell as with a mind still active and better informed on the affairs ofto-day than that of many a Parisienne of the haute monde and half herage. 

During the first bedridden week, Georges d'Aubrac visited Duchemin atleast once each day to compare wounds and opinions concerning theinefficiency of the local gendarmerie. For that body accomplishednothing toward laying by the heels the authors of the attacks ond'Aubrac and Duchemin, but (for all Duchemin can say to the contrary)is still following "clues" with the fruitless diligence of so manyAmerican police detectives on the trail of a bank messenger accused ofstealing bonds. 

A decent, likable chap, this d'Aubrac, as reticent as any Englishmanconcerning his part in the Great War. Duchemin had to talk round thesubject for days before d'Aubrac confessed that his record in theFrench air service had won him the title of Ace; and this only whenDuchemin found out that d'Aubrac was at present, in his civiliancapacity, managing director of an establishment manufacturingairplanes. 

At the end of that week he left to go back to his business; and Louisede Montalais replaced him at Duchemin's side, where she would sit bythe hour reading aloud to him in a voice as colourless as her unformedpersonality. Nevertheless Duchemin was grateful, and with the younggirl as guide for the _nth_ time sailed with d'Artagnan to Newcastleand rode with him toward Belle Isle, with him frustrated themachinations of overweening Aramis and yawned over the insufferablevirtues of that most precious prig of all Romance, Raoul, Vicomte deBragelonne. 

But the third week found Duchemin mending all too rapidly; the timecame too soon when the word "to-morrow" held for him all the dreadsignificance, he assured himself, that it holds for a condemned man onthe eve of execution. 

To-morrow the detectives commissioned by Madame de Montalais's bankerswould arrive. To-morrow Eve would set out on her journey to Paris. To-morrow André Duchemin must walk forth from the Château de Montalaisand turn his back on all that was most dear to him in life. 

On that last day he saw even less of Eve than usual. She was naturallybusy with preparations for her trip, a trifle excited, too; it would beonly the third time she had left the château for as long as overnightsince returning to it after her husband's death. When Duchemin did seeher, she seemed at once exhilarated and subdued, and he thought todetect in her attitude toward him a trace of apprehensiveness. 

She knew, of course; Duchemin at thirty-eight was too well versed inlore of women to dream he had succeeded in keeping his secret from thefine intuition of one of thirty. But--he told himself a bitbitterly--she ought to know him well enough by this time to know more, that she need not fear he would ever speak his heart to her. The socialgulf that set their lives apart was all too wide to be spanned but by amiracle of love requited; and he had too much humility and naivété ofsoul to presume that such a thing could ever come to pass. And even ifit should, there remained the insuperable barrier of her fortune, inthe face of which the pretensions of a penniless adventurer could onlyseem silly.... 

He was permitted to be about the house in the afternoon and to dinewith Eve and Louise in the draughty, shadow-haunted dining hall. Madamede Sévénié was indisposed and kept to her room; she suffered from timeto time from an affection of the heart, nothing remarkable in one ofher advanced age and so no excuse for unusual misgivings. But thepresence of the young girl in some measure, and the emotions of theothers in greater, lent the conversation a constraint against whichDuchemin's attempts at levity could not prevail. The talk languishedand revived fitfully only when some indifferent, impersonal topicoffered itself. The weather, for example, enjoyed unwonted vogue. Ithappened to be drizzling; Eve was afraid of a rainy morrow. Sheconfessed to a minor superstition, she did not really like to start ajourney in the rain... 

She smoked only one cigarette with Duchemin in the drawing-room afterdinner, then excused herself to wait on Madame de Sévénié and finishher packing. It was time, too, for Duchemin to remember he was still aninvalid and subject to a régime prescribed by his surgeon: he must goearly to his bed. 

"I am sorry, mon ami, " the woman said, hesitating after she had lefther chair before the fire; whose play of broken light was, perhaps, responsible for some of the softness of her eyes as she faced Ducheminand gave him her hand--"sorry our last evening together must be sobrief. I am in the mood to sit and talk with you for hours to-night... "

"If you could only manage even one, madame!" She shook her head gently, with a wistful smile. "There will never be another night... "

"I know, I know; and the knowledge makes me very sad. I have enjoyedknowing you, monsieur, even under such distressing circumstances... "

"My wound? You tempt me to seek another!"

"Don't be absurd. " He was still holding her hand, and she made no moveto free it, but seeming forgetful of it altogether, lingered on. "Ishall miss you, monsieur. The château will seem lonely when I return, Ishall feel its loneliness more than I have ever felt it. "

"And the world, madame, " said Duchemin--"the world into which I mustgo--it, too, will seem a lonely place, --a desert, haunted... "

"You will soon forget ... Château de Montalais. "

"Forget! when all I shall have will be my memories--!"

"Yes, " she said, "we shall both have memories... " And suddenly therich, deep voice quoted in English: "'Memories like almighty wine. '"

She offered to disengage her hand, but Duchemin tightened gently thepressure of his fingers, bowing over it and, as he looked up for heranswer, murmuring: "With permission?" She gave the slightestinclination of her head. His lips touched her hand for a moment; thenhe released it. She went swiftly to the door, faltered, turned. 

"We shall see each other in the morning--to say au revoir. With us, monsieur, it must never be adieu. "

She was gone; but she had left Duchemin with a singing heart that wouldnot let him sleep when he had gone to bed, stared blankly at the lastchapter of Bragelonne for an hour, and put out his candle. 

Till long after midnight he tossed restlessly, bedevilled alternatelyby melancholy and exhilaration, or lay staring blindly into thedarkness, striving to focus his thoughts upon the abstract, a hopelesseffort; trying to think where to go to-morrow, whither to turn his feetwhen the gates of Paradise had closed behind him, and knowing it didnot matter, he did not care, that hereafter one place and another wouldbe the same to him, so that they were not the place of her abode. 

The château was as still as any castle of enchantment; only an oldclock in the drawing room, two floors below, tolled the slow hours; andthrough the open windows came the mournful murmur of the river, a voiceof utter desolation in the night. 

He heard the clock strike two, and shortly after, in a fit ofexasperation, thinking to discipline his mind with reading, lighted thecandle on the bedside stand, found his book, and fumbled vainly in thelittle silver casket beside the candlestick for a cigarette. 

Now a sincere smoker can do without smoking for hours on end, as longas the deprivation is voluntary. But let him be without the wherewithalto smoke if he have the mind to, and he must procure it instantlythough the heavens fall. It was so then with Duchemin. And what greaterfolly could there be than to want a cigarette and do without one whenthere were plenty in the drawing-room, to be had for the taking?

He rose, girdled about him his dressing-gown, took up the candlestick, opened his door. The hallway was as empty and silent as he had expectedto find it. He had no fear of disturbing the household, for hisslippers were of felt and silent and the stairs were of stone andcreakless. 

Shielding the candle flame with his hand, and somewhat dazzled by thelight thus cast into his face, he passed the floor on which the threeladies of the château had each her separate suite of rooms, and gainedthe drawing-room as noiselessly as any ghost. 

The fire had died down till only embers glowed, faint under films ofash, like an old anger growing cold with age. 

The cigarettes were not where he had expected to find them, near oneend of a certain table. Duchemin put down the candlestick and movedtoward the other end, discovering the box he sought as soon as his backwas turned to the light. In the same breath this last went out. 

He stood for a moment transfixed in astonishment. There were no windowsopen, no draughts that he could feel, nothing to account for the flameexpiring as it had, suddenly, without one flicker of warning. An insanething to happen to one, at such an hour, in such a place... 

Involuntarily memory harked back to the night of his first dinner inthe château, when the shadows had danced so weirdly, and the strangenotion had come to him that they were like famished spectres, greedy ofthe lights, yearning to spring and snatch and feed upon them, as wolvesmight snatch at chops. 

A mad fancy... 

When he turned hack to relight the candle, it was gone. 

At least he must have been mistaken as to the exact spot where he hadplaced it. Perplexed, he pawed over all that end of the table. But nocandlestick was there. 

He straightened up sharply, and stood quite still, listening. No sound... 

His vision spent itself fruitlessly against the blackness, which theclosed window draperies rendered absolute but for those dull, sardoniceyes of dying embers. 

In spite of himself he knew a moment when flesh crawled and the hairseemed to stir upon the scalp; for Duchemin knew he was not alone;there was something else in the room with him, something nameless, stealthy, silent, sinister; having knowledge of him, where he stood andwhat he was, while he knew nothing of it, only that it was there, keeping surveillance over him, itself unseen in its cloak of darkness. 

Then with a resolute effort of will he mastered his imagination, reminding himself that spirits gifted in the matter of moving materialobjects such as candlesticks, frequent only the booths of seancemediums. 

Without a sound he stepped back one pace, then two to one side, awayfrom the table. They were long strides; when he paused he was well awayfrom the spot where he had stood when the light was extinguished andwhere, consequently, a hostile move might be expected to develop. Otherwise his plight was little bettered; he did not quite know wherehe was in relation to the doors and the pieces which furnished theroom. That old-time habit of memorising the arrangement of furniture ina room immediately on entering it had failed through disuse in courseof years. He was acquainted with the plot of this drawing-room in ageneral way but by no means with such accuracy as was needed to servehim now. 

So he waited, straining to cheat that opaque pall of night of onelittle hint as to his whereabouts who had removed the light. Resurrecting another old trick, he measured time by pulse-beats, andstood unstirring and all but breathless for three full minutes. Butperceptions stimulated to extra sensibility by apprehension of dangerdetected nothing. And his hearing was so keen, he told himself, nobreath could have been drawn in that time without his having knowledgeof it. Still, he knew he was not alone. Somewhere in that encompassingmurk an alien and inimical intelligence skulked. 

Baffled by powers of patience and immobility that mocked his own, hemoved again, edging toward the entrance-hall, a progress so gradual hecould have sworn it must be imperceptible. Yet he had a feeling, asuspicion, perhaps merely a fear, that he did not stir a finger withoutthe other's knowledge. 

A hand extended about a foot encountered the back of an upholsteredchair, which he identified by touch. Assuming the chair to be occupyingits usual position, he need only continue in a line parallel with theline of its back to find the entrance-hall in about six paces. 

Within three he stopped dead, as if paralysed by sudden instinctiveperception of that other presence close by. 

Whether he had drawn near to it, inch by inch, or whether it, seeinghim about to make good his escape, had crept up on him, he could notsay. He only knew that it was there, within arm's-length, waiting, tense, prepared, and somehow deadly in its animosity. 

Digging the nails deep into the palms of his hands, until the painrelieved his nervous tension, he waited once more, one minute, two, three. 

But nothing ... 

Then very slowly he lifted an arm, and swept it before him right andleft. At one point of the arc, a trifle to his left, his finger-tipsbrushed something. He thought he detected a stir in the darkness, astifled sound, stepped forward quickly, clawing the air, and caughtbetween his fingers a wisp of some material, like silk, sheer andglacé, a portion of some garment. 

Simultaneously he heard a smothered cry, of anger or alarm, and thenight seemed to split and be rent into fragments by a thousand shootingneedles of coloured flame. 

Smitten brutally on the point of the jaw, his head jerked back, hereeled and fell against a chair, which went to the floor with a muffledcrash. 

X

BUT AS A MUSTARD SEED... 

Duchemin woke up in his bed, glare of sunlight in his eyes. 

From the latter circumstance he reckoned, rather groggily, it must beabout the middle of the forenoon; for not till about that time did thesun work round to the windows. 

Still heavy with lees of slumber, his wits occupied themselvessluggishly with questions concerning the enervation that oppressed him, the reason for his oversleeping, why he had not been called. Then, reminded that noon was the hour set for Eve's departure, fear lest sheget away without his bon voyage brought him sharply up in a sittingposition. 

He groaned aloud and with both hands clutched temples that promised tosplit with pain that crashed between them, stroke upon stroke, likeblows of a mighty hammer. 

A neatly fastened bandage held in place, above one ear, a wad of cottononce saturated with arnica, now dry. Duchemin removed these and withgingerly fingers explored, discovering a noble swelling on the side ofhis head, where the cotton had been placed. 

Also, his jaw was stiff, and developed a protesting ache whenever heopened his mouth. 

Then Duchemin remembered ... That is to say, he recalled clearly allthat had led up to that vicious blow from out of the darkness which hadfound his jaw with such surprising accuracy; and he was visited by oneor two rather indefinite memories of subsequent events. 

He remembered labouring up the stairs, half walking, half supported bythe strong arms of the footman, Jean, who was in shirt, trousers andslippers only, while in front of them moved the shape of Madame deMontalais en négligée, carrying a lighted candle and constantly lookingback. 

Then he had an impression of being lifted into his bed by Jean, and ofhaving his head and shoulders raised by the same arms some time later, so that he might drink a draught of some concoction with a pleasantaromatic taste and odour, in a glass held to his lips by Eve deMontalais. 

And then (Duchemin had a faint smile of appreciation for a mentalparallel to the technique of the cinema) a singularly vivid anddisturbing memory of her face of loveliness, exquisitely tender andcompassionate, bended so near to his, faded away into a dense blank ofsleep ... 

Somewhat to his surprise he found the watch on his wrist ticking awayas callously as though its owner had not experienced a prolonged lapseof consciousness. It told him that Eve would leave the château withinanother hour. 

He got up hastily, grunting a bit--though his headache was no longer soacute; or else he was growing accustomed to it--and ringing for thevalet-de-chambre ordered his petit déjeuner. Before this was served hespent several thrilling minutes under an icy shower and emerged feelingmore on terms with himself and the world. 

The valet-de-chambre brought with his tray the announcement that Madamede Montalais presented her compliments and would be glad to seemonsieur at his convenience in the grand salon. So Duchemin made shortwork of his dressing, his café-au-lait and half a roll, and hurrieddown to the drawing-room. 

Seated in an easy chair, in the tempered light of an awninged windowwhich stood open on the terrasse, nothing in her pose--she was waitingquietly, hands folded in her lap--and nothing in her countenance, inthe un-lined brow, the grave, serene eyes, lent any colour to hisapprehensions. And yet in his heart he had known that he would find herthus, and alone, no matter what had happened.... 

Her profound reverie disturbed by his approach, she rose quickly, advancing to meet Duchemin with both hands offered in sympathy. 

"My dear friend! You are suffering--?"

He met this with a smiling denial. "Not now; at first, yes; but sincemy bath and coffee, I'm as right as a trivet. And you, madame?"

"A little weary, monsieur, otherwise quite well. "

She resumed her chair, signing to Duchemin to take one nearby. He drewit closer before sitting down. 

"But madame is not dressed for her journey!"

"No, monsieur. I have postponed it--" a slight pause prefaced one moreword--"indefinitely. "

At this confirmation of the fears which had been haunting him, Ducheminnodded slightly. 

"But the men sent here by your bankers--?"

"They have not yet arrived; we may expect them at any moment now. "

"I see, " said Duchemin thoughtfully; and then--"May I suggest that wecontinue our conversation in English. One never knows who mayoverhear... "

Her eyebrows lifted a little, but she adopted the suggestion withoutother demur. 

"The servants?"

He nodded: "Or anybody. "

"Then you have guessed--?"

"Broadly speaking, everything, I fancy. Not in any detail, naturally. But one puts two and two together ... I may as well tell you to beginwith: I was wakeful last night, and finding no cigarettes in my room, came down here to get some. I left my candle on the table--there. Assoon as my back was turned, somebody took it away and put it out. A fewminutes later, while I was trying to steal out of the room, I ran intoa fist... "

"Yes, " she said thoughtfully; and with some hesitation added: "I, too, found it not easy to sleep. But I heard nothing till that chaircrashed. Then I got up to investigate ... And found you lying there, senseless. In falling your head must have struck the leg of the table. "

"You came down here--alone?"

"I listened first, heard no sound, saw no light; but I had to know whatthe noise meant... "

"Still, you came downstairs alone!"

"But naturally, monsieur. "

"I don't believe, " said Duchemin sincerely, "the world holds a womanyour peer for courage. "

"Or curiosity?" she laughed. "At all events, I found you, but could donothing to rouse you. So I called Jean, and he helped me get youupstairs again. "

"Where does Jean sleep?"

"In the servants' quarters, on the third floor, in the rear of thehouse. "

"It must have taken you some time... "

"Several minutes, I fancy. Jean sleeps soundly. "

"When you came back with him--or at any time--did you see or hear--?"

"Nothing out of the normal--nobody. Indeed, I at first believed you hadsomehow managed to overexert yourself and had fainted--or had trippedon something and, falling, hurt your head. "

"Later, then, you found reason to revise that theory?"

"Not till early this morning. "

"Please tell me... "

"Well, you see ... It all seemed so strange, I couldn't sleep when Iwent back to bed, I lay awake, puzzled, uneasy. It was broad daylightbefore I noticed that the screen which stands in front of my safe wasout of place. The safe is built into the solid wall, you know. I got upthen, and found the safe door an inch or so ajar. Whoever opened itlast night, closed it hastily and neglected to shoot the bolts. "

"And your jewels, of course--?"

She pronounced with unbroken composure: "They have left me nothing, monsieur. "

Duchemin groaned and hung his head. "I knew it!" he declared. "Nocredit to me, however. Naturally, whoever stole my candle and knockedme out didn't break into the house for the fun of it ... I imaginethat, what with finding me insensible, waking Jean up, and getting meback in my room, you must have been away from yours fully half anhour. "

"Quite that long. "

"It couldn't have been better arranged for the thieves, " he declared. "If only I had stayed in my room--!"

"If you had, it might possibly have been worse--mightn't it? Theburglar--or burglars--knew precisely the location of the safe. Theywere coming to my room, and if they had found me awake ... I think itquite possible, my friend, that your appetite for cigarettes may havesaved my life. "

"There's consolation in that, " he confessed--"if it's any to you, whohave lost so much. "

"But perhaps I shall get my jewellery back. "

"What makes you think that?"

"There's always the chance, isn't there? And I believe I have a clue, as they call it, an indefinite one but something to work from, perhaps. "

"What is that?"

"It seems to me it must have been what the police at home call 'aninside job'; because whoever it was apparently knew the combination ofthe safe. "

"You mean it wasn't broken open. That signifies nothing. I've neverseen yours, but I know something about safes, and I'll undertake toopen it without the combination within ten minutes. "

"You, Monsieur Duchemin?"

He nodded gloomily. "It's no great trick, once one knows it; with anordinary safe, that is, such as you're apt to find in a private home. Have you looked for finger-prints?"

"Not yet. "

"Have you any idea how the thieves broke in?"

"Through this very window, I imagine. You see, I was up early and, inmy agitation, dressed hurriedly and came downstairs hours before Iusually do. The servants were already up, but hadn't opened the livingrooms for the day. I myself found this window unlatched. The fasteningis insecure, you see; it has been out of order for some time. "

Duchemin was on his feet, examining the latch. "True, " he said; "butmight not the wind--?"

"There was no wind to speak of last night, monsieur, and what there wasdidn't blow from that quarter. " She added as Duchemin stepped outthrough the window: "Where are you going?"

"To look for footprints on the tiling. It was misting when I went tobed, and with the mud--"

"But there was a heavy shower just before daybreak. If the thieves hadleft any tracks on the terrasse, the rain must have washed them cleanaway. I have already looked. "

With a baffled gesture, Duchemin turned back to her side. 

"You have communicated with the police, of course. "

She interrupted with an accent almost of impatience: "I have toldnobody but you, monsieur, not even my mother and Louise. "

"But why?"

"I wanted to consult you first, and... " She broke off sharply to ask:"Yes, Jean: what is it?"

The footman had entered to bring her cards over which Eve de Montalaisarched her brows. 

"Show the gentlemen in, please. "

The servant retired. 

"The men from Paris, madame?"

"Yes. You will excuse me--?"

Duchemin bowed. "But one word: You can hardly do better than put thecase in the hands of these gentlemen. They are apt to be of a goodorder of intelligence when selected to serve bankers, you know. "

"I understand, " she replied in her cool, sweet voice. 

She went to meet the men in the middle of the room. Duchemin turnedback to the window, where, standing in the recess, with the lightbehind him, he could watch and reflect without his interest oremotions, becoming too apparent. And he was grateful for that moment ofrespite in which to compose and prepare himself. Within an hour, heknew, within a day or so at most, he must be under arrest, charged withthe theft of the Montalais jewels, damned by his yesterday as much asby every turn of circumstantial evidence.... 

The men whom Jean ushered in proved to be, outwardly, what Duchemin hadexpected: of a class only too well-known to him, plain men of thepeople, unassuming, well-trained and informed, sceptical; notimprobably shrewd hands in the game of thief-taking. 

Saluting Madame de Montalais with calculated ceremony, one acting asspokesman offered to present their credentials. Duchemin had a start ofsurprise to dissemble when he saw the woman wave these aside. 

"It is not necessary, messieurs, " she said. "I regret very much to haveinconvenienced you, although of course it will make no difference inyour bill; but I have brought you here to no purpose. The necessity formy contemplated journey no longer exists. "

There were expressions of surprise to which she put an end with thewords, accompanied by a charming smile: "Frankly, messieurs, I amafraid you will have to make allowances for the traditionalinconsistency of my sex: I have simply changed my mind. "

There was nothing more to be said. Openly more than a little mystified, the men withdrew. 

The smile with which she dismissed them lingered, delightful andenigmatic, as Eve recognised the stupefaction with which Duchemin movedto remonstrate with her. 

"Madame!" he cried in a low voice of wonder and protest--"why did youdo that? Why let them go without telling them--?"

"I must have had a reason, don't you think, Monsieur Duchemin?"

"I don't understand you, madame. You treat the loss of jewels as if itmust be a secret private to ourselves, to you and to me!"

"Possibly that is my wish, monsieur. " He gave a gesture ofbewilderment. "Perhaps, " she continued, meeting his blank stare witheyes in which amusement gave place to a look almost apologetic yetutterly kind--"perhaps I have more faith in you... "

Duchemin bowed his head over hands so tightly knitted that the knuckleswere white with strain. 

"You would not have faith, " he said in a low voice, "if you knew--"

She interrupted in a gentle voice: "Are you sure?"

"--What I must tell you!"

"My friend, " she said: "tell me nothing that would distress you. "

He did not immediately reply; the struggle going on within him was onlytoo plainly betrayed by engorged veins upon his forehead and exceedingpallor of countenance. 

"If you had told those detectives, " he said at length, without lookingup, "you must have known very soon. They must have found me out withouttoo much delay. And who in the world would ever believe anybody elseguilty when they learned that André Duchemin, your guest for threeweeks, was only an alias for Michael Lanyard, otherwise the Lone Wolf?"

"But you are wrong, monsieur, " she replied, without the long pause ofsurprise he had anticipated. "I should not have believed you guilty. "

Dumb with wonder, he showed her a haggard face. And she had for him, inthe agony and the abasement of his soul, still quivering from the rackof emotion that alone could have extorted his confession--she had forhim the half-smile, tender and compassionate, that it is given to mostmen to see but once in a lifetime on the lips and in the eyes of thewoman beloved. "Then you knew--!"

"I suspected. "

"How long--?"

"Since the night those strange people were here and tried to make youunhappy with their stupid talk of the Lone Wolf. I suspected, then; andwhen I came to know you better, I felt quite sure... "

"And now you _know_--yet hesitate to turn me over to the police!"

"No such thought has ever entered my head. You see--I'm afraid youdon't quite understand me--I have faith in you. "

"But why?"

She shook her head. "You mustn't ask me that. "

At the end of a long moment he said in a broken voice: "Very well: Iwon't ... Not yet awhile ... But this great gift of faith in me--Ican't accept that without trying to repay it. "

"If you accept, my friend, you repay. "

"No, " said Michael Lanyard--"that's not enough. Your jewels must comeback to you, if I go to the ends of the earth to find them. And"--man'sundying vanity would out--"if there's anyone living who can find themfor you, it is I. "

XI

AU REVOIR

Early in the afternoon Eve de Montalais made it possible for Lanyard toexamine the safe in her boudoir without exciting comment in thehousehold. He was nearly an hour thus engaged, but brought back to thedrawing-room, in addition to the heavy magnifying glass which he hadrequisitioned to eke out his eyesight, only a face of disappointment. 

"Nothing, " he retorted to Eve. "Evidently a gentleman of rigidly formalhabits, our friend of last night--wouldn't dream of calling at any hourwithout his gloves on.... I've been over every inch of the safe, outside and in, and the frame of the screen too, but--nothing. However, I've been thinking a bit as well, I hope to some purpose. "

The woman nodded intently as he drew up his chair and sat down. 

"You have made a plan, " she stated rather than enquired. 

"I won't call it that, not yet. We've got too little to go on. But oneor two things seem fairly obvious, therefore must not be left out ofconsideration. Assuming for the sake of argument that Mr. Whitaker Monkand his lot had a hand in this--"

"Ah! you think that?"

"I admit I'm unfair. But first they quarrel with my sense of the normalby being too confoundedly picturesque, too rich and brilliant, toosharp and smart and glib, too--well!--theatrical; like characters fromthe cast of what your American theatre calls a crook melodrama. Andthen, if their intentions were so blessed pure and praiseworthy, whatright had they to make so many ambiguous gestures?"

"Leading the talk up to my jewels, you mean?"

"I mean every move they made: all too suspiciously smooth, too wellrehearsed in effect. That stop to dine in Nant with the storm comingon, when they could easily have made Millau before it broke: what elsewas that for but to stage a 'break-down' at your door at a time when itwould be reasonable to beg the shelter and hospitality of your roof?Then Madame la Comtesse de Lorgnes--whoever _she_ is--must get her feetwet, an excellent excuse for asking to be introduced to your boudoir, so she may change her shoes and stockings and incidentally spy out theprecise location of your safe. And when their ear is hauled into thegarage, Mr. Phinuit must go to help, which gives him a chance to strollat leisure through the lower part of the house and note every easy wayof breaking in. Mr. Monk casually notes your likeness to the littlegirl he once met, _he_ says, in your father's office; something youtell me you don't recall at all. And that places you as the veritableowner of the Anstruther jewels, and no mistake. Then--Madame de Lorgnesguiding the conversation by secret signals which I intercept--somebodyrecognises me as the Lone Wolf, in spite of the work of years and anew-grown beard; and you are obliquely warned that, if your jewelsshould happen to disappear it's more than likely the Lone Wolf willprove to be the guilty party. At any rate, they will be ever so muchobliged if you'll believe he is, it'll save so much trouble all around. Finally: when your ex-chauffeur--what's his name--?" "Albert Dupont. "

"A name as unique in France as John Smith is in England ... When AlbertDupont tries to take my life, as a simple and natural act ofvendetta--"

"You really think it was that?"

"I recognised the beast when he let off that pistol at my head. I wasin his way here, and he owed me one besides for my interference atMontpellier that night.... When Dupont half murders me and I'm laid upon your hands for nearly a month, our friends with designs on yourjewels thoughtfully wait before they strike till I am able to be up andabout, consequently in a position to be accused of a crime which no onewould put past the Lone Wolf. Oh, I think we can fairly count Mr. Monkand his friends in on this coup!"

"I am sure of it, " said Eve de Montalais. "But Albert: is he one ofthem, their employee or confrère?"

"Dupont? I fancy not. I may be wrong, but I believe he is entirely onhis own--quite independent of the Monk party. "

"But his attack on us at Montpellier, and later on you here, coming atabout the same time as their visit--"

"Coincidence, if you ask me. The weight of probability is against anycollusion between the two parties. "

"Please explain... "

"Dupont is an Apache of Paris. The language he used to me when wefought in that carriage at Montpellier was the slang of the lowestorder of Parisian criminal, used spontaneously, under stress of greatexcitement, with no intent to mislead. These other people were--ifanything but poor misjudged lambs--swell mobsmen, the élite of thecriminal world. The two castes never work together because they can'ttrust each other. The swell mobsman works with his head and only killswhen cornered. The Apache kills first, as a matter of instinct, andthen thinks--to the best of his ability. The Apache knows the swellmobsman can outwit him. The swell mobsman knows the Apache willassassinate him at the first hint of a suspicion of his good faith. Sothey rarely if ever make use of each other. "

"You say 'rarely. ' But possibly in this instance?"

"I think not. Dupont was employed as your chauffeur, you've told me, upwards of a month. He had ample opportunity to familiarise himselfwith the premises and pass the information on, if acting in connivancewith those others. But we know he didn't, or they would never haveshown themselves here in order to secure information they couldn't havegot otherwise. "

"I see, monsieur, " said the woman. "Then you think the thief may havebeen any one of the Monk party--"

"Or several of them acting in concert, " Lanyard interrupted, smiling. 

"Or Albert. "

"Not Dupont. Unless I underestimate him gravely he is incapable of suchfinesse. He is a thug first, a thief afterwards. He would have killedme out of hand if it had been he who had me at his mercy, down here, inthe dark. Nor would he have been able to open the safe without using anexplosive. That, indeed, is why, as I understand him, Dupont attackedyou at Montpellier. If he could have disposed of you there, he wouldhave returned here to work upon the safe and blow it at his leisure, fobbing the servants off with some yarn, or if they proved tootroublesome intimidating them, killing one or two if necessary. "

"But why has he made no other attempt--?"

"You forget the police have been making the neighbourhood fairly warmfor him. Besides, he wanted me out of the way before he triedhousebreaking. If he had succeeded in murdering me that night, I don'tdoubt he would have burglarised the château soon after. But he failed;the police were stirred up to renewed activity; and if Monsieur Dupontis not now safely back in Paris, hiding in some warren of Montmartre orBelleville, I am much mistaken in the man--a type I know well. "

"Eliminating Albert then--"

"There remains the Monk lot. "

"You are satisfied that one or all of its members committed the theftlast night?"

"Not less than two, probably; say Phinuit, at a venture, and hisalleged brother, Jules, the chauffeur, both Americans, adventurous, intelligent and resourceful. Yes; I believe that. "

"And your plan of campaign is based on this conclusion?"

"That's a big name"--Lanyard's smile was diffident, a plea forsuspended judgment on his lack of inventiveness--"for a lame idea. Ibelieve our only course is to let them believe they have beensuccessful in every way, and so lull them into carelessness with afalse sense of security. "

A wrinkle appeared between the woman's eyebrows. "How do you propose toaccomplish that?" she asked in a voice that betrayed ready antagonismto what her intuition foresaw. 

"Very simply. They hoped to shift suspicion on to my shoulders. Well, let them believe they have done so. "

The waiting hostility developed in a sharp negative: "Ah, no!"

"But yes, " Lanyard insisted. "It's so simple. Nobody here knows as yetthat your jewels have been stolen, only you and I. Very well: you willnot discover your loss and announce it till to-morrow morning. By thattime André Duchemin will have disappeared mysteriously. The room towhich he will retire to-night will be found vacant in the morning, hisbed unslept in. Obviously the scoundrel would not fly the châteaubetween two suns without a motive. Inform the police of the fact andlet them draw their own conclusions: before evening all France willknow that André Duchemin is suspected of stealing the Montalais jewels, and is a fugitive from justice. "

"No, monsieur, " the woman iterated decidedly. 

"You will observe, " he continued, lightly persuasive, "it is AndréDuchemin who will be accused, madame, not Michael Lanyard, never theLone Wolf! The heart of man is in truth a dark forest, and vanity theonly light to guide us through its mazes. I confess I am jealous of myreputation as a reformed character. But André Duchemin is merely aname, a nom de guerre; you may saddle him with all the crimes in thecalendar if you like, and welcome. For when I say he will disappearto-night, I mean it quite literally: André Duchemin will nevermore beheard of in this world. "

She had a smile quivering on her lips, yet shook her head. 

"Monsieur forgets I learned to know him under the name of Duchemin. "

"Ah, madame! do not make me think too kindly of the poor fellow; forwhether we like it or not, he is doomed. And if madame, in her charity, means to continue to know me, it must be Michael Lanyard whom shesuffers to claim a little portion of her friendship. "

Her smile grew wistful, with a tenderness he had the grace not torecognise. Abashed, incredulous, he turned aside his gaze. Then withoutwarning he found her hand at rest in his. "More than a little, monsieur, more than a little friendship only!"

He closed the hand in both his own. 

"Then be kind to me, madame, be still more kind; give me this chance tofind and restore your jewels. It is the only way, this plan of mine. Ifwe adopt it no one will suffer, only an old alias that is no longeruseful. If we do not adopt it, I may not succeed, for the true authorsof this crime may prove too wary for me; and the end will be that mybest friends will believe the worst of me; even you, madame, even youwill not be sure your faith was not misplaced. "

"Enough!" the woman begged in a stifled voice. "It shall be as youwish--if you will have it so. "

She sought to take away her hand; but Lanyard kissed it before he letit go. And immediately she rose with a murmured, half articulateexcuse, and went from the room, leaving him to struggle with himselfand that which was in him which was stronger than himself, his hungerfor her love, to deny stubbornly the evidence of his senses and end bypersuading himself against his will that he was nothing to her morethan an object of common kindness such as she would extend to anyone insimilar plight. 

Because he never could be more.... 

Those few last hours in the château passed swiftly enough, most of themin making plans for his "escape, " something which demanded a deal ofpuzzling over maps and railway guides in the seclusion of his room. Since the next noon must find André Duchemin a criminal published andproscribed, he had need to utilise every shred of cunning at hiscommand if he were to reach Paris without being arrested and withoutundue loss of time. 

To take a train at Millau would be simply to invite pursuit; for thatwas the likeliest point an escaping criminal would strike for, astopping place for all trains north and southbound. Telegraphic adviceswould cause every such train to be searched to a certainty. Furthermore, Lanyard had no desire to enter Paris by the direct routefrom Millau. Not the police alone, but others, enemies even moredangerous, might be expecting him by that route. 

On the other hand, the nearest railway station, Combe-Redonde, wasequally out of the question, since to gain it one must pass throughNant, where André Duchemin was known, and risk being seen, while atCombe-Redonde itself the station people would be apt to remember themonsieur who had recently created a sensation by despatching a codetelegram to London. 

There was nothing for it, then, but a twenty-mile walk due west acrossthe Causse Larzac by night to Tournemire, where one could get trains inany one of four directions. 

Constraint marked that last dinner with Eve de Montalais. They werealone. Louise was dining by the bedside of Madame de Sévénié, whoremained indisposed, a shade more so than yesterday. The ill health ofthis poor lady, indeed, was the excuse Eve had given for putting offher trip to Paris. 

Their talk was framed in stilted phrases, inconsecutive. They dared notconverse naturally, each fearing to say too little or too much. For thememory of that surge of emotion, transient though it had been, in whichtheir discussion had culminated, that afternoon, stood between themlike a warning ghost, an implacable finger sealing its lips and theirswith the sign of silence. 

But talk they must, for the benefit of the servants, and talk they didafter an uneasy fashion, making specious arrangements for Lanyard'sdeparture on the morrow, when Eve was to drive him to Millau to catchthe afternoon rapide for Paris. 

Nor was it much better after dinner in the drawing-room. Consciousnessof each other and consciousness of self, as each fought to master theemotions inspired by thoughts of their near parting, drove both intothe refuge of a dry, insincere, cool impersonality. Lanyardcommunicated nothing of his plans, though aware his failure to do somight be misconstrued, instil an instinctive if possibly unconsciousresentment to render the situation still more difficult. The truth was, he could barely trust himself to speak lest mere words work on hisguard like tiny streams that sap the strength of the dike till itbreaks and looses the pent and devastating seas. 

At half past nine, ending a long silence, Lanyard sat forward in hischair, hesitated, and covered his hesitation by lighting a cigarette. 

"I must go now, " he said, puffing out the match. 

He was aware of her almost imperceptible start of surprise. 

"So soon?" she breathed. 

"The moon rises not long after ten, and I want to get away withoutbeing seen either by the servants or by--anybody who might happen to bepassing. You understand. "

She nodded. He lingered, frowning at his cigarette. 

"With permission, I will write... "

"Please. "

"When I have anything to report. "

She turned her head full face to him, letting him see her fluttering, indulgent smile. 

"You must wait for that?"

"Perhaps, " he faltered--"at least, I hope--it won't be long. "

"You must wait for that?"

"Perhaps, " he faltered--"at least, I hope--it won't be long. " "I shallbe waiting, " she told him simply--"watching every post for word fromyou. I shan't worry, only for you. "

He got up slowly from his chair, and stood half choking withunutterable words. 

"I know no way to thank you, " he managed to say at last. 

"For what?"

"For everything--kindness, charity, sympathy--"

"What are those things?" she demanded with a nervous little laugh. "Words! Just words that you and I use to hide behind, like timidchildren... " She rose suddenly and offered him her hand. "But I don'tthink it's any use, my friend, I'm quite sure that neither of us isdeceived. No: say nothing more; the time is not yet and--we both canwait. Only know I understand ... Go now"--her fingers tightened roundhis--"but don't stay away any longer than you must, don't be influencedby silly traditions, false and foolish standards when you think of me. Go now"--she freed her hand and turned away--"but oh, come safely backto me, my dear!"

XII

TRAVELS WITH AN ASSASSIN

Under a sky whose misty silver pulsed with waves of violet light anddim glimmerings of gold, Lanyard, grey with the dust and weariness oftwenty leagues of heavy walking, trudged into the sleeping streets ofthe town of Tournemire. 

In the railway station--whose buvette served him such listlessrefreshment as one may find at railway lunch-counters and nowhere elsethe world over--a train was waiting with an apathetic crew and asprinkling of sleepy passengers, for the most part farm and villagefolk of the department. There was nowhere in evidence any figureresembling that of an agent de police. 

Lanyard made enquiry, found that the train was destined for Le Vigan, on the eastern slope of the Cévennes, and purchased a ticket for thatpoint. 

Making himself as comfortable as might be in a depressingly third-ratesecond-class compartment (there was no first class, and the third wasfar too richly flavoured for his stomach) he cultivated a doze as thetrain pulled out. But, driven as provincial trains habitually are, in ahigh spirit of devil-may-care, its first stop woke him up with a seriesof savage, back-breaking jolts which were translated into jerks when itstarted on again and fiendishly reiterated at every suspicion of away-station on the course. So that he presently abandoned all hope ofsleep and sought solace in tobacco and the shifting views afforded bythe windows. Penetrating the upper valley of the Cernon, the railroadskirted the southern boundary of the Causse Larzac, then laboriouslyclimbed up to the plateau itself; and Lanyard roused to the fact thathe was approaching familiar ground from a new angle: the next stopwould be Combe-Redonde. 

The day was still in its infancy when that halt was made. Aside fromthe station agent, not a soul waited upon the platform. But one or twopassengers were set down and, as the engine began to snort anew, a mandarted from behind the tiny structure that housed ticket-office andwaiting-room, galloped heavily across the platform, and with nothing tospare threw himself into the compartment immediately behind thatwherein Lanyard sat alone. 

This manoeuvre was performed so briskly and unexpectedly that Lanyardcaught barely a glimpse of the fellow; but one glimpse was enough toconvince him he had been wrong in assuming that Monsieur Albert Duponthad sneaked back to Paris to hide from the authorities after failing toassassinate André Duchemin more than three weeks ago. 

But why--assuming one were not misled by a chance likeness to thatheavy but athletic figure so well-remembered--why had Dupont lingeredso long in the neighbourhood, in hourly peril of arrest? And why thissudden departure in the chill break of dawn, a move so timed andexecuted that it wore every sign of haste and fear?

No reasonable explanation offered in solution of either of theseriddles; unless, indeed, it were reasonable to believe that lust forvengeance was the ruling passion in the Dupont nature, that thecreature had hung about the château in hope of getting another chanceat Duchemin, and had decided to give it up only on discovering--inexplicably, at this hour--that the latter had stolenaway under cover of night. But Lanyard didn't believe that. Neither didhe believe that Dupont had had any hand in the robbery of night beforelast, and was now in tardy flight. In truth, he didn't know what tothink, and the wildest flights of an imagination provoked by thismystery were tame and timid in contrast with the truth as he was laterto learn it. 

To an amateur in sensations there was true piquancy in the thought thatone was travelling in company with a thug who had already had two triesfor one's life and would not hesitate to essay a third; in the samecoach, separated only by the thin partition between the compartments, safe only in the thug's unconsciousness of one's proximity! And thiswithout the privilege of denouncing the man to the police; for to do sonow would be to enmesh in the toils of the law not only Albert Dupont, would-be assassin, but André Duchemin, charged with stealing theMontalais jewels. 

Lanyard would have given something for a peep-hole in the partition, tobe able to study the countenance of Dupont unaware that he was underscrutiny. But he had to content himself with keeping vigil at thewindows, making sure that Dupont did not drop off at some one of thosemany way-stations which the train was so scrupulous never to slight. 

Monsieur Dupont, however, did not budge a foot out of his compartmentbefore the end of the run; and then Lanyard, purposely delaying, sawDupont get down from the compartment astern and make for thebooking-office at Le Vigan without a glance to right orleft--evidencing not the remotest interest in his late company on thetrain, but rather a complete indifference, an absolute assurance thathe had nothing now to fear, and with this a preoccupation of mind sothoroughgoing that Lanyard was able to edge up behind him, when hepaused at the guichet, and eavesdrop on his consultation with the clerkof the ticket bureau. 

Dupont desired ardently to proceed to Lyons with the least avoidabledelay. Under such conditions, according to the Indicateur des Cheminsde Fer, his best available route was via Nimes, where the next expressfrom Le Vigan made close connection with a northbound train rapide, dueto arrive in Lyons late in the afternoon. 

There was, however, this drawback; or so the clerk declared after adubious summing up of the disreputable Dupont ensemble: whereas onemight travel any class as far as Nimes, the rapide for Lyons carriedonly passengers of the first class. 

But, said Dupont, with other blasphemy, all the world knew that thesacred rapides had no sacred accommodations for sacred passengers ofthe second and third class. Was he not the peer of any sacredfirst-class pig that ever travelled by train in France? If not, heproved the contrary to his own satisfaction by paying for his ticketfrom an imposing accumulation of French bank-notes. 

Then, with half an hour to wait, he lumbered into the buvette andgorged, while Lanyard--having secured his own transportation for Lyonsby the some route--skulked in the offing and kept a close eye on thegourmand. 

Having eaten ferociously, Dupont came out, slouched into a seat on abench and, his thick limbs a-sprawl, consumed cigarette after cigarettein most absolute abstraction of mind. 

Observed thus, off his guard and at tolerably close range, with hisface clean of soot, he projected a personality so forbidding thatLanyard marvelled at the guilelessness which must have influenced theladies of Château de Montalais to accept the man at his own valuationand give him a place in their household. 

The face of fat features was of porcine cast; the forehead low andslanted sharply back into bristles of black hair, the snout long andblunt, the lips flabby, the chin retreating, the jowls pendulous; theeyes a pig's, little, cunning, and predaceous; the complexion sallowand pimply from unholy living, with an incongruous over-layer ofsunburn. A type to inspire distrust, one would think, at sight; anature as repellant as a snake's, and ten times as deadly; in everyline and lineament, in every move and gesture, an Apache of theApaches... 

As for the baleful reflections with which Dupont was patently concernedto the exclusion of all considerations of either surveillance orenvironment, Lanyard found himself so inquisitive that he had never athought but to follow and study the fellow till he surprised hissecret, if possible--at least so long as it might seem safe to do so. 

Moreover, nothing could have suited his own purpose better than toproceed to Paris by way of Lyons. 

Nothing hindered the carrying out of his design. Still lost in thoughtand inattentive, Dupont entrained for Nimes and at that station changedto the rapide for Lyons, where duly at four o'clock--with Lanyard stilla discreet shadow--he alighted in the Gare de Perrache. 

Here again fortune favoured the voluntary sleuth. The station was wellthronged, a circumstance which enabled him to keep inconspicuouslyclose to his victim. Furthermore, Dupont was obviously looking forsomebody, and so distracted. Presently a shabby, furtive little rat ofa man nudged his elbow, and Dupont followed him to a corner, where theyconfabulated in undertones for many minutes; while Lanyard loiteredjust outside their normal range of vision. An unnecessary precaution:they were unafraid of observation, interested only in their privateconcerns. The little man did most of the talking; Dupont seemingcontent with a listening rôle, and gratified by what he heard. Henodded frequently, and once or twice a grim smile enhanced the uglinessof his mouth, a smile terrible in its contained savagery, fit to makeone's blood run cold, that cruelly relished in anticipation the successof some evil scheme. 

Not to be able to hear a word was exasperating to a degree.... 

The smaller villain produced something--a slip of paper--from awaistcoat pocket, and handed it to Dupont, who examined it withdisfavour, shaking his head repeatedly to the other's recommendations. Of a sudden he ended the argument by thrusting the slip back into thehands of the jackal, growled a few words of imperative instruction, jerked his thumb toward the ticket bureau, and without more ado turnedand strode from the terminus. 

Alone, the little man rolled appealing eyes heavenward. Then heshrugged in resignation, and trotted over to the guichet. Lanyard, nowwith no fear of being recognised, ranged alongside and listened openly. 

It seemed that, booked for Paris on the rapide to leave at one-twelvein the morning, this lesser rascal had been assigned a certainsleeping-car berth. Business of displaying the ticket: identified byLanyard as the object over which the conference had split. Now, however, it appeared that a friend was to journey to Paris by the sametrain, but in another sleeping-car. It was greatly desired by both thatthey be separated no farther than necessity might dictate, that thisreservation might be exchanged for another in the same carriage withthe friend. 

Thus far without interruption from the clerk of the ticket bureau. Buthere ensued inevitably the violent French altercation between the twohuman beings on either side of the guichet. Then, as suddenly as it hadarisen, the squall blew over, an amicable settlement was arrived at, the exchange of reservation was effected, the small scoundrel, with tenthousand thanks and profuse assurances of deathless esteem, departedgrinning. 

Lanyard secured the rejected berth and went about his businessprofoundly mystified, but not downhearted. Beyond shadow of fair doubtDupont was up to some new devilment, but Lanyard would be surprised ifits nature failed to develop on the train or at latest upon its arrivalin Paris the next morning. For the present he was weary of the sight ofthe fat Apache, glad to believe he had seen the last of him for somehours; he had much to do on his own part, nothing less in fact thanutterly to obliterate from human ken the personality of André Duchemin. 

This affair involved several purchases; for he was travelling lightindeed, having left even his rucksack at the Château de Montalais. Nevertheless it was no later than seven in the evening when he left aroom which he had engaged in a hotel so pretentious and heavilypatronised that he was lost in its ebb and flow of life, aninconsiderable and unconsidered bit of flotsam--and left it a changedman. 

The pointed beard of Monsieur Duchemin was no more; and a little stain, artfully applied, had toned the newly exposed flesh to match the tan ofthe rest. The rough tweed walking-suit had been replaced by a modestand commonplace blue serge, the cap and heavy brown boots by a strawboater and plain black shoes, the loose-throated flannel shirt by oneof plain linen with stiff cuffs and a fold collar and neat foulard tie. So easily was Madame de Sévénié's buccaneer metamorphosed into thesemblance of a Government clerk!

But this was by no means all. The papers of André Duchemin were crispblack ashes in the fireplace of the room which Lanyard had justquitted, all but the letter of credit; and this last was enclosed in anenvelope, to be sent to London by registered post with a covering noteto request that the unpaid balance be forwarded in French bank-notes toMonsieur Paul Martin, poste restante, Paris; Paul Martin being the namewhich appeared on an entirely new set of papers of identification whichLanyard had thoughtfully secreted in the lining of the tweed coatbefore leaving London. 

If Lanyard wanted better testimony than that supplied by his bedroommirror to the thoroughness of the transformation in his looks, he hadit unsought, and that twice within an hour. 

The first time was when, leaving the hotel to seek the post office anddespatch his letter to London, he found himself suddenly face to facewith Dupont, who was seated at a café table near the hotel entrance andnarrowly scrutinising all who passed in and out; covering thisoccupation with affected interest in the gossip of his companion, thelittle rat man of the Gare de Perrache. 

At this rencontre Lanyard knew a momentary shock of doubt; perhaps hehadn't been so clever as he had thought himself in trailing Dupont allthe way from Combe-Re-donde to Lyons. But the beady little eyes of apig comprehended him in a glance, and rejected him as of positively nointerest to Albert Dupont, a complete stranger and a cheap one at that. So he fared serenely on his way, and Dupont gave him never anotherthought. 

Returning, Lanyard was favoured with even less attention; an error injudgment which enabled him to remark that Dupont was in an ugly temper, sullen and snappy, it might be because of a disappointment of somesort, possibly in consequence of the liberal potations indicated by thetall stack of little saucers at his elbow. As for the lesser villain, he was already silly with drink. 

One would have been glad of a chance to eavesdrop again upon those two;but there was no vacant place within earshot of their table. BesidesLanyard wanted his dinner. So he re-entered the hotel and sought itsrestaurant, where the untiring Long Arm of Coincidence took him by thehand and led him to a table immediately adjoining one occupiedexclusively by Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes. 

And this one in turn looked Lanyard up and down but, detecting in himnot the remotest flavour of reminiscence, returned divided attention toa soup and the door of the restaurant, which he was watching just asclosely and impatiently as Dupont, outside, was watching the mainentrance, and apparently with as little reward for his pains. 

But now, Lanyard told himself, one knew what had dragged Dupont in suchhot haste to Lyons. Somehow word had reached him, probably bytelegraph, that monsieur le comte was waiting there to keep arendezvous. And if you asked him, Lanyard would confess his firmconviction that the other party to the rendezvous would prove to be theperson (or persons) who had effected the burglary at Château deMontalais. 

So he settled to keep an eye on monsieur le comte, and promised himselfan interesting evening. 

But as time passed it became evident that there had been a hitchsomewhere; de Lorgnes was only human, he couldn't rendezvous all byhimself alone, and nobody turned up to help him out. He was frettingwhen Lanyard first saw him; before his dinner was half served his nervewas giving way. Continually his distracted gaze sought the door only toturn back in disappointment to his plate. Everlastingly he consultedhis watch. His appetite failed, the hand that too often carried a glassto his lips shook so that drops of wine spattered the cloth like blood;he could not even keep a cigarette alive, but burned more matches thantobacco. A heavy sweat bedewed his forehead; the ruddy colour of thatplump countenance grew sadly faded, the good-natured features drawn andpinched with worry. By nine o'clock the man was hag-ridden by fear ofthe unknown, by terror of learning what fault had developed in thecalculations of his confrères. 

Efforts to fix his mind on an evening newspaper failed miserably. Andthis was not for lack of interest in the news it published to thecitizens of Lyons. For Lanyard had a copy of the same sheet, and knewthat Eve had loyally kept her promise; a brief despatch from Millautold of the simultaneous disappearance of one André Duchemin and thejewels of Madame de Montalais, and added that the police were alreadyactive in the case. 

At length, unable longer to endure the growing tension of anxiety andkeep up a pretence of eating, de Lorgnes called for his addition andfled the restaurant. Lanyard finished his own meal in haste, andarrived in the foyer of the hotel in time to see de Lorgnes settle hisaccount at the bureau and hear him instruct a porter to have hisluggage ready for the one-twelve rapide for Paris. In the meantime, anybody who might enquire for Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes should bedirected to seek him in the café. 

Thither Lanyard dutifully repaired; and wasted the rest of thatevening, which he had thought would prove so amusing, watching Dupontand company watch de Lorgnes, to whom Dupont's barely dissembledinterest plainly meant nothing at all, but whose mental anguish grew tobe all but unbearable. Nor did the quantities of veeskysoda consumed bythe unhappy nobleman help him bear it, though undoubtedly he assuredhimself it did. By midnight he was more than half-fuddled and wholly indespair. Half an hour later he finished his eighth veeskysoda and wovean unsteady but most dignified way back to the foyer of the hotel. 

Immediately Dupont and his fellow, both markedly the worse for wear, paid and left the café. 

Lanyard returned to his room to get a new-bought travelling bag, andstarted for the train afoot, a neat brown paper parcel under one arm. On the way he made occasion to cross the Saône by one of its dozenbridges, and paused in the middle of the span to meditate upon thewitchery of the night. When he moved on the brown paper parcel wasbearing merrily downstream the mortal remains of André Duchemin, thatis to say his discarded clothing. 

In the Gare de Perrache Lanyard witnessed an affecting farewell scenebetween the little man and Dupont. Not much to his surprise hediscovered that the former was not travelling to Paris that night, after all; it was on Dupont's account alone that he had taken so muchtrouble to secure the change of reservation. 

And when Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes had wavered through the gatewayin tow of a luggage-laden porter; and Dupont had torn himself away fromhis fond familiar and lurched after the count; and Lanyard, after alittle wait, had followed in turn: he was able to see for himself thatDupont had contrived to be berthed in the same carriage with deLorgnes; proving that he did not mean to let the count out of sight, day or night. 

Well weary, Lanyard proceeded to his own compartment, in the car ahead, and turned in. A busy day, and not altogether unprofitable; whateverexpectations had been thwarted in this mild outcome, one had learnedmuch; and to-morrow one would resume the chase anew and, one ratherfancied, learn a deal more. 

But he was not of those who sleep well on trains. In spite of hisextreme fatigue he woke up every time the rapide stopped. He was awakeat Dijon, at four in the morning, and again at Laroche, about a quarterafter six. There, peering out of the window to identify the station, hewas startled to see the broad, round-shouldered back of Albert Dupontmaking away across the rails--leaving the train!

It was not feasible to dress and pursue, even had it been wise. AndLanyard was vexed. Dupont, he felt, was hardly playing fair, aftergiving one every reason to believe he meant to go through to Paris. Andwhat under heaven did the brute think to accomplish in Laroche? Was hestill after the Comte de Lorgnes? Then the latter must likewise havefled the train! Or else ... 

Something sinister in the slant of the Dupont shoulders, as hevanished, something indescribably evil in his furtive yet heavy treadof a beast of prey, struck a thrill of horror into the mind of Lanyard. He shuddered, and warned himself he must learn to hold his imaginationin better check. 

The newspapers of Paris, that day, had a sensation that crushed intoinsignificance the news from Château de Montalais: in a compartmentwhich he had occupied alone on the night rapide from Lyons, a man hadbeen found with his throat cut, his clothing ripped to rags, even hisluggage slashed to ribbons. 

Whether through chance or intention, every possible clue to thevictim's identity was missing. 

XIII

ATHENAIS

In London, about noon of that day, a gentleman whom Lanyard most oftenthought of by the name of Wertheimer deciphered a code message whosecontempt for customary telegraphic brevity was quite characteristic ofthe sender, indeed a better voucher for his bona fides than theinitials appended in place of a signature. With some editing in theway of punctuation, it follows:

"Dear old bean:--Please advise Prefecture de Police without revealingyour source of information, unidentified man found murdered on rapidearriving Gare de Lyon eight-thirty this morning stopped yesterday HôtelTerminus, Lyons, under name of Comte de Lorgnes. During entire eveningbefore entraining he was shadowed by two Apaches, one of whom, passingas Albert Dupont--probably recent and temporary alias--booked throughto Paris occupying berth in same carriage with Lorgnes, but detrainedLaroche six-fifteen, murder remaining undiscovered till arrival inParis. [An admirably succinct sketch of the physical Dupont is heredeleted. ] 'In return for gift of this opportunity to place Préfectureunder obligations, please do me a service. As stranger in Paris I cravepassionately to review Night Life of Great City but am naturally timidabout going about alone after dark. Only society of beautiful, accomplished, well-informed and agreeable lady of proved discretion canput me thoroughly at ease. If you can recommend one such to me bytelegraph, stipulating her amiability must begin to function thisevening, you may depend on my not hesitating to ask further favours asoccasion may arise. Presume you have heard your old friend Duchemin, now missing, is suspected of looting jewels of Madame de Montalais, Château de Montalais, near Millau. He counts on your discretion topreserve secret of his innocence pending further advices. Paul Martinhere stopping Hotel Chatham. Toodle-oo. 

"M. L. "

A telegram from London addressed to M. Paul Martin, Hotel Chatham, Paris, was delivered late in the afternoon:

"Préfecture tipped off. Many thanks. Heartfelt regrets poor Duchemin'ssuccess keeping out of gaol. Uneasy about him as long as he remains atlarge. Fully appreciate you cannot trust yourself alone in the dark. Therefore cheerfully delegating preservation your virtue while in Paristo Mlle. Athenais Reneaux, maiden lady mature charms whom I beg youwill respect as you would my sister. Wishing you enjoyable intellectualevening--

"W. "

It needed receipt of a petit-bleu, while he was dressing for dinner, tocure Lanyard of an attack of premonitory shivers brought on byrecollection of the awful truth that one is never really safe intrifling with an Englishman's sense of humour. "Dear monsieurMartin:--It is too sweet of you to remember your promise to ask me todine the first time you came to Paris. Since you leave it to me, shallwe say the Ritz, at half past seven? In case your memory for faces ispoor--it has been a long time since we met, hasn't it?--I shall bewearing the conventional fast black with my very best ingenueexpression; and my feather fan will be flame-coloured. 

"Always to you--

"Athenais Reneaux. "

Now that sounded more like ... 

Only it was a bit debilitating to contemplate, as the mirror insistedone must, the shortcomings of machine-made evening clothes, whoseobviously exorbitant cost as a post-War luxury did nothing to makeamends for their utter want of personal feeling. For one needs sympathyin a dress-coat quite as much as cloth. 

Still, it was a tolerably personable figure that suffered Lanyard'scritical inspection. And an emergency is an emergency. Those readilyserviceable clothes were of more value than the most superbly tailoredgarments that could possibly have been made up for him in anyreasonable length of time. For to-morrow night it might, and as Lanyardheld surely would, be too late to accomplish what he hoped toaccomplish to-night, and for whose accomplishment evening dress wasindispensable. Since Wertheimer had passed the word on, the name of theComte de Lorgnes would be published to the world in the morning papers, and by evening the birds, if they were wise, would be in full flight. Whereas to-night, while still that poor mutilated body lay nameless inthe Morgue... 

Mademoiselle Athenais Reneaux lived up in most gratifying fashion tothe tone of her note. In the very beginning she demonstrated excellentdiscretion by failing to be on hand and eager when Lanyard strolledinto the Ritz on the minute of their appointment. To the contrary shewas all of twenty-five minutes late; a circumstance so consistentlyfeminine as to rob their meeting of any taint of the extraordinary;they might have been simple sweethearts meeting to dine remote fromjealous or censorious eyes, rather than one of the most useful Parisianagents of the British Secret Service under orders to put her talents atthe disposition of a man who was to her nothing more than an everydayname. 

She swept spiritedly into the lounge of the Ritz, a tall, fair girl, very good-looking indeed and brilliantly costumed, and placed MonsieurPaul Martin in one glance, on the instant of his calculated start ofrecognition. At once her face lighted up with a charming smile--fewwomen could boast teeth as white and fine--and almost before Lanyardcould extricate himself from his chair she was at pause before him, holding his hand. 

"Paul!" she cried in lilting accents. "I'm so glad! It's been simplyages.... And looking so well! I don't believe you've changed a bit. "

The nicely judged pitch of her voice, neither so high nor so low as toattract more than passing attention, won approval which Lanyard putinto the pressure of his lips upon her hand and the bow, at oncepunctilious and intimate, that accompanied it. 

"And you, Athenais, always exquisite, but to-day... Truly one has neverseen you looking better. "

"Flattery, " she commented. "But I love it!"

Meanwhile her gaze, that seemed so constant to his eyes, reviewed otherpeople in the lounge in one swift, searching glance, and returned toLanyard with a droop of the lashes, imperceptible to all but him, thatsignified there was no one present likely in her esteem to provedangerous to their peace of mind. 

"Flattery? To you? But impossible!"

He delighted her, and she showed it openly. But her lips said only:"Have I kept you waiting a frightfully long time, poor boy?"

"Let your appetite accuse you, Athenais. "

"But I am starving!"

"Then, as I take it, nothing on earth can prevent our going in todinner. "

Lanyard had already consulted with the maître d'hôtel over the menu andthe reservation. As the two settled down at a table on the side of theroom, not conspicuously far from any other in use, and at the same timecomfortably detached, their iced melon was waiting to be served. 

"Always the most thoughtful of men, " Mademoiselle Reneaux declared. "Nofussing with the carte, no thrusting it into one's hand and saying:'See anything you'd like, my dear? I rather fancy the boeuf-à-la-modefor myself!' That's why I'd adore dining with you, Paul, even if Ididn't adore you for yourself. "

"One is well repaid when one's modest efforts are so well appreciated. "

"Blague, my friend, sheer blague. You know you relish a good dinner ofyour own ordering far more than anybody's appreciation, even mine. "

The waiters had retired, leaving them alone in a momentary oasis ofpublic isolation. 

"Mademoiselle, " said Lanyard in more formal vein, "I am sure, underestimates my capacity for appreciation. May one venture tocompliment mademoiselle, who is marvellous in so many bewitching ways?"

"Why not, monsieur? Was ever music sweeter?" The girl laughed; then hereyes sobered while her features retained their appearance of completeamusement. "Monsieur received a telegram this afternoon?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. And you?"

"It is here--since I am. May I see yours?"

With a gay gesture she handed over her telegram from London and tookhis in exchange. 

The ordinary cipher of the B. S. S. Was as readily intelligible to bothas if the messages had been couched in open French or English. 

Lanyard read:

"Kindly place yourself beginning with dinner to-night and for durationhis stay in Paris at the commands of Paul Martin, Hôtel Chatham, lunatic but harmless and of great value to us. He seems to be atpresent concerned with some affair outside our knowledge, butpresumably desperate, else he would not be interested. Please exertbest endeavours to get him out of France alive as soon as possible. "

The girl was laughing as she returned Lanyard's telegram and receivedher own. 

"'Mature charms'!" she pouted. "'Enjoyable intellectual evening'! Oh, how depressing! Poor Paul! but you must have felt discouraged. "

"I did--at first. "

"And afterwards--?"

"Disappointed. "

"And are you going to obey that injunction to treat me as somebody'ssister?"

"Never in my life!"

"How then?"

"As anybody's wife. " Perplexity knitted a little pucker in herdelicately lined brows. 

"Paul! you couldn't speak French so well and be an Englishman!"

"I assure you, Athenais, I am--mentally--a native of France. "

She sighed luxuriously. "What an amusing prospect! And this is the sortof man at whose commands I am required to place myself. "

"Not required, Athenais, requested--begged, besought!"

"I like that better. And, " she enquired demurely, "may one ask whatare monsieur's commands?"

"First: you will continue to flirt with me as atpresent--outrageously. "

"Even when you make it so difficult?"

"And then, to waste an evening in my society. "

"Must it be wasted?"

"That will be as it falls out. "

"And what do we do with this evening of such questionable value?"

"We finish dinner here at our leisure; we smoke and chat a while in thelounge, if you like, or if nothing better offers we go to a play; andthen you will take me by the hand, if you please, mademoiselle... "

"In the maternal manner appropriate to mature charms, I presume?"

"Precisely. "

"What then?"

"You will--always remembering that my interest in such things is merelyacademic--you will then lead me hither and yon, as your whim lists, andshow me how Paris amuses itself in these days of its nocturnaldecadence. You will dutifully pretend to drink much more champagne thanis good for you and to be enjoying yourself as you seldom have before. If I discover an interest in people I may chance to see, you will begood enough to tell me who they are and--other details concerning theirways of life. "

"If I know. "

"But I am sure you know everyone worth knowing in Paris, Athenais. "

"Then--if I am right in assuming you are looking for some person inparticular--"

"You have reason, mademoiselle. "

"I run the risk of losing an entertaining evening. "

"Not necessarily. Besides, there are many evenings. Are you not at mycommands for the duration of my stay in Paris?"

"True. So I will have to chance my perilous question.... I presume onecan't help being true to the traditions of one's sex. "

"Inquisitive, you mean? But what else is every thinking creature, maleor female? What are men of science? What--?"

"But it was Eve who first--"

"Ah! raking up old scandal, eh? But I'll wager something it was reallyAdam who--taking a purely scientific interest in the business--eggedEve on to try a bite of apple, asserting that the domestic menu lackedvariety, telling himself if she died of it, it would only cost himanother rib to replace her, and cheap at the price. "

"Paul: you are too gallant. Wait till I try to find out something aboutyou, directly or indirectly, and see what you will then have to sayabout the curiosity of women. "

"But I shouldn't mind, it would be too flattering. So dig away. "

"I will. Who is it you're looking for in Paris after midnight?"

"Anyone of several people. " "Perhaps I know them. It might save time ifyou would give me their names. "

"Now it is you who ask me to risk losing an enjoyable evening. But sobe it. Le Comte de Lorgnes?"

Mademoiselle Reneaux looked blank. 

"Madame la Comtesse de Lorgnes?"

The young woman shook her head. 

"Both of a class sure to be conspicuous in such places as Maxim's, "Lanyard explained. "The names, then, are probably fictitious. "

"If you could describe them, perhaps--?"

"Useless, I am afraid; neither is an uncommon type. Any word picture ofeither would probably fit anyone of a score of people of the same life. Are you then acquainted with a man named Phinuit--given nameunknown--an American?"

"No. "

"Mr. Whitaker Monk, of New York?"

"The millionaire?"

"That is quite possible. "

"He made his money in munitions, I believe, " the girl reflected--"orperhaps it was oil. "

"Then you do know him?"

"I met him one night, or rather one morning several weeks ago, with agay party that joined ours at breakfast at Pré-Catelan. "

"And do we still drive out to Pré-Catelan to milk the cows after anadventurous night, mademoiselle?" She nodded; and Lanyard sighed: "Itis true, then: man ages, his follies never. "

"A quaint little stupid, " the girl mused. 

"Pardon, mademoiselle?"

"I was thinking of Whitaker Monk. "

"Quaint, I grant you. But hardly little, or stupid. A tall man, as thinas a diet, with a face like a comic mask of tragedy... "

"Paul dear, " said Athenais Reneaux more in sorrow than in anger:"somebody has been taking advantage of your trusting nature. WhitakerMonk is short, hopelessly stout, and the most commonplace personimaginable. "

"Then it would appear, " Lanyard commented ruefully, "one did wisely totelegraph London for a keeper. Let us get hence, if you don't mind, andendeavour to forget my shame in strong drink and the indecorous dancesof an unregenerate generation. "

XIV

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

Lanyard and Athenais Reneaux had dawdled over dinner and coffee andcigarettes with so much tacit deliberation that, by the time Lanyardsuggested they might move on, it was too late for a play and still abit too early to begin the contemplated round of all-night restaurants. Also, it was too warm for a music-hall. 

So they killed another hour at the Ambassadeurs, where they werefortunate in getting good places and the entertainment imposed nostrain upon the attention; where, too, the audience, thoughheterogeneous, was sufficiently well-dressed and well-mannered toimpart to a beautiful lady and her squire a pleasant consciousness ofbeing left very much to themselves in an amusing expression of acivilisation cynical and self-sufficient. 

But that was so wherever they went that night; and, in a sense, theywent everywhere. In no city in the world is the doctrine ofgo-as-you-please-but-mind-your-own-business more studiously inculcatedby example than in Paris, especially in its hours of relaxation. Lanyard had not been so long an exile as to have forgotten his wayabout entirely, and with what was new since his time MademoiselleReneaux was thoroughly acquainted. And if he felt himself rather aghost revisiting glimpses of a forgotten moon, if all the odalisqueswere new to his vision and all the sultans strange, if never an eyethat scanned his face turned back for a second look in uncertainreminiscence, he had to console him the company of a young woman whomeverybody seemed to know and admire and like. In none of the resortsthey visited did she fail to greet or be hailed by a handful ofacquaintances. Yet they were generously let alone. 

As to that, Lanyard could not complain. The truth was that, despite thedark thread of sober purpose which ran through those tolerably purplehours, he was being excellently entertained. Not by this sad businessof scampering from one place of dubious fame to another; not by anyreckless sense of rejuvenation to be distilled from the practice ofbuying champagne at each stop--and leaving every bottle barely tasted;not by those colourful, dissolving tableaux, always much the same incomposition if set against various backgrounds, of under-dressed womensitting with concupiscent men and swallowing cold poisons in quantitiescalculated to spur them into the frenzy of semi-orgiastic dances: bynone of these, but simply by the society of a woman of a type perhapsnot unique but novel in his experience and intriguing to hisunderstanding. 

If there were anybody or thing a girl of her age--Athenais was abouttwenty-five--shouldn't know, she knew him, her or it; if there were anyplace she shouldn't go, she either went or had been there; if therewere anything she shouldn't do or say or think or countenance, thosethings she--within limitations--did and said and thought and acceptedor passed over as matters of fact and no consequence. And though sheobserved scrupulously certain self-imposed limitations she never madethis obvious, she simply avoided what she chose to consider bad tastewith a deftness and tact that would have seemed admirable in a woman ofthe great world twice her age. And with it all she preserved a sort ofchampagne effervescence of youthful spirits and an easy-goingcameraderie incomprehensible when one took into consideration thedisillusioning circumstances of her life, her vocation as a paidgovernment spy, trusted with secrets and worthy of her trust, dedicatedto days of adventure always dangerous, generally sordid, and like atany time to prove deadly. 

Young, beautiful, admirably poised, accomplished and intelligent, sheshould by rights have been wrapped up in love of some man her peer inall these attributes. But she wasn't; or she said she wasn't in one ofthose moments of gravity which served to throw into higher relief thelight-heartedness of her badinage with Lanyard; asserting an entirelywilling disposition to stand aside and play the pensive, amused, indulgent spectator in the masque of love danced by a world mad for it, grasping for love greedily even in its cheapest shapes and guises. 

"If it comes, " she sighed, "it will find me waiting, and not unwilling. But it will have to come in another form than those I know about. "

"My dear, " said Lanyard, "be unafraid: it always does. "

She called herself Athenais Reneaux, but she didn't pretend to Lanyardthat she had no better title to another name. Her French was of thepurest, a delight to listen to, yet she was in fact less French thanEnglish. Her paternal forebears to the third generation had lived inEngland and married Englishwomen, she said; and more than this muchabout herself, nothing; perhaps deriving some gratification fromleaving such broad fields of conjecture open to the interest which anenigmatic personality never failed to excite. 

"But I think you're quite as much of a mystery as you pretend to see inme. It's rather nice, don't you think? At least, it gives us aninterest in each other aside from sentiment. Some day, perhaps, we'lleach know All. "

"Now God forbid!"

"Are you so afraid of learning my girlish secrets then? I don't believeyou. I don't believe you'd even care to hear--"

"Athenais!" Lanyard protested in a hollow voice. 

"Non, mon ami. " She judged him shrewdly with narrowed, smiling eyes. "You flirt with far too much finish, you know. It can't be done to suchperfection when the heart's truly involved. But for one thing--and ifonly you'd be a little more tragic about your disappointments to-night;for you haven't yet asked me a single question about anybody we'vemet--"

"No: thus far we've drawn every cover blank, " he groaned; for it wasafter three in the morning. 

"Very well. But for this and that, I'd be tempted to think you weresleuthing on the trail of some female fair but faithless. But you'retaking all with entirely too much resignation; there's a contented glowin the back of your eyes--"

"I'm having a good time. "

"It's pretty of you to tell me so. But that's not the reason for yourself-complacence. "

"See here, " Lanyard interrupted, sitting up and signalling to thewaiter for his bill: "if I let you run on the way you're heading, you'll presently be telling me something you've found out about me andI don't want to hear. "

"Oh, very well, " she sighed. "I'm sure I don't wish to embarrass you. But I will say this: Men of your uncertain age don't go round with suchcontented eyes unless they're prosperously in love. "

"Oh, come along!" Lanyard growled, offering to rise. "You know tooconfounded much. " He waited a moment, and then as she did nothing butsit and glimmer at him mischievously, he added: "Shall we go?"

"Where now?" she enquired without stirring. 

He had a shrug of distaste. "Maxim's, I presume. Unless you can suggestsome other place, more likely and less tedious. "

"No, " she replied after taking thought; "I can't. We've covered Parispretty thoroughly to-night; all except the tourist places. "

"No good wasting time on them. "

"Then let's stop on here till it's time to milk the cows. "

"Pré-Catelan? But there's Maxim's left--"

"Only another tourist show nowadays. And frightfully rowdy. "

"Sounds like the lot I'm after. Come along. "

She shook her head vigorously. "Shan't!" His eyebrows rose in muteenquiry. "Because I don't want to, " she explained with childlikecandour. "I'm tired of being dragged around and plied with drink. Doyou realise I've had as much as two and a half glasses of champagneto-night, out of the countless bottles you've ordered? Well, I have, and they're doing their work: I feel the spirit of independence surgingin my midst. I mutiny and defy you!" A peal of laughter rewarded theinstinctive glance with which he sought to judge how far he wasjustified in taking her seriously. "Not only that, but you'reneglecting me. I want to dance, and you haven't asked me in fully halfan hour; and you're a heavenly dancer--and so am I!" She thrust backher end of their wall table and rose. "If you please, monsieur. "

One could hardly resent such charming impertinence. Lanyard drew a longface of mock patience, sighed an heroic sigh, and followed her throughthe huddled tables to the dancing floor. A bewildering look rewardedhim as they swung into the first movement of a tango. 

"Do you know you are a dangerous man, Monsieur Paul Martin?"

"Oh, mademoiselle!"

"Such fortitude, such forbearance--when I ought to beslapped--enchants, disarms, makes me remember I am a woman, foredoomedalways to yield. I abjure my boasted independence, monsieur, I submit. It shall be as you wish: on to Maxim's--after this one dance. You know, it's the last really good music we'll have to dance to--our last dancetogether, perhaps--who knows?--forever!"

She pretended to be overcome; the lithe body in his embrace sketched afugitive seizure of sadness, drooping with a wistful languour wellsuited to the swooning measures to which they swayed and postured. 

His hand was pressed convulsively. She seemed momentarily about tobecome a burden in his grasp, yet ever to recover just on the instantof failing, buoyed up by the steely resilience of her lithe and slenderbody. Impossible to say how much was pretence, how much impulsiveconfession of true feeling! Perplexed, perturbed, Lanyard gazed downinto that richly tinted face which, with eyes half-curtained and lipshalf-parted, seemed to betray so much, yet to his next glance waswholly illegible and provoking. Aware that with such women man's vanitymisleads him woefully, and aware that she was equally awake to thismasculine weakness, he wondered, afraid even to guess, telling himselfhe were an ass to believe, a fool to deny.... 

Then suddenly he saw her lashes sweep up to unveil eyes at oncemirthful and admonitory; her hungry mouth murmured incongruously anedged warning. "Play up, Paul--play up to me! We dance too welltogether not to be watched; and if I'm not mistaken, someone you'reinterested in has just come in. No: don't look yet, just remember we'remadly enamoured, you and I--and don't care a rap who sees it. "

Strung by her words into a spirit of emulation, Lanyard achieved anadequate seeming of response to the passion, feigned or real, withwhich the woman infused the patterned coquetry of their steps. 

Between lips that stirred so little their movement must have beenindiscernible, he asked: "Who?"

In the same manner, but in accents fraught with an emotionindecipherable but intense the reply came: "Don't talk! This is toodivine ... Just dance!"

He obeyed, deliberately shut out of his thoughts the warning she hadgiven him, and let himself go, body and mind, so that, a sway to thesensuous strains of that most sensuous of dances, the girl and the manfor a space seemed one with music that throbbed of love and longing, desire and denial, pursuit and retreat, surrender and conquest.... 

On a sonorous phrase it ceased. A flutter of applause ran round thetables. Lanyard mastered a sense of daze that he saw reflected in theopening eyes of the woman as she slipped from his arms. In an instantthey were themselves once more, two completely self-contained childrenof sophistication, with superb insouciance making nothing of theirpublic triumph in a rare and difficult performance. 

On the way to their table they were intercepted by a woman who, withtwo cavaliers, had since the moment of her entrance been standing nearthe door of the restaurant, apparently spellbound with admiration. Through a rising clatter of tongues her voice cut clearly but not atall unpleasantly. 

"Athenais! It is I--Liane. "

Inured as he was to the manners of an age which counts its women notdressed if they are not half undressed, and with his sensibilitiesfurther calloused by a night devoted to restaurants the entrée towhich, for women, seemed to be conditioned on at least semi-nudity, Lanyard was none the less inclined to think he had never seen, thisside of footlights, a gown quite so daring as that which revealed theadmirably turned person of the lady who named herself Liane. There wasso little of it that, he reflected, its cost must have been somethingenormous. But in vain that scantiness of drapery: the white body rosesplendidly out of its ineffective wrappings only to be overwhelmed byan incredible incrustation of jewellery: only here and there did barehand's-breadths of flesh unadorned succeed in making themselvesvisible. 

At the sound of her name Athenais turned with a perfectly indicatedstart of surprise which she promptly translated into a little, joyfulcry. The living pillar of ivory, satin and precious stones ran into herarms, embraced her ardently, and kissed both her cheeks, then releasingher half-turned to Lanyard. 

Glints of trifling malice winked behind the open interest of troubling, rounded eyes of violet. Lanyard knew himself known. 

So he had sacrificed for nothing his beautiful beard!

He uttered a private but heartfelt "Damn!" and bowed profoundly as thewoman, tapping Athenais on the arm with a fan crusted with diamonds, demanded:

"Present instantly, my dear, this gentleman who tangoes as I have neverseen the tango danced before!"

Forestalling Athenais, Lanyard replied with a whimsical grimace: "Isone, then, so unfortunate as to have been forgotten by Madame laComtesse de Lorgnes?"

With any other woman than Athenais Reneaux he would have hesitated todeal so bold an offensive stroke; but his confidence in her quicknessof apprehension and her unshakable self-possession was both implicitand well-placed. For she received this overt notification of thesuccess of his quest without one sign other than a look of dawningpuzzlement. 

"Madame la comtesse... ?" she murmured with a rising inflection. 

"But monsieur is mistaken, " the other stammered, biting her lip. 

"Surely one cannot have been so stupid!" Lanyard apologised. 

"But this is Mademoiselle Delorme, " Athenais said ... "Monsieur PaulMartin. "

Liane Delorme! Those syllables were like a spoken spell to break thepower of dark enchantment which had hampered Lanyard's memory eversince first sight of this woman in the Café de l'Univers at Nant. Agreat light began to flood his understanding, but he was denied time toadvantage himself immediately of its illumination: Liane Delorme wasquick to parry and riposte. 

"How strange monsieur should think he had ever known me by a name ... What was it? But no matter! For now I look more closely, I myselfcannot get over the impression that I have known Monsieur--Martin, didyou say?--somewhere, sometime ... But Paul Martin? Not unless monsieurhas more than one name. "

"Then it would seem that mademoiselle and I are both in error. The lossis mine. "

That gun spiked, Lanyard began to breathe more freely. "It is not toolate to make up that loss, monsieur. " Liane Delorme was actuallychuckling in appreciation of his readiness, pleased with him even inthe moment of her own discomfiture; her eyes twinkling merrily at himabove the fan with which she hid a convulsed countenance. "Surely twopeople so possessed with regret at never having known each other shouldlose no time improving their acquaintance! Dear Athenais: do ask us tosit at your table. "

While the waiter fetched additional chairs, the woman made her escortsknown: Messieurs Benouville et Le Brun, two extravagantly insignificantyoung men, exquisitely groomed and presumably wealthy, who were makingthe bravest efforts to seem unaware that to be seen with Liane Delormeconferred an unimpeachable cachet. Lanyard remarked, however, thatneither ventured to assume proprietorial airs; while Liane's attitudetoward them was generally indulgent, if occasionally patronising andsometimes impatient. 

Champagne frothed into fresh glasses. As soon as the band struck upanother dance, Athenais drifted away in the arms of Monsieur Le Brun. Liane gazed round the room, acknowledged the salutations of severalfriends, signalled gaily to a pair of mercenaries on the far side ofthe dancing floor, and issued peremptory orders to Benouville. 

"Go, Chu-chu, and ask Angele to dance with you. She is being left tobore herself while Victor dances with Constance. Moreover, I desire toafflict Monsieur Martin with my confidences. "

With the utmost docility Benouville effaced himself. 

"Eh, bien, Monsieur Duchemin!"

"Eh, bien, madame la comtesse?" Liane sipped at her champagne, makingimpudent eyes at Lanyard over the brim of her glass. 

"By what appears, you have at last torn yourself away from the charmingsociety of the Château de Montalais. "

"As you see. "

"That was a long visit you made at the château, my old one?"

"Madame la comtesse is well informed, " Lanyard returned, phlegmatic. 

"One hears what one hears. "

"One had the misfortune to fall foul of an assassin, " Lanyard took thetrouble to explain. 

"An assassin!"

"The same Apache who attacked--with others--the party from Montalais atMontpellier-le-Vieux. "

"And you were wounded?"

Lanyard assented. The lady made a shocked face and uttered appropriatenoises. "As you know, " Lanyard added. 

Liane Delorme pretended not to hear that last. "And the ladies of thechâteau, " she enquired--"they were sympathetic, one feels sure?"

"They were most kind. "

"It was not serious, this wound--no?"

"Mademoiselle may judge when she knows I was unable to leave my bed fornearly three weeks. "

"But what atrocity! And this Apache--?"

"Remains at large. "

"Ah, these police!" And the lady described a sign of contempt that waswholly unladylike. "Still, you are well recovered, by the way youdance. "

"One cannot complain. "

"What an experience! Still--" Liane again buried her nose in her glassand regarded Lanyard with a look of mysterious understanding. Re-emerging, she resumed: "Still, not without its compensations, eh, mon ami?"

"That is as one regards it, mademoiselle. "

"Oh! oh!" There was any amount of deep significance in theseexclamations. "One may regard that in more ways than one. "

"Indeed, " Lanyard agreed with his most winning manner: "One may forinstance remember that I recovered speedily enough to be in Paristo-night and meet mademoiselle without losing time. "

"Monsieur wishes me to flatter myself into thinking he did me thehonour of desiring to find me to-night?"

"Or any other. Do not depreciate the potency of your charms, mademoiselle. Who, having seen you once, could help hoping to see youagain?"

"My friend, " said Liane, with a pursed, judgmatical mouth, "I think youare much too amiable. "

"But I assure you, never a day has passed, no, nor yet a night, that Ihave not dwelt upon the thought of you, since you made so effective anentrance to the château, a vision of radiant beauty, out of that nightof tempest and fury. "

Liane drooped a coy head. "Monsieur compliments me too much. "

"Impossible!"

"Is one, then, to understand that monsieur is making love to me?"

Lanyard pronounced coolly: "No. "

That won another laugh of personal appreciation. "What then, mon ami?"

"Figure to yourself that one may often dream of the unattainablewithout aspiring to possess it. "

"Unattainable?" Liane repeated in a liquid voice: "What a dismal word, monsieur!" "It means what it means, mademoiselle. "

"To the contrary, monsieur, it means what you wish it to mean. Youshould revise your lexicon. "

"Now it is mademoiselle who is too flattering. And where is that goodMonsieur Monk to-night?"

The woman overlooked the innuendo; or, rather, buried it under alandslide of emotional acting. 

"Ah, monsieur! but I am desolated, inconsolable. He has gone away!"

"Monsieur Monk?" Lanyard opened his eyes wide. 

"Who else? He has left France, he has returned to his barbarousAmerica, with his beautiful motor car, his kind heart, and all hismillions!"

"And the excellent Phinuit?"

"That one as well. "

"How long ago?"

"A week to-morrow they did sail from Cherbourg. It is a week sinceanyone has heard me laugh. "

Lanyard compassionately fished a bottle out of the cooler and refilledher glass. 

"Accept, mademoiselle, every assurance of my profound sympathy. "

"You have a heart, my friend, " she said, and drank with the feverishpassion of the disconsolate. 

"And one very truly at mademoiselle's service. "

Liane sniffed mournfully and dabbed at her nose with a ridiculoustravesty of a handkerchief. "Be so kind, " she said in a tearful voice, though her eyes were quite dry and, if one looked closely, calculating--"a cigarette. "

One inferred that the storm was over. Lanyard tendered his cigarettecase, and then a match, wondering what next. What he had reason toanticipate was sure to come, the only question was when. Not that itmattered when; he was ready for it at any time. And there was no hurry:Athenais, finding herself paired with an un-commonly good dancer in LeBrun, was considerately making good use of this pretext for remainingon the floor--there were two bands to furnish practically continuousmusic--and leave Lanyard to finish uninterrupted what she perfectlyunderstood to be a conversation of considerable moment. 

As for Benouville, he was much too well trained to dream of returningwithout being bidden by Liane Delorme. 

"But it is wonderful, " murmured that one, pensive. 

And there was that in her tone to make Lanyard mentally prick forwardhis ears. He sketched a point of interrogation. 

"To encounter so much understanding in one who is a complete stranger. "

("'Complete'?" Lanyard considered. "I think it's coming... ")

"Monsieur must not think me unappreciative. "

"Ah, mademoiselle!" he protested sadly--"but you forget so easily. "

"That we have met before, when I term you a complete stranger?"

"Well... Yes. "

"It is because I would not be in monsieur's debt!"

"Pardon?"

"I will repay sympathy with sympathy. I have already forgotten that Iever visited the Château de Montalais. So how should I remember I metmonsieur there under the name of... But I forget. "

"The name of Duchemin?"

"I never knew there was such a name--I swear!--before I saw it in typeto-day. "

"In type?"

"Monsieur does not read the papers?"

"Not all of them, mademoiselle. "

"It appeared in Le Matin to-day, this quaint name Duchemin, in adespatch from Millau stating that a person of that name, a guest of theChâteau de Montalais, had disappeared without taking formal leave ofhis hosts. "

"One gathers that he took something else?"

"Nothing less than the world-known Anstruther collection of jewels, theproperty of Madame de Montalais née Anstruther. "

"But I am recently from the Château de Montalais, and in a position toassure mademoiselle that this poor fellow, Duchemin, is unjustlyaccused. "

"Oh, ho, ho!"

He heard again that laugh of broad derision which had seemed so out ofcharacter with a great lady when he had heard it first, that night nownearly a month old. 

"Mademoiselle does not believe?"

"I think monsieur must be a good friend to this Monsieur Duchemin. "

"I confess I entertain a sneaking fondness for his memory. "

"You can hardly call yourself an impartial judge--"

"It is nevertheless true he did not steal the jewels. "

"Then tell me who did take them. "

"Unfortunately for Duchemin, that remains a mystery. "

"Rather, I should say, fortunately for him. "

"You would wrong him, then. "

"But why, if innocent, did he run away?"

"I imagine, because he knew he would surely be accused, in which caseancient history would be revived to prove him guilty beyond a questionin the mind of any sane court. "

"Does one understand he had a history?"

"I have heard it intimated such was the case. "

"But I remain in the dark. The theft presumably was not discovered tillafter his disappearance. Yet, according to your contention, he musthave known of it in advance. How do you account for that?"

"Mademoiselle would make a famous juge d'instruction. "

"That does not answer my argument. "

"How is one to answer it? Who knows how Duchemin discovered the theftbefore the ladies of the château did?"

"Do you know what you make me think? That he was not as innocent as youassert. "

"Mademoiselle will explain?"

"I have a suspicion that this Monsieur Duchemin was guilty inintention; but when it came to put his intention into execution, hefound he had been anticipated. "

"Mademoiselle is too clever for me. Now I should never have thought ofthat. "

"He would have been wiser to stay and fight it out. The very fact ofhis flight confesses his guilt. "

"Perhaps he did not remember that until too late. "

"And now nothing can clear him. How sad for him! A chance meeting withone who is not his friend, a whispered word to the Préfecture, or thenearest agent de police, and within an hour he finds himself in theSanté. "

"Poor chap!" said Lanyard with a doleful shake of the head. 

"I, too, pity him, " the woman declared. "Monsieur: against myprejudice, your faith in Duchemin has persuaded me. I am convinced thathe is innocent. "

"How good you are!" "It makes me glad I have so well forgotten evermeeting him. I do not believe I should know him if I found him here, inthis very restaurant, even seated by my side. "

"It is mademoiselle now whose heart is great and kind. "

"You may believe it well. "

"And does mademoiselle's forgetfulness, perhaps, extend even fartherinto the so dead past?"

"But, monsieur, I was a mere child when I first came to Paris, beforethe War. How could anyone reasonably expect my memory of those innocentgirlish days to be exact? Regard that, even then, I met people byhundreds, as a young girl studying for the stage must. Is it likely oneface would stand out in my memory more than another?"

"Quite, if you ask me, " said Lanyard dryly--"quite likely, if anycircumstance connected with that face were at all memorable. "

"But I assure you I was in those days much too self-absorbed to paymuch attention to others. It is that way, you know, in maiden days. "

"Mademoiselle does injustice to her memory, " Lanyard insisted in politeastonishment. "In some ways it is wonderful. "

The woman looked suddenly aside, so that he could not see her face; buthe perceived, with an astonishment which he made no attempt to hide, that she was quaking bodily with some unconfessed emotion. And when shefaced again his unbroken look of grave bewilderment, he discovered thatshe was really capable of tears. 

"Monsieur, " she gasped, "believe it or not, never before have I met onewith whom I was so completely en rapport. And instantaneously! It ispriceless, this! We must see more of one another. "

"Much more, " Lanyard assented gravely. "A great deal more, " shesupplemented with significance. "I am sure we shall get along togetherfamously. "

"Mademoiselle offers me great honour--"

"Nothing less than my friendship. "

"I would be indeed an ingrate to refuse it. But a question: Will notpeople talk?"

"What!" Amusement shook her again. "How talk? What more can they sayabout Liane Delorme?"

"Ah!" said Lanyard--"but about Madame la Comtesse de Lorgnes... "

"My friend: that was a good joke once; but now you must forget thatname as utterly as I have forgotten another. "

"Impossible. "

"What do you say?" She frowned a little. "Is it possible youmisunderstood? De Lorgnes was nothing to me. "

"I never thought he was. "

"You had reason. Because we were thrown together, and our names weresomething alike in sound, it amused us--not the two of us alone, butall our party--to pretend I was madame la comtesse. "

"He was really a count?"

"Who knows? It was the style by which he had always passed with us. "

"Alas!" sighed Lanyard, and bent a sombre gaze upon his glass. 

Without looking he was aware of a questioning gesture of the woman'shead. He said no more, but shook his own. 

"What is this?" she asked sharply. "You know something about deLorgnes?"

"Had you not heard?" he countered, looking up in surprise. 

"Heard--?" He saw her eyes stabbed by fear, and knew himself justifiedof his surmises. All day she had been expecting de Lorgnes, or wordfrom him, all day and all this night. One could imagine the hourlyaugmented strain of care and foreboding; indeed its evidence were onlytoo clearly betrayed in her face and manner of that moment: she was onthe rack. 

But there was no pity in Lanyard's heart. He knew her of old, what shewas, what evil she had done; and in his hearing still sounded theechoes of those words with which, obliquely enough but withoutmisunderstanding on the part of either, she had threatened to exposehim to the police unless he consented to some sort of an alliance withher, a collaboration whose nature could not but be dishonourable if itwere nothing more than a simple conspiracy of mutual silence. 

And purposely he delayed his answer till her patience gave way and shewas clutching his arm with frantic hands. 

"What is the matter? Why do you look at me like that? Why don't youtell me--if there is anything to tell--?"

"I was hesitating to shock you, Liane. "

"Never mind me. What has happened to de Lorgnes?"

"It is in all the evening newspapers--the murder mystery of the Lyonsrapide. "

"De Lorgnes--?"

Lanyard inclined his head. The woman breathed an invocation to theDeity and sank back against the wall, her face ghastly beneath itspaint. 

"You know this?"

"I was a passenger aboard the rapide, and saw the body before it wasremoved. "

Liane Delorme made an effort to speak, but only her breath rustledharshly on her dry lips. She swallowed convulsively, turned to herglass, and found it empty. Lanyard hastened to refill it. She took thewine at a gulp, muttered a word of thanks, and offered the glass to befilled anew; but when this had been done sat unconscious of it, staringwitlessly at nothing, so lost to her surroundings that all the musclesof her face relaxed and her years peered out through that mask ofartifice which alone preserved for her the illusion and repute ofbeauty. 

Thus the face of an evil woman of middle-age, debauched beyond hope ofredemption, was hideously revealed. Lanyard knew a qualm at seeing it, and looked hastily away. 

Beyond the rank of tables which stood between him and the dancing floorhe saw Athenais Reneaux with Le Brun sweeping past in the suavemovement of a waltz. The girl's face wore a startled expression, hergaze was direct to the woman at Lanyard's side; then it shiftedenquiringly to him. With a look Lanyard warned her to compose herself, then lifted an eyebrow and glanced meaningly toward the doors. Theleast of nods answered him before Le Brun swung Athenais toward themiddle of the floor and other couples intervened. 

Liane Delorme stirred abruptly. 

"The assassin?" she demanded--"is there any clue?"

"I believe he is known by description, but missing. "

"But you, my friend--what do you know?"

"As much as anybody, I fancy--except the author of the murder. "

"Tell me. "

Quietly, briefly, Lanyard told her of seeing the Comte de Lorgnes atdinner in Lyons; of the uneasiness he manifested, and the cumulativefeeling of frustration and failure he so plainly betrayed as the lasthours of his life wore on; of the Apaches who watched de Lorgnes in thecafé and the fact that one of them had contrived to secure a berth inthe same carriage with his victim; of seeing the presumptive murdererslinking away from the train at Laroche; and of the discovery of thebody, on the arrival of the rapide at the Gare de Lyon. 

Absorbed, with eyes abstracted and intent, and a mouth whose essentialselfishness and cruelty was unconsciously stressed by the compressionof her lips: the woman heard him as he might have been a disembodiedvoice. Now and again, however, she nodded intently and, when hefinished, had a pertinent question ready. 

"You say a description of this assassin exists?"

"Have I not communicated it to you?"

"But to the police--?"

"Is it likely?" The woman gave him a blank stare. 

"Pardon, mademoiselle: but is it likely that the late André Ducheminwould have more to do with the police than he could avoid?"

"You would see a cold-blooded crime go unavenged--?"

"Rather than dedicate the remainder of my days to seeing the worldthrough prison bars? I should say yes!--seeing that this assassinationdoes not concern me, and I am guiltless of the crime with which Imyself am charged. But you who were a friend to de Lorgnes know thefacts, and nothing hinders your communicating them to thePréfecture.... Though I will confess it would be gracious of you tokeep my name out of the affair. "

But Lanyard was not dicing with Chance when he made this suggestion: heknew very well Liane Delorme would not go to the police. 

"That for the Préfecture!" She clicked a finger-nail against her teeth. "What does it know? What does it do when it knows anything?"

"I agree with mademoiselle entirely. "

"Ah!" she mused bitterly--"if only we knew the name of that salecochon!"

"We do. "

"We--monsieur?"

"I, at least, know one of the many names doubtless employed by theassassin. "

"And you hesitate to tell me!"

"Why should I? No, but an effort of memory... " Lanyard measured asilence, seeming lost in thought, in reality timing the blow andpreparing to note its effect. Then, snapping his fingers as one whosays: I have it!--"Albert Dupont, " he announced abruptly. 

Unquestionably the name meant nothing to the woman. She curled a lip:"But that is any name!" Then thoughtfully: "You heard his companion ofthe café call him that?"

"No, mademoiselle. But I recognised the animal as Albert Dupont when heboarded the train at Combe-Rendonde that morning and, unnoticed by him, travelled with him all the way to Lyons. "

"You recognised him?"

"I believe it well. "

"When had you known him?"

"First when I fought with him at Montpellier-le-Vieux, later when hesought to do me in on the outskirts of Nant. He was the fugitivechauffeur of the Château de Montalais. "

"But--name of a sacred name!--what had that one to do with de Lorgnes?"

"If you will tell me that, there will be no more mystery in this sadaffair. "

The woman brooded heavily for a moment. "But if it had been you he wasafter, I might understand... " He caught the sidelong glimmer of her eyeupon him, dark with an unuttered question. 

But the waltz was at an end, Athenais and Le Brun were threading theirway through the intervening tables. 

The interruption could not have been better timed; Lanyard was keen toget away. He had learned all that he could reasonably have hoped tolearn from Liane Delorme in one night. He knew that she and de Lorgneshad been mutually interested in the business that took the latter toLyons. He had the testimony of his own perceptions to prove that newsof the murder had come as a great shock to her. On that same testimonyhe was prepared to swear that, whatever the part, if any, she hadplayed in the robbery, she knew nothing of "Albert Dupont, " at least bythat name, and nothing of his activities as chauffeur at the Château deMontalais. 

Yet one thing more Lanyard knew: that Liane suspected him of knowingmore than he had told her. But he wasn't sorry she should think that;it gave him a continuing claim upon her interest. Henceforth she mightbe wary of him, but she would never lose touch with him if she couldhelp it. 

Now Athenais was pausing beside the table, and saying with a smile asweary as it was charming:

"Come, Monsieur Paul, if you please, and take me home! I've danced tillI'm ready to drop. "

Annoyed by the prospect of being obliged to let Lanyard out of hersight so soon, before she had time to mature her plans with respect tohim, Liane Delorme pulled herself together. 

"Go home?" she protested with a vivacity so forced it drew a curiousstare even from the empty Le Brun. "So early! My dear! what are youthinking of?" "I've been on the go all day long, " Athenais explainedsweetly; "and now I've got nothing left to keep up on. "

"Zut!" the Delorme insisted. "Have more champagne and--"

"Thank you, no, dearest. My head is swimming with it already. I reallymust go. Surely you don't mind?"

But Liane did mind, and the wine she had drunk had left her only aremnant of sobriety, not enough for good control of her temper. 

"Mind?" she echoed rudely. "Why should I mind whether you stay or go?It's your affair, not mine. " She made a scornful mouth; and the lookwith which she coupled Lanyard and Athenais in innuendo was in itselfalmost actionable. "But me, " she pursued with shrill vivacity--"Ishan't go yet, I'm not drunk enough by half. Get more champagne, Fred"--this to Le Brun as she turned a gleaming shoulder to theothers--"quantities of it--and tell Chu-chu to bring Angele over, andConstance and Victor, too. Thanks to the good God, they at least knowthey are still alive!"

XV

ADIEU

Ever since the fall of evening, whose clear gloaming had seemed topromise a fair night of moonlight, the skies had been thickening slowlyover Paris. While still at the Ambassadeurs Lanyard had noticed thatthe moon was being blotted out. By midnight its paling disk had becometotally eclipsed, the clouds hung low over the city, a dense blanketimprisoning heat which was oppressive even in the open and stifling inthe ill-ventilated restaurants. 

Now from the shelter of the café canopy Lanyard and Athenais Reneauxlooked out upon a pave like a river of jet ribboned with gently glowinglights and running between the low banks of sidewalks no less black:both deserted but for a few belated prowlers lurching homeward throughthe drizzle, and a rank of private cars waiting near the entrance. 

The bedizened porter whistled fatuously at a passing taxicab, whichthough fareless held steadfast to its way, while the driveracknowledged the signal only with jeers and disgraceful gestures, afterthe manner of his kind. So that Lanyard, remembering how frequentlysimilar experiences had befallen him in pre-War Paris, reflected sadlythat the great conflict had, after all, worked little change in humanhearts--charitably assuming the bosoms of French taxi-bandits to be sofurnished. 

Presently, however, the persistent whistle conjured from round a cornera rakish hansom that--like the creature between its shafts and thedriver on its lofty box, with his face in full bloom and his blearyeyes, his double-breasted box-coat and high hat of oilcloth--haddoubtless been brisk with young ambition in the golden time of theNineteen-Naughties. 

But unmistakably of the vintage of the Nineteen-Twenties was theavarice of the driver. For when he had been given the address of theAthenais' apartment, he announced with vinous truculence that his whiminclined to precisely the opposite direction, gathered up the reins, clucked in peremptory fashion to the nag (which sagely paid noattention to him whatsoever) and consented only to change his mind whenpromised a fabulous fare. 

Even then he grumbled profanely while Lanyard helped Athenais to climbin and took the place by her side. 

The rue Pigalle was as dark and still as any street in a desertedvillage. From its gloomy walls the halting clatter of hoofs struckempty echoes that rang in Lanyard's heart like a refrain from some oldsong. To that very tune had the gay world gone about its affaires inyounger years, when the Lone Wolf was a living fact and not a fadingmemory in the minds of men... 

He sighed heavily. 

"Monsieur is sentimental, " commented Athenais Reneaux lightly. "Beware!Sentimentalists come always to some sad end. "

"One has found that true ... But you are young to know it, Athenais. "

"A woman is never young--after a certain age--save when she loves, myfriend. "

"That, too, is true. But still you are overyoung to have learned it. "

"One learns life's lessons not in any fixed and predetermined order, Paul, with no sort of sequence whatever, but as and when Life choosesto teach them. "

"Quel dommage!" Lanyard murmured, and subsided into another silence. 

The girl grew restive. "But tell me, my dear Don Juan, " she protested:"Do all your conquests affect you in this morbid fashion?"

"Conquests?"

"You seemed to get on very well with Liane Delorme. "

"Pardon. If I am sentimental, it is because old memories have beenawakened to-night, memories of forfeit days when one thought well ofoneself, here in Paris. "

"Days in which, no doubt, Liane played a part?"

"A very minor rôle, Athenais ... But are you doing me the honour to bejealous?"

"Perhaps, petit Monsieur Paul... "

In the broken light of passing lamps her quiet smile was as illegibleas her shadowed eyes. 

After a moment Lanyard laughed a little, caught up her hand, patted itindulgently, and with gentle decision replaced it in her lap. 

"It isn't fair, my dear, to be putting foolish notions into elderlyheads merely because you know you can do it. Show a little respect formy grey hairs, of which there are far too many. "

"They're most becoming, " said Athenais Reneaux demurely. "But tell meabout Liane, if it isn't a secret. "

"Oh! that was so long ago and such a trifling thing, one wonders atremembering it at all.... I happened, one night, to be where I had noright to be. That was rather a habit of mine, I'm afraid. And so Idiscovered, in another man's apartment, a young woman, hardly more thana child, trying to commit suicide. You may believe I put a stop tothat.... Later, for in those days I had some little influence incertain quarters, I got her place in the chorus at the Variétés. Shemade up a name for the stage: Liane Delorme. And that is all. You see, it was very simple. "

"And she was grateful?"

"Not oppressively. She was quite normal about it all. "

"Still, she has not forgotten. "

"But remind yourself that the chemistry of years is such thatinevitably a sense of obligation in due course turns into a grudge. Itis true, Liane has not forgotten, but I am by no means sure she hasforgiven me for saving her to life. "

"There may be something in that, seeing what she has made of her life. "

"Now there is where you can instruct me. I have been long in exile. "

"But you know how Liane graduated from the chorus of the Variétés, became first a principal there, then the rage of all the music hallswith her way of singing rhymed indecencies. "

"One has heard something of that. "

"On the peak of her success she retired, saying she had worked longenough, made enough money. That, too, knows itself. But Liane retiredonly from the stage... You understand?"

"Perfectly. "

"She continued to make many dear friends, some of them among thegreatest personages of Europe. So that gradually she became what she isto-day, " Athenais Reneaux pronounced soberly: "as I think, the mostdangerous woman on the Continent. "

"How--'dangerous'?"

"Covetous, grasping, utterly unscrupulous and corrupt, and weirdlypowerful. She has a strange influence in the highest places. "

"Blackmail?"

"God knows! It was, at all events, strong enough to save her from beingshot during the war. I was assigned to watch her then. There was asuspicion in England that she was in communication with the enemy. Ifound it to be quite true. She knew Bolo Pasha intimately, Caillaux, too. Other women, many of them, fled the country, or went to St. Lazarefor the duration of the war, or faced firing squads at dawn for doinginfinitely less than she did to betray France and her Allies; but LianeDelorme got off scot-free. I happen to know that England made thestrongest representations to the French government about her. I knowpersonally of two young French officers who had been on friendly termswith Liane, and who shot themselves, one dramatically on her verydoorstep. And why did they do that, if not in remorse for betraying toher secrets which afterwards somehow found their way to the enemy?... But nothing was ever done about it, she was never in the leastmolested, and nightly you might see her at Maxim's or L'Abbaye, makinglove to officers, while at the Front men were being slaughtered by thehundreds, thanks to her treachery.... Ah, monsieur, I tell you I knowthat woman too well!"

The girl's voice quavered with indignation. 

"So that was how you came to know her, " Lanyard commented as if he hadfound nothing else of interest. "I wondered... "

"Yes: we were bosom friends--almost--for a time. It wasn't nice, butthe job had to be done. Then Liane grew suspicious, and our friendshipcooled. One night I had a narrow escape from some Apaches. I recognisedLiane's hand in that. She was afraid I knew something. So I did. Butshe didn't dream how much I knew. If she had there would have been asecond attempt of that sort minus the escape. Then the armistice cameto cool our passions, and Liane found other things to think about ... God knows what other mischief to do in time of peace!"

"I think, " Lanyard suggested, recalling that conversation in the grandsalon of the Château de Montalais, "you had better look to yourself, Athenais, as far as Liane is concerned, after to-night. She only neededto see you with me to have confirmed any suspicions she may previouslyhave had concerning your relations with the B. S. S. "

"I will remember that, " the girl said calmly. "Many thanks, dearfriend.... But what is it you are doing all the time? What is it yousee?"

As the hansom swung round the dark pile of the Trinité, Lanyard had forthe third time twisted round in his seat, to peep back up the ruePigalle through the little window in the rear. 

"As I thought!" He let the leather flap fall over the peep-hole and satback. "Liane doesn't trust me, " he sighed, disconsolate. 

"We are followed?"

"By a motor-car of some sort, creeping along without lights, probablyone of the private cars that were waiting when we came out. "

"I have a pistol, if you need one, " Athenais offered, matter-of-fact. 

"Then you were more sensible than I. "

Lanyard held a thoughtful silence for some minutes, while the cabjogged sedately down the rue St. Lazare, then had another look backthrough the little window. 

"No mistake about that, " he reported; and bending forward began to peerintently right and left into the dark throats of several minor streetsthey passed after leaving the Hôtel Terminus behind and heading downthe rue de la Pépinière. "The deuce of it is, " he complained, "thisinhuman loneliness! If there were only something like a crowd in thestreets as there must have been earlier in the evening... "

"What are you thinking of, monsieur?"

"But naturally of ridding you of an embarrassing and perhaps dangerouscompanion. "

"If you mean you're planning to jump down and run for it, " Athenaisreplied, "you're a fool. You'll not get far with a motor car pursuingyou and sergents de ville abnormally on the qui vive because the crimewave that followed demobilisation as yet shows no signs of subsiding. "

"But, mademoiselle, it makes me so unhappy to have any shadow but myown. "

"Then rest tranquil here with me. It isn't much farther to myapartment. "

"Possibly it would be better to drop you there first--"

"Nothing of the sort; but positively the contrary. "

"My dear child! if I were to do as you wish they would think--"

"My dear Paul, I don't give a damn what they think. Remember I amspecially charged with the preservation of your life while in Paris. Besides, my apartment is the most discreet little rez-de-chaussée onecould wish. There is more than one way in and out. And once they thinkyou are placed for the night, it's more than likely they won't even seta watch, but will trot off to report. Then you can slip away when youwill.... " He stared, knowing a moment of doubt to which a hard littlelaugh put a period. 

"Oh, you needn't be so thoughtful of my reputation! If this were theworst that could be said of me--"

Lanyard laughed in turn, quietly tolerant, and squeezed her hand again. 

"You are a dear, " he said, "but you need to be a far better actress todeceive me about such matters. "

"Don't be stupid!" her sulky voice retorted. 

"I'm not. "

He bent forward again, folding his arms on the ledge of the apron, studying the streets and consulting an astonishingly accurate mentalmap of Paris which more than once had stood him in good stead in othertimes. 

After a little the girl's hand crept along his arm, took possession ofhis hand and used it as a lever to swing him back to face her. 

In the stronger lighting of the Boulevard Haussmann her face seemedoddly childlike, oddly luminous with appeal. 

"Please, petit Monsieur Paul! I ask it of you, I wish it.... To pleaseme?"

"O Lord!" Lanyard sighed--"how is one to resist when you plead soprettily to be compromised?"

"Since that's settled"--of a sudden the imploring child was replaced byself-possessed Mademoiselle Athenais Reneaux--"you may have your handback again. I assure you I have no more use for it. "

The hansom turned off the boulevard, affording Lanyard an opportunityto look back through the side window. 

"Still on the trail, " he announced. "But they've got the lights onnow. "

With a profound sigh from the heart the horse stopped in front of acorner apartment building and later, with a groan almost human, responded to the whip and jingled the hansom away, leaving Lanyard thepoorer by the exorbitant fare he had promised and something more. 

Athenais was already at the main entrance, ringing for the concierge. Lanyard hastened to join her, but before he could cross the sidewalk amotor-car poked its nose round the corner of the Boulevard Haussmann, ashort block away, and bore swiftly their way, seeming to search thestreet suspiciously with its blank, lidless eyes of glare. 

"Peste!" breathed the girl. "I have a private entrance and my own key. We could have used that had I imagined this sacred pig of aconcierge--!"

The latch clicked. She thrust the door open and slipped into densedarkness. Lanyard lingered another instant. The car was slowing down, and the street lamp on the corner revealed plainly a masculine armresting on its window-sill; but the spying face above the arm was onlya blur. 

"Come, monsieur!"

Lanyard stepped in and shut the door. A hand with which he wasbeginning to feel fairly well acquainted found his and led him throughthe dead obscurity to another pause. A key grated in a lock, the handdrew him on again, a second door closed behind him. 

"We are chez moi, " said a voice in the dark. 

"One could do with a light. "

"Wait. This way. "

The hand guided him across a room of moderate size, avoiding itsfurniture with almost uncanny ease, then again brought him to a halt. Brass rings clashed softly on a pole, a gap opened in heavy draperiescurtaining a window, a shaft of street light threw the girl's profileinto soft relief. She drew him to her till their shoulders touched. 

"You see... "

He bent his head close to hers, conscious of a caressing tendril ofhair that touched his cheek, and the sweet warmth and fragrance of her;and peering through the draperies saw their pursuing motor car atpause, not at the curb, but in the middle of the street before thehouse. The man's arm still rested on the sill of the window; the paleoval of the face above it was still vague. Abruptly both disappeared, adoor slammed on the far side of the car, and the car itself, after amoment's wait, gathered way with whining gears and vanished, leavingnothing human visible in the quiet street. 

"What did that mean? Did they pick somebody up?"

"But quite otherwise, mademoiselle. "

"Then what has become of him?"

"In the shadow of the door across the way: don't you see the deepershadow of his figure in the corner, to this side. And there ... Ah, dolt!"

The man in the doorway had moved, cautiously thrusting one hand out ofthe shadow far enough for the street lights to shine upon the dial ofhis wrist-watch. Instantly it was withdrawn; but his betrayal wasaccomplished. 

"That's enough, " said Lanyard, drawing the draperies close again. "Notrouble to make a fool of that one, God has so nobly prepared thesoil. " The girl said nothing. They no longer touched, and she was forthe time so still that he might almost have fancied himself alone. Butin that quiet room he could hear her breathing close beside him, notheavily but with a rapid accent hinting at an agitation which her voicebore out when she answered his wondering: "Mademoiselle?" "J'y suis, petit Monsieur Paul. "

"Is anything the matter?"

"No ... No: there is nothing the matter. "

"I'm afraid I have tired you out to-night. "

"I do not deny I am a little weary. "

"Forgive me. "

"There is nothing to forgive, not yet, petit Monsieur Paul. " A trace ofhard humour crept into her tone: "It is all in the night's work, as thesaying should be in Paris. "

"Three favours more; then I will do you one in return. "

"Ask... "

"Be so kind as to make a light and find me a pocket flash-lamp if youhave one. "

"I can do the latter without the former. It is better that we show nolight; one stray gleam through the curtains would tell too much. Wait. "

A noise of light footsteps muffled by a rug, high heels tapping onuncovered floor, the scrape of a drawer pulled out: and she returned togive him a little nickelled electric torch. 

"And then--?"

"Liane's address, if you know it. "

The girl named a number on an avenue not far distant. Lanyard remarkedthis. 

"Yes; you can walk there in less than five minutes. And finally?"

"Show me the way out. " Again she made no response. He pursued in someconstraint: "Thus you will enable me to make you my only inadequatereturn--leave you to your rest. "

Yet another space of silence; then a gusty little laugh. "That is agreat favour, truly, petit Monsieur Paul! So give me your hand oncemore. " But she no longer clung to it as before; the clasp of herfingers was light, cool, impersonal to the point of indifference. Vexed, resentful of her resentment, Lanyard suffered her guidancethrough the darkness of another room, a short corridor, and then athird room, where she left him for a moment. 

He heard again the clash of curtain rings. The dim violet rectangle ofa window appeared in the darkness, the figure of the woman in vaguesilhouette against it. A sash was lifted noiselessly, rain-sweet airbreathed into the apartment. Athenais returned to his side, pressedinto his palm a key. 

"That window opens on a court. The drop from the sill is no more thanfour feet. In the wall immediately opposite you will find a door. Thiskey opens it. Lock the door behind you, and at your first opportunitythrow away the key: I have several copies. You will find yourself in acorridor leading to the entrance of the apartment house in the rear ofthis, facing on the next street. Demand the cordon of the concierge asif you were a late guest leaving one of the apartments. He will make nodifficulty about opening.... I think that is all. "

"Not quite. There remains for me to attempt the impossible, to prove mygratitude, Athenais, in mere, unmeaning words. "

"Don't try, Paul. " The voice was softened once more, its accentsbroken. "Words cannot serve us, you and me! There is one way only, andthat, I know, is ... Rue Barré!" Her sad laugh fluttered, she creptinto his arms. "But still, petit Monsieur Paul, _she_ will not careif ... Only once!"

She clung to him for a long, long moment, then released his lips. 

"Men have kissed me, yes, not a few, " she whispered, resting her faceon his bosom, "but you alone have known my kiss. Go now, my dear, whileI have strength to let you go, and ... Make me one little promise... "

"Whatever you ask, Athenais.... "

"Never come back, unless you need me; for I shall not have so muchstrength another time. "

Alone, she rested a burning forehead against the lifted window-sash, straining her vision to follow his shadow as it moved through the murkof the court below and lost itself in the deeper gloom of the opposingwall. 

XVI

THE HOUSE OF LILITH

It stood four-square and massive on a corner between the avenues deFriedland et des Champs-Elysées, near their junction at the Place del'Etoile: a solid stone pile of a town-house in the most modern mode, without architectural beauty, boasting little attempt at exteriorembellishment, but smelling aloud of Money; just such a maison de villeas a decent bourgeois banker might be expected to build him when hecontemplates retiring after doing the Rothschilds a wicked one in theeye. 

It was like Liane's impudence, too. Lanyard smiled at the thought as hestudied the mansion from the backwards of a dark doorway in thediagonally opposed block of dwellings. Her kind was always sure toseek, once its fortunes were on firm footing, to establish itself, ashere, in the very heart of an exclusive residential district; as ifthinking to absorb social sanctity through the simple act of rubbingshoulders with it; or else, as was more likely to be the case with awoman of Liane Delorme's temper, desiring more to affront a world fromwhich she was outcast than to lay siege to its favour. 

It seemed, however, truly deplorable that Liane should have proved soconventional-minded in this particular respect. It rendered one's petproject much too difficult of execution. Earnestly as one desired tohave a look at the inside of that house without the knowledge of itsinmates, its aspect was forbidding and discouraging in the utmostextreme. 

Heavy gates of wrought bronze guarded the front doors. The single sideor service-door was similarly protected if more simply. And stoutgrilles of bronze barred every window on the level of the street. 

Now none of these could have withstood the attack of a man of ingenuitywith a little time at his disposal. But Lanyard could count on only thefew remaining minutes of true night. Retarded though it might be byshrouded skies, dawn must come all too soon for his comfort. Yet he wasconscious of no choice in the matter: he must and in spite ofeverything would know to-night what was going on behind that blankscreen of stone. To-morrow night would be too late. Tonight, if therewere any warrant for his suspicions, the jewels of Eve de Montalais layin the dwelling of Liane Delorme; or if they were not there, the secretof their hiding was. But to-morrow both, and more than likely Liane aswell, would be on the wing; or Lanyard had been sorely mistaken inseeing in her as badly frightened a woman as he had ever known, whenshe had learned of the assassination of de Lorgnes. 

It was possible, he thought it extremely probable, that Liane Delormewas as powerful as Athenais Reneaux had asserted; influential, that is, with the State, with the dealers in its laws and the dispensers of itsprotection. But now she had not to reckon with such as these, but withenemies of her own sort, with an antagonism as reckless of law andorder as she herself. And she was afraid of that, infinitely moredisturbed in mind and spirit than she would have been in the face ofany threat on the part of the police. The Préfecture was a known andmeasured force, an engine that ran as it were on mapped lines of rail;its moves might be forecast, guarded against, watched, evaded. But thisother force worked in the dark, this hostile power personified in thecreature who had called himself Albert Dupont; the very composition ofits being was cloaked in a secrecy impenetrable and terrifying, itsintentions and its workings could not be surmised or opposed until itstruck and the success or failure of the stroke revealed its origin andaim. 

Liane--or one misjudged her--would never sit still and wait for theblow to fall. She was too high-strung, too much in love with life. Shemust either strike first in self-defence--and, in such case, strike atwhat?--or remove beyond the range of the enemy's malice. Lanyard wasconfident she would choose the latter course. 

But confidence was not knowledge.... 

He transferred his attention from the formidable defences of the lowerstorey to the second. Here all the windows were of the type calledfrench, and opened inward from shallow balconies with wrought bronzerailings. Lanyard was acquainted with every form of fastening used forsuch windows; all were simple, none could resist his persuasions, provided he stood upon one of those balconies. Nor did he count it adifficult matter for a man of his activity and strength to scale thefront of the house as far as the second storey; its walls were buildedof heavy blocks of dressed stone with deep horizontal channels betweeneach tier. These grooves would be greasy with rain; otherwise one couldhardly ask for better footholds. A climb of some twelve or fifteen feetto the balcony: one should be able to make that within two minutes, granted freedom from interruption. The rub was there; the quarterseemed quite fast asleep; in the five minutes which had elapsed sinceLanyard had ensconced himself in the doorway no motor car had passed, not a footfall had disturbed the stillness, never a sound of any sorthad come to his attention other than one distant blare of a two-tonedautomobile horn from the neighbourhood of the Arc de Triomphe. But onedared not count on long continuance of such conditions. Already the skyshowed a lighter shade above the profile of the roofs. And one wakefulwatcher at a nearby window would spell ruin. 

Nevertheless he must adventure the consequences.... 

Poised to leave his shelter and dart across the street, with his pointof attack already selected, his thoughts already busy withconsideration of steps to follow--he checked and fell still fartherback into the shadow. Something was happening in the house across theway. 

A man had opened the service-door and paused behind the bronze gate. There was no light behind him, and the gloom and intervening strips ofmetal rendered his figure indistinct. Lanyard's high-keyed perceptionshad none the less been instant to remark that slight movement and theaccompanying change in the texture of the darkness barred by the gate. 

Following a little wait, it swung slowly out, perhaps eighteen inches, the man advancing with it and again halting to peer up and down thestreet. Then quickly, as if alarmed, he withdrew, shut the gate, anddisappeared, closing the service-door behind him. 

Listening intently, Lanyard heard no click of latch, such as shouldhave been audible in that dead hour of hush. Evidently the fellow hadneglected to make fast the gate. Possibly he had been similarly remissabout fastening the door. But what was he up to? Why this furtiveappearance, why the retreat so abruptly executed?

By way of answer came the soft drone of a high-powered motor; then thecar itself rolled into view, a stately limousine coming from thedirection of the avenue de Friedland. Before the corner house itstopped. A lackey alighted with an umbrella and ran to hold the door;but Liane Delorme would not wait for him. The car had not stopped whenshe threw the door open; on the instant when its wheels ceased to turnshe jumped down and ran toward the house, heedless of the rain. 

At the same time one side of the great front doors swung inward, and afootman ran out to open the gates. The lackey with the umbrella, thoughhe moved briskly, failed to catch up with Liane before she sped up thesteps. So he closed the umbrella and trotted back to his place besidethe chauffeur. The footman shut gates and door as the limousine movedaway: it had not been sixty seconds at rest. In fifteen more street andhouse were both as they had been, save that a light now shone throughthe plate glass of the latter's great doors. And that was soonextinguished. 

Conceiving that the man who had appeared at the service entrance wasthe same who had admitted Liane, Lanyard told himself he understood:impatient for his bed, the fellow had gone to the service gate to spyout for signs of madame's return. Now if only it were true that he hadfailed to close it securely----!

It proved so. The gate gave readily to Lanyard's pull. The knob of thesmall door turned silently. He stepped across the threshold, and shuthimself into an unlighted hall, thoughtfully apeing the negligence ofthe servant and leaving the door barely on the latch by way ofprovision against a forced retreat. 

So far, good. He felt for his pocket torch, then sharply fell back intothe nearest corner and made himself as inconspicuous as might be. Footsteps were sounding on the other side of an unseen wall. He waited, breathless, stirless. 

A latch rattled, and at about three yards' distance a narrow dooropened, marked by a widening glow of light. A liveried footman--beyonda doubt he who admitted the mistress of the house--entered, carrying anelectric candle, yawned with a superstitious hand before his mouth and, looking to neither right nor left, turned away from Lanyard and trudgedwearily back to the household offices. At the far end of the longhallway a door closed behind him--and Lanyard moved swiftly. 

The door which had let the footman into the hall admitted to a spaciousfoyer which set apart the entrance and--as the play of the electrictorch disclosed--a deep and richly furnished dining-room. To one side abroad flight of stairs ascended: Lanyard went up with the activity of acat, making no more noise. 

The second floor proved to be devoted mainly to a drawing-room, alounge, and a library, all furnished in a weird, inchoate sort ofmagnificence, with money rather than with taste, if one might judgefairly by the fitful and guarded beam of the torch. The taste may havebeen less questionable than Lanyard thought; but the evidences ofluxurious tendencies and wealth recklessly wasted in theirgratification were irrefutable. 

Lights were burning on the floor above, and a rumour of feminine voicesdrifted down, interrupted by an occasional sibilant rustle of silk, ora brief patter of high-heeled feet: noises which bore out theconjecture that madame's maid was undressing and putting her to bed; aceremony apt to consume a considerable time with a woman of Liane's ageand disposition, passionately bent on preserving to the grave asemblance of freshness in her charms. Lanyard reckoned on anything fromfifteen minutes to an hour before her couching would be accomplishedand the maid out of the way. Ten minutes more, and Liane ought to beasleep. If it turned out otherwise--well, one would have to deal withher awake. No need to be gravely concerned about that: to envisage thecontingency was to be prepared against it. 

Believing he must possess his soul in patience for an indeterminablewait, he was casting about for a place to secrete himself, when achange in the tenor of the talk between mistress and maid was conveyedby a sudden lift of half an octave in the latter's voice, sounding asharp note of protest, to be answered by Liane in accent of overbearinganger. 

One simply could not rest without knowing what that meant: Lanyardmounted the second flight of stairs as swiftly, surely, and soundlesslyas he had the first. But just below a landing, where the staircase hadan angle, he paused, crouching low, flat to the steps, his head liftedjust enough to permit him to see, above the edge of the topmost, asection of glowing, rose-pink wall--it would be rose-pink!

He could see nothing more; and Liane had already silenced the maid, orrather reduced her to responses feebly submissive, and, consonant withthe nature of her kind, was rubbing it in. 

"And why should you not go with me to that America if I wish it?"Lanyard heard her say. "Is it likely I would leave you behind to spreadscandal concerning me with that gabbling tongue in your head of anovergrown cabbage? It is some lover, then, who has inspired this follyin you? Tell him from me, if you please, the day you leave my servicewithout my consent, it will be a sorry sweetheart that comes to him. "

"It is well, madame. I say no more. I will go. "

"I believe it well--you will go! You were mad ever to dream otherwise. Fetch my jewel-case--the large one, of steel, with the American lock. "

"Madame takes all her jewels, then?" the maid enquired, moving aboutthe room. 

"But naturally. What do you think? That I leave them here for thescullery-maids to give their maquereaux? I shall pack them tonight, before I sleep. "

("Damnation!"--from Lanyard, beneath his breath. More delay!)

"And we leave to-morrow, madame, at what time?"

"It matters not, so we are in Cherbourg by midnight. I may decide tomake the trip by automobile. "

"And madame's packing?"

"You know well what to pack, better than I. Get my boxes up the firstthing in the morning and use your own judgment. If there are questionsto be asked, save them until I wake up. I shall sleep till noon. "

"That is all, madame?"

"That is all. You may go. "

"Good-night, madame. "

"Good-night, Marthe. "

The stairway was no place to stop. Lanyard slipped like a shadow to thefloor below, and took shelter behind a jog in the wall of the grandsalon where, standing in deep darkness, he commanded a view of thehall. 

The maid came down, carrying an electric candle like the footman's. Itsrays illumined from below one of those faces of crude comeliness commonto her class, the face of an animal not unintelligent but first andlast an animal. With a hand on the lower newel-post she hesitated, looking up toward the room of her mistress, as if lost in thought. Poised thus, her lifted face partly turned away from Lanyard, itshalf-seen expression was hopelessly ambiguous. But some secret thoughtamused the woman, a shadow deepened in the visible corner of herfull-lipped mouth. One fancied something sardonic in that covert smile. 

She went on down. A latch on the ground floor clicked as the door tothe service hallway was gently closed. Lanyard came out of hiding witha fresh enterprise abrew. 

One must kill time somehow, Liane would be at least another half anhour busy with her jewellery, and the thought presented itself that thelibrary, immediately beneath her room, should be worthy aninvestigation. In such establishments it is a tradition that thehousehold safe shall be located somewhere in the library; and suchstrong-boxes are apt to be naïve contrivances. Lanyard did not hope tofind the Montalais jewels stored away in such a place, Liane wouldsurely take better care of them than that; assuming they were in herpossession they would be under her hand, if not confused with her owntreasures; still it could do no harm to make sure. 

Confident of being warned at need by his hearing, which was normallysupersensitive and, when he was engaged as now, keyed to preterhumanacuteness, he went coolly about the business, and at his first stepfound a portable reading-lamp on a long cord and coolly switched on itshooded light. 

The library was furnished with bulky old Italian pieces of carved oak, not especially well selected, but suitable enough with one exception, aponderous buffet, an exquisite bit of workmanship both in design and indetail but completely out of place in a room of that character. Atleast nine feet in length, it stood out four from the wall. Three heavydoors guarded by modern locks gave access to the body beneath its tierof drawers. But--this drew a frowning stare--there was a key in thelock of the middle door. 

"There's such a thing as too much luck, " Lanyard communed. "First theservice gate and door, and now this, ready to my hand----!"

He swung sharply round and searched every shadow in the room with theglare of the portable lamp; but that was work of supererogation: he hadalready made sure he was alone on that floor. 

Placing the lamp on the floor and adjusting its hood so that itfocussed squarely upon the middle section of the buffet, he turned thekey and discovered, behind the door, a small safe. 

The run of luck did not hold in respect to this; there was no key; andthe combination dial was smug with ill-grounded confidence in its owninviolable integrity. Still (Lanyard told it) it could hardly beexpected to know, it had yet to be dealt with by the shade of the LoneWolf. 

Amused by the conceit, Lanyard laid hold of the knob with steady, delicate fingertips that had not yet, in spite of years of honourableidleness, forgotten their cunning. Then he flattened an ear to the coldface of the safe. To his informed manipulation the dial whirled, paused, reversed, turned all but imperceptibly, while the hiddenmechanism clicked, ground and thudded softly, speaking a livinglanguage to his hearing. In three minutes he sat back on his heels, grasped the T-handle, turned it, had the satisfaction of hearing thebolts slide back into their sockets, and opened the door wide. 

But the racked pigeonholes held nothing to interest him whose one aimwas the recovery of the Montalais jewels. The safe was, in fact, dedicated simply to the storage of documents. 

"Love letters!" Lanyard mused with a grimace of weariness. "And eachbelieved, no doubt, she cared too much for him to hold her power tocompromise him. Good Lord! what vanity is man's!"

Then the consideration offered that property of real valuemight be hidden behind those sheaves of papers. He selected apigeonhole at hazard, and emptied it of several bundles of letters, allneatly bound with tape or faded ribbon and clearly docketed. It heldnothing else whatever. But his eye was caught by a great name endorsedon the face of one of the packages; and reading what else was writtenthere his brows rose high while his lips shaped a soundless whistle. Ifan inference were fair, Liane had kept not only such documents as gaveher power over others. Lanyard wondered if it were possible he held inhis hand an instrument to bend the woman to his will.... 

Suddenly he put out a hand and switched off the light, a gesture quiteinvoluntary, simple reaction to the muffled thump of a chair overturnedon the floor above. 

Sounds of scuffling followed, as if Liane were dancing to no music witha heavy-footed partner. Then a groan.... 

His hands moved so rapidly and deftly that, although he seemed to risewithout a second's delay, the safe was closed and the combinationlocked when he did so, the buffet door was shut and its key in hispocket. 

This time Lanyard ascended the stairs without heeding what noise hemade. Nevertheless his actions were never awkward or ill-timed; hisapproach was not heard, his arrival on the upper landing was unnoticed. 

In an instantaneous pause he looked into the rose-pink room and sawLiane Delorme, in a negligee like a cobweb over a nightdress even moresheer, kneeling and clawing at her throat, round which a heavy silkhandkerchief was slowly tightening; her face already purple withstrangulation, her eyes bulging from their sockets, her tongueprotruding between swollen lips. 

A thick knee was planted between her shoulder-blades. The ends of thehandkerchief were in the sinewy hands of Albert Dupont. 

XVII

CHEZ LIANE

Conceivably even a journeyman strangler may know the thrill ofprofessional pride in a good job well done: Dupont was grinning at hiswork, and so intent upon it that his first intimation of anyinterference came when Lanyard took him from behind, broke his holdupon the woman (and lamentably failed to break his back at the sametime) whirled him round with a jerk that all but unsocketed an arm and, before the thug could regain his balance, placed surely on the heel ofhis jaw, just below the ear, a blow that, coming straight from theshoulder and carrying all Lanyard had of weight and force and will topunish, in spite of Dupont's heaviness fairly lifted him from his feetand dropped him backwards across a chaise-longue, from which he slippedsenseless to the floor. 

It was just like that, a crowded, breathless business.... 

With bruised and aching knuckles to prove that the blow had been one tostun an ox, Lanyard believed it safe to count Dupont hors de combat, for a time at least. In any event, the risk had to be chanced: LianeDelorme was in a plight demanding immediate relief. 

In all likelihood she had lost consciousness some moments beforeLanyard's intervention. Released, she had fallen positively inert, andlay semi-prostrate on a shoulder, with limbs grotesquely slack andawry, as if in unpleasant mimicry of a broken doll. Only the whites ofbloodshot eyes showed in her livid and distorted countenance. Arms andlegs twitched spasmodically, the ample torso was violently shaken bylabouring lungs. 

The twisted handkerchief round her throat had loosened, but not enoughto give relief. Lanyard removed it, turned her over so that she laysupine, wedged silken pillows from the chaise-longue beneath her headand shoulders, then reached across her body, took from her dressingtable a toilet-water flask of lovely Italian glass, and drenched herface and bosom with its pungent contents. 

She gasped, started convulsively, and began to breathe with lesseffort. That dreadful rattling in her throat was stilled. Heavy lidscurtained her eyes. 

Lanyard continued to apply the scented water with a lavish hand. Intime the woman shuddered, sighed profoundly, and looked up with awitless stare. 

Man is measurably a creature of gestures stereotyped when the world wasyoung: Lanyard patted the woman's hand as one might comfort an abusedchild. "It is all right now, Liane, " he said in a reassuring voice. "Rest tranquilly. You will soon be yourself again. But wait: I willfind you a drink. "

She said nothing, her look continued cloudy; but the dazed eyesfollowed him as he got up and cast about for a glass of water. 

But then he remembered Dupont, and decided that Liane could waitanother minute while he made it impossible for the Apache to do moremischief. 

He moved round the chaise-longue and paused, looking down thoughtfully. Since his fall Dupont had made neither moan nor stir. No crescentirides showed beneath the half-shut lids. He was so motionless, heseemed scarcely to breathe. Lanyard dug the toe of a boot into his ribsnone too gently, but without satisfaction of any doubts. The fellowgave no sign of sensibility, but lay utterly relaxed, with the look ofone dead. 

Lanyard frowned uneasily. He had seen men drop dead from blows lesspowerful than his, and though this one had well earned a death swiftand merciless, Lanyard experienced a twinge of horror at the thought. Often enough it had been his lot in times of peace and war to be forcedto fight for life, and more than once to kill in defence of it; butthat had never happened, never could happen, without his suffering thebitterest regret. Even now, in the case of this bloody-handed butcher, this ruthless garroter.... 

Dropping to his knees, Lanyard bent over the body to search forsymptoms of animation. He perceived them instantly. With inconceivablesuddenness Dupont demonstrated that he was very much alive. An arm likethe flexible limb of a tree wound itself affectionately round Lanyard'sneck, clipped his head to Dupont's yearning bosom, ground his face intothe flannel folds of a foul-scented shirt. Simultaneously the huge bodyheaved prodigiously, and after a brief interval of fantastic floppings, like a young mountain fell on top of Lanyard. 

But that was the full measure of Dupont's success in this stratagem. Ifhopelessly victimized and taken by surprise, Lanyard should have beenbetter remembered by the man who had fought him at Montpellier-le-Vieuxand again, with others assisting, on the road to Nant; though it isquite possible, of course, that Dupont failed to recognise his ancientenemy in clean-shaven Monsieur Paul Martin of the damp and bedraggledevening clothes. 

However that may have been, in the question of brute courage Dupont hadyet to prove lacking. His every instinct was an Apache's: left tohimself he would strike always from behind, and run like a cur tocover. But cornered, or exasperated by opposition to his vastpowers--something which he seemed quite unable to understand--he couldfight like a maniac. He was hardly better now, when he found himselfthrown off and attacked in turn at a time when he believed hisantagonist to be pinned down, helpless, at the mercy of the weapon forwhich he was fumbling. And the murderous fury which animated him thenmore than made up for want of science, cool-headedness and imagination. 

They fought for their most deeply-rooted passions, he to kill, Lanyardto live, Dupont to batter Lanyard into conceding a moment of respite inwhich a weapon might be used, Lanyard to prevent that very thing fromhappening. Even as animals in a pit they fought, now on their kneesstraining each to break the other's hold, now wallowing together on thefloor, now on their feet, slogging like bruisers of the old school. 

Dupont took punishment in heroic doses, and asked for more. Sheddingfrightful blows with only an angry shake of his head, he would lower itand charge as a wild boar charges, while his huge arms flew likelunatic connecting-rods. The cleverest footwork could not always eludehis tremendous rushes, the coolest ducking and dodging could not whollyescape that frantic shower of fists. 

Time and again Lanyard suffered blows that jarred him to his heels, time and again was fain to give ground to an onslaught that drove himback till his shoulders touched a wall. And more than once toward theend he felt his knees buckle beneath him and saw his shrewdest effortsfail for want of force. The sweat of his brows stung and dimmed hiseyes, his dry tongue tasted its salt. He staggered in the drunkennessof fatigue, and suffered agonies of pain; for his exertions hadstrained the newly knitted tissues of the wound in his side, and thehurt of this was wholly hellish. 

But always he contrived somehow, strangely to him, to escapeannihilation and find enough in reserve to fly back at Dupont's throatupon the first indication of desire on the part of the latter to yieldthe offensive. To do less were to permit him to find and use hisweapon, whatever it might be--whether knife or pistol was besides theissue. 

Chairs, the chaise-longue, tables were overturned and kicked about. Priceless bits of porcelain and glass, lamps, vases, the fittings ofthe dressing-table were cast down in fragments to the floor. 

Constrained to look to herself or be trampled underfoot, and galvanizedwith terror, the woman struggled up and tottered hither and yon like abewildered child, in the beginning too bemused to be able to keep outof the way of the combatants. If she crouched against a wall, battlingbodies brushed her away from it. Did she take refuge in a corner shemust abandon it else be crushed. Once she stumbled between the two, andbefore Lanyard could thrust her aside Dupont had fallen back half adozen feet and worried a pistol out of his clothing. 

He fired first from the hip, and the shot shattered the mirror of thedressing-table. Trying for better aim, he lifted and levelled theweapon with a trembling arm which he sought to steady by cupping theelbow in his left hand. But the second bullet ploughed into the ceilingas Lanyard in desperation executed a coup de pied in la savate, andnarrowly succeeded in kicking the pistol from Dupont's grasp. 

Bereft thus of his last hope--they were too evenly matched, and bothtoo far spent for either to force a victory with his naked hands--theApache swung round and ran, at the same time throwing a heavy chairover on its back in the path of pursuit. Unable to avoid it, Lanyardtried to hurdle it, caught a foot on one of its legs and, as Dupontthrew himself headlong down the stairs, crashed to the floor with animpact that shook its beams. 

Main will-power lifted him to his knees before he collapsed, his lastounce of endurance wasted. Then the woman, with flying draperies, afigure like a fury, sped to the banister rail and leaning over emptiedthe several shots remaining in Dupont's automatic down the well of thestaircase. It is doubtful if she saw anything to aim at or accomplishedmore than to wing the Apache's flight. Dupont had gained the secondstorey while Lanyard was still fighting up from his fall. The lastreport and the crash of the front door slammed behind Dupont were asone heartbeat to the next. 

Lanyard pillowed his head on a forearm and lay sobbing for breath. Liane Delorme turned and ran to the front of the house. 

Presently she came back drooping, sank into a chair and with lacklustreeyes regarded the man at her feet. 

"He got away, " she said superfluously, in a faint voice. "I saw him inthe street ... Staggering like a sot... "

At that moment Lanyard could not have mustered a show of interest hadhe been told Dupont was returning at the head of a horde. He closed histired eyes and envied the lucky dead whose rest was independent ofbruised flesh and aching bones. Neither, he supposed, were dreamspoisoned by chagrin when what was mortal no longer mattered.... Threetimes had he come to grips with Dupont and, though he had beenoutnumbered on the road to Nant, in Lanyard's sight the honours werefar from easy. Neither would they be while yet the other lived or wasat large... 

The bitterness of failure and defeat had so rank a flavour in histhoughts that nothing else in life concerned him now. He had forgottenLiane Delorme for minutes when her arm passed beneath his shoulders andtried to lift them from the floor. He looked up then with listlesseyes, and saw her on one knee by his side, giving him in his turn thatconfident and reassuring smile with which he had greeted her revivingsenses ... A long, long time ago, it seemed. 

"Come!" she said--"sit up, monsieur, and take this drink. It will lendyou strength. You need it. "

God knew he did! His throat was like a furnace flue, his mouth held thetaste of leather. But for that thirst, indeed, he could hardly havefound the energy to aid her efforts and lurch upon an elbow. Awhite-hot lancet pierced his wound, and though he locked his teethagainst it a groan forced out between them. The woman cried out at therapid ebb of colour from his face. 

"But you are suffering!"

He forced a grey smile. "It is nothing, " he whispered hoarsely--"itwill pass. If you please--that drink----"

She put a knee behind his shoulders for support, and he rested his headback upon it and drank deep from the glass which she held to his lips. Nectar of Olympus was never more divine than that deep draught ofbrandy and soda. He thought he quaffed Life itself in its distilledquintessence, its pure elixir. His look of gratitude had almost thespirit and the vigour of himself renewed. 

"My thanks, mademoiselle... "

"Your thanks!"--she laughed with indulgent scorn--"your thanks to me!"

He offered to rise, but was restrained by kindly hands. 

"No: rest there a little longer, give yourself a little time before youtry to get up. "

"But I shall tire you... "

"No. And if you did, what of that? It seems to me, my friend, I owe toyou my life. "

"To me it seems you do, " he agreed. "But such a debt is always thefirst to be forgotten, is it not?"

"You reproach me?"

"No, mademoiselle; not you, but the hearts of men... We are all verymuch alike, I think. "

"No, " the woman insisted: "you do reproach me. In your heart you havesaid: 'She has forgotten that, but for me, she would have been deadlong years ago. This service, too, she will presently forget. ' But youare wrong, my friend. It is true, the years between had made that othertime a little vague with old remoteness in my memory; but to-night hasbrought it all back and--a renewed memory never fades. "

"So one is told. But trust self-interest at need to black it out. "

"You have no faith in me!" she said bitterly. 

Lanyard gave her a weary smile. "Why should I not? And as for that: Whyshould I have faith in you, Liane? Our ways run leagues apart. "

"They can be one. "

She met his perplexed stare with an emphatic nod, with eyes that hecould have sworn were abrim with tenderness. He shook his head as if toshake off a ridiculous plaguing notion, and grinned broadly. "That wasa drink!" he declared. "I assure you, it was too much for my elderlyhead. Let me up. "

The cruel agony stabbed his side again and again as he--notunaided--got upon his feet; and though he managed to gulp down hisgroans, no grinding of his teeth could mitigate his recurrent pallor orthe pained contractions of his eyes. Furthermore, he wavered when hetried to walk, and was glad to subside into a chair to which the womanguided him. Then she fetched him another brandy and soda, put a lightedcigarette between his lips, picked up a chair for herself, and satdown, so close to him that their elbows almost touched. 

"It is better, that pain, monsieur?"

He replied with an uncertain nod, pressing a careful hand to his side. "... Wound that animal gave me a month ago. "

"Which animal?"

"Monsieur of the garotte, Liane; recently the assassin of de Lorgnes;before that the ex-chauffeur of the Château de Montalais. "

"Albert Dupont?"

"As you say, it is not a name. "

"The same?" Her old terror revived. "My God! what have I ever done tothat one that he should seek my life?"

"What had de Lorgnes?"

Her eyes turned away, she sat for a moment in silent thought, startedsuddenly to speak but checked the words before one passed her lips, and--as Lanyard saw quite plainly--hastened to substitute others. 

"No: I do not understand at all! What do you think?"

Lanyard indicated a shrug with sufficient clearness, meaning to say, she probably knew as much as if not more than he. 

"But how did he get in? I had not one suspicion I was not alone untilthat handkerchief----"

"Naturally. "

"And you, my friend?"

"I saw him enter, and followed. "

This was strictly within the truth: Lanyard had now no doubt Dupont andthe man who had reconnoitered from the service-door were one. But itwas no part of his mind to tell the whole truth to Liane. She might beas grateful as she ought to be, but she was still ... Liane Delorme ... A woman to be tested rather than trusted. 

"I must tell you. But perhaps you knew there were agents de police inthe restaurant to-night?"

Liane's head described a negative; her violet eyes were limpid pools ofcandour. 

"I am so much a stranger in Paris, " Lanyard pursued, "I would not knowthem. But I thought you, perhaps----"

"No, no, my friend, I have nothing to do with the police, I know littleabout them. Not only that, but I was so interested in our talk, andthen inexpressibly shocked, I paid attention to nothing else. "

"I understand. Otherwise you must have noticed who followed me. "

"You were followed?"

And she had found the effrontery to chide him for lack of faith in her!He was in pain: for all that, the moment seemed amusing. 

"We are followed, I assure you, " Lanyard replied gravely. "One man ortwo--I don't know how many--in a town-car. "

"But you are sure?"

"All we could get was a hansom drawn by a snail. The automobile, running without lights, went no faster, kept a certain distance behindus all the way from the Place Pigalle to the apartment of MademoiselleReneaux. What have you to say to that? Furthermore, when MademoiselleReneaux had persuaded me to take refuge in her apartment--who knew whatthey designed?--one man left the automobile as it passed her door andstood on watch across the way. Could one require proof that one wasfollowed?"

"Then you think somebody of the Préfecture recognized Duchemin in you?"

"Who knows? I know I was followed, watched. If you ask me, I thinkParis is not a healthy place for me. "

"But all that, " Liane objected, "does not bring you here!"

"Patience: I am well on my way. "

Lanyard paused to sip his brandy and soda, and, under cover of that, summon ingenuity to the fore; here a little hand-made fabrication wasindicated. 

"We waited till about half an hour ago. So did the spy. MademoiselleReneaux then let me out by a private way. I started to walk to myhotel, the Chatham. There wasn't a taxi to be had, you understand. Presently I looked back and saw I was being followed again. To makesure, I ran--and the spy ran after me. I twisted and doubled allthrough this quarter, and at last succeeded in shaking him off. Then Iturned down this street, hoping to pick up a cab in the Champ-Élysées. Of a sudden I see Dupont. He is crossing the street toward this house. He does not know me, but quickens his pace, and hastily lets himself inat the service entrance.... Incidentally, if I were you, Liane, I wouldgive my staff of servants a bad quarter of an hour in the morning. Thedoor and gate were not locked; I am sure Dupont used no key. Someperson of this establishment was careless or--worse. "

"Trust me to look into that. "

"Enfin! in his haste, Dupont leaves the door as he found it. I take amoment's thought; it is plain he is here for no good purpose. I followhim in... The state of this room tells the rest. "

"It is no matter. " The woman reviewed the ruins of her boudoir with anapathetic glance which was, however, anything but apathetic when sheturned it back to Lanyard's face. Bending forward, she closed a handupon his arm. Emotion troubled her accents. "My friend, my dear friend:tell me what I can do to repay you?"

"Help me, " said Lanyard simply, holding her eyes. 

"How is that--help you?"

"To make my honour clear. " Speaking rapidly and with unfeigned feeling, he threw himself upon her generosity: "You know I am no more what I wasonce, in this Paris--when you first knew me. You know I have given upall that. For years I have fought an uphill fight to live down thatevil fame in which I once rejoiced. Now I stand accused of two crimes. "

"Two!"

"Two in one, I hardly know which is the greater: that of stealing, orthat of violating the hospitality and confidence of those good ladiesof the Château de Montalais. I cannot rest while they think meguilty... And not they alone, but all my friends, and I have made goodfriends, in France and England. So, if you think you owe me anything, Liane, help me to find and restore the Montalais jewels. "

Liane Delorme sat back, her hand lifted from his arm and fell with ahelpless gesture. Her eyes mirrored no more guile than a child's. Yether accent was that of one who remonstrates, but with forbearance, against unreasonable demands. 

"How can I do that?"

And she had protested her gratitude to him! He knew that she was lying. Anger welled in Lanyard's heart, but he was able to hold it in leashand let no sign of it show in manner or expression. 

"You have much influence, " he suggested, "here in Paris, with people ofmany classes. A word from you here, a question there, pressure exertedin certain quarters, will help me more than all the powers ofPréfecture and Surété combined. You know that. "

"Let me think. " She was staring at the floor. "You must give me time. I will do what I can, I promise you that. Perhaps"--she met his gazeagain, but he saw something crafty in her smile--"I have a schemealready in mind. We will discuss that in the morning, when I have slepton it. "

"You give me new hope. " Lanyard finished his drink and made as if torise, but relapsed, a spasm of pain knotting his face. "Afraid I musthave a cab, " he said in a low voice. "And if you could lend me a coatof some sort to cover these rags.... "

And indeed his ready-made evening clothes had fared badly in theirfirst social adventure. 

"But if you think I dream of letting you leave this house--in pain andperhaps to run into the arms of the police--you little know me, Monsieur Michael Lanyard!"

"Paul Martin, if you don't mind. "

"The guest rooms are there. " She waved a hand to indicate the frontpart of the house on that floor. "You will find everything you need tomake you comfortable for to-night, and in the morning I will send tothe Chatham for your things.... Or perhaps it would be wiser to waittill we are sure the police are not watching there for your return. Butif they are, it will be a simple matter to find suitable clothing foryou. Meanwhile we will have arrived at an understanding.... Youcomprehend, monsieur, I am resolved, this affair is now arranged?"

"I am well content, Liane. "

And that was true enough; whatever she had in mind for him, she wasonly playing into his hands when she proposed to keep him near her. Hemanaged to get out of the chair, and accepted the offer of her arm, butheld back for a moment. 

"But your servants... "

"Well, monsieur, what of them?"

"For one thing, they sleep sincerely. "

"There are sound-proof walls between their part of the house and this. More than that, they are forbidden to intrude, no matter what mayhappen, unless I summon them. "

"But in the morning, Liane, when they regard this wreckage... I amafraid they will think me a tempestuous lover!"

"They will find me a tempestuous mistress, " promised Liane Delorme, "when I question them about that open door. "

XVIII

BROTHER AND SISTER

The storm had passed off, an ardent noonday sun was collaborating witha coquettish breeze to make gay the window awnings of the chamber whereLanyard, in borrowed pyjamas and dressing-gown of silk, lay luxuriouslybedded, listening to the purr of wide-awake Paris and, with anexcellent cigar to chew on, ruminating upon the problematic issue ofhis latest turn of fortune, and not in the least downhearted about it. 

Before turning in he had soaked and steamed most of the ache out ofbone and muscle in the hottest water his flesh would suffer; and sixhours unbroken slumber had done wonders toward lessening the distresshis exertions last night had occasioned in the frail new tissues of hiswound. Now, fresh from a cold shower following a second hot bath, andfurther comforted by a petit déjeuner served in bed, he felt measurablysane again, and sound in wind and limb as well, barring a few deepbruises whose soreness would need several days to heal. 

A pleasant languour, like a light opiate, infused his consciousness;yet he was by no means mentally inactive. 

The morning papers were scattered over the counterpane. Lanyard haddiligently scanned all the stories that told of the identification ofthe murdered man of the Lyons rapide as the Comte de Lorgnes; andinasmuch as these were of one voice in praising the Préfecture for thatfamous feat of detective work, and not one line suggested that it didnot deserve undivided credit, Lanyard had nothing to complain of there. 

As for the Montalais robbery it was not even mentioned. The restrictedsize imposed upon French newspapers by the paper shortage of those dayscrowded out of their columns everything but news in true sense, andthere could be none of that in connection with the Montalais affairuntil either André Duchemin had been arrested or the jewels recoveredfrom the real thief or thieves. And Lanyard was human enough to bealmost as willing to have the first happen as the last, if it were notgiven to him to be the prime factor in their restoration. 

For the time being--if he must confess the truth--he was actuallyrather enjoying himself, rather exhilarated than otherwise by theswiftly shifting scenes and characters of his unfolding investigationsand by the brisk sword-play of wits in which he was called uponconstantly to engage; both essential ingredients of the wine of lifeaccording to the one recipe he knew. 

And then a review of recent events seemed to warrant the belief that, all things considered, he had thus far made fair progress toward hisgoal. 

While it was true he did not as yet know what had become of theMontalais jewels, he had gathered together an accumulation of evidencewhich, however circumstantial and hypothetical, established acceptablyto his intelligence a number of interesting inferences, to wit:

That Dupont had not left the neighbourhood of the Château de Montalais, after haunting it for upwards of a month, without definite knowledgethat he would gain nothing by staying on, or without an equallydefinite objective, some motive more inspiring than such simplesensuousness as he might find in assassinating inoffensive folkindiscriminately. 

That his attempt upon the life of Liane Delorme within twenty-fourhours of the murder of de Lorgnes indicated conviction on his part thatthe two were coupled in some enterprise inimical to his personalinterests. 

That in spite of his mask of a stupid pig Dumont was proving himselfmentally as well as physically an adversary worthy of all respect, andwas--what was worse--still to be reckoned with. 

That, as Lanyard had suspected all along, the Monk party had beenvisited upon the Château de Montalais through no vagary of chancewhatever but as part of a deliberate design whose ulterior motive hadtranspired only with the disappearance of the jewels--to Dupont's vastbut understandable vexation of spirit. 

That the several members of the Monk party had been working in entireaccord, as a close corporation; in which case the person whom the Comtede Lorgnes had expected to meet in Lyons must have been Monk Phinuit orJules. 

Consequently that at least one of the three last named had been theactual perpetrator of the robbery; and by the same token, that Lianehad lied in asserting that Monk and retinue had sailed for Americanearly a week prior to its commission. 

That Liane herself had not so suddenly decided to leave France, whereshe was after a fashion somebody, and journey to America, where shewould be nobody, except in stress of mortal fear lest the fate thathad befallen de Lorgnes befall her in turn--as would surely have beenthe case last night but for Lanyard. 

That she must therefore have had a tolerably accurate knowledge eitherof Dupont's identity or of the opposition interests which that one soably represented; and thus was better informed than poor de Lorgnes, towhom Dupont had been unknown; which argued that Liane's rôle in theintrigue was that of a principal, whereas de Lorgnes had figured onlyas a subordinate. 

That even if the woman did mean well toward Lanyard she was bound bystronger ties to others, whom she must consider first, and who werehardly likely to prove so well disposed; that her protestations offriendship and gratitude must be valued accordingly. 

Summing up, Lanyard told himself he could hardly be said to have letgrass grow under his feet since leaving Château de Montalais. 

Now he found himself with a solitary care to nurse, the question: Whathad her pillow advised Liane Delorme?

He was going to be exceedingly interested to learn what she, in thematurity of her judgement, had decided to do about this man whoingenuously suggested that she requite him for saving her life byhelping him recover the Montalais jewels. 

On the other hand, since Lanyard had quite decided what he meant to doabout Liane in any event, her decision really didn't matter much; andhe refused to fret himself trying to forecast it. Whatever it mightturn out to be, it would find him prepared, he couldn't be surprised. There Lanyard was wrong. Liane was amply able to surprise him, and did. Ultimately he felt constrained to concede a touch to genius in thewoman; her methods were her own and never poor in boldness andimagination. 

It was without ceremony that she walked in on him at length, havingkept him waiting so long that he had begun to wonder if she meant totry on anything as crude as abandoning him, and posting off toCherbourg without a word to seek fancied immunity in New York, while heremained in an empty house without money, papers of identification, oreven fit clothing for the street; for, on coming out of his bath, Lanyard had found all of these things missing, the valet de chambrepresumably having made off with his evening clothes, to have thempressed and repaired. 

Liane was dressed for travelling, becomingly if with a sobriety thatwent oddly with her cultivated beauté du diable, and wore besides ahabit of preoccupation which, one was left to assume, excused theinformality of her unannounced entrance. 

"Well, my dear friend!" she said gravely, halting by the bedside. 

"It's about time, " Lanyard retorted. 

"I was afraid you might be growing impatient, " she confessed. "I havehad so much to do... "

"No doubt. But if you had neglected me much longer I should have cometo look for you regardless of consequences. "

"How is that?" she enquired with knitted brows--"regardless of whatconsequences?"

"Any damage one might do to the morale of your ménage by toddling aboutin the voluptuous déshabillé in which you behold me--my sole presentapology for a wardrobe. "

She found only the shadow of a smile for such frivolity. "I have sentfor clothing for you, " she said absently. "It should be here any minutenow. We only wait for that. "

"You mean you have sent to the Chatham for my things?"

"But certainly not, monsieur!" Liane Delorme lied without perceptibleeffort. "That would have been too injudicious. It appears you were notmistaken in thinking you were recognized as André Duchemin last night. Agents of the Préfecture have been all day watching at the Chatham, awaiting your return. "

"How sad for them!" In as much as he had every reason to believe thisto be outright falsehood, Lanyard didn't feel called upon to seemdowncast. "But if my clothing there is unavailable, I hardly see... "

"But naturally I have commissioned a person of good judgement to outfityou from the shops. Your dress clothes--which seemed to suit you verywell last night--gave us your measurements. The rest is simplicity; myorders were to get you everything you could possibly require. "

"It's awfully sporting of you, " Lanyard insisted. "Although it makesone feel--you know--not quite respectable. However, if you will be sogracious as to suggest that your valet de chambre return my pocketbookand passports... "

"I have them here. " The woman turned over the missing articles. "But, "she demanded with an interest which was undissembled if tardy infinding expression, "how are you feeling to-day?"

"Oh, quite fit, thank you. "

"In good spirits, I know. But that wound--?"

Lanyard chose to make more of that than it deserved; one couldn't tellwhen an interesting disability might prove useful. "I have to be a bitcareful, " he confessed, covering the seat of injury with a tender hand, "but it's nothing like so troublesome as it was last night. "

"I am glad. You feel able to travel?"

"Travel?" Lanyard made a face of dismay. "But one is so delightfully atease here, and since the Prefecture cannot possibly suspect... Are youthen in such haste to be rid of me, Liane?"

"Not at all. It is my wish and intention to accompany you. "

"Well, let us trust the world will be broad-minded about it. And--pardon my not rising--won't you sit down and tell me what it isall about. "

"I have so little time, so many things to attend to. "

Nevertheless, Liane found herself a chair and accepted a cigarette. 

"Does one infer that we start on our travels to-day?"

"Within the hour; in fact, as soon as you are decently clothed. "

"And where do we go, mademoiselle?"

"To Cherbourg, there to take steamer for New York. "

Fortunately it was Lanyard's cue to register shock; it would have costhim something to have kept secret his stupefaction. He sank back uponhis pillows and waggled feeble hands, while his respect for Liane grewby bounds. She had succeeded in startling and mystifying him beyondexpression. 

What dodge was this that cloaked itself in such anomalous semblance ofgood faith? She had not known he was acquainted with her plan to leaveFrance; he had discounted a hundred devices to keep it from hisknowledge. And now she not only confessed it openly, but invited him togo with her! In the name of unreason--why? She knew, for he had owned, his possessing purpose. He did not for an instant believe Liane Delormewould fly France and leave behind the Montalais jewels. Did she thinkhe did not suspect her of knowing more about them than she had chosento admit? Did she imagine that he was one of those who can see onlythat which is in the distance? Did she do him the injustice to believehim incapable of actually smelling out the jewels if ever he got withinrange of them?

But conjecture was too idle, Liane was too deep for him; her intentwould declare itself when she willed it, not before, unless he couldlull her into a false sense of faith in him, trick her into betrayingherself by inadvertence. 

"But, my dear friend, why America?"

"You recall asking me to help you last night? Did I not promise to dowhat I could? Well, I am not one to forget my promise. I knowsomething, monsieur. "

"I believe you do!"

"You gave me credit for having some little influence in this world ofParis. I have used it. What I have learned--I shall not tell you how, specifically--enables me to assure you that the Montalais jewels are ontheir way to America. "

"And I am to believe you make this journey to help me regain them?"

"What do you think, then?"

"I do not know what to think, mademoiselle. I am overwhelmed--abashedand humbled by contemplation of such generosity. "

"You see, you do not know me, monsieur. But you shall know me betterbefore we are finished. "

"One does not question that. " Nor did one! "But if I am to sail forAmerica to-day--"

"To-morrow, from Cherbourg, at eight in the morning. "

"Well, to-morrow, then: but how am I to get my passport vised?"

"I have seen to that. If you will look over your papers, monsieur, youwill see that you are no longer Paul Martin alias André Duchemin, butPaul Delorme, my invalid brother, still suffering from honourablewounds sustained in the Great War and ordered abroad for his health. "

To this Lanyard, hastily verifying her statement by running an eyethrough the passport, found nothing more appropriate than a wondering"Mon dieu!"

"So you see, everything is arranged. What have you to say?"

"Only that mademoiselle sweeps one off one's feet. "

"Do you complain about that? You no longer doubt my devotion, mygratitude?"

"Do not believe me capable of such stupidity!"

"That is very well, then. Now I must run. " Liane Delorme threw away hercigarette and rose. "I have a thousand things to do.... And, youunderstand, we leave as soon as you are dressed?"

"Perfectly. By what train?"

"By no train. Don't you know there is a strike to-day? What have youbeen reading in those newspapers? It is necessary that we motor toCherbourg. "

"That is no little journey, dear sister. "

"Three hundred and seventy kilometres?" Liane Delorme held thisequivalent of two-hundred and thirty English miles in supreme contempt. "We shall make it in eight hours. We leave at four at latest, possiblyearlier; at midnight we are in Cherbourg. You shall see. "

"If I survive... "

"Have no fear. My chauffeur drives superbly. "

She was at the door when Lanyard stayed her with "One moment, Liane!"With fingers resting lightly on the knob she turned. 

"Speak English, " he requested briefly. "What about Dupont?"

Simple mention of the man was enough to make the woman wince and losecolour. Before she replied Lanyard saw the tip of her tongue furtivelymoisten her lips. 

"Well, and what of him?"

"Do you imagine he has had enough?"

"Who knows? I for one shall feel safe from him only when I knew he isin the Santé or his grave. "

"Suppose he tries to follow us to Cherbourg or to stop us on theway... "

"How should he know?"

"Tell me who left the doors open for him last night, and I will answerthat question. " The woman looked more than ever frightened, but shookher head. "You didn't fail to question the servants this morning, yetlearned nothing?"

"It was impossible to fix the blame... "

"Have you used all your intelligence, I wonder?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you reflected that, since Dupont got in after you came home, hisaccomplice in your household is most probably one of those who were upat that hour. Who were they?"

"Only two. The footman, Leon... "

"You trust him?"

"Not altogether. Now you make me think, I shall discharge him when Ileave, without notice. "

"Wait. Who else?"

"Marthe, my maid. "

"You have confidence in her loyalty?"

"Implicit. She has been with me for years. "

Lanyard said "Open that door!" in a tone sharp with such authority thatLiane Delorme instinctively obeyed, and the woman whom Lanyard had seenthat morning coming down the stairs with the lighted candle enteredrather precipitately, carrying over one arm an evening wrap of goldbrocade and fur. 

"Pardon, madame, " she murmured, and paused. Aside from the awkwardnessof her entrance, she betrayed no confusion. "I was about to knock andask if madame wished me to pack this... "

"You know very well I shall need it, " Liane said ominously. A look fromLanyard checked a tirade, or more exactly compressed it into a singleword: "Imbécile!"

"Yes, madame. "

Marthe hinted at rather than executed a courtesy and withdrew. Lianeshut the door behind her, and reapproached the bed, trembling with ananger that rendered her forgetful, so that she relapsed into French. 

"You think she was listening?"

"English, please!" To this Lanyard added a slight shrug.. 

"It is hard to believe, " Liane averred unhappily. "After all theseyears... I have been kind to that one, too!"

"Ah, well! At least you know now she will bear watching. You mean totake her with you?"

"I did, until this happened. We quarrelled about it, last night. Ithink she has a lover here in Paris and doesn't want to leave him. "

"And now will you tell me that Dupont knows nothing of your intentionto motor to Cherbourg today?"

"No... " Disconsolate, Liane sank down into the chair and, resting anelbow on the arm, clipped her chin in one hand. "Now I dare not go, "she mused aloud. "Yet I must!... What am I to do?"

"Courage, little sister! It is I who have an idea. " Liane lifted a gazeof mute enquiry. "I think we are now agreed it rests between Marthe andthe footman Leon, this treachery. " She assented. "Very well. Then letthem run the risks any further disloyalty may have prepared for us. "

"I do not understand... "

"What automobile are you using for our trip this afternoon?"

"My limousine for you and me. "

"And Marthe: how is she to make the journey?"

"In the touring car, which follows us with our luggage. "

"It is fast, this touring car?"

"The best money can buy. "

"Now tell me what you know about the chauffeur who drives thelimousine?"

"He is absolutely to be trusted. "

"You have had him long in your employ?"

The woman hesitated, looked aside, bit her lip. 

"As a matter of fact, monsieur, " she said hastily, trying to cover herloss of countenance with rapid speech--"it is the boy who drove usthrough the Cévennes. Monsieur Monk asked me to keep him pending hisreturn to France, You understand, he is not to be away long--MonsieurMonk--only a few weeks; so it would have been extravagant to take Julesback to America for that little time. You see?"

Lanyard had the grace to keep a straight face. He nodded gravely. 

"You make it all perfectly clear, little sister. And the driver of thetouring car: are you sure of him?"

"I think so. But you do not tell me what you have in mind. "

"Simply this: At the last moment you will decide to take Leon with you. Give him no more time than he needs to pack a handbag. Trump up someexcuse and let him follow with Marthe... "

"No difficulty about that. He is an excellent driver, Leon; he servedme as chauffeur--and made a good one, too--for a year before I took himinto the house, at his request; he said he was tired of driving. But ifthe man I had meant to use is indisposed--trust me to see that he is--Ican call on Leon to take care of Marthe and our luggage in the touringcar. "

"Excellent. Now presuming Dupont to be well informed, we may safelybank on his attempting nothing before nightfall. Road traps can be tooeasily perceived at a distance by daylight. Toward evening then, wewill let the touring car catch up. You will express a desire tocontinue in it, because--because of any excuse that comes into yourhead. At all events, we will exchange cars with Marthe and Leon, leaving the latter to bring on the limousine while Jules drives for us. Whatever happens then, we may feel sure the touring car will get offlightly; for whether they're involved with Dupont or not, Leon andMarthe are small fry, not the fish he's angling for. "

"But will not Leon and Marthe suspect and refuse to follow?"

"Perhaps they may suspect, but they will follow out of curiosity, tosee how we fare, if for nothing else. You may lose a limousine, but youcan afford to risk that as long as you are not in it--eh, littlelong-lost sister?"

"My dear brother!" Liane cried, deeply moved. She leaned forward andcaressed Lanyard's hand with sisterly warmth, in her admiration andgratification loosing upon him the full candle-power of the violet eyesin their most disastrous smile. "What a head to have in the family!"

"Take care!" Lanyard admonished. "I admit it's not half bad at times, but if this battered old headpiece of mine is to be of any furtherservice to us, Liane, you must be careful not to turn it!"

XIX

SIX BOTTLES OF CHAMPAGNE

Once decided upon a course of action, Liane Delorme demonstrated thatshe could move with energy and decision uncommon in her kind. Under hermasterly supervision, preparations accomplished themselves, as it were, by magic. 

It was, for example, nearer three than four o'clock when the expeditionfor Cherbourg left the door of her town-house and Paris by way of thePorte de Neuilly; the limousine leading with that polished pattern of achauffeur, Jules, at its wheel, as spick and span, firm of jaw andimperturbable of eye as when Lanyard had first noticed him in Nant; thetouring car trailing, with the footman Leon as driver, and not at allhappy to find himself drafted in that capacity, if one might judge by asullen sort of uneasiness in his look. 

Nothing was to be expected in the streets or suburbs, neither speed norany indication of the intentions (if any) of Dupont. Lanyard sparedhimself the thankless trouble of watching to see if they werefollowed--having little doubt they were--and took his ease by the sideof Liane Delorme. 

Chatting of old times, or sitting in grateful silence when Lianerelapsed into abstraction--something which she did with a frequencywhich testified to the heavy pressure of her thoughts--he kept anappreciative eye on Jules, conceding at length that Liane's adjective, superb, had been fitly applied to his driving. So long as he remainedat the wheel, they were not only in safe hands but might be sure oflosing nothing on the road. 

It was in St. Germain-en-Laye that Lanyard first noticed the greytouring car. But for mental selection of St. Germain as the likeliestspot for Dupont to lay in waiting, and thanks also to an error ofjudgment on the part of that one, he must have missed it; for there wasnothing strikingly sinister in the aspect of that long-bodied grey carwith the capacious hood betokening a motor of great power. But it stoodincongruously round the corner, in a mean side street, as if anxious toescape observation; its juxtaposition to the door of a wine shop of thelowest class was noticeable in a car of such high caste; and, what wasfinally damning, the rat-faced man of Lyons was lounging in the door ofthe wine shop, sucking at a cigarette and watching the traffic with anall too listless eye shaded by the visor of a shabby cap. 

Lanyard said nothing at the time, but later, when a long stretch ofstraight road gave him the chance, verified his suspicions by lookingback to see the grey car lurking not less than a mile and a halfastern; the Delorme touring car driven by Leon keeping a quarter of amile in the rear of the limousine. 

These relative positions remained approximately unchanged during mostof the light hours of that long evening, despite the terrific pacewhich Jules set in the open country. Lanyard, keeping an eye on theindicator, saw its hand register the equivalent of sixty English milesan hour more frequently than not. It seldom dropped below fifty exceptwhen passing through towns or villages. And more often than he likedLanyard watched it creep up to and past the mark seventy. 

With such driving he was quite willing to believe that they would seeCherbourg or Heaven by midnight if not before; always, of course, providing... 

For the first three hours Leon stood the pace well. Then nerves orphysical endurance began to fail, he dropped back, and the Delormetouring car was thereafter seldom visible. 

No more, for that matter, was the grey shadow. Lanyard's forecastseemed to be borne out by its conduct: Dupont was biding his time andwould undoubtedly attempt nothing before nightfall. In the meantime hewas making no effort to do more than keep step with the limousine, butat a decent distance. Only occasionally when, for this reason or that, Jules was obliged to run at reduced speed for several minutes on end, the grey car would draw into sight, always, however, about a milebehind the Delorme touring car. 

At about seven they dined on the wing, from the hamper which, withLiane's jewel case in its leather disguise of a simple travelling bag, constituted all the limousine's load of luggage. Lanyard passedsandwiches through the front window to Jules, who munched them whiledriving like a speed maniac, and with the same appalling nonchalancewashed them down with a tumbler of champagne. Then he discovered somemanner of sorcerous power over matches in the wind, lighted acigarette, and signalised his sense of refreshment by smoothly edgingthe indicator needle up toward the eighty notch, where he held itstationary until Lanyard and Liane with one accord begged him toconsider their appetites. 

At eight o'clock they were passing through Lisieux, one hundred andeighteen miles from Paris. 

Lanyard made mental calculations. 

"The light will hold till after nine, " he informed Liane. "By that timewe shall have left Caen behind. "

"I understand, " she said coolly; "it will be, then, after Caen. "

"Presumably. "

"Another hour of peace of mind!" She yawned delicately. "I think--I ambored by this speed--I think I shall have a nap. "

Composedly she arranged pillows, put her pretty feet upon the jewelcase and, turning her face from Lanyard, dozed. 

"I think, " he reflected, "that the world is more rich in remarkablewomen than in remarkable men!"

A luminous lilac twilight vied with the street lamps of Caen when thelimousine rolled through the city at moderate speed. Lanyard utilizedthis occasion to confer with Jules through the window. 

"Beyond the town, " he said, "you will stop just round the firstsuitable turning, so that we can't be seen before the corner is turned. Draw off to the side of the road and--I think it would be advisable tohave a little engine trouble. "

"Very good, sir, " said Jules without looking round. Then he added in avoice of complete respect: "Pardon, sir, but--madame's orders?"

"If they are not"--Lanyard was nettled--"she will countermand them. "

"Quite so, sir. And--if you don't mind my asking--what's the idea?"

"I presume you set some value on your skin?"

"Plumb crazy about it. "

"Mademoiselle Delorme and I are afflicted with the same idiosyncrasy. We want to save our lives, and we don't mind saving yours at the sametime. "

"That's more than fair with me. But is that all I'm to know?"

"If the information is any comfort to you: in a grey car which has beenfollowing us ever since we left St. Germain, is the man who--Ibelieve--murdered Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes on the Lyons rapide, andwho--I know--tried last night to murder Mademoiselle Delorme. "

"And I suppose that, in his big-hearted, wholesaler's way, he wouldn'tmind making a bag of the lot of us tonight. "

"I'm afraid you have reason... "

"If you're planning to put a crimp in his ambitions, sir, I've got apistol I know how to use. "

"Better have it handy, though I don't think we'll need it yet. Ourpresent plan is merely to change cars with Leon and Marthe; the greycar will pass and go on ahead before we make the shift; then you, mademoiselle and I follow in the touring car, the others in thelimousine. If there's a trap, as we have every reason to anticipatethere will, the touring car will get through--or we'll hope so. "

"Ah-h!" Jules used the tone of one who perceives enlightenment as ablinding flash. "Marthe and Leon are in on the dirty work too, eh?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Putting two and two together--what you've just told me with what I'vebeen noticing and wondering about. "

"Then you think those two--"

"Marthe and Leon, " Jules pronounced with deliberation, "are two verybad eggs, if you ask me. I shan't shed a solitary tear if something sadhappens to them in this 'bus to-night. "

There was no time then to delve into his reasons for this statement offeeling. The outskirts of Caen were dropping behind. Providentially, the first bend in the road to Bayeux afforded good cover on the sidetoward the town. Jules shut off the power as he made the turn, andbraked to a dead stop in lee of a row of outhouses. Lanyard was on theground as soon as the wheels ceased to turn, Jules almost as quickly. 

"Now for your engine trouble, " Lanyard instructed. "Nothing serious, you understand--simply an adjustment to excuse a few minutes' delay andlend colour to our impatience. "

"Got you the first time, " Jules replied, unlatching and raising onewing of the hood. 

Lanyard moved toward the middle of the road and flagged the Delormetouring car as it rounded the turn, a few seconds later, at such speedthat Leon was put to it to stop the car fifty yards beyond thelimousine. The man jumped down and, followed by the maid, ran back, butbefore he reached the limousine was obliged to jump aside to escape thegrey car which, tooled by a crack racing hand, took the corner on twowheels, then straightened out and tore past in a smother of dust, withits muffler cut out and the exhaust bellowing like a machine-gun. 

Lanyard counted four figures, two on the front seat, two in thetonneau. More than this, the headlong speed and the failing lightrendered it impossible to see--though had the one been less and theother stronger, he could have gained little more information frominspection of those four shapes shrouded in dust coats and masked withgoggles. 

Watching its rear light dwindle, he fancied that the grey shadow wasslowing down; but one could not be sure about that. 

"There is something wrong, monsieur?"

The man Leon was at his elbow. Lanyard replied with the curt nod of adisgruntled motorist. 

"Something--Jules can tell you, " he said shortly. 

"Meanwhile, Mademoiselle Delorme and I have decided not to wait. We'vegot no time to spare. We will take your car and go on. "

"But, monsieur, I--" Leon began to expostulate. 

The icy accents of Liane Delorme cut it: "Well, Leon: what is yourobjection?"

"Objection, madame?" the fellow faltered. "Pardon--but it is not forme to object. I--I was merely startled. "

"Then get over that at once, " he was advised; "and bring myjewelcase--Marthe will point it out to you--to the touring-car. "

"Yes, madame, immediately. "

"Also the lunch-hamper, if you please. "

"Assuredly, monsieur. "

Leon departed hastily for the limousine, where Marthe joined him, whileLanyard and Liane Delorme proceeded to the touring car. 

"But what on earth do you want with that hamper, monsieur?"

"Hush, little sister, not so loud! Brother thinks he has another idea. "

"Then Heaven forbid that I should interfere!"

Staggering under its weight, Leon shouldered the jewelcase and carriedit to the touring car, where Liane superintended its disposal in theluggage-jammed tonneau. A second trip, less laborious, brought them thehamper. Liane uttered perfunctory thanks and called to Jules, who wasstill tinkering at the limousine engine with the aid of an electrictorch. 

"Come, Jules! Leave Leon to attend to what is required there. "

"Very good, madame. "

Jules strolled over to the touring car and settled down at the wheel. Liane Delorme had the seat beside him. 

Lanyard had established himself in a debatable space in the tonneau towhich his right was disputed by bags and boxes of every shape, size anddescription. 

"How long, Jules, will Leon need--?"

"Five minutes, madame, if he takes his time about it. "

"Then let us hasten. "

They drew away from the limousine so quickly that in thirty seconds itsheadlights were all that marked its stand. 

Lanyard studied the phosphorescent dial of his wristwatch. From firstto last the transaction had consumed little more than three minutes. 

Liane slewed round to talk over the back of the seat. 

"What time is it, monsieur?"

"Ten after nine. In an hour precisely the moon will rise. "

"It will be in this hour of darkness, then... "

A bend in the road blotted out the stationary lights of the limousine. There was no tail-light visible on the road before them. Lanyardtouched Jules on the shoulder. 

"Switch off your lights, " he said--"all of them. Then find a placewhere we can turn off and wait till Leon and Marthe pass us. "

In sudden blindness the car moved on slowly, groping its way for a fewhundred yards. Then Jules picked out the mouth of a narrow lane, overshadowed by dense foliage, ran past, stopped, and backed into it. 

In four minutes by Lanyard's watch the pulse of the limousine began tobeat upon the stillness of that sleepy countryside. A blue-white glarelike naked and hungry steel leapt quivering past the bend, swept in awide arc as the lamps themselves became visible, and lay horizontalwith the road as the car bored past. 

"Evidently Leon feels quite lost without us, " Lanyard commented. "Shoot, Jules--follow his rear lamp, and _don't_ cut out your muffler. Can you manage without headlights for a while?"

"I drove an ambulance for four years, sir. "

The car swung out into the main highway. Far ahead the red sardonic eyein the rear of the limousine leered as if mocking their hopes ofkeeping it in sight. Jules, however, proved unresentful; and he wasmarvellously competent. 

"To anybody who's ever piloted a load of casualties through eighteeninches of mud, dodging shell holes and shells on their way to make newholes, in a black rainstorm at midnight--this sort of thing, " Julesannounced--"a hard, smooth road under a clear sky--is simple pie. "

So it may have seemed to him. But to Lanyard and Liane Delorme, hurledalong a road they could not see at anywhere from forty to sixty milesan hour, with no manner of guidance other than an elusive tail-lampwhich was forever whisking round corners and remaining invisible tillJules found his way round in turn, by instinct or second sight orintuition--whatever it was, it proved unfailing--it was a nervoustime. 

And there was half an hour of it... 

They were swooping down a long grade with a sharp turn at the bottom, as they knew from the fact that the red eye had just winked out, somewhere on ahead, there sounded a grinding crash, the noise of astout fabric rent and crushed with the clash and clatter of shiveredglass. 

"Easy, " Lanyard cautioned--"and ready with the lights!"

Both warnings were superfluous. Jules had already disengaged the gears. Gravity carried the car round the curve, slowly, smoothly, silently;under constraint of its brakes it slid to a pause on a steep thoughbrief descent, and hung there like an animal poised to spring, purringsoftly. 

Below, at the foot of the hill, the headlights of another car, standingat some distance and to the right of the road, furnished luridillumination to the theatre of disaster. 

Something, its nature just then mysterious, had apparently caused Leonto lose control of the heavy car, so that it had skidded into a ditchand capsized. Four men, crude shapes of nightmare in envelopingdust-coats and disfiguring goggles, were swarming round the wreck. Twowere helping the driver out, two others having their gallantry inperforming like service for the maid rewarded by a torrent ofvituperative denunciation, half hysterical and wholly infuriated. 

By the freedom of her gestures, which was rivalled only by that of herlanguage, the dishevelled, storming figure of Marthe was manifestlyuninjured. And in another moment it was seen, as Leon found his feetand limped toward the others, that he had suffered only slight damageat the worst. 

Lanyard drew attention to a dark serpentine line that lay like a deadsnake upon the lighted surface of the road. Jules grunted in token ofcomprehension. Liane Delorme breathlessly demanded: "What is it?"

"An old trick, " Lanyard explained: "A wire cable stretched betweentrees diagonally across the road, about as high as the middle of thewindshield. The impetus of the limousine broke it, but not before ithad slewed the car off toward the ditch, wrenching the wheel out of thedriver's hands. "

He fondled the pistol which Jules had handed him, slipped the safetycatch, and said: "Now before they wake up, Jules--give her all she'sgot!"

Jules released the brakes and, as the car gathered way, noiselesslyslipped the gear shift into the fourth speed and bore heavily on theaccelerator. They were making forty miles an hour when they struck thelevel and thundered past the group. 

A glimpse of startled faces, the scream of a man who had strayedincautiously into the roadway and stopped there, apparently petrifiedby the peril that bore down upon him without lights or any otherwarning, until one of the forward fenders struck and hurled him asidelike a straw--and only the night of the open road lay before them. Jules touched the headlight switch and opened the exhaust. Above theroaring of the latter Lanyard fancied he could hear a faint rattlingsound. He looked back and smiled grimly. Sharp, short flames of orangeand scarlet were stabbing the darkness. Somebody had opened fire withan automatic pistol.... Sheer waste of ammunition!

The pace waxed terrific on a road, like so many roads of France, apparently interminable and straight. On either hand endless ranks ofpoplars rattled like loose palings of some tremendous picket fence. Andyet, long before the road turned, Lanyard, staring astern as he knelton the rear seat with arms crossed on the folded top, saw the two whiteeyes of the grey car swing into view and start in pursuit. Quick work, he called it. 

He crawled forward and communicated his news, shouting to make himselfheard. 

"Don't ease up unless you have to, " he counselled; "don't think we daregive them an inch. "

Back at his post of observation, he watched, hoping against hope, whilethe car lunged and tore like a mad thing through the night, snoring upgrades, screaming down them, drumming across the levels, clatteringwildly through villages and hamlets; while the moon rose and gatheredstrength and made the road a streaming river of milk and ink; while hisheart sank as minute succeeded minute, mile followed mile, and ever thelights of the pursuing car, lost to sight from time to time, reappearedwith a brighter, fiercer glow, and conviction forced itself home thatthey were being gradually but surely overhauled. 

He took this intelligence to the ear of Jules. The chauffeur answeredonly with a worried shake of his head that said too plainly he wasdoing his best, extracting every ounce of power from the engine. 

Ill luck ambushed them in the streets of a sizable town, its nameunknown to Lanyard, where another car, driven inexpertly, rolled out ofa side street and stalled in their path. The emergency brake saved thema collision; but there were not six inches between the two when thetouring car stopped dead; and minutes were lost before the other gotunder way and they were able to proceed. 

Less than three hundred yards separated pursued and pursuer as theyraced out through open fields once more. And foot by foot this lead wasbeing inexorably cut down. 

In the seat beside the driver of the grey car a man rose and, steadyinghimself by holding onto the windshield, poured out the contents of anautomatic, presumably hoping to puncture the tires of the quarry. Abullet bored a neat hole through the windshield between the heads ofLiane Delorme and Jules. The woman slipped down upon the floor andJules crouched over the wheel. Lanyard fingered his automatic but heldits fire against a moment when he could be more sure of his arm. 

Instead, he turned to the lunch hamper and opened it. Liane'sprovisioning had been ample for a party thrice their number. In thebottom of the basket lay six pint bottles of champagne, four of themunopened. Lanyard took them to the rear seat--and found the grey carhad drawn up to within fifty yards of its prey. Making a pace betterthan seventy miles per hour, it would not dare swerve. 

The first empty bottle broke to one side, the second squarely betweenthe front wheels. He grasped the first full bottle by the neck and feltthat its weight promised more accuracy, but ducked before attempting tothrow it as a volley of shots sought to discourage him. At the firstlull he rose and cast the bottle with the overhand action employed ingrenade throwing. It crashed fairly beneath the nearer forward wheel ofthe grey car, but without effect, other than to draw another volley inretaliation. This he risked; the emergency had grown too desperate formore paltering; the lead had been abridged to thirty yards; in twominutes more it would be nothing. 

The fourth bottle went wild, but the fifth exploded six inches in frontof the offside wheel and its jagged fragments ripped out the heart ofthe tire. On the instant of the accompanying blow-out the grey carshied like a frightened horse and swerved off the road, hurtlingheadlong into a clump of trees. The subsequent crash was like thedetonation of a great bomb. Deep shadows masked that tragedy beneaththe trees. Lanyard saw the beam of the headlights lift and drillperpendicularly into the zenith before it was blacked out. 

He turned and yelled in the ear of Jules: "Slow down! Take your time!They've quit!"

Liane Delorme rose from her cramped position on the floor, and staredincredulously back along the empty, moonlit road. 

"What has become of them?"

Lanyard offered a vague gesture. "... Tried to climb a tree, " he repliedwearily, and dropping back on the rear seat began to worry the cork outof the last pint bottle of champagne. 

He reckoned he had earned a drink if anybody ever had. 

XX

THE SYBARITES

Without disclaiming any credit that was rightly his due for making theperformance possible, Lanyard felt obliged to concede that Liane'sDelorme's confidence had been well reposed in the ability of Jules todrive by the clock. For when the touring car made, on a quayside ofCherbourg's avant port, what was for its passengers its last stop ofthe night, the hour of eight bells was being sounded aboard thecountless vessels that shouldered one another in the twin basins of thecommercial harbour or rode at anchor between its granite jetties andthe distant bulwark of the Digue. 

Nor was Jules disposed to deny himself well-earned applause. Receivingnone immediately when he got down from his seat and indulged in oneluxurious stretch, "I'll disseminate the information to the terrestrialuniverse, " he volunteered, "that was travelling!"

"And now that you have done so, " Liane Delorme suggested, "perhaps youwill be good enough to let the stewards know we are waiting. "

If the grin was impudent, the salute she got in acknowledgment wasperfection; Jules faced about like a military automaton, strode offbriskly, stopped at some distance to light a cigarette, and in effectfaded out with the flame of the match. 

Lanyard didn't try to keep track of his going. Committed as he stood tofollow the lead of Liane Delorme to the end of this chapter of intrigue(and with his mind at ease as to Monsieur Dupont, for the time being atleast) he was largely indifferent to intervening developments. 

He had asked no questions of Liane, and his knowledge of Cherbourg waslimited to a memory of passing through the place as a boy, with acase-hardened criminal as guide and police at their heels. But assumingthat Liane had booked passages for New York by a Cunarder, a White Staror American Line Boat--all three touched regularly at Cherbourg, westbound from Southampton--he expected presently to go aboard a tender andbe ferried out to one of the steamers whose riding lights were to beseen in the roadstead. Meanwhile he was lazily content.... 

Mellow voices of bell metal swelled and died on the midnight air while, lounging against the motor car--with Liane at his side registering moreimpatience than he thought the occasion called for--Lanyard listened, stared, wondered, the breath of the sea sweet in his nostrils, itsflavour in his throat, his vision lost in the tangled web of masts andcordage and funnels that stencilled the moon-pale sky: the witchingglamour of salt water binding all his senses with its time-old spell. 

It was quiet there upon the quay. Somewhere a winch rattled drowsilyand weary tackle whined; more near at hand, funnels were snoring andpumps chugging with a constant, monotonous noise of splashing. On thelandward side, from wine shops across the way, came blurred gusts oflaughter and the wailing of an accordeon. The footfalls of a watchman, or perhaps a sergent de ville, had lonely echoes. The high electricarcs were motionless, and the shadows cast by their steel-blue glarelay on the pave as if painted in lampblack. 

Dupont, the road to Paris, seemed figments of some dream dreamed longago... 

The tip of a pretty slipper, tapping restlessly, continued to betrayLiane's temper. But she said nothing. Privately Lanyard yawned. ThenJules, tagged by three men with the fair white jackets and shufflinggait of stewards, sauntered into view from behind two mountains offreight, and announced: "All ready, madame. " Liane nodded curtly, lingered to watch the stewards attack the jumble of luggage, saw herjewel case shouldered, and followed the bearer, Lanyard at her elbow, Jules remaining with the car. 

The steward trotted through winding aisles of bales and crates, turneda corner, darted up a gangplank to the main-deck of a small steamvessel, so excessively neat and smart with shining brightwork thatLanyard thought it one uncommon tender indeed, and surmised a martinetin command. It seemed curious that there were not more passengers onthe tender's deck; but perhaps he and Liane were among the first tocome aboard; after all, they were not to sail before morning, accordingto the women. He apprehended a tedious time of waiting before he gainedhis berth. He noticed, too, a life ring lettered SYBARITE, and thoughtthis an odd name for a vessel of commercial utility. Then he foundhimself descending a wide companionway to one of the handsomest saloonshe had ever entered, a living room that, aside from its concessions tomarine architecture, might have graced a residence on Park Lane or onFifth avenue in the Sixties. 

Lanyard stopped short with his hand on the mahogany handrail. 

"I say, Liane! haven't we stumbled into the wrong pew?"

"Wrong pew?" The woman subsided gracefully into a cushioned arm-chair, crossed her knees, and smiled at his perplexity. "But I do not knowwhat is that 'wrong pew. '"

"I mean to say... This is no tender, and it unquestionably isn't anAtlantic liner. "

"I should hope not. Did I promise you a--what do you say?--tender orAtlantic liner? But no: I do not think I told you what sort of vesselwe would sail upon for that America. You did not ask. "

"True, little sister. But you might have prepared me. This is a privateyacht. "

"Are you disappointed?"

"I won't say that... "

"It is the little ship of a dear friend, monsieur, who generouslypermits... But patience! very soon you shall know. "

To himself Lanyard commented: "I believe it well!" A door had opened inthe after partition, two men had entered. Above a lank, well-poisedbody clothed in the white tunic and trousers of a ship's officer, herecognised the tragicomic mask of the soi-disant Mr. Whitaker Monk. Athis shoulder shone the bland, intelligent countenance of Mr. Phinuit, who seemed much at home in the blue serge and white flannels of theaverage amateur yachtsman. 

From this last Lanyard received a good-natured nod, while Monk, with agreat deal of empressement, proceeded directly to Liane Delorme andbowed low over the hand which she languidly lifted to be saluted. 

"My dear friend!" he said in his sonorous voice. "In another hour Ishould have begun to grow anxious about you. "

"You would have had good reason, monsieur. It is not two hours sinceone has escaped death--and that for the second time in a single day--bythe slenderest margin, and thanks solely to this gentleman here. "

Monk consented to see Lanyard, and immediately offered him a profoundsalute, which was punctiliously returned. His eyebrows mounted to theroots of his hair. 

"Ah! that good Monsieur Duchemin. "

"But no!" Liane laughed. "It is true, the resemblance is striking; I donot say that, if Paul would consent to grow a beard, it would not beextraordinary. But--permit me, Captain Monk, to present my brother, Paul Delorme. "

"Your brother, mademoiselle?" The educated eyebrows expressed anynumber of emotions. Monk's hand was cordially extended. "But I amenchanted, Monsieur Delorme, to welcome on board the Sybarite thebrother of your charming sister. "

Lanyard resigned limp fingers to his clasp. 

"And most public-spirited of you, I'm sure, Captain Monk... I believe Iunderstood Liane to say Captain Monk?" The captain bowed. "CaptainWhitaker Monk?" Another bow. Lanyard looked to Liane: "Forgive me if Iseem confused, but I thought you told me Mister Whitaker Monk hadsailed for America a week ago. "

"And so he did, " the captain agreed blandly, while Liane confirmed hisstatement with many rapid and emphatic nods. "Mr. Monk, the owner, ismy first cousin. Fortune has been less kind to me in a worldly way;consequently you see in me merely the skipper of my wealthy kinsman'syacht. "

"And your two names are the same--yours and your cousin's? You're bothWhitaker Monks?"

"It is a favourite name in our family, monsieur. "

Lanyard wagged his head in solemn admiration. 

Phinuit had come to his side, and was offering his hand in turn. 

"It's all gospel, Mr. Lanyard, " he declared, with a cheerfulinformality which Lanyard found more engaging than Monk's sometimeslaboured mannerisms. "He's sure-enough Captain Whitaker Monk, skipperof the good ship Sybarite, Mister Whitaker Monk, owner. And my name isreally Phinuit, and I'm honest-to-goodness secretary to Mr. Monk. Yousee, the owner got a hurry call from New York, last week, and sailedfrom Southampton, leaving us to bring his pretty ship safely home. "

"That makes it all so clear!"

"Well, anyway, I'm glad to meet you to your bare face. I've heard a lotabout you, and--if it matters to you--thought a lot more. "

"If it comes to that, Mr. Phinuit, I have devoted some thought to you. "

"Oh, daresay. And now--if mademoiselle is agreeable--suppose weadjourn to the skipper's quarters, where we can improve one another'sacquaintance without some snooping steward getting an unwelcome earful. We need to know many things you alone can tell us--and I'll wager youcould do with a drink. What?"

"But I assure you, monsieur, I find your reception sufficientlyrefreshing. "

"Well, " said Phinuit, momentarily but very slightlydiscountenanced--"you've been uncommon' damn' useful, you know... Imean, according to mademoiselle. "

"Useful?" Lanyard enquired politely. 

"He calls it that, " Liane Delorme exclaimed, "when I tell him you havesaved my life!" She swept indignantly through the door by which Monkand Phinuit had come to greet them. Two ceremonious bows inducedLanyard to follow her. Monk and Phinuit brought up the rear. "Yes, " thewoman pursued--"twice he has saved it!"

"In the same place?" Phinuit enquired innocently, shutting the door. 

"But no! Once in my home in Paris, this morning, and again to-night onthe road to Cherbourg. The last time he saved his life, too, andJules's. "

"It was nothing, " said the modest hero. 

"It was nothing!" Liane echoed tragically. "You save my life twice, andhe calls it 'useful, ' and you call it 'nothing!' My God! I tell you, Ifind this English a funny language!"

"But if you will tell us about it... " Monk suggested, placing a chairfor her at one end of a small table on which was spread an appetisingcold supper. 

Lanyard remarked that there were places laid for four. He had beenexpected, then. Or had the fourth place been meant for Jules? Oneinclined to credit the first theory. It seemed highly probable thatLiane should have telegraphed her intentions before leaving Paris. Indeed, there was every evidence that she had. Neither Monk nor Phinuithad betrayed the least surprise on seeing Lanyard; and Phinuit had noteven troubled to recognise the fiction which Liane had uttered inaccounting for him. It was very much as if he had said: That long-lostbrother stuff is all very well for the authorities, for entry in theship's papers if necessary; but it's wasted between ourselves, weunderstand one another; so let's get down to brass tacks... Anencouraging symptom; though one had already used the better word, refreshing.... 

Spacious, furnished in a way of rich sobriety, tasteful in everyappointment, the captain's quarters were quite as sybaritic as thesaloon of the Sybarite. A bedroom and private bath adjoined, and theopen door enabled one to perceive that this rude old sea dog sleptin a real bed of massive brass. His sitting-room, or private office, had a studious atmosphere. Its built-in-bookcases were stocked withhandsome bindings. The panels were, like those in the saloon, sea-scapes from the hands of modern masters: Lanyard knew goodpainting when he saw it. The captain's desk was a substantial affair inmahogany. Most of the chairs were of the overstuffed lounge sort. Therug was a Persian of rare lustre. 

Monk was following with a twinkle the journeys of Lanyard's observanteye. 

"Do myself pretty well, don't you think?" he observed quietly, in abreak in Liane's dramatic narrative; perforce the lady must now andagain pause for breath. 

Lanyard smiled in return. "I can't see you've much to complain of. "

The captain nodded, but permitted a shade of gravity to become visiblein his expression. He sighed a philosophic sigh:

"But man is never satisfied... "

Liane had got her second wind and was playing variations on the themeof the famous six bottles of champagne. Lanyard lounged in his easychair and let his bored thoughts wander. He was weary of being talkedabout, wanted one thing only, fulfillment of the promise that had beenimplicit in Phinuit's manner. He was aware of Phinuit's sympatheticeye. 

The woman sent the grey car crashing again into the tree, repeatedLanyard's quaint report of the business, and launched into a vein ofpanegyric. 

"Regard him, then, sitting there, making nothing of it all--!"

"Sheer swank, " Phinuit commented. "He's just letting on; privately hethinks he's a heluva fellow. Don't you, Lanyard?"

"But naturally, " Lanyard gave Phinuit a grateful look. "That isunderstood. But what really interests me, at present, is the question:Who is Dupont, and why?"

"If you're asking me, " Monk replied, "I'll say--going on mademoiselle'sstory--Monsieur Dupont is by now a ghost. "

"One would be glad to be sure of that, " Lanyard murmured. 

"By all accounts, " said Phinuit, "he takes a deal of killing. "

"But all this begs my question, " Lanyard objected. "Who is Dupont, andwhy?"

"I think I can answer that question, monsieur. " This was Liane Delorme. "But first, I would ask Captain Monk to set guards to see that nobodycomes aboard this ship before she sails. "

"Pity you didn't think of that sooner, " Phinuit observed in friendlysarcasm. "Better late than never, of course, but still--!"

The woman appealed to Monk directly, since he did not move. "But Iassure you, monsieur, I am afraid, I am terrified of that one! I shallnot sleep until I am sure he has not succeeded in smuggling himself onboard--"

"Be tranquil, mademoiselle, " Monk begged. "What you ask is alreadydone. I gave the orders you ask as soon as I received your telegram, this morning. You need not fear that even a rat has found his wayaboard since then, or can before we sail, without my knowledge. "

"Thank God!" Liane breathed--and instantly found a new question to fretabout. "But your men, Captain Monk--your officers and crew--can you besure of them?"

"Absolutely. "

"You haven't signed on any new men here in Cherbourg?" Lanyard asked. 

Monk worked his eyebrows to signify that the question was ridiculous. "No such fool, thanks, " he added. 

"Yet they may have been corrupted while here in port, " Liane insisted. 

"No fear. "

"That is what I would have said of my maid and footman, twenty-fourhours ago. Yet I now know better. "

"I tell you only what I know, mademoiselle. If any of my officers andcrew have been tampered with, I don't know anything about it, and can'tand won't until the truth comes out. "

"And you sit there calmly to tell me that!" Liane rolled her lovelyeyes in appeal to the deck beams overhead. "But you are impossible!"

"But, my dear lady, " Monk protested, "I am perfectly willing to go intohysterics if you think it will do any good. As it happens, I don't. Ihaven't been idle or fatuous in that matter, I have taken everypossible precaution against miscarriage of our plans. If anything goeswrong now, it can't be charged to my discredit. "

"It will be an act of God, " Phinuit declared: "one of the unavoidablerisks of the business. "

"The business!" Liane echoed with scorn. "I assure you I wish I werewell out of 'the business'!"

"And so say we all of us, " Phinuit assured her patiently; and Monkintoned a fervent "Amen!"

"But who is Dupont?" Lanyard reiterated stubbornly. 

"An Apache, monsieur, " Liane responded sulkily--"a leader of Apaches. "

"Thank you for nothing. "

"Patience: I am telling you all I know. I recognised him this morning, when you were struggling with him. His name is Popinot. "

"Ah!"

"Why do you say 'Ah!' monsieur?"

"There was a Popinot in Paris in my day; they nicknamed him the Princeof the Apaches. But he was an older man, and died by the guillotine. This Popinot who calls himself Dupont, then, must be his son. "

"That is true, monsieur. "

"Well, then, if he has inherited his father's power--!"

"It is not so bad as all that. I have heard that the elder Popinot wasa true prince, in his way, I mean as to his power with the Apaches. Hisson is hardly that; he has a following, but new powers were establishedwith his father's death, and they remain stronger than he. "

"All of which brings us to the second part of my question, Liane: WhyDupont?"

Liane shrugged and studied her bedizened fingers. The heavy black browscircumflexed Monk's eyes, and he drew down the corners of his widemouth. Phinuit fixed an amused gaze on a distant corner of the room andchewed his cigar. 

"Why did Dupont--or Popinot, " Lanyard persisted--"murder de Lorgnes?Why did he try to murder Mademoiselle Delorme? Why did he seek toprevent our reaching Cherbourg?"

"Give you three guesses, " Phinuit offered amiably. "But I warn you ifyou use more than one you'll forfeit my respect forever. And just toshow what a good sport I am, I'll ask you a few leading questions. Whydid Popinot pull off that little affair at Montpellier-le-Vieux? Whydid he try to put you out of his way a few days later?"

"Because he wanted to steal the jewels of Madame de Montalais, naturally. "

"I knew you'd guess it. "

"You admit, then, you have the jewels?"

"Why not?" Phinuit enquired coolly. "We took trouble enough to getthem, don't you think? You're taking trouble enough to get them awayfrom us, aren't you? You don't want us to think you so stupid as to bewasting your time, do you?"

His imperturbable effrontery was so amusing that Lanyard laughedoutright. Then, turning to Liane, he offered her a grateful inclinationof the head. 

"Mademoiselle, you have kept your promise. Many thanks. "

"Hello!" cried Phinuit. "What promise?"

"Monsieur Lanyard desired a favour of me, " Liane explained, her goodhumour restored; "in return for saving me from assassination by Popinotthis morning, he begged me to help him find the jewels of Madame deMontalais. It appears that he--or Andre Duchemin--is accused of havingstolen those jewels; so it becomes a point of honour with him to findand restore them to Madame de Montalais. "

"He told you that?" Monk queried, studiously eliminating from his tonethe jeer implied by the words alone. 

"But surely. And what could I do? He spoke so earnestly, I was touched. Regard, moreover, how deeply I am indebted to him. So I promised Iwould do my best. Et voila! I have brought him to the jewels; the restis--how do you say--up to him. Are you satisfied with the way I keepmy word, monsieur?"

"It's hard to see how he can have any kick coming, " Phinuit commentedwith some acidity. 

Lanyard addressed himself to Liane: "Do I understand the jewels are onthis vessel?"

"In this room. "

Lanyard sat up and took intelligent notice of the room. Phinuitchuckled, and consulted Monk in the tone of one reasonable man to hispeer. 

"I say, skipper: don't you think we ought to be liberal with MonsieurLanyard? He's an awfully good sort--and look't all the services he hasdone us. "

Monk set the eyebrows to consider the proposition. 

"I am emphatically of your mind, Phin, " he pronounced at length, oracular. 

"It's plain to be seen he wants those jewels--means to have 'em. Do youknow any way we can keep them from him?"

Monk moved his head slowly from side to side: "None. "

"Then you agree with me, it would save us all a heap of trouble to lethim have them without any more stalling?"

By way of answer Monk bent over and quietly opened a false door, madeto resemble the fronts of three drawers, in a pedestal of his desk. Lanyard couldn't see the face of the built-in safe, but he could hearthe spinning of the combination manipulated by Monk's long and bonyfingers. And presently he saw Monk straighten up with a sizable steeldispatch-box in his hands, place this upon the desk, and unlock it witha key on his pocket ring. 

"There, " he announced with an easy gesture. 

Lanyard rose and stood over the desk, investigating the contents of thedispatch-box. The collection of magnificent stones seemed to tallyaccurately with his mental memoranda of the descriptions furnished byEve de Montalais. 

"This seems to be right, " he said quietly, and closed the box. Theautomatic lock snapped fast. 

"Now what do you say, brother dear?"

"Your debt to me is fully discharged, Liane. But, messieurs, onequestion: Knowing I am determined to restore these jewels to theirowner, why this open handedness?"

"Cards on the table, " said Phinuit. "It's the only way to deal with thelikes of you. "

"In other words, " Monk interpreted: "you have under your hand proof ofour bona fides. "

"And what is to prevent me from going ashore with these at once?"

"Nothing, " said Phinuit. 

"But this is too much!"

"Nothing, " Phinuit elaborated, "but your own good sense. "

"Ah!" said Lanyard--"ah!"--and looked from face to face. 

Monk adjusted his eyebrows to an angle of earnestness and sincerity. 

"The difficulty is, Mr. Lanyard, " he said persuasively, "they have costus so much, those jewels, in time and money and exertion, we can hardlybe expected to sit still and see you walk off with them and say never aword in protection of our own interests. Therefore I must warn you, inthe most friendly spirit: if you succeed in making your escape from theSybarite with the jewels, as you quite possibly may, it will be my dutyas a law-abiding man to inform the police that André Duchemin is atlarge with his loot from the Château de Montalais. And I don't thinkyou'd get very far, then, or that your fantastic story about meaning toreturn them would gain much credence. D'ye see?"

"But distinctly! If, however, I leave the jewels and lay an informationagainst you with the police----?"

"To do that you would have to go ashore.... "

"Do I understand I am to consider myself your prisoner?"

"Oh, dear, no!" said Captain Monk, inexpressibly pained by suchcrudity. "But I do wish you'd consider favourably an invitation to beour honoured guest on the voyage to New York. You won't? It would be soagreeable of you. "

"Sorry I must decline. A prior engagement.... "

"But you see, Lanyard, " Phinuit urged earnestly, "we've taken no end ofa fancy to you. We like you, really, for yourself alone. And with thatfeeling the outgrowth of our very abbreviated acquaintance--think whata friendship might come of a real opportunity to get to know oneanother well. "

"Some other time, messieurs.... "

"But please!" Phinuit persisted--"just think for one moment--and doforget that pistol I know you've got in a handy pocket. We're allunarmed here, Mademoiselle Delorme, the skipper and I. We can't stopyour going, if you insist, and we know too much to try. But there arethose aboard who might. Jules, for instance: if he saw you making agetaway and knew it might mean a term in a French prison for him.... And if I do say it as shouldn't of my kid brother, Jules is a deadshot. Then there are others. There'd surely be a scrimmage on thedecks; and how could we explain that to the police, who, I am able toassure you from personal observation, are within hail? Why, that youhad been caught trying to stow away with your loot, which you droppedin making your escape. D'ye see how bad it would look for you?"

To this there was no immediate response. Sitting with bowed head andsombre eyes, Lanyard thought the matter over a little, indifferent tothe looks of triumph being exchanged above his head. 

"Obviously, it would seem, you have not gone to all this trouble--luredme aboard this yacht--merely to amuse yourselves at my expense and thenknock me on the head. "

"Absurd!" Liane declared indignantly. "As if I would permit such athing, who owe you so much!"

"Or look at it this way, monsieur, " Monk put in with a courtly gesture:"When one has an adversary whom one respects, one wisely prefers tohave him where one can watch him. "

"That's just it, " Phinuit amended: "Out of our sight, you'd be on ournerves, forever pulling the Popinot stunt, springing some dirtysurprise on us. But here, as our guest--!"

"More than that, " said Liane with her most killing glance for Lanyard:"a dear friend. "

But Lanyard was not to be put off by fair words and flattery. 

"No, " he said gravely: "but there is some deeper motive... "

He sought Phinuit's eyes, and Phinuit unexpectedly gave him an open-facedreturn. 

"There is, " he stated frankly. 

"Then why not tell me--?"

"All in good time. And there'll be plenty of that; the Sybarite is noMauretania. When you know us better and have learned to like us... "

"I make no promises. "

"We ask none. Only your pistol... "

"Well, monsieur: my pistol?"

"It makes our association seem so formal--don't you think?--soconstrained. Come, Mr. Lanyard! be reasonable. What is a pistol betweenfriends?"

Lanyard shrugged, sighed, and produced the weapon. 

"Really!" he said, handing it over to Monk--"how could anyone resistsuch disarming expressions?"

The captain thanked him solemnly and put the weapon away in his safe, together with the steel despatch-box and Liane Delorme's personaltreasure of precious stones. 

XXI

SOUNDINGS

With characteristic abruptness Liane Delorme announced that she wassleepy, it had been for her a most fatiguing day. Captain Monk rang forthe stewardess and gallantly escorted the lady to her door. Lanyard gotup with Phinuit to bow her out, but instead of following her suithelped himself to a long whiskey and soda, with loving deliberationselected, trimmed and lighted a cigar, and settled down into his chairas one prepared to make a night of it. 

"You never sleep, no?" Phinuit enquired in a spirit of civilsolicitude. 

"Desolated if I discommode you, monsieur, " Lanyard replied with entireamiability--"but not to-night, not at least until I know those jewelshave no more chance to go ashore without me. "

He tasted his drink with open relish. "Prime Scotch, " he judged. "Onegrows momentarily more reconciled to the prospect of a long voyage. "

"Make the most of it, " Phinuit counselled. "Remember our next port ofcall is the Great American Desert. After all, the despised camel seemsto have had the right idea all along. "

He gaped enormously behind a superstitious hand. Monk, returning, published an elaborate if silent superciliary comment on the tableau. 

"He has no faith at all in our good intentions, " Phinuit explained, eyeing Lanyard with mild reproach. "It's most discouraging. "

"Monsieur suffers from insomnia?" Monk asked in his turn. 

"Under certain circumstances. "

"Ever take anything for it?"

"To-night it would require nothing less than possession of theMontalais jewels to put me to sleep. "

"Well, if you manage to lay hands on them without our consent, " Phinuitpromised genially, "you'll be put to sleep all right. "

"But don't let me keep you up, messieurs. "

Captain Monk consulted the chronometer. "It's not worth while turningin, " he said: "we sail soon after day-break. "

"Far be it from me to play the giddy crab, then. " Phinuit busiedhimself with the decanter, glasses and siphon. "Let's make it a regularparty; we'll have all to-morrow to sleep it off in. If I try to hop onyour shoulder and sing, call a steward and have him lead me to myinnocent white cot; but take a fool's advice, Lanyard, and don't try todrink the skipper under the table. On the word of one who's tried andrepented, it can not be done. "

"But it is I who would go under the table, " Lanyard said. "I have apoor head for whiskey. "

"Thanks for the tip. "

"Pardon?"

"I mean to say, " Phinuit explained, "I'm glad to have another weaknessof yours to bear in mind. "

"You are interested in the weaknesses of others, monsieur?"

"They're my hobby. "

"Knowledge, " Monk quoted, sententious, "is power. "

"May I ask what other entries you have made in my dossier, Mr. Phinuit?"

"You won't get shirty?"

"But surely not. "

"Well ... Can't be positive till I know you better.... I'm afraidyou've got a tendency to overestimate the gullibility of people ingeneral. It's either that, or.... No: I don't believe you'reintentionally hypocritical, or self-deceived, either. "

"But I don't understand.... "

"Remember your promise.... But you seem to think it easy to put it overon us, mademoiselle, the skipper and me. "

"But I assure you I have never had any such thought. "

"Then why this funny story of yours--told with a straight face, too!--about wanting to get hold of the Montalais loot simply to slip itback to its owner?"

Lanyard felt with a spasm of anger constrict his throat; and knew thatthe restraint he imposed upon his temper was betrayed in a reddenedface. Nevertheless his courteous smile persisted, his politeconversational tone was unchanged. 

"Now you remind me of something. I presume, Captain Monk, it's not toolate to send a note ashore to be posted?"

"Oh!" Monk's eyebrows protested violently--"a note!"

"On plain paper, in a plain envelope--and I don't in the least mindyour reading it. "

The eyebrows appealed to Phinuit, and that worthy ruled: "Under thoseconditions, I don't see we can possibly object. "

Monk shrugged his brows back into place, found paper of the sortdesired, even went so far as to dip the pen for Lanyard. 

"You will sit at my desk, monsieur?"

"Many thanks. "

Under no more heading than the date, Lanyard wrote:

"Dear Madame de Montalais:"

"I have not forgotten my promise, but my days have been full since Ileft the château. And even now I must be brief: within an hour I sailfor America, within a fortnight you may look for telegraphic advicesfrom me, stating that your jewels are in my possession, and when I hopeto be able to restore them to you. "

"Believe me, dear madame, "

"Devotedly your servant, "Michael Lanyard. "

Monk read and in silence passed this communication over to Phinuit, while Lanyard addressed the envelope. 

"Quite in order, " was Phinuit's verdict, accompanied by a yawn. 

Lanyard folded the note, sealed it in the envelope, and affixed a stampsupplied by Monk, who meanwhile rang for a steward. 

"Take this ashore and post it at once, " he told the man who answeredhis summons. 

"But seriously, Lanyard!" Phinuit protested with a painedexpression.... "No: I don't get you at all. What's the use?"

"I have not deceived you, then?"

"Not so's you'd notice it. "

"Alas!"--Lanyard affected a sigh--"for misspent effort!"

"Oh, all's fair outside the law. We don't blame you for trying it on. Only we value your respect too much to let you go on thinking we havefallen for that hokum. "

"You see, " Monk expounded--solemn ass that he was beneath his thinveneer of pretentiousness--"when we know how the British Governmentkicked you out of its Secret Service as soon as it had no further usefor you, we can understand and sympathise with your natural reaction tosuch treatment at the hands of Society. "

"But one didn't know you knew so much, monsieur le capitaine. "

"And then, " said Phinuit, "when we know you steered a direct coursefrom London for the Château de Montalais, and made yourself personagrata there--Oh, persona very much grata, if I'm any judge!--you canhardly ask us to believe you didn't mean to do it, it all just happenedso. "

"Monsieur sees too clearly.... "

"Why, if it comes to that--what were you up to that night, pussyfootingabout the château at two in the morning?"

"But this is positively uncanny! Monsieur knows everything. "

"Why shouldn't I know about that?" Vanity rang in Phinuit'sself-conscious chuckle. "Who'd you think laid you out that night?"

"Monsieur is not telling me----!"

"I guess I owe you an apology, " Phinuit admitted. "But you'll admitthat in our situation there was nothing else for it. I'd have givenanything if we'd been able to get by any other way; but you're such anunexpected customer.... Well! when I felt you catch hold of my shirtsleeve, that night, I thought we were done for and struck out blindly. It was a lucky blow, no credit to me. Hope I didn't jar you too much. "

"No, " said Lanyard, reflective--"no, I was quite all right in themorning. But I think I owe you one. "

"Afraid you do; and it's going to be my duty and pleasure to cheat youout of your revenge if fast footwork will do it. "

"But where was Captain Monk all the while?"

"Right here, " Monk answered for himself; "sitting tight and sayingnothing, and duly grateful that the blue prints and specifications ofthe Great Architect didn't design me for second-storey work. "

"Then it was Jules----?"

"No; Jules doesn't know enough. It was de Lorgnes, of course. I thoughtyou'd guess that. "

"How should I?"

"Didn't you know he was the premier cracksman of France? That is, goingon Mademoiselle Delorme's account of him; she says there was neveranybody like that poor devil for putting the comether on asafe--barring yourself, Monsieur le Loup Seul, in your palmy days. Andshe ought to know; those two have been working together since the Lordknows when. A sound, conservative bird, de Lorgnes; very discreet, tight-mouthed even when drunk--which was too often. "

"But--this is most interesting--how did you get separated, you and deLorgnes?"

"Bad luck, a black night, and--I guess there's no more question aboutthis--your friend, Popinot-Dupont. I'll say this for that blighter: asa self-made spoil-sport, he sure did give service!"

Phinuit gave his whiskey and soda a reminiscent grin. 

"And we thought we were being bright, at that! We'd figured every moveto the third decimal point. The only uncertain factor in ourcalculations, as we thought, was you. But with you disposed of, dead tothe world, and Madame de Montalais off in another part of the châteaucalling the servants to help, leaving her rooms wide open to us--thejob didn't take five minutes. The way de Lorgnes made that safe give upall its secrets, you'd have thought he had raised it by hand! Westuffed the loot into a grip I'd brought for the purpose, and beatit--slipped out through the drawing-room window one second beforeMadame de Montalais came back with that doddering footman of hers. Butthey never even looked our way. I bet they never knew there'd been arobbery till the next morning. Do I lose?"

"No, monsieur; you are quite right. "

"Well, then: We had left our machine--we had driven over fromMillau--just over the brow of the hill, standing on the down-grade, headed for Nant, with the gears meshed in third, so she would startwithout a sound as soon as we released the emergency brake. But when wegot there, it wasn't. The frantic way we looked for it made me think ofyou pawing that table for your candle, after de Lorgnes had lifted itbehind your back. And then of a sudden they jumped us, Popinot and hiscrew; though we didn't know who in hell; it might have been the châteaupeople. In fact, at first I thought it was.... 

"I lost de Lorgnes in the shuffle immediately, never did know what hadbecome of him till we got Liane's wire this morning. I was having all Icould do to take care of myself, thank you. I happened to be carryingthe grip, and that helped a bit. Somebody's head got in the way of itsswings, and I guess the guy hasn't forgotten it yet. Then I slippedthrough their fingers--I'll never tell you how; it was black as pitch, that night--and beat it blind. I'd lost my flashlamp and had no moreidea where I was heading than an owl at noon of a sunny day. Butthey--the Popinot outfit--seemed to be able to see in the dark allright; or else I was looney with fright. Every once in a while somebodyor something would make a pass at me in the night, and I'd duck anddouble and run another way. 

"After a while I found myself climbing a steep, rocky slope, andguessed it must be the cliff behind the château. It was a sort ofzig-zag path, which I couldn't see, only guess at. I was scared stiff;but they were still after me, or I thought they were, so I flounderedon. The path, if it was a path, was slimy with mud, and about everythird step I'd slip and go sprawling. I can't tell you how many times Ifelt my legs shoot out into nothing, and dug my fingers into the muck, or broke my nails on rocks and caught clumps of grass with my teeth, tokeep from going over ... And all the while that all-gone feeling in thepit of my stomach.... 

"However, I got to the top in the end, and crawled into a hollow andlay down behind some bushes, and panted as if my heart would break, andhoped I'd die and get over with it. But nobody came to bother me, so Igot up when the first streak of light showed in the sky--there'd been ayoung cloud-burst just before that, and I was soaked to my skin--andstruck off across the cause for God-knew-where. De Lorgnes and I hadfixed that, if anything did happen to separate us, we'd each strike forLyons and the one who got there first would wait for the other at theHôtel Terminus. But before I could do that, I had to find a railroad, and I didn't dare go Millau-way, I thought, because the chances werethe gendarmes would be waiting there to nab the first bird that blew inall covered with mud and carrying a bag full of diamonds. 

"I'd managed to hold onto the grip through it all, you see; but beforethat day was done I wished I'd lost it. The damned thing got heavierand heavier till it must have weighed a gross ton. It galled my handsand rubbed my legs till they were sore.... I was sore all over, anyway, inside and out.... 

"Sometime during the morning I climbed one of those bum mounds theycall couronnes to see if I could sight any place to get food and drink, preferably drink. The sun had dried my clothes on my back and then goneon to make it a good job by soaking up all the moisture in my system. Ifigured I was losing eleven pounds an hour by evaporation alone, andexpected to arrive wherever I did arrive, if I ever arrived anywherelooking like an Early Egyptian prune.... 

"The view from the couronne didn't show me anything I wanted to see, only a number of men in the distance, spread out over the face of thecausse and quartering it like beagles. I reckoned I knew what sort ofgame they were hunting, and slid down from that couronne and travelled. But they'd seen me, and somebody sounded the view-halloo. It was grandexercise for me and great sport for them. When I couldn't totteranother yard I fell into a hole into the ground--one of thoseavens--and crawled into a sort of little cave, and lay there listening, to the suck and gurgle of millions of gallons of nice cool waterrunning to waste under my feet, and me dying the death of a dog withthirst. 

"After a while I couldn't stand it any longer. I crawled out, preparedto surrender, give up the plunder, and lick the boots of any man who'dslip me a cup of water. But for some reason they'd given up the chase. I saw no more of them, whoever they were. And a little later I found apeasant's hut, and watered myself till I swelled up like a poisonedpup. They gave me a brush-down, there, and something to eat besides, and put me on my way to Millau. It seemed that I was a hundred milesfrom anywhere else, so it was Millau for mine if it meant a lifesentence in a French prison. 

"I sneaked into the town after dark, and took the first train north. Nobody took any notice of me. I couldn't see the use of going all roundRobin Hood's barn, as I'd have had to in order to make Lyons. By thetime I'd got there, de Lorgnes would have given up and gone on toParis. "

Phinuit finished his drink. "I'll say it was a gay young party. Thenext time I feel the call to crime, believe me! I'm going out andsnatch nursing bottles from kids asleep in their prams.... But they_must_ be asleep. "

Monk lifted himself by sections from his chair. 

"It was a good yarn first time I heard it, " he mused aloud. "But now, Inotice, even the Sybarite is getting restless. "

In the course of Phinuit's narrative the black disks of night framed bythe polished brass circles of the stern ports had faded out into duskyviolet, then into a lighter lilac, finally into a warm yet tender blue. Now the main deck overhead was a sounding-board for thumps and rustleof many hurried feet. 

"Pilot come aboard, you think?" Phinuit enquired; and added, as Monknodded and cast about for the visored white cap of his office: "Didn'tknow pilots were such early birds. "

"They're not, as a rule. But if you treat 'em right, they'll listen toreason. "

The captain graphically rubbed a thumb over two fingers, donned hiscap, buttoned up his tunic, and strode forth with an impressive gait. 

"Still wakeful?" Phinuit hinted hopefully. 

"And shall be till we drop the pilot, thanks. "

"If I hadn't seen de Lorgnes make that safe sit up and speak, and didn'tknow you were his master, I'd be tempted to bat an eye or two. However.... " Phinuit sighed despondently. "What can I do now to entertainyou, dear sir?"

"You might have pity on my benighted curiosity.... "

"Meaning this outfit?" Lanyard assented, and Phinuit deliberated overthe question. "I don't know as I ought in the absence of my esteemedassociates.... But what's bothering you most?"

"I have seen something of the world, monsieur, and as you are aware nota little of the underside of it; but never have I met with acombination of such peculiar elements as this possesses. Regard it, ifyou will, from my view-point, that of an outsider, for one moment. "

Phinuit grinned. "It must give you furiously to think--as you'd say. "

"But assuredly! Take, for example, yourself, a man of unusualintelligence, such as one is not accustomed to find lending himself tothe schemes of ordinary criminals. "

"But you have just admitted that we're anything but ordinary. "

"Then Mademoiselle Delorme. One knows what the world knows of her, thatshe has for many years meddled with high affairs, that she had been formany years more a sort of queen of the demi-monde of Paris; but now youtell me she has stopped to profit by association with a professionalburglar. "

"Profit? I'll say she did. According to my information, it was she whomapped out the campaigns for de Lorgnes; she was G. H. Q. And he merelythe high private in the front line trenches; with this difference, thatin this instance G. H. Q. Was perfectly willing to let the man at thefront cop all the glory.... She took the cash and let the credit go, nor heeded rumblings of the distant drum!"

"Then your picturesque confrère, Captain Monk; and the singularcircumstance that he owns a wealthy cousin of the same name; and thisbeautiful little yacht which you seem so free to utilize for thefurtherance of your purposes. Is it strange, then, that one's curiosityis provoked, one's imagination alternately stimulated and baffled?"

"No; I suppose not, " Phinuit conceded thoughtfully. "Still, it's farsimpler than you'd think. "

"One has found that true of most mysteries, monsieur. "

"I don't mind telling you all I feel at liberty to.... You seem to havea pretty good line on mademoiselle, and I've told you what I know aboutde Lorgnes. As for the skipper, he's the black sheep of a good old NewEngland family. Ran away to sea as a boy, and was disowned, and grew upin a rough school. It would take all night to name half the jobs he'shad a hand in, mostly of a shady nature, in every quarter of the sevenseas: gun running, pearl poaching, what not--even a little slaving, Isuspect, in his early days. He's a pompous old bluff in repose, butnobody's fool, and a bad actor when his mad is up. He tells me he fellin with the Delorme a long time ago, while acting as personal escortfor a fugitive South American potentate who crossed the borders of hisnative land with the national treasury in one hand and his other inMonk's, and of course--they all do--made a bee line for Paris. That'show we came to make her acquaintance, my revered employer, Mister Monk, and I--through the skipper, I mean. "

Phinuit paused to consider, and ended with a whimsical grimace. 

"I'm talking too much; but it doesn't matter, seein's it's you. Strictly between ourselves, the said revered employer is an annointedfraud. Publicly he's the pillar of the respectable house of Monk. Privately, he's not above profiteering, foreclosing the mortgage on theold homestead, and swearing to an odoriferous income-tax return. Andwhen he thinks he's far enough away from home--my land, how that littleman do carry on!

"The War made him more money than he ever thought there was; so hebought this yacht ready-made and started on the grand tour, but nevergot any farther than Paris--naturally his first stop. News from home tothe effect that somebody was threatening to do him out of a few nickelssent him hightailing back to put a stop to it. But before thathappened, he wanted to see life with a large L; and Cousin Whitakergave him a good start by introducing him to little ingénue Liane. Andthen she put the smuggling bee in his bonnet. "

"Smuggling!"

Lanyard began to experience glimpses.... 

"Champagne. If ever all the truth comes out, I fancy it will transpirethat Liane's getting a rake-off from some vintner. You see, FriendEmployer was displaying a cultivated taste in vintage champagnes, buthe'd been culpably negligent in not laying down a large stock forprivate consumption before the Great Drought set in. The Delorme foundthat out, then that his ancestral acres bordered on Long Island Sound, and finally that the Sybarite was loafing its head off. What could bemore simple, she suggested, than that monsieur should ballast hisprivate yacht with champagne on the homeward voyage, make his landfallsome night in the dark of the moon, and put the stuff ashore on his ownproperty before morning. Did he fall for it? Well, I just guess hedid!"

"This is all most interesting, monsieur, but.... " "Where do Monk and Icome in? Oh, like master, like men. Liane was too wise to crab her actby proposing anything really wicked to the Owner, and wise enough toknow nothing could shock the skipper. And I was wise enough not to lethim get away with anything unless I sat in on the deal. 

"Mademoiselle played all her cards face upwards with us. She and deLorgnes, she said, were losing money by disposing of their loot thisside, especially with European currency at its present stage ofdepreciation. And so long as the owner was doing a little dirty work, why shouldn't we get together and do something for ourselves on theside? If champagne could be so easily smuggled into the States, why notdiamonds? We formed a joint-stock company on the spot. "

"And made your first coup at the Château de Montalais!"

"Not the first, but the biggest. De Lorgnes' mouth had been wateringfor the Montalais stuff for a long time, it seems. My boss had privatebusiness of a nature we won't enter into, in London, and gave me a weekoff and the use of his car. We made up the party, toured down the Rhonevalley, and then back by way of the Cévennes, just to get the lay ofthe land. I don't think there can be much more you need to know. "

"Monsieur is too modest. "

"Oh, about me? Why, I guess I'm not an uncommon phenomenon of thetimes. I was a good citizen before the War, law-abiding and everything. If you'd told me then I'd be in this galley to-day, I'd probably haveknocked you for a goal. I had a flourishing young business of my ownand was engaged to be married... When I got back from hell over here, Ifound my girl married to another man, my business wrecked, what wasleft of it crippled by extortionate taxation to support a governmentthat was wasting money like a drunken sailor and too cynical to keepits solemn promises to the men who had fought for it. I had to take ajob as secretary to a man I couldn't respect, and now... Well, if I canget a bit of my own back by defrauding the government or classingmyself with the unorganised leeches on Society, nothing I know is goingto stop my doing it!"

Phinuit knocked the ashes out of a cold pipe at which he had beensucking for some time, rose, and stretched. 

"The worst of it is, " he said in a serious turn--"I mean, looking atthe thing from my bourgeois viewpoint of 1914--the War, but moreparticularly the antics of the various governments after the War, turned out several million of men in my frame of mind the world over. We went into the thing deluded by patriotic bunk and the promise thatit was a war to end war; we came out to find the old men more firmlyentrenched in the seats of the mighty than ever and stubbornly bent onperpetuating precisely the same rotten conditions that make warsinevitable. What Germany did to the treaty that guaranteed Belgium'sneutrality was child's-play compared to what the governments of thewarring nations have done to their covenants with their own people. Andif anybody should ask you, you can safely promise them that severalmillion soreheads like myself are what the politicians call 'a menaceto the established social order'. "

Clear daylight filled the ports. The traffic on deck nearly deservedthe name of din. Commands and calls were being bawled in English, French, and polyglot profanity. A donkey-engine was rumbling, a winchclattering, a capstan-pawl clanking. Alongside a tug was pantinghoarsely. The engine room telegraph jangled furiously, the fabric ofthe Sybarite shuddered and gathered way. 

"We're off, " yawned Phinuit. "Now will you be reasonable and go tobed?"

"You may, monsieur, " said Lanyard, getting up. "For my part, I shall goon deck, if you don't mind, and stop there till the pilot leaves us. "

"Fair enough!"

"But one moment more. You have been extraordinarily frank, but you haveforgotten one element, to me of some importance: you have not told mewhat my part is in this insane adventure. "

"That's not my business to tell you, " Phinuit replied promptly. "Whenanything as important as that comes out, it won't be through mybabbling. Anyhow, Liane may have changed her mind since last reports. And so, as far as I'm concerned, your present status is simply that ofher pet protégé. What it is to be hereafter you'll learn from her, Isuppose, soon enough.... Le's go!"

XXII

OUT OF SOUNDINGS

When finally Lanyard did consent to seek his stateroom--with the pilotdropped and the Sybarite footing it featly over Channel waters to airspiped by a freshening breeze--it was to sleep once round the clock andsomething more; for it was nearly six in the afternoon when he came ondeck again. 

The quarterdeck, a place of Epicurean ease for idle passengers, wasdeserted but for a couple of deckhands engaged in furling the awning. Lanyard lounged on the rail, revelling in a sense of perfect physicalrefreshment intensified by the gracious motion of the vessel, thefriendly, rhythmic chant of her engines, the sweeping ocean air and thesong it sang in the rigging, the vision of blue seas snow-plumed andmirroring in a myriad facets the red gold of the westering sun, and thelift and dip of a far horizon whose banks of violet mist were thefading shores of France. 

In these circumstances of the sea he loved so well there was certainanodyne for those twinges of chagrin which he must suffer when remindedof the sorry figure he had cut overnight. 

Still there were compensations--of a more material nature, too, thanthis delight which he had of being once again at sea. To have cheapenedhimself in the estimation of Liane Delorme and Phinuit and Monk wasreally to his advantage; for to persuade an adversary to under-estimateone is to make him almost an ally. Also, Lanyard now had no more needto question the fate of the Montalais jewels, no more blank spacesremained to be filled in his hypothetical explanation of the intrigueswhich had enmeshed the Château de Montalais, its lady and his honour. 

He knew now all he needed to know, he could put his hand on the jewelswhen he would; and he had a fair fortnight (the probable duration oftheir voyage, according to Monk) in which to revolve plans for makingaway with them at minimum cost to himself in exertion and exposure toreprisals. 

Plans? He had none as yet, he would begin to formulate and ponder themonly when he had better acquaintance with the ship and her company andhad learned more about that ambiguous landfall which she was to make(as Phinuit had put it) "in the dark of the moon. "

Not that he made the mistake of despising those two social malcontents, Phinuit and Jules, that rogue adventurer Monk, that grasping courtesanLiane Delorme. 

Individually and collectively Lanyard accounted that quartet uncommonlyclever, resourceful, audacious, unscrupulous, and potentially ruthless, utterly callous to compunctions when their interests were jeopardised. But it was inconceivable that he should fail to outwit and frustratethem, who had the love and faith of Eve de Montalais to honour, cherish, and requite. 

Growing insight into the idiosyncrasies of the men left him undismayed. He perceived the steel of inflexible purpose beneath the windy egotismof Phinuit. The pompous histrionism of Monk, he knew, was merely ashell for the cold, calculating, undeviating selfishness that toofrequently comes with advancing years. Nevertheless these two werefactors whose functionings might be predicted. 

It was Liane Delorme who provided the erratic equation. Her woman'smind was not only the directing intelligence, it was as eccentric asquicksilver, infinitely supple and corrupt, Oriental in itstrickishness and impenetrability. Already it had conceived some projectinvolving him which he could by no means divine or even guess atwithout a sense of wasting time. 

Trying to put himself in her place, Lanyard believed that he wouldnever have neglected the opportunity that, so far as she knew, had beenhers, to steal away from Paris while he slept and leave an enemy in hisway quite as dangerous as "Dupont" to gnaw his nails in themortification of defeat. Why she had not done so, why she had permittedMonk and Phinuit to play their comedy of offering him the jewels, passed understanding. 

But of one thing Lanyard felt reasonably assured: now that she had himto all intents and purposes her foiled and harmless captive aboard theSybarite, Liane would not keep him waiting long for enlightenment as toher intentions. 

He had to wait, however, that night and the next three before the womanshowed herself. She was reported ill with mal-de-mer. Lanyard thoughtit quite likely that she was; before she was out of the Channel theSybarite was contesting a moderate gale from the Southwest. On theother hand, he imagined that Liane might sensibly be making seasicknessan excuse to get thoroughly rested and settled in her mind as to hercourse with him. 

So he schooled himself to be patient, and put in his time to goodprofit taking the measures of his shipmates and learning his way aboutship. 

The Sybarite seemed unnecessarily large for a pleasure boat. CaptainMonk had designated her a ship of nine hundred tons. Certainly she hadroom and to spare on deck as well as below for the accommodation ofmany guests in addition to the crew of thirty required for hernavigation and their comfort. A good all-weather boat, very steady in aseaway, her lines were nevertheless fine, nothing in her appearance inthe least suggested a vessel of commercial character--"all yacht" waswhat Monk called her. 

The first mate, a Mr. Swain, was a sturdy Britisher with a very redface and cool blue eyes, not easily impressed; if Lanyard were not inerror, Mr. Swain entertained a private opinion of the lot of them, Captain Monk included, decidedly uncomplimentary. But he was a civilsort, though deficient in sense of humour and inclined to be a bitabrupt in a preoccupied fashion. 

Mr. Collison, the second mate, was another kind entirely, an Americanwith the drawl of the South in his voice, a dark, slender man with eyesquick and shrewd. His manners were excellent, his reserve notable, though he seemed to derive considerable amusement from what he saw ofthe passengers, going on his habit of indulging quiet smiles as helistened to their communications. He talked very little and played anexcellent game of poker. 

The chief engineer was a Mr. Mussey, stout, affable, and cynic, a heavydrinker, untidy about his person and exacting about his engine-room, aveteran of his trade and--it was said--an ancient croney of Monk's. There was, at all events, a complete understanding evident betweenthese two, though now and again, especially at table, when Monk wasputting on something more than his customary amount of side, Lanyardwould observe Mussey's eyes fixed in contemplation upon his superiorofficer, with a look in them that wanted reading. He was nobody's fool, certainly not Monk's, and at such times Lanyard would have given morethan a penny for Mussey's thoughts. 

Existing in daily contact, more or less close, with these gentlemen, observing them as they went to and fro upon their lawful occasions, Lanyard often speculated as to their attitude toward this lawlesserrand of the Sybarite's, of which they could hardly be unsuspiciouseven if they were not intimate with its true nature. And rememberingwhat penalties attach to apprehension in the act of smuggling, eventhough it be only a few cases of champagne, he thought it a wild riskfor them to run for the sake of their daily wage. 

Something to this effect he intimated to Phinuit. 

"Don't worry about this lot, " that one replied. "They're wise birds, tough as they make 'em, ready for anything; hand-picked down to thelast coal-passer. The skipper isn't a man to take fool chances, andwhen he recruited this crew, he took nobody he couldn't answer for. They're more than well paid, and they'll do as they're told and keeptheir traps as tight as clams'. "

"But, I take it, they were signed on before this present voyage wasthought of; while you seem to imply that Captain Monk anticipatedhaving to depend upon these good fellows in unlawful enterprises. "

"Maybe he did, at that, " Phinuit promptly surmised, with a bland eye. "I wouldn't put it past him. The skipper's deep, and I'll never tellyou what he had in the back of his mind when he let Friend Bosspersuade him to take command of a pleasure yacht. Because I don't know. If it comes to that, the owner himself never confided in me just whatthe large idea was in buying this ark for a plaything. Yachting for funis one thing; running a young floating hotel is something else again. "

"Then you don't believe the grandiose illusions due to sudden wealthwere alone responsible?"

"I don't know. That little man has a mind of his own, and even if I dofigure on his payroll as confidential secretary, he doesn't tell meeverything he knows. "

"Still, " said Lanyard drily, "one cannot think you can complain that hehas hesitated to repose his trust in you. "

To this Phinuit made no reply other than a non-committal grunt; andpresently Lanyard added:

"It is hardly possible--eh?--that the officers and crew know nothing ofwhat is intended with all the champagne you have recently takenaboard. "

"They're no fools. They know there's enough of the stuff on board to doa Cunarder for the next ten years, and they know, too, there's nolawful way of getting it into the States. "

"So, then! They know that. How much more may they not know?"

Phinuit turned a startled face to him. "What's that?" he demandedsharply. 

"May they not have exercised their wits as well on the subject of yoursecret project, my friend?"

"What are you getting at?"

"One is wondering what these 'wise birds, as tough as they make them'would do if they thought you were--as you say--getting away withsomething at their expense as well as the owner's. "

"What have you seen or heard?"

"Positively nothing. This is merely idle speculation. "

"Well!" Phinuit sighed sibilantly and relaxed. "Let's hope they neverfind out. "

By dawn of the fourth day the gale had spent its greatest strength;what was left of it subsided steadily till, as the seafaring phrase hasit, the wind went down with the sun. Calm ensued. Lanyard woke up thenext morning to view from his stateroom deadlights vistas illimitableof flat blue flawed by hardly a wrinkle; only by watching the horizonwas one aware of the slow swell of the sea, its sole perceptiblemotion. And all day long the Sybarite trudged on an even keel with onlythe wind of her way to flutter the gay awnings of the quarterdeck, while the waters sheared by her stem ran down her sides hissingresentment of this violation of their absolute tranquillity. 

Also, the sun made itself felt, electric fans buzzed everywhere, andperspiring in utter indolence beneath the awnings, one thought insympathy of those damned souls below, in the hell of the stoke-hole. 

At luncheon Liane Delorme appeared in a summery toilette that wouldhave made its mark on the beach of Deauville. 

Voluntary or enforced, her period of retreat had done her good. Makingevery allowance for the aid of art, the woman looked years younger thanwhen Lanyard had last seen her. Nobody would ever have believed her aday older than twenty-five, no one, that is to say, who had not watchedyouth ebb from her face and leave it grey and waste with prematurewinter, as Lanyard had that morning when he told her of the death of deLorgnes in the restaurant of the Buttes Montmartre. 

Liane herself had long since put quite out of mind that mauvais quartd'heure. Her present serenity was as flawless as the sea's, though, unlike the sea, she sparkled. She was as gay as any school-girl--thoughany school-girl guilty, or even capable, of a scintilla of the amusingimpropriety of her badinage would have merited and won instantexpulsion. 

She inaugurated without any delay a campaign of conquest extremelydiverting to observe. To Lanyard it seemed that her methods were crudeand obvious enough; but it did something toward mitigating thelong-drawn boredom of the cruise to watch them work out, as they seemedto invariably, with entire success; and then remark the insouciancewith which, another raw scalp dangling from her belt, Liane wouldaddress herself to the next victim. 

Mr. Swain was the first to fall, mainly because he happened to bepresent at luncheon, it being Mr. Collison's watch on the bridge. Underthe warmth of violet eyes which sought his constantly, drawn by whatone was left to infer was an irresistible attraction, his reservemelted rapidly, his remote blue stare grew infinitely less distant; andthough he blushed furiously at some of the more audacious of Liane'ssallies, he was quick to take his cue when she expressed curiosityconcerning the duties of the officer of the watch. And coming up atabout two bells for a turn round the deck and a few breaths of freshair before dressing for dinner, Lanyard saw them on the bridge, theirheads together over the binnacle--to the open disgust of the man at thewheel. 

Liane hailed him, with vivacious gestures commanded his attendance. Asa brother in good standing, one could hardly do less than humour hergracefully; so Lanyard trotted up to the companion ladder, and Liane, resting a hand of sisterly affection upon his arm, besought him to makeclear to her feminine stupidity Swain's hopelessly technicalexplanation of the compass and binnacle. 

Obligingly Mr. Swain repeated his lecture, and Lanyard, learning forhimself with considerable surprise what a highly complicated instrumentof precision is the modern compass, and that the binnacle has essentialfunctions entirely aside from supporting the compass and housing itfrom the weather, could hardly blame his sister for being confused. 

Indeed, he grew so interested in Swain's exposition of deviation andvariation and magnetic attraction and the various devices employed tocounteract these influences, the Flinders bars, the soft-iron spheres, and the system of adjustable magnets located in the pedestal of thebinnacle, that he had to be reminded by a mild exhibition of sisterlytemper that she hadn't summoned him to the bridge for his privateedification. 

"So then!" he said after due show of contrition--"it is like this: themagnetic needle is susceptible to many attractions aside from that ofthe pole; it is influenced by juxtaposition to other pieces or massesof magnetized metal. The iron ship itself, for example, is one greatmagnet. Then there are dissociated masses of iron within the ship, eachpossessing an individual power of magnetism sufficient to drag theneedle far from its normal fidelity to the pole. So the scientificmariner, when he installs a compass on board his ship, measures theseseveral forces, their influence upon the needle, and installs others tocorrect them--on the principle of like cures like. 

"Let us put it in a figure: The compass is the husband, the pole thewife. Now it is well known that husbands are for all that human beings, able to perceive attractions in persons other than those to whom theyare married. The wise wife, then, studies the charms of mind or personwhich in others appeal to her husband, and makes them her own; or ifthat is impossible cultivates other qualities quite as potent todistract him. It results from this, that the wise wife becomes, as theysay 'all women to one man. ' Now here the binnacle represents the artsby which that wise wife, the pole, keeps her husband true bysurrounding him with charms and qualities--these magnets--sufficientlypowerful to counteract the attractions of others. Do I make myselfclear?"

"But perfectly!" Liane nodded emphatically. "What a mind to have in thefamily!" she appealed to Mr. Swain. "Do you know, monsieur, it happensoften to me to wonder how I should have so clever a brother?"

"It is like that with me, too, " Lanyard insisted warmly. 

He made an early excuse to get away, having something new to thinkabout. 

Mr. Mussey put up a stiffer fight than Mr. Swain, since an avowed cynicis necessarily a Man Who Knows About Women. He gave Liane flatly tounderstand that he saw through her and couldn't be taken in by all herblandishments. At the end of twenty-four hours, however, the convictionseemed somehow to have insidiously penetrated that only a man of hisripe wisdom and disillusionment could possibly have any appeal to awoman like Liane Delorme. It wasn't long after that the engine room wasilluminated by Liane's pretty ankles and Mr. Mussey was beginning tocomprehend that there was in this world one woman at least who couldtake an intelligent interest in machinery. 

Mr. Collison succumbed without a struggle. True to the tradition ofSouthern chivalry, he ambled up to the block, laid his head upon it, and asked for the axe. Nor was he kept long waiting... 

On the seventh day the course pricked on the chart placed theSybarite's position at noon as approximately in mid-Atlantic. Contemplating a prospect of seven days more of such emptiness, Lanyard's very soul yawned. 

And nothing could induce Captain Monk to hasten the passage. Mr. Musseyasserted that his engines could at a pinch deliver twenty knots anhour; yet day in and day out the Sybarite poked along at little betterthan half that speed. It was no secret that Liane Delorme's panicflight from Popinot had hurried the yacht out of Cherbourg harbour fourdays earlier than her proposed sailing date, whereas the Sybarite had arendezvous to keep with her owner at a certain hour of a certain night, an appointment carefully calculated with consideration for the phase ofthe moon and the height of the tide, therefore not readily to bealtered. 

After dinner on that seventh day, a meal much too long drawn out forLanyard's liking, and marked to boot by the consumption of much toomuch champagne, he left the main saloon the arena of an impromptu pokerparty, repaired to the quarterdeck, and finding a wicker lounge chairby the taffrail subsided into it with a sigh of gratitude for thisfragrant solitude of night, so soothing and serene. 

The Sybarite, making easy way through a slight sea, with what windthere was--not much--on the port bow, rolled but slightly, and herdeliberate and graceful fore-and-aft motion, as she swung from crest tocrest of the endless head-on swells, caused the stars to stream aboveher mast-heads, a boundless river of broken light. The pulsing of theengines, unhasting, unresting, ran through her fabric in ceaselesssuccession of gentle tremors, while the rumble of their revolutionsresembled the refrain of an old, quiet song. The mechanism of thepatent log hummed and clicked more obtrusively. Directly underfoot thescrew churned a softly clashing wake. From the saloon companionwaydrifted intermittently a confusion of voices, Liane's light laughter, muted clatter of chips, now and then the sound of a popping cork. Forward the ship's bell sounded two double strokes, then a single, followed by a wail in minor key: "Five bells and all's well!" ... Andof a sudden Lanyard suffered the melancholy oppression of knowing hislittleness of body and soul, the relative insignificance even of theship, that impertinent atom of human organization which traversed withunabashed effrontery the waters of the ages, beneath the shiningconstellations of eternity. In profound psychical enervation heperceived with bitterness and despair the enormous futility of allthings mortal, the hopelessness of effort, the certain black defeatthat waits upon even what men term success. 

He felt crushed, spiritually invertebrate, destitute of object inexistence, bereft of all hope. What mattered it whether he won or lostin this stupid contest whose prize was possession of a few trinkets setwith bits of glittering stone? If he won, of what avail? What could itprofit his soul to make good a vain boast to Eve de Montalais? Would itmatter to her what success or failure meant to him? Lanyard doubted it, he doubted her, himself, all things within the compass of hisunderstanding, and knew appalling glimpses of that everlasting truth, too passionless to be cynical, that the hopes of man and his fears, hisloves and hates, his strivings and passivity, are all one in themeasured and immutable processes of Time.... 

The pressure of a hand upon his own roused him to discover the LianeDelorme had seated herself beside him, in a chair that looked the otherway, so that her face was not far from his; and he could scarcely beunaware of its hinted beauty, now wan and glimmering in starlight, enigmatic with soft, close shadows. 

"I must have been dreaming, " he said, apologetic. "You startled me. "

"One could see that, my friend. "

The woman spoke in quiet accents and let her hand linger upon his withits insistent reminder of the warm, living presence whose richcolouring was disguised by the gloom that encompassed both. 

Four strokes in duplicate on the ship's bell, then the call: "_Eightbells and a-a-all's well_!"

Lanyard muttered: "No idea it was so late. "

A slender white shape, Mr. Collison emerged from his quarters in thedeck-house beneath the bridge and ran up the ladder to relieve Mr. Swain. At the same time a seaman came from forward and ascended by theother ladder. Later Mr. Swain and the man whose trick at the wheel wasended left the bridge, the latter to go forward to his rest, Mr. Swainto turn into his room in the deck-house. 

The hot glow of the saloon skylights became a dim refulgence, asidefrom which, and its glimmer in the mouth of the companionway, no lightswere visible in the whole length of the ship except the shutteredwindow of Mr. Swain's room, which presently was darkened, and oddglimpses of the binnacle light to be had when the helmsman shifted hisstand. 

A profound hush closed down upon the ship, whose progress across theface of the waters seemed to acquire a new significance of stealth, sothat the two seated by the taffrail, above the throbbing screws andrushing torrent of the wake, talked in lowered accents without thinkingwhy. 

"It is that one grows bored, eh, cher ami?"

"Perhaps, Liane. "

"Or perhaps that one's thought are constantly with one's heart, elsewhere?"

"You think so?"

"At the Château de Montalais, conceivably. "

"It amuses you, then, to shoot arrows into the air?"

"But naturally, I seek the reason, when I see you distrait and amconscious of your neglect. "

"I think it is for me to complain of that!"

"How can you say such things?"

"One has seen what one has seen, these last few days. I think you arewhat that original Phinuit would call 'a fast worker, ' Liane. "

"What stupidity! If I seek to make myself liked, you know well it iswith a purpose. "

"One hardly questions that. "

"You judge harshly ... Michael. "

Lanyard spent a look of astonishment on the darkness. He could notremember that Liane had ever before called him by that name. 

"Do I? Sorry.... " His tone was listless. "But does it matter?"

"You know that to me nothing else matters. "

Lanyard checked off on his fingers: "Swain, Collison, Mussey. Who next?Why not I, as well as another?"

"Do you imagine for an instant that I class you with such riffraff?"

"Why, if you really want to know what I think, Liane: it seems to methat all men in your sight are much the same, good for one thing only, to be used to serve your ends. And who am I that you should hold me inhigher rating than any other man?"

"You should know I do, " the woman breathed, so low he barely caught thewords and uttered an involuntary "Pardon?" before he knew he hadunderstood. So that she iterated in a clearer tone of protest: "Youshould know I do--that I do esteem you as something more than othermen. Think what I owe to you, Michael; and then consider this, that ofall men whom I have known you alone have never asked for love. "

He gave a quiet laugh. "There is too much humility in my heart. "

"No, " she said in a dull voice--"but you despise me. Do not deny it!"She shifted impatiently in her chair. "I know what I know. I am nofool, whatever you think of me.... No, " she went on with emotion underrestraint: "I am a creature of fatality, me--I cannot hope to escape myfate!"

He was silent a little in perplexed consideration of this. What did shewish him to believe?

"But one imagines nobody can escape his fate. "

"Men can, some of them; men such as you, rare as you are, know how tocheat destiny; but women never. It is the fate of all women that eachshall some time love some man to desperation, and be despised. It is myfate to have learned too late to love you, Michael----"

"Ah, Liane, Liane!"

"But you hold me in too much contempt to be willing to recognise thetruth. "

"On the contrary, I admire you extremely, I think you are anincomparable actress. "

"You see!" She offered a despairing gesture to the stars. "It is nottrue what I say? I lay bare my heart to him, and he tells me that Iact!"

"But my dear girl! surely you do not expect me to think otherwise?"

"I was a fool to expect anything from you, " she returned bitterly--"youknow too much about me. I cannot find it in my heart to blame you, since I am what I am, what the life you saved me to so long ago hasmade me. Why should you believe in me? Why should you credit thesincerity of this confession, which costs me so much humiliation? Thatwould be too good for me, too much to ask of life!"

"I think you cannot fairly complain of life, Liane. What have you askedof it that you have failed to get? Success, money, power, adulation----"

"Never love. "

"The world would find it difficult to believe that. "

"Ah, love of a sort, yes: the love that is the desire to possess andthat possession satisfies. "

"Have you asked for any other sort?"

"I ask it now. I know what the love is that longs to give, to give andgive again, asking no return but kindness, understanding, eventoleration merely. It is such love as this I bear you, Michael. But youdo not believe.... "

Divided between annoyance and distaste, he was silent. And all at onceshe threw herself half across the joined arms of their chairs, catchinghis shoulders with her hands, so that her half-clothed body rested onhis bosom, and its scented warmth assailed his senses with theseduction whose power she knew so well. 

"Ah, Michael, my Michael!" she cried--"if you but knew, if only youcould believe! It is so real to me, so true, so overwhelming, thegreatest thing of all! How can it be otherwise to you?... No: do notthink I complain, do not think I blame you or have room in my heart forany resentment. But, oh my dear! were I only able to make youunderstand, think what life could be to us, to you and me. What couldit withhold that we desired? You with your wit, your strength, yourskill, your poise--I with my great love to inspire and sustainyou--what a pair we should make! what happiness would be ours! Think, Michael--think!"

"I have thought, Liane, " he returned in accents as kind as the handsthat held her. "I have thought well... "

"Yes?" She lifted her face so near that their breaths mingled, and hewas conscious of the allure of tremulous and parted lips. "You havethought and.... Tell me your thought, my Michael. "

"Why, I think two things, " said Lanyard: "First, that you deserve to besoundly kissed. " He kissed her, but with discretion, and firmly put herfrom him. "Then"--his tone took on a note of earnestness--"that if whatyou have said is true, it is a pity, and I am sorry, Liane, very sorry. And, if it is not true, that the comedy was well played. Shall we letit rest at that, my dear?"

Half lifting her, he helped her back into her chair, and as she turnedher face away, struggling for mastery of her emotion, true or feigned, he sat back, found his cigarette case, and clipping a cigarette betweenhis lips, cast about for a match. 

He had none in his pockets, but knew that there was a stand on one ofthe wicker tables nearby. Rising, he found it, and as he struck thelight heard a sudden, soft swish of draperies as the woman rose. 

Moving toward the saloon companionway, she passed him swiftly, withouta word, her head bended, a hand pressing a handkerchief to her lips. Forgetful, he followed her swaying figure with puzzled gaze tilladmonished by the flame that crept toward his fingertips. Then droppingthe match he struck another and put it to his cigarette. At the secondpuff he heard a choking gasp, and looked up again. 

The woman stood alone, en silhouette against the glow of thecompanionway, her arms thrust out as if to ward off some threateneddanger. A second cry broke from her lips, shrill with terror, shetottered and fell as, dropping his cigarette, Lanyard ran to her. 

His vision dazzled by the flame of the match, he sought in vain for anycause for her apparent fright. For all he could see, the deck was asempty as he had presumed it to be all through their conversation. 

He found her in a faint unmistakably unaffected. Footfalls sounded onthe deck as he knelt, making superficial examination. Collison hadheard her cries and witnessed her fall from the bridge and was comingto investigate. 

"What in blazes----!"

Lanyard replied with a gesture of bewilderment: "She was just goingbelow. I'd stopped to light a cigarette, saw nothing to account forthis. Wait: I'll fetch water. "

He darted down the companionway, filled a glass from a silver thermoscarafe, and hurried back. As he arrived at the top of steps, Collisonannounced: "It's all right. She's coming to. "

Supported in the arms of the second mate, Liane was beginning tobreathe deeply and looking round with dazed eyes. Lanyard dropped on aknee and set the glass to her lips. She gulped twice, mechanically, hergaze fixed to his face. Then suddenly memory cleared, and she uttered abubbling gasp of returning dread. 

"Popinot!" she cried, as Lanyard hastily took the glass away. "Popinot--he was there--I saw him--standing there!"

A trembling arm indicated the starboard deck just forward of thecompanion housing. But of course, when Lanyard looked, there was no onethere ... If there had ever been.... 

XXIII

THE CIGARETTE

Lanyard found himself exchanging looks of mystification with Collison, and heard his own voice make the flat statement: "But there isnobody.... " Collison muttered words which he took to be: No, and neverwas. "But you must have seen him from the bridge, " Lanyard insistedblankly, "if.... "

"I looked around as soon as I heard her call out, " Collison replied;"but I didn't see anybody, only mademoiselle here--and you, of course, with that match. "

"Please help me up, " Liane Delorme asked in a faint voice. Collisonlent a hand. In the support and shelter of Lanyard's arm the woman'sbody quivered like that of a frightened child. "I must go to mystateroom, " she sighed uncertainly. "But I am afraid... "

"Do not be. Remember Mr. Collison and I... Besides, you know, there wasnobody... "

The assertion seemed to exasperate her; her voice discovered newstrength and violence. 

"But I am telling you I saw ... That assassin!"--she shudderedagain--"standing there, in the shadow, glaring at me as if I hadsurprised him and he did not know what next to do. I think he must havebeen spying down through the skylight; it was the glow from it thatshowed me his red, dirty face of a pig. "

"You came aft on the port side, didn't you?" Lanyard enquired of thesecond mate. 

Collison nodded. "Running, " he said--"couldn't imagine what was up. "

"It is easy not to see what one is not looking for, " Lanyard mused, staring forward along the starboard side. "If a man had dropped flatand squirmed along until in the shelter of the engine-room ventilators, he could have run forward--bending low, you know--without your seeinghim. "

"But you were standing here, to starboard!"

"I tell you, that match was blinding me, " Lanyard affirmed irritably. "Besides, I wasn't looking--except at my sister--wondering what was thematter. "

Collison started. "Excuse me, " he said, reminded--"if mademoiselle'sall right, I ought to get back to the bridge. "

"Take me below, " Liane begged. "I must speak with Captain Monk. "

Monk and Phinuit were taking their ease plus nightcaps in the captain'ssitting-room. A knock brought a prompt invitation to "Come in!" Lanyardthrust the door open and curtly addressed Monk: "Mademoiselle Delormewishes to see you. " The eloquent eyebrows indicated surprise andresignation, and Monk got up and inserted himself into his white linentunic. Phinuit, more sensitive to the accent of something amiss, hurried out in unceremonious shirt sleeves. "What's up?" he demanded, looking from Lanyard's grave face to Liane's face of pallor anddistress. Lanyard informed him in a few words. 

"Impossible!" Phinuit commented. 

"Nonsense, " Monk added, speaking directly to Liane. "You imagined itall. "

She had recovered much of her composure, enough to enable her to shrugher disdain of such stupidity. 

"I tell you only what my two eyes saw. "

"To be sure, " Monk agreed with a specious air of being wide open toconviction. "What became of him, then?"

"You ask me that, knowing that in stress of terror I fainted!"

The eyebrows achieved an effect of studied weariness. "And you sawnobody, monsieur? And Collison didn't, either?"

Lanyard shook his head to each question. "Still, it is possible----. "

Monk cut him short impatiently. "All gammon--all in her eye! No manbigger than a cockroach could have smuggled himself aboard this yachtwithout my being told. I know my ship, I know my men, I know what I'mtalking about. "

"Presently, " Liane prophesied darkly, "you may be talking aboutnothing. "

At a loss, Monk muttered: "Don't get you.... "

"When you find yourself, some fine morning, with your throat cut inyour sleep, like poor de Lorgnes--or garroted, as I might have been. "

"I'm not going to lose any sleep..... " Monk began. 

"Lose none before you have the vessel searched, " Liane pleaded, with achange of tone. "You know, messieurs, I am not a woman given tohallucinations. I _saw_ ... And I tell you, while that assassin is atliberty aboard this yacht, not one of our lives is worth a sou--no, notone!"

"Oh, you shall have your search. " Monk gave in as one who indulges achildish whim. "But I can tell you now what we'll find--or won't. "

"Then Heaven help us all!" Liane went swiftly to the door of her room, but there hesitated, looking back in appeal to Lanyard. "I amafraid.... "

"Let me have a look round first. "

And when Lanyard had satisfied himself there was nobody concealed inany part of Liane's suite, and had been rewarded with a glance ofgratitude--"I shall lock myself in, of course, " the woman said from thethreshold--"and I have my pistol, too. "

"But I assure you, " Monk commented in heavy sarcasm, "our intentionsare those of honourable men. "

The door slammed, and the sound of the key turning in the lockfollowed. Monk trained the eyebrows into a look of long-sufferingpatience. 

"A glass too much... Seein' things!"

"No, " Lanyard voiced shortly his belief; "you are wrong. Liane sawsomething. "

"Nobody questions that, " Phinuit yawned. "What one does question iswhether she saw a man or a figment of her imagination--some effect ofthe shadows that momentarily suggested a man. "

"Shadows do play queer tricks at night, at sea, " Monk agreed. "Iremember once--"

"Then let us look the ground over and see if we can make thatexplanation acceptable to our own intelligences, " Lanyard cut in. 

"No harm in that. "

Phinuit fetched a pocket flash-lamp, and the three reconnoitredexhaustively the quarters of the deck in which the apparition hadmanifested itself to the woman. By no strain of credulity could theimagination be made to accept the effect of shadows at the designatedspot as the shape of somebody standing there. On the other hand, whenPhinuit obligingly posed himself between the mouth of the companionwayand the skylight, it had to be admitted that the glow from either sideprovided fairly good cover for one who might wish to linger there, observing and unobserved. 

"Still, I don't believe she saw anything, " Monk persisted--"a phantomPopinot, if anything. "

"But wait. What is it we have here?"

Lanyard, scrutinising the deck with the flashlamp, stooped, picked upsomething, and offered it on an outspread palm upon which he trainedthe clear electric beam. 

"Cigarette stub?" Monk said, and sniffed. "That's a famous find!"

"A cigarette manufactured by the French Régie. "

"And well stepped on, too, " Phinuit observed. "Well, what about it?"

"Who that uses this part of the deck would be apt to insult his palatewith such a cigarette? No one of us--hardly any one of the officers orstewards. "

"Some deck-hand might have sneaked aft for a look-see, expecting tofind the quarterdeck deserted at this hour. "

"Even ordinary seamen avoid, when they can, what the Régie sells underthe name of tobacco. Nor is it likely such a one would risk theconsequences of defying Captain Monk's celebrated discipline. "

"Then you believe it was Popinot, too?"

"I believe you would do well to make the search you have promisedthorough and immediate. "

"Plenty of time, " Monk replied wearily. "I'll turn this old tub insideout, if you insist, in the morning. "

"But why, monsieur, do you remain so obstinately incredulous?"

"Well, " Monk drawled, "I've known the pretty lady a number of years, and if you ask me she's quite up to playing little games all her own. "

"Pretending, you mean--for private ends?"

The eyebrows offered a gesture urbane and sceptical. 

Whether or not sleep brought Monk better counsel, the morning'sransacking of the vessel and the examination of her crew proved morepainstaking than Lanyard had expected. And the upshot was precisely asMonk had foretold, precisely negative. He reported drily to this effectat an informal conference in his quarters after luncheon. He himselfhad supervised the entire search and had made a good part of it inperson, he said. No nook or cranny of the yacht had been overlooked. 

"I trust mademoiselle is satisfied, " he concluded with a mockinglycivil movement of eyebrows toward Liane. 

His reply was the slightest of shrugs executed by perfect shouldersbeneath a gown of cynical transparency. Lanyard was aware that theviolet eyes, large with apprehension, flashed transiently his way, asif in hope that he might submit some helpful suggestion. But he hadnone to offer. If the manner in which the search had been conductedwere open to criticism, that would have to be made by a mind betterinformed than his in respect of things maritime. And he avoidedacknowledging that glance by even so much as seeming aware of it. Andin point of fact, coldly reviewed in dispassionate daylight, the thingseemed preposterous to him, to be asked to believe that Popinot hadcontrived to secrete himself beyond finding on board the Sybarite. 

Without his participation the discussion continued. 

He heard Phinuit's voice utter in accents of malicious amusement:"Barring, of course, the possibility of connivance on the part ofofficers or crew. "

"Don't be an ass!" Monk snapped. 

"Don't be unreasonable: I am simply as God made me. "

"Well, it was a nasty job of work. "

"Now, listen. " Phinuit rose to leave, as one considering the conferenceat an end. "If you persist in picking on me, skipper, I'll ravish youof those magnificent eyebrows with a safety razor, some time whenyou're asleep, and leave you as dumb as a Wop peddler who's lost botharms. "

Liane followed him out in silence, but her carriage was that of a queenof tragedy. Lanyard got up in turn, and to his amazement found theeyebrows signalling confidentially to him. 

"What the devil!" he exclaimed, in an open stare. 

Immediately the eyebrows became conciliatory. 

"Well, monsieur, and what is your opinion?"

"Why, to me it would seem there might be something in the suggestion ofMonsieur Phinuit. "

"Ridiculous!" Monk dismissed it finally. "Do you know, I rather fancymy own.... Liane's up to something, " he added, explanatory; and then, as Lanyard said nothing--"You haven't told me yet what she was talkingto you about last night just before her--alleged fright. "

Lanyard contrived a successful offensive with his own eyebrows. 

"Oh?" he said, "haven't I?" and walked out. 

Here was a new angle to consider. Monk's attitude hinted at a possiblerift in the entente cordiale of the conspirators. Why else should hemistrust Liane's sincerity in asserting that she had seen Popinot?Aside from the question of what he imagined she could possibly gain bymaking a scene out of nothing--a riddle unreadable--one wonderedconsumedly what had happened to render Monk suspicious of her goodfaith. 

The explanation, when it was finally revealed to Lanyard by the mosttrivial of incidents, made even his own blindness seem laughable. 

For three more days the life of the ship followed in unruffledtranquillity its ordered course. Liane Delorme was afflicted with nomore visions, as the captain would have called them; though by commonconsent the subject had been dropped upon the failure of the search, and to all seeming was rapidly fading from the minds of everybody butLiane herself and Lanyard. This last continued to plague himself withthe mystery and, maintaining always an open mind, was prepared at anytime to be shockingly enlightened; that is, to discover that Liane hadnot cried wolf without substantial reason. For he had learned this muchat least of life, that everything is always possible. 

As for Liane, she made no secret of her unabated timidity, yet sufferedit with such fortitude as could not fail to win admiration. If she wasa bit more subdued, a trifle less high-spirited than was her habit, ifshe refused positively to sit with her back to any door or to retirefor the night until her quarters had been examined, if (as Lanyardsuspected) she was never unarmed for a moment, day or night, shepermitted no signs of mental strain to mar the serenity of hercountenance or betray the studied graciousness of her gestures. 

Toward Lanyard she bore herself precisely as though nothing hadhappened to disturb the even adjustment of their personal relations;or, perhaps, as if she considered everything had happened, so thattheir rapport had become absolute; at all events, with a pleasingabsence of constraint. He really couldn't make her out. Sometimes hethought she wished him to believe she was not as other women and couldmake rational allowance for his poor response to her naïve overtures. But that seemed so abnormal, he felt forced to fall back on the theorythat her declaration had been nothing more than a minor gambit inwhatever game she was playing, and that consequently she bore no malicebecause of its failure. No matter which explanation was the true one, no matter which keyed her temper toward him, Lanyard found himselfliking the woman better, not as a woman but as another human being, than he had ever thought to. Say what you liked, in this humour she wascharming. 

But he never for an instant imagined she was meekly accepting defeat athis hands instead of biding her time to resume the attack from a newquarter. So he wasn't at all surprised when, one evening, quite earlyafter dinner, she contrived another tête-à-tête, and with goodconversational generalship led their talk presently into a channel ofamiable personalities. 

"And have you been thinking about what we said--or what I said, myfriend--that night--so long ago it seems!--three nights ago?"

"But inevitably, Liane. "

"You have not forgotten my stupidity, then. "

"I have forgotten nothing. "

She made a pretty mouth of doubt. "Would it not have been more kind toforget?"

"Such compliments are not easily forgotten. "

"You are sure, quite sure it was a compliment?"

"No-o; by no means sure. Still, I am a man, and I am giving you thefull benefit of every doubt. "

She laughed, not ill-pleased. "But what a man! how blessed of the godsto be able to laugh at yourself as well as at me. "

"Undeceive yourself: I could never laugh at you, Liane. Even if one didnot believe you to be a great natural comedienne at will, one wouldalways wonder what your purpose was--oh yes! with deep respect onewould wonder about that. "

"And you have been wondering these last three days? Well, tell me whatyou think my purpose was in abandoning all maidenly reserve andthrowing myself at your head. "

"Why, " said Lanyard with a look of childlike candour, "you might, youknow, have been uncontrollably swayed by some passionate impulses ofthe heart. "

"But otherwise--?" she prompted, hugely amused. 

"Oh, if you had a low motive in trying to make a fool of me, you knowtoo well how to hide your motive from such a fool. "

In a fugitive seizure of thoughtfulness the violet eyes lost all theirimpishness. She sighed, the bright head drooped a little toward thegleaming bosom, a hand stole out to rest lightly upon his once again. 

"It was not acting, Michael--I tell you that frankly--at least, not allacting. "

"Meaning, I take it, you know love too well to make it artlessly. "

"I'm afraid so, my dear, " said Liane Delorme with another sigh. "Youknow: I am afraid of you. You see everything so clearly... "

"It's a vast pity. I wish I could outgrow it. One misses so manyamusing emotions when one sees too clearly. "

During another brief pause, Lanyard saw Monk come on deck, pause, andsearch them out, in the chairs they occupied near the taffrail, much ason that other historic night. Not that he experienced any difficulty inlocating them; for this time the decklights were burning clearly. Nevertheless, Captain Monk confessed emotion at sight of those two in aquite perceptible start; and Lanyard saw the eyebrows tremendouslyagitated as their manipulator moved aft. 

Unconscious of all this, Liane ended her pensive moment by leaningtoward Lanyard and making demoralizing eyes, while the hand left hisand stole with a caressing gesture up his forearm. 

"Is love, then, distasteful to you unless it be truly artless, Michael?"

"There's so much to be said about that, Liane, " he evaded. 

Monk was standing over them, a towering figure in white with the mostforbidding eyebrows Lanyard had ever seen. 

"Might one suggest, " he did suggest in iced accents, "that thequarter-deck is a fairly conspicuous place for this exhibition offamily affection?"

Liane Delorme turned up an enquiring look, tinged slightly with animpatience which all at once proved too much for her. 

"Oh, go to the devil!" she snapped in that harsh voice of the sidewalkswhich she was able to use and discard at will. 

For a moment Monk made no reply; and Lanyard remarked a curiousquivering of that excessively tall, excessively attenuated body, a realtrembling, and suddenly understood that the absurd creature was beingshaken by jealousy, by an enormous passion of jealousy, quite beyondhis control, that shook him very much as a cat might shake a mouse. 

It was too funny to be laughable, it was comic in a way to make onewant to weep. So that Lanyard, who refused to weep in public, couldmerely gape in speechless and transfixed rapture. And perhaps this wasfortunate; otherwise Monk must have seen that his idiotic secret wasout, the sport of ribald mirth, and the situation must have beenprecipitated with a vengeance and an outcome impossible to predict. Asit was, absorbed in his inner torment, Monk was insensible to the perilthat threatened his stilted but precious dignity, which he proceeded toparade, as it were underlining it with the eyebrows, to lend emphasisto his words. 

"So long as this entertaining fiction of brother-and-sister is thoughtworth while, " he said with infuriated condescension, "it might bejudicious not to indulge in inconsistent and unseemly demonstrations ofaffection within view of my officers and crew. Suppose we... " He chokeda little. "In short, I came to invite you to a little conference in myrooms, with Mr. Phinuit. "

"Conference?" Liane enquired coolly, without stirring. "I know nothingof this conference. "

"Mr. Phinuit and I are agreed that Monsieur Lanyard is entitled to knowmore about our intentions while he has time to weigh them carefully. Wehave only four more days at sea... "

Unable longer to contain himself, Lanyard left his chair with alacrity. "But this is so delightful! You've no idea, really, monsieur, how Ihave looked forward to this moment. " And to Liane: "Do come, and seehow I take it, this revelation of my preordained fate. It will be, Itrust sincerely, like a man. "

With momentary hesitation, and in a temper precluding any sympathy, with his humour, the woman rose and silently followed with him thatlong-legged figure whose stalk held so much dramatic significance as heled to the companionway. 

After that it was refreshing to find unromantic Mr. Phinuit loungingbeside the captain's desk with crossed feet overhanging one corner ofit and mind intent on the prosaic business of paring his fingernails. Lanyard nodded to him with great good temper and--while Phinuit loweredhis feet and put away his penknife--considerately placed a chair forLiane in the position in which she preferred to sit, with her faceturned a little from the light. Nor would his appreciation of theformality which seemed demanded by Monk's solemn manner, permit him tosit before the captain had taken his own chair behind the desk. 

Then, however, he discovered the engaging spontaneity of a schoolboy ata pantomime, and drawing up a chair sat on the edge of it and addressedhimself with unaffected eagerness to the most portentous eyebrows incaptivity. 

"Now, " he announced with a little bow, "for what, one imagines, Mr. Phinuit would term the Elaborate Idea!"

XXIV

HISTORIC REPETITION

Phinuit grinned, then smothered a little yawn. Liane Delorme gave asmall, disdainful movement of shoulders, and posed herself becomingly, resting an elbow on the arm of her chair and inclining her cheek upontwo fingers of a jewelled hand. Thus she sat somewhat turned from Monkand Phinuit, but facing Lanyard, to whom her grave but friendly eyesgave undivided heed, for all the world as if there were no otherspresent: she seemed to wait to hear him speak again rather than to carein the least what Monk would find to say. 

Captain Monk filled in that pause with an impressive arrangement ofeyebrows. Then, fixing his gaze, not upon Lanyard, but upon the pointof a pencil with which his incredibly thin fingers traced elaborate butempty designs upon the blotter, he opened his lips, hemmed in warningthat he was about to speak, and seemed tremendously upset to find thatLiane was inconsiderately forestalling him. 

Her voice was at its most musical pitch, rather low for her, fluting, infinitely disarming and seductive. 

"Let me say to you, mon ami, that--naturally I know what is coming--Idisapprove absolutely of this method of treating with you. "

"But it is such an honour to be considered important enough to betreated with at all!"

"You have the true gift for sarcasm: a pity to waste it on an audiencetwo-thirds incapable of appreciation. "

"Oh, you're wrong!" Phinuit declared earnestly. "I'm appreciative, Ithink the dear man's immense. "

"Might I suggest"--the unctuous tones of Captain Monk issued from undermildly wounded eyebrows--"if any one of us were unappreciative ofMonsieur Lanyard's undoubted talents, he would not be with us tonight. "

"You might suggest it, " Phinuit assented, "but that wouldn't make itso, it is to mademoiselle's appreciation that you and I owe this treat, and you know it. Now quit cocking those automatic eyebrows at me;you've been doing that ever since we met, and they haven't gone offyet, not once. "

Irrepressible, Liane's laughter pealed; and though he couldn't helpsmiling, Lanyard hastened to offer up himself on the altar of peace. 

"But--messieurs!--you interest me so much. Won't you tell me quicklywhat possible value my poor talents can have found in your sight?"

"You tell him, Monk, " Phinuit said irreverently--"I'm no tale-bearer. "

Monk elevated his eyebrows above recognition of the impertinence, andoffered Lanyard a bow of formidable courtesy. 

"They are such, monsieur, " he said with that deliberation which becomesa diplomatic personage--"your talents are such that you can, if youwill, become invaluable to us. "

Phinuit chuckled outright at Lanyard's look of polite obtuseness. 

"Never sail a straight course--can you skipper?--when you can get thereby tacking. Here: I'm a plain-spoken guy, let me act as an interpreter. Mr. Lanyard: this giddy association of malefactors here present has thehonour to invite you to become a full-fledged working member andstockholder of equal interest with the rest of us, participating in allbenefits of the organization, including police protection. And as addedinducement we're willing to waive initiation fee and dues. Do I makemyself clear?"

"But perfectly. "

"It's like this: I've told you how we came together, the five of us, including Jules and Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes. Now we expect thisventure, our first, to pan out handsomely. There'll be a juicy meloncut when we get to New York. There's a lot more--I think youunderstand--than the Montalais plunder to whack up on. We'll make theaverage get-rich-quick scheme look like playing store in the back-yardwith two pins the top price for anything on the shelves. And thereisn't any sane reason why we need stop at that. In fact, we don't meanto. The Sybarite will make more voyages, and if anything should happento stop it, there are other means of making the U. S. Customs lookfoolish. Each of us contributes valuable and essential services, mademoiselle, the skipper, my kid-brother, even I--and I pull a strongoar with the New York Police Department into the bargain. But there's avacancy in our ranks, the opening left by the death of de Lorgnes, anopening that nobody could hope to fill so well as you. So we put it upto you squarely: If you'll sign on and work with us, we'll turn over toyou a round fifth share of the profits of this voyage as well aseverything that comes after. That's fair enough, isn't it?"

"But more than fair, monsieur. "

"Well, it's true you've done nothing to earn a fifth interest in thefirst division... "

"Then, too, I am here, quite helpless in your hands. "

"Oh, we don't look at it that way----"

"Which, " Liane sweetly interrupted, "is the one rational gesture youhave yet offered in this conference, Monsieur Phinuit. "

"Meaning, I suppose, Mr. Lanyard is far from being what he says, helpless in our hands. "

"Nor ever will be, my poor friend, while he breathes and thinks. "

"But, Liane!" Lanyard deprecated, modestly casting down his eyes--"youoverwhelm me. "

"I don't believe you, " Liane retorted coolly. 

For some moments Lanyard continued to stare reflectively at his feet. Nothing whatever of his thought was to be gathered from hiscountenance, though eyes more shrewd to read than those of Phinuit orMonk were watching it intently. 

"Well, Mr. Lanyard, what do you say?"

Lanyard lifted his meditative gaze to the face of Phinuit. "But surelythere is more.... " he suggested in a puzzled way. 

"More what?"

"I find something lacking.... You have shown me but one side of thecoin. What is the reverse? I appreciate the honour you do me, Icomprehend fully the strong inducements I am offered. But you haveneglected--an odd oversight on the part of the plain-spoken man youprofess to be--you have forgotten to name the penalty which wouldattach to a possible refusal. "

"I guess it's safe to leave that to your imagination. "

"There would be a penalty, however?"

"Well, naturally, if you're not with us, you're against us. And to takethat stand would oblige us, as a simple matter of self-preservation, todefend ourselves with every means at our command. "

"Means which, " Lanyard murmured, "you prefer not to name. "

"Well, one doesn't like to be crude. "

"I have my answer, monsieur--and many thanks. The parallel iscomplete. "

With a dim smile playing in his eyes and twitching at the corners ofhis lips, Lanyard leaned back and studied the deck beams. Liane Delormesat up with a movement of sharp uneasiness. 

"Of what, my friend, are you thinking?"

"I am marvelling at something everybody knows--that history does repeatitself. "

The woman made a sudden hissing sound, of breath drawn shortly betweenclosed teeth. "I hope not!" she sighed. 

Lanyard opened his eyes wide at her. "You hope not, Liane?"

"I hope this time history will not altogether repeat itself. You see, my friend, I think I know what is in your mind, memories of oldtimes.... "

"True: I am thinking of those days when the Pack hunted the Lone Wolfin Paris, ran him to earth at last, and made him much the same offer asyou have made to-night.... The Pack, you should know, messieurs, wasthe name assumed by an association of Parisian criminals, ambitiouslike you, who had grown envious of the Lone Wolf's success, and wishedto persuade him to run with them. "

"And what happened?" Phinuit enquired. 

"Why it so happened that they chose the time when I had made up my mindto be good for the rest of my days. It was all most unfortunate. "

"What answer did you give them, then?"

"As memory serves, I told them they could all go plumb to hell. "

"So I hope history will not repeat, this time, " Liane interjected. 

"And did they go?" Monk asked. 

"Presently, some of them, ultimately all; for some lingered a few yearsin French prisons, like that great Popinot, the father of monsieur whohas caused us so much trouble. "

"And you----?"

"Why, " Lanyard laughed, "I have managed to keep out of jail, so Ipresume I must have kept my vow to be good. "

"And no backsliding?" Phinuit suggested with a leer. 

"Ah! you must not ask me to tell you everything. That is a matterbetween me and my conscience. "

"Well, " Phinuit hazarded with a good show of confidence, "I guess youwon't tell us to go plumb to hell, will you?"

"No; I promise to be more original than that. "

"Then you refuse!" Liane breathed tensely. 

"Oh, I haven't said that! You must give me time to think this over. "

"I knew that would be his answer, " Monk proclaimed, pride in hisperspicuity shaping the set of his eyebrows. "That is why I was firmthat we should wait no longer. You have four days in which to make upyour mind, monsieur. "

"I shall need them. "

"I don't see why, " Phinuit argued: "it's an open and shut proposition, if ever there was one. "

"But you are asking me to renounce something upon which I have set muchstore for many years, monsieur. I can't be expected to do that in anhour or even a day. "

You shall have your answer, I promise you, by the time we make ourlandfall--perhaps before. "

"The sooner, the better. "

"Are you sure, monsieur? But one thought it was the tortoise who wonthe famous race. "

"Take all the time you need, " Captain Monk conceded generously, "tocome to a sensible decision. "

"But how good you are to me, monsieur!"

XXV

THE MALCONTENT

Singular though the statement may seem, when one remembers theconditions that circumscribed his freedom of action on board theSybarite, that he stood utterly alone in that company of conspiratorsand their creatures, alone and unarmed, with never a friend to guardhis back or even to whisper him one word of counsel, warning orencouragement, with only his naked wits and hands to fortify andsustain his heart: it is still no exaggeration to say that Lanyard gotan extraordinary amount of private diversion out of those last fewdays. 

From the hour when Liane Delorme, Phinuit and Captain Monk, in conclavesolemnly assembled at the instance of the one last-named, communicatedtheir collective mind in respect of his interesting self, the man wasconscious of implicit confidence in a happy outcome of the business, with a conscientiousness less rational than simply felt, a sort ofbubbling exhilaration in his mood that found its most intelligibleexpression in the phrase, which he was wont often to iterate tohimself: Ça va bien--that goes well!

That--the progressive involution of this insane imbroglio--went verywell indeed, in Lanyard's reckoning; he could hardy wish, he could notreasonably demand that it should go better. 

He knew now with what design Liane Delorme had made him a party to thissea adventure and intimate with every detail of the conspiracy; and heknew to boot why she had offered him the free gift of her love; doubtas to the one, scruples inspired by the other--that reluctance whichman cannot but feel to do a hurt to a heart that holds him dear, however scanty his response to its passion--could no longer influencehim to palter in dealing with the woman. The revelation had in effectstricken shackles from Lanyard's wrists, now when he struck it would bewith neither hesitation nor compunction. 

As to that stroke alone, its hour and place and fashion, he remainedwithout decision. He had made a hundred plans for its delivery, and oneof them, that seemed the wildest, he thought of seriously, as somethingreally feasible. But single-handed! That made it difficult. If only onecould devise some way to be in two places at one time and the same! Animpossibility? He wouldn't deny that. But Lanyard had never been one tobe discouraged by the grim, hard face of an impossibility. He had knowntoo many such to dissipate utterly, vanish into empty air, whensubjected to a bold and resolute assault. He wouldn't say die. 

Never that while he could lift hand or invent stratagem, never that solong as fools played their game into his hands, as this lot wished toand did. What imbecility! What an escape had been his when, in thattime long since, he had made up his mind to have done with crime onceand for all time! But for that moment of clear vision and high resolvehe might be to-day even as these who had won such clear title to hiscontempt, who stultified themselves with vain imaginings and theeverlasting concoction of schemes whose sheer intrinsic puerilityforedoomed them to farcical failure. 

Lanyard trod the decks for hours at a time, searching the stars for ananswer to the question: What made the Law by whose decree man maygarner only punishment and disaster where he has husbanded in iniquity?That Law implacable, inexorable in its ordained and methodic workings, through which invariably it comes to pass that failure and remorseshall canker in the heart even of success ill-gained.... 

But if he moralized it was with a cheerful countenance, and his sermonswere for himself alone. He kept his counsel and spoke all men fairly, giving nowhere any manner of offense: for could he tell in whatunlikely guise might wait the instrument he needed wherewith to workout his unfaltering purpose?

And all the while they were watching him and wondering what was in hismind. Well, he gave no sign. Let them watch and wonder to their heart'scontent; they must wait until the time he had appointed for therendering of his decision, when the Sybarite made her landfall. 

Winds blew and fell, the sea rose and subsided, the Sybarite trudged oninto dull weather. The sky grew overcast; and Lanyard, daily scanningthe very heavens for a sign, accepted this for one, and prayed it mighthold. Nothing could be more calculated to nullify his efforts than tohave the landfall happen on a clear, calm night of stars. 

He went to bed, the last night out, leaving a noisy gathering in thesaloon, and read himself drowsy. Then turning out his light he slept. Sometime later he found himself instantaneously awake, and alert, witha clear head and every faculty on the qui vive--much as a man mightgrope for a time in a dark strange room, then find a door and step outinto broad daylight. 

Only there was no light other than in the luminous clarity of his mind. Even the illumination in the saloon had been dimmed down for the night, as he could tell by the tarnished gleam beneath his stateroom door. 

Still, not everyone had gone to bed. The very manner of his wakinginformed him that he was not alone; for the life Lanyard had led hadtaught him to need no better alarm than the entrance of another personinto the place where he lay sleeping. All animals are like that, whoselives hang on their vigilance. 

Able to see nothing, he still felt a presence, and knew that it waited, stirless, within arm's-length of his head. Without much concern, hethought of Popinot, that "phantom Popinot" of Monk's derisive naming. 

Well, if the vision Liane had seen on deck had taken material form herein his stateroom, Lanyard presumed it meant another fight, and thelast, to a finish, that is to say, to a death. 

Without making a sound, he gathered himself together, ready for a trap, and as noiselessly lifted a hand toward the switch for the electriclight, set in the wall near the head of the bed. But in the same breathhe heard a whisper, or rather a mutter, a voice he could not place inits present pitch. 

"Awake, Monsieur Delorme?" it said. "Hush! Don't make a row, and nevermind the light. "

His astonishment was so overpowering that instinctively his tensedmuscles relaxed and his hand fell back upon the bedding. 

"Who the deuce----?"

"Not so loud. It's me--Mussey. "

Lanyard echoed witlessly: "Mussey?"

"Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised, but if you'll be easy you'llunderstand pretty soon why I had to have a bit of a talk with youwithout anybody's catching on. "

"Well, " Lanyard said, "I'm damned!"

"I say!" The subdued mutter took on a note of anxiety. "It's all right, isn't it? I mean, you aren't going to kick up a rumpus and spill thebeans? I guess you must think I've got a hell of a gall, coming in onyou like this, and I don't know as I blame you, but... Well, time'sgetting short, only two more days at sea, and I couldn't wait anylonger for a chance to have a few minutes' chin with you. "

The mutter ceased and held an expectant pause. Lanyard said nothing. But he was conscious that the speaker occupied a chair by the bed, andknew that he was bending near to catch his answer; for the air wastainted with vinous breath. Yes: one required no strongeridentification, it was beyond any doubt the chief engineer of theSybarite. 

"Say it's all right, won't you?" the mutter pleaded. 

"I am listening, " Lanyard replied--"as you perceive. "

"I'll say it's decent of you--damned decent. Blowed if I'd take it ascalm as you, if I waked up to find somebody in my room. "

"I believe, " said Lanyard pointedly, "you stipulated for a few minutes'chin with me. Time passes, Mr. Mussey. Get to your business, or let mego to sleep again. "

"Sharp, you are, " commented the mutter. "I've noticed it in you. You'dbe surprised if you knew how much notice I've been taking of you. "

"And flattered, I'm sure. "

"Look here... " The mutter stumbled. "I want to ask a personal question. Daresay you'll think it impertinent. "

"If I do, be sure I shan't answer it. "

"Well... It's this: Is or isn't your right name Lanyard, MichaelLanyard?"

This time it was Lanyard who, thinking rapidly, held the pause so longthat his querist's uneasiness could not contain itself. 

"Is that my answer? I mean, does your silence--?"

"That's an unusual name, Michael Lanyard, " cautiously replied itsproprietor. "How did you get hold of it?"

"They say it's the right name of the Lone Wolf. Guess I don't have totell you who the Lone Wolf is. "

"'They say'? Who, please, are 'they'?"

"Oh, there's a lot of talk going around the ship. You know how it is, acrew will gossip. And God knows they've got enough excuse this cruise. "

This was constructively evasive. Lanyard wondered who had betrayed him. Phinuit? The tongue of that plain-spoken man was hinged in the middle;but one couldn't feel certain. Liane Delorme had made much of the chiefengineer; though she seemed less likely to talk too much than anyone ofthe ship's company but Lanyard himself. But then (one remembered of asudden) Monk and Mussey were by reputation old cronies; it wasn'tinconceivable that Monk might have let something slip... 

"And what, Mr. Mussey, if I should admit I am Michael Lanyard?"

"Then I'll have something to say to you, something I think'll interestyou. "

"Why not run the risk of interesting me, whoever I may be?"

Mussey breathed heavily in the stillness: the breathing of a cautiousman loath to commit himself. 

"No, " he said at length, in the clearest enunciation he had thus farused. "No. If you're not Lanyard, I'd rather say nothing more--I'lljust ask you to pardon me for intruding and clear out. "

"But you say there is some gossip. And where there is smoke, there mustbe fire. It would seem safe to assume I am the man gossip says I am. "

"Michael Lanyard?" the mutter persisted--"the Lone Wolf?"

"Yes, yes! What then?"

"I suppose the best way's to put it to you straight... "

"I warn you, you'll gain nothing if you don't. "

"Then... To begin at the beginning... I've known Whit Monk a good longtime. Years I've known him. We've sailed together off and on ever sincewe took to the sea; we've gone through some nasty scrapes together, anddone things that don't bear telling, and always shared the thick andthe thin of everything. Before this, if anybody had ever told me WhitMonk would do a pal dirt, I'd've punched his head and thought no moreabout it. But now... "

The mutter faltered. Lanyard preserved a sympathetic silence--asilence, at least, which he hoped would pass as sympathetic. Inreality, he was struggling to suppress any betrayal of the exultationthat was beginning to take hold of him. Premature this might prove tobe, but it seemed impossible to misunderstand the emotion under whichthe chief engineer was labouring or to underestimate its potentialvalue to Lanyard. Surely it would seem that his faith in his star hadbeen well-placed: was it not now--or all signs failed--delivering intohis hand the forged tool he had so desperately needed, for which he hadso earnestly prayed?

A heavy sigh issued upon the stillness, freighted with a deep anddesolating melancholy. For, it appeared, like all cynics, Mr. Musseywas a sentimentalist at heart. And in the darkness that disembodiedvoice took up its tale anew. 

"I don't have to tell you what's going on between Whit and that lothe's so thick with nowadays. You know, or you wouldn't be here. "

"Isn't that conclusion what you Americans would call a littleprevious?"

"Previous?" The mutter took a moment to con the full significance ofthat adjective. "No: I wouldn't call it that. You see, on a voyage likethis--well, talk goes on, things get about, things are said aloud thatshouldn't be and get overheard and passed along; and the man who sitsback and listens and sifts what he hears is pretty likely to get atolerably good line on what's what. Of course there's never been anysecret about what the owner means to do with all this wine he'sshipped. We all know we're playing a risky game, but we're for theowner--he isn't a bad sort, when you get to know him--and we'll gothrough with it and take what's coming to us win or lose. Partly, ofcourse, because it'll mean something handsome for every man if we makeit without getting caught. But if you want to know what I think... I'lltell you something... "

"But truly I am all attention. "

"I think Whit Monk and Phinuit and mam'selle have framed the ownerbetween them. "

"Can't say I quite follow... "

"I think they cooked up this smuggling business and kidded him into itjust to get the use of his yacht for their own purposes and at the sametime get him where he can't put up a howl if he finds out the truth. Suppose he does... " The mutter became momentarily a deep-throatedchuckle of malice. "He's in so deep on the booze smuggling side hedassent say a word, and that puts him in worse yet, makes him accessorybefore the fact of criminal practices that'd made his hair stand onend. Then, suppose they want to go on with the game, looting in Europeand sneaking the goods into America with the use of his yacht: what'she going to say, how's he going to stop them?"

Accepting these questions as purely rhetorical, Lanyard offered nocomment. After a moment the mutter resumed:

"Well, what do you think? Am I right or am I wrong?"

"Who knows, Mr. Mussey? One can only say, you seem to know something. "

"I'll say I know something! A sight more than Whit Monk dreams Iknow--as he'll find out to his sorrow before he's finished with TomMussey. "

"But"--obliquely Lanyard struck again at the heart of the mystery whichhe found so baffling--"you seem so well satisfied with the bona fidesof your informant?"

There was a sound of stertorous breathing as the intelligence behindthe mutter grappled with this utterance. Then, as if the hint hadproved too fine--"I'm playing my hand face up with you, Mr. Lanyard. Iguess you can tell I know what I'm talking about. "

"But what I cannot see is why you should talk about it to me, monsieur. "

"Why, because I and you are both in the same boat, in a manner ofspeaking. We're both on the outside--shut out--looking in. "

In a sort of mental aside, Lanyard reflected that mixed bathing formetaphors was apparently countenanced under the code of cynics. 

"Does one gather that you feel aggrieved with Captain Monk for notmaking you a partner in his new associations?"

"For trying to put one over on me, an old pal... Stood by him throughthick and thin... Would've gone through fire for Whit Monk, and in myway I have, many's the time. And now he hooks up with Phinuit and thisDelorme woman, and leaves me to shuffle my feet on the doormat... Andthinks I'll let him get away with it. "

The voice in the dark gave a grunt of infinite contempt: "Like hell... "

"I understand your feelings, monsieur; and I ask you to believe in mysympathy. But you said--if I remember--that we were in the same boat, you and I; whereas I assure you Captain Monk has not abused myfriendship, since he has never had it. "

"I know that well enough, " said the mutter. "I don't mean you've got myreasons for feeling sore; but I do mean you've got reason enough ofyour own--"

"On what grounds do you say that?"

Another deliberate pause prefaced the reply: "You said a while ago Iknew something. Well--you said it. I and you've both been frozen out ofthis deal and we're both meaning to take a hand whether they like it ornot. If that don't put us in the same boat I don't know... "

Perceiving he would get no more satisfaction, Lanyard schooled himselfto be politic for the time being. 

"Say it is so, then... But I think you have something to propose. "

"It's simple enough: When two people find themselves in the same boatthey've got to pull together if they want to get anywhere. "

"You propose, then, an alliance?"

"That's the answer. Without you I can't do anything but kick over theapplecart for Whit Monk; and that sort of revenge is mightyunsatisfactory. Without me--well: what can you do? I know you can getthat tin safe of Whit's open, when you feel like it, get the jewels andall; but what show do you stand to get away with them? That is, unlessyou've got somebody working in with you on board the ship. See here... "

The mutter sank into a husky whisper, and in order to be heard thespeaker bent so low over Lanyard that fumes of whiskey almostsuffocated the poor man in his bed. 

"You've got a head, you've had experience, you know how... Well, go toit: make your plans, consult with me, get everything fixed, lift theloot; I'll stand by, fix up everything so's your work will go throughslick, see that you don't get hurt, stow the jewels where they won't befound; and when it's all over, we'll split fifty-fifty. What d'you say?"

"Extremely ingenious, monsieur, but unfortunately impracticable. "

"That's the last thing, " stated the disappointed whisper, "I everthought a man like you would say. "

"But it is obvious. We do not know each other. "

"You mean, you can't trust me?"

"For that matter: how can you be sure you can trust me?"

"Oh, I guess I can size up a square guy when I see him. "

"Many thanks. But why should I trust you, when you will not even bequite frank with me?"

"How's that? Haven't I----"

"One moment: you refuse to name the source of your astonishinglydetailed information concerning this affair--myself included. You wishme to believe you simply assume I am at odds with Captain Monk and hisfriends. I admit it is true. But how should you know it? Ah, no, myfriend! either you will tell me how you learned this secret, or I mustbeg you to let me get my sleep. "

"That's easy. I heard Whit and Phinuit talking about you the othernight, on deck, when they didn't think anybody was listening. "

Lanyard smiled into the darkness: no need to fret about fair playtoward this one! The truth was not in him, and by the same token thetraditional honour that obtains among thieves could not be. 

He said, as if content, in the manner of a practical man dismissing allimmaterial considerations:

"As you say, the time is brief... "

"It'll have to be pulled off to-morrow night or not at all, " the mutterurged with an eager accent. 

"My thought, precisely. For then we come to land, do we not?"

"Yes, and it'll have to be not long after dark. We ought to drop thehook at midnight. Then"--the mutter was broken with hopefulanxiety--"then you've decided you'll stand in with me, Mr. Lanyard?"

"But of course! What else can one do? As you have so fairly pointedout: what is either of us without the other?"

"And it's understood: you're to lift the stuff, I'm to take care of ittill we can slip ashore, we're to make our getaway together--and thesplit's to be fifty-fifty, fair and square?"

"I ask nothing better. "

"Where's your hand?"

Two hands found each other blindly and exchanged a firm and inspiringclasp--while Lanyard gave thanks for the night that saved his face frombetraying his mind. 

Another deep sigh sounded a note of apprehensions at an end. A gruffchuckle followed. 

"Whit Monk! He'll learn something about the way to treat old friends. "And all at once the mutter merged into a vindictive hiss: "Him with hisairs and graces, his fine clothes and greasy manners, putting on thelah-de-dah over them that's stood by him when he hadn't a red and wasglad to cadge drinks off spiggoties in hells like the Colonel's atColon--him!"

But Lanyard had been listening only with his ears; he hadn't theslightest interest in Mr. Mussey's resentment of the affectations ofCaptain Monk. For now his mad scheme had suddenly assumed a complexionof comparative simplicity; given the co-operation of the chiefengineer, all Lanyard would need to contribute would be a littleheadwork, a little physical exertion, a little daring--and completeindifference, which was both well warranted and already his, to abusingthe confidence of Mr. Mussey. 

"But about this affair to-morrow night, " he interrupted impatiently:"attend to me a little, if you please, my friend. Can you give me anyidea where we are, or will, approximately, at midnight to-night?"

"What's that go to do----?"

"Perhaps I ask only for my own information. But it may be that I have aplan. If we are to work together harmoniously, Mr. Mussey, you mustlearn to have a little confidence in me. "

"Beg your pardon, " said an humble mutter. "We ought to be somewhere offNantucket Shoals Lightship. "

"And the weather: have you sufficient acquaintance with these latitudesto foretell it, even roughly?"

"Born and brought up in Edgartown, made my first voyage on a tramp outof New Bedford: guess I know something about the weather in theselatitudes! The wind's been hauling round from sou'west to south allday. If it goes on to sou'east, it'll likely be thick to-morrow, withlittle wind, no sea to speak of, and either rain or fog. "

"So! Now to do what I will have to do, I must have ten minutes ofabsolute darkness. Can that be arranged?"

"Absolute darkness?" The mutter had a rising inflexion of dubiety. "Howd'you mean?"

"Complete extinguishing of every light on the ship. "

"My God!" the mutter protested. "Do you know what that means? No lightsat night, under way, in main-travelled waters! Why, by nightfall we oughtto be off Block Island, in traffic as heavy as on Fifth Avenue! No: that'stoo much. "

"Too bad, " Lanyard uttered, philosophic. "And the thing could have beendone. "

"Isn't there some other way?"

"Not with lights to hamper my operations. But if some temporaryaccident were to put the dynamoes out of commission--figure to yourselfwhat would happen. "

"There'd be hell to pay. "

"Ah! but what else?"

"The engines would have to be slowed down so as to give no more thansteerage-way until oil lamps could be substituted for the binnacle, masthead, and side-lights, also for the engine room. "

"And there would be excitement and confusion, eh? Everybody would makefor the deck, even the captain would leave his cabin unguarded longenough... "

"I get you"--with a sigh. "It's wrong, all wrong, but--well, I supposeit's got to be done. "

Lanyard treated himself to a smile of triumph, there in the darkness. 

XXVI

THE BINNACLE

It would have been ungrateful (Lanyard reflected over his breakfast) tocomplain of a life so replete with experiences of piquant contrast. 

It happened to one to lie for hours in a cubicle of blinding night, hearkening to a voice like that of some nightmare weirdly becomearticulate, a ghostly mutter that rose and fell and droned, broken bysighs, grunts, stifled oaths, mean chuckles, with intervals of huskywhispering and lapses filled with a noise of wheezing respiration, allwheedling and cajoling, lying, intimating and evading, complaining, snarling, rambling, threatening, protesting, promising, and in the endproposing an unholy compact for treachery and evil-doing--a voice thatmight have issued out of some damned soul escaped for a little space oftime from the Pits of Torment, so utterly inhuman it sounded, socompletely discarnate and divorced from all relationship to any mortalpersonality that even that reek of whiskey in the air, even that onecontact with a hard, hot hand, could not make it seem real. 

And then it ceased and was no more but as a thing of dream that hadpassed. And one came awake to a light and wholesome world furnishedwith such solidly comforting facts as soaps and razors and hot and coldsaltwater taps; and subsequently one left one's stateroom to see, atthe breakfast table, leaden-eyed and flushed of countenance, anamorphous lump of humid flesh in shapeless garments of soiled whiteduck, the author of that mutter in the dark; who, lounging over a plateof broken food and lifting a coffee cup in the tremulous hand of analcoholic, looked up with lacklustre gaze, gave a surly nod, andmumbled the customary matutinal greeting:

"'Morning, Monseer Delorme. "

It was all too weird.... 

To add to this, the chief engineer paid Lanyard no further heed at all, though they were alone at table, and having noisily consumed hiscoffee, rubbed his stubbled lips and chin with an egg-stained napkin, rose, and without word or glance rolled heavily up the companionway. 

The conduct of a careful man, accustomed to mind his eye. Andindisputably correct. One never knew who might be watching, whatslightest sign of secret understanding might not be seized upon andread. Furthermore, Mr. Mussey had not stilled his mutter in the nightuntil their joint and individual lines of action had been elaboratelymapped out and agreed upon down to the smallest detail. It now remainedonly for Lanyard to fill in somehow the waste time that lay betweenbreakfast and the hour appointed, then take due advantage of theopportunity promised him. 

He found the day making good Mr. Mussey's forecast. Under a dull, thicksky the sea ran in heavy swells, greasy and grey. The wind was in thesouth, and light and shifty. The horizon was vague. Captain Monk, encountered on the quarterdeck, had an uneasy eye, and cursed theweather roundly when Lanyard made civil enquiry as to the outlook. Çava bien!

Lanyard killed an hour or two in the chartroom, acquainting himselfwith the coast they were approaching and tracing the Sybarite'sprobable course toward the spot selected from the smugglingtransaction. His notion of the precise location of the owner's estatewas rather indefinite; he had gathered from gossip that it was on theConnecticut shore of Long Island Sound, between New London and NewHaven, where a group of small islands--also the property of MisterWhitaker Monk--provided fair anchorage between Sound and shore as wellas a good screen from offshore observation. 

It was not vital to know more: Lanyard had neither hope nor fear ofever seeing that harbour. It was the approach alone that interestedhim; and when he had puzzled out that there were only two practicablecourses for the Sybarite to take--both bearing in a generalnorth-westerly direction from Nantucket Shoals Light Vessel, oneentering Block Island Sound from the east, between Point Judith andBlock Island, the other entering the same body of water from the south, between Block Island and Montauk Point--and had satisfied himself thatmanifold perils to navigation hedged about both courses, moreespecially their prolongation into Long Island Sound by way of TheRace: Lanyard told himself it would be strange indeed if his plansmiscarried ... Always providing that Mr. Mussey could be trusted tohold to his overnight agreement. 

But as to that, one entertained few fears. One felt quite sure that Mr. Mussey would perform duly to the letter of his covenant. It hadrequired only an hour of weighing and analysing with a clear head hisovertures and utterances as a whole, to persuade Lanyard that hehimself, no less than the chief engineer, in the phrase of the latter'sboast, "knew something. "

It seemed unbelievably stupid and childish, what he imagined was behindthe gratuitous intermeddling of Mr. Mussey; but then, he remindedhimself, if there is anything more stupid than to plot a criminal act, it is to permit oneself to be influenced by that criminal stupiditywhose other name is jealousy. 

Well, whether he were right or wrong, the night would declare it; andin any event there was no excuse whatever for refusing to profit by thestupidity of men whose minds are bent on vicious mischief.... 

The weather thickened as the day grew older. Towards noon the wind, asif weary and discouraged with vain endeavour to make up its mind toblow from this quarter or that, died away altogether. At the same timethe horizon appeared to close in perceptibly; what little definition ithad had in earlier hours was erased; and the Sybarite, shearing theoily and lifeless waters of a dead calm, seemed less to make progressthan to struggle sullenly in a pool of quicksilver at the bottom of aslowly revolving sphere of clouded glass, mutinously aware that all herlabouring wrought no sort of gain. 

After an hour of this, Captain Monk, on the bridge with Mr. Swain, arrived at a decision of exasperation. Through the engine-roomventilators a long jingle of the telegraph was heard; and directly theSybarite's pulses began to beat in quicker tempo, while darker volutesof smoke rolled in dense volume from her funnel and streamed awayastern, resting low and preserving their individuality as long asvisible, like a streak of oxidization on a field of frosted silver. Forthe first time since she had left the harbour of Cherbourg the yachtwas doing herself something like justice in the matter of speed--andthis contrary to all ethics of seamanship, on such a day. 

At the luncheon table, Phinuit ventured a light-headed comment on thisdangerous procedure; whereupon Monk turned on him in a cold fury. 

"As long as I'm master of this vessel, sir, I'll sail her according tothe counsels of my own discretion--and thank you to keep youranimadversions to yourself!"

"Animadversions!" Phinuit echoed, and made round, shocked eyes. "Oh, Inever! At least, I didn't mean anything naughty, skipper dear. "

Monk snorted, and grumbled over his food throughout the remainder ofthe meal; but later, coming upon a group composed of Liane Delorme, Lanyard and Phinuit, in the saloon, he paused, looked this way and thatto make sure none of the stewards was within eavesdropping distance, and graciously unbent a little. 

"I'm making the best time we can while we can see at all, " hevolunteered. "No telling when this misbegotten fog will close in andforce us to slow down to half-speed or less--in crowded waters, too!"

"And very sensible, I'm sure, " Phinuit agreed heartily. "Whateverhappens, we musn't be late for our date with Friend Boss, must we?"

"We'll keep it, " Monk promised grimly, "if we have to feel every inchof our way in with the lead. I don't mind telling you, this fog maysave our skins at that. Wireless has been picking up chatter allmorning between a regular school of revenue cutters patrolling thiscoast on the lookout for just such idiots as we are. So we'll carry onand trust to luck till we make Monk Harbour or break our fool necks. "

Liane Delorme gave a start of dismay. 

"There is danger, then?"

"Only if we run afoul of a cutter, Liane. " Monk tried to speakreassuringly. "And that's not likely in this weather. As for the fog, it's a dirty nuisance to any navigator but, as I said, may quitepossibly prove our salvation. I know these waters like a book, I'vesailed them ever since I was old enough to tell a tiller from amainsheet. I can smell my way in, if it comes to that, through theblindest fog the Atlantic ever brewed. "

"Then you do things with your nostrils, too?" Phinuit enquiredinnocently. "I've often wondered if all the intellect was located inthe eyebrows. "

Monk glared, growled, and hastily sought the air of the deck. LianeDelorme eyed Phinuit with amused reproach. 

"Really, my young friend!"

"I can't help it, mademoiselle, " Phinuit asserted sulkily. "Too much isenough. I've watched him making faces with the top of his head so longI dream of geometrical diagrams laid out in eyebrows--and wake upscreaming. And they call this a pleasure craft!"

With an aggrieved air he sucked at his pipe for a few minutes. "Besides, " he added suddenly, "somebody's got to be comic relief, and Idon't notice anybody else in a sweat to be the Life and Soul of theship. "

He favoured Lanyard with a morose stare. "Why don't you ever put yourshoulder to the wheel, Lanyard? Why leave it all to me? Come on; be asport, cut a caper, crack a wheeze, do something to get a giggle!"

"But I am by no means sure you do not laugh at me too much, as it is. "

"Rot!... Tell you what. " Phinuit sat up with a gleaming eye ofinspiration. "You can entertain mademoiselle and me no end, if youlike. Spill the glad tidings. "

"Glad tidings?"

"Now don't monkey with the eyebrows--_please!_ It gives me thewillies... I merely mean to point out, to-day's the day you promised tocome through with the awful decision. And there's no use waiting forMonk to join us; he's too much worried about his nice little ship. Tellmademoiselle and me now. "

Lanyard shook his head, smiling. "But the time I set was when we madeour landfall. "

"Well, what's the matter with Martha's Vineyard over there? You couldsee if it was a clear day. "

"But it is not a clear day. "

"Suppose it gets thicker, a sure-enough fog? We may not see land beforemidnight. "

"Then till midnight we must wait. No, Monsieur Phinuit, I will not behurried. I have been thinking, I am still thinking, and there is stillmuch to be said before I can come to any decision that will be fair toyou, mademoiselle, the captain on the one hand, myself on the other. "

"But at midnight, if the skipper's promise holds good, we'll be goingashore. "

"The objection is well taken. My answer will be communicated when wesee land or at eleven o'clock to-night, whichever is the earlierevent. "

Some further effort at either persuasion or impudence--nobody butPhinuit ever knew which--was drowned out by the first heart-brokenbellow of the whistle sounding the fog signal. 

Liane Delorme bounded out of her chair, clapping hands to ears, anduttered an unheard cry of protest; and when, the noise suspendingtemporarily, she learned that it was to be repeated at intervals of twominutes as long as the fog lasted and the yacht was under way, she flungup piteous hands to an uncompassionate heaven and fled to her stateroom, slamming the door as if she thought thereby to shut out the offending din. 

One fancied something inhumanly derisive in the prolonged hoot whichreplied. 

Rather than languish under the burden of Mr. Phinuit's spiritedconversation for the rest of the afternoon, Lanyard imitated Liane'sexample, and wasted the next hour and a half flat on his bed, with eyesclosed but mind very much alive. Now and again he consulted his watch, as one might with an important appointment to keep. At two minutes tofour he left his stateroom, and as the first stroke of eight bells rangout--in one of the measured intervals between blasts of thewhistle--ending the afternoon watch, he stepped out on deck, and pausedfor a survey of the weather conditions. 

There was no perceptible motion in the air, witnessing that the windhad come in from astern, that is to say approximately from thesoutheast, and was blowing at about the speed made by the yacht itself. The fog clung about the vessel, Lanyard thought, like dull grey cottonwool. Yet, if the shuddering of her fabric were fair criterion, thepace of the Sybarite was unabated, she was ploughing headlong throughthat dense obscurity using the utmost power of her engines. From timeto time, when the whistle was still, the calls of seamen operating thesounding machine could be heard; but their reports were monotonouslyuniform, the waters were not yet shoal enough for the lead to findbottom at that pace. 

The watch was being changed as Lanyard started forward, with the tailof an eye on the bridge. Mr. Collison relieved Mr. Swain, and thelatter came down the companion-ladder just in time to save Lanyard anasty spill as his feet slipped on planking greasy with globules offog. There's no telling how bad a fall he might not have suffered hadnot Mr. Swain been there for him to catch at; and for a moment or twoLanyard was, as Mr. Swain put it with great good-nature, all over him, clinging to the first officer in a most demonstrative manner; and itwas with some difficulty that he at length recovered his equilibrium. Then, however, he laid hold of the rail for insurance against furthermishaps, thanked Mr. Swain heartily, added his apologies, and the twoparted with expressions of mutual esteem. 

The incident seemed to have dampened Lanyard's ardour for exercise. Hemade a rather gingerly way back to the quarterdeck, loafed restlesslyin a deck-chair for a little while, then went below once more. 

Some time after, supine again upon his bed, he heard Mr. Swain in thesaloon querulously interrogating one of the stewards. It appeared thatMr. Swain had unaccountably mislaid his keys, and he wanted to know ifthe steward had seen anything of them. The steward hadn't, he said; andLanyard for one knew that he spake sooth, since at that moment themissing keys were resting on the bottom of the sea several milesastern--all but one. 

There was no dressing for dinner that night. Liane Delorme, her nervesrasped almost beyond endurance by the relentless fog signal, preferredthe seclusion of her stateroom. Lanyard wasn't really sorry; the bosomof a white shirt is calculated to make some impression upon the humanretina even on the darkest night; whereas his plain lounge suit of blueserge was sure to prove entirely inconspicuous. So, if he missed thefeminine influence at table, he bore up with good fortitude. 

And after dinner he segregated himself as usual in his favourite chairnear the taffrail. The fog, if anything denser than before, manufactured an early dusk of a peculiarly depressing violet shade. Nevertheless, evenings are long in that season of the year, and toLanyard it seemed that the twilight would never quite fade outcompletely, true night would never come. 

Long before it did, speed was slackened: the yacht was at last insoundings; the calls of the leadsmen were as monotonous as the whistleblasts, and almost as frequent. Lanyard could have done without both, if the ship could not. He remarked a steadily intensified exacerbationof nerves, and told himself he was growing old and no mistake. He couldremember the time when he could have endured a strain of waitingcomparable to that which he must suffer now, and have turned never ahair. 

How long ago it seemed!... 

Another sign that the Sybarite had entered what are technicallyclassified as inland waters, where special rules of the road apply, wasto be remarked in the fact that the fog signal was now roaring onceeach minute, whereas Lanyard had grown accustomed to timing theintervals between the sounding of the ship's bell, upon which all hisinterest hung, at the rate of fifteen blasts to the half hour. 

If you asked him, once a minute seemed rather too much of a good thing, even in busy lanes of sea traffic. Still, it was better perhaps thanunpremeditated disaster; one was not keen about having the Sybariteground on a sandbank, pile up on a rock, or dash her brains out againstthe bulk of another vessel--before eleven o'clock at earliest. 

In retrospect he counted those two hours between dinner and ten-thirtylonger than the fortnight which had prefaced them. So is the heart ofman ever impatient when the journey's-end draws near, though that endbe but the beginning, as well, of that longer journey which men callDeath. 

Lest he betray his impatience by keeping the tips of his cigarette toobright (one never knows when one is not watched) he smoked sparingly. But on the twenty-eighth blare of the whistle after the ringing of fourbells, he drew out his cigarette case and, as the thirtieth raved out, synchronous with two double strokes and a single on brazen metal, heplaced a cigarette between his lips. 

At the same time he saw Captain Monk, who had been on the bridge withthe officer of the watch for several hours, come aft with wearyshoulders sagging, and go below by the saloon companionway. And Lanyardsmiled knowingly and assured himself that went well--ça va bien!--hisstar held still in the ascendant. 

There remained on the bridge only Mr. Collison and the man at thewheel. 

At the fourth blast after five bells Lanyard put a match to hiscigarette. But he did not puff more than to get the tobacco wellalight. He even held his breath, and felt his body shaken by thepulsations of his anxious heart precisely as the body of the Sybaritewas shaken by the pulsations of her engines. 

With the next succeeding fog signal darkness absolute descended uponthe vessel, shrouding it from stem to stern like a vast blanket ofblackness. 

Mr. Mussey had not failed to keep his pact of treachery. 

Lanyard was out of his chair before the first call of excitedremonstrance rang out on deck--to be echoed in clamour. His cigarettestopped behind, on the taffrail, carefully placed at precisely theheight of his head, its little glowing tip the only spot of light onthe decks. No matter whether or not it were noted; no precaution is tooinsignificant to be important when life and death are at issue. 

There was nothing of that afternoon's unsureness of foot in the wayLanyard moved forward. Passing the engine-room ventilators he heard thetelegraph give a single stroke; Mr. Collison had only then recoveredfrom, his astonishment sufficiently to signal to slow down. A squeal ofthe speaking-tube whistle followed instantly; and Lanyard set foot uponthe bridge in time to hear Mr. Collison demanding to know what thesanguinary hades had happened down there. Whatever reply he got seemedto exasperate him into incoherence. He stuttered with rage, gasped, andaddressed the man at the wheel. 

"I've got a flash-lamp in my cabin. That'll show us the compass card atleast. Stand by while I run down and get it. "

The man mumbled an "Aye, aye, sir. " Retreating footsteps were justaudible. 

Neither speaker had been visible to Lanyard. By putting out a hand hecould have touched the helmsman, but his body made not even the shadowof a silhouette against the sky. The fog was rendering the night thesimple and unqualified negation of light. 

And in that time of Stygian gloom violence was done swiftly, surely, and without mercy; with pity, yes, and with regret. Lanyard was sorryfor the man at the wheel. But what was to be done could not be done inany other way. 

The surprise aided him, for the fellow offered barely a show ofopposition. His astounded faculties had no more than recognised thecall for resistance when he was powerless in Lanyard's hands. Swungbodily away from the wheel, he went over the rail to the forward decklike a bag of sugar. Immediately Lanyard turned to the binnacle. 

Sensitive fingers located the key-hole in the pedestal, the one keysaved from the ring which Mr. Swain had so unfortunately andunaccountably lost opened the door--the key, of course, that Mr. Swainhad used under Lanyard's eyes when demonstrating the functions of thebinnacle to Liane Delorme. 

Thrusting a hand into the opening, Lanyard groped for the adjustablemagnets in their racks, and one by one removed and dropped them to thegrating at the foot of the binnacle. 

He worked with hands amazingly nimble and sure, and was closing andrelocking the door when Mr. Collison tumbled up the ladder with hisflash-light. So when the second mate arrived upon the bridge, Lanyardwas waiting for him; and in consequence of a second act of deplorableviolence, Mr. Collison returned to the deck backwards and lay quitestill while Lanyard returned to the wheel. 

Collecting the abstracted magnets he carried them to the rail, castthem into the sea and threw in the key to the little door to keep themcompany. Then, back at the binnacle, he unscrewed the brass caps of thecylindrical brass tube which housed the Flinders bar, removed thatalso, replaced the caps, and consigned the bar to the sea in its turn. 

By choice he would have made a good job of it and abolished thequadrantal correctors as well; but he judged he had done mischiefenough to secure his ends, as it was. The compass ought now to be justas constant to the magnetic pole as a humming-bird to one especialrose. 

Guiding himself by a hand that lightly touched the rail, Lanyardregained his chair, carefully composing himself in the position inwhich he had been resting when the lights went out. His cigarette wasstill aglow; good Turkish has this virtue among many others, that leftto itself it will burn on to the end of its roll. 

The next instant, however, he was on his feet again. A beam of lighthad swept across the saloon skylight, coming from below, the beam of aportable electric torch. It might have been the signal for the firstpiercing scream of Liane Delorme. A pistol shot with a vicious accentcut short the scream. After a brief pause several more shots rippled inthe saloon. A man shouted angrily. Then the torch-light found andsteadied upon the mouth of the companionway. Against that glare, aburly figure was instantaneously relieved, running up to the deck. Asit gained the topmost step a final report sounded in the saloon, andthe figure checked, revolved slowly on a heel, tottered, and plungedheadforemost down the steps again. 

A moment later (incredible that the stipulated ten minutes should havepassed so swiftly!) the lights came on, and with a still-fuming stumpof cigarette between his fingers Lanyard went below. 

His bewildered gaze discovered first Liane Delorme, drawn uprigidly--she seemed for some reason to be standing tiptoe--against thestarboard partition, near her stateroom door. Her fingers were clawingher cheeks, her eyes widely dilate with horror and fright, her mouthwas agape, and from it issued, as by some mechanical impulse, shriekupon hollow shriek--cries wholly flat and meaningless, having nocharacter of any sort, mere automatic reflexes of hysteria. 

On the opposite side of the saloon, not far from the door to his ownquarters, Monk lay semi-prone with a purple face and protrudingeyeballs, far gone toward death through strangulation. Phinuit, on hisknees, was removing a silk handkerchief that had been twisted aboutthat scrawney throat. 

At the foot of the companionway steps, Popinot, no phantom but theveritable Apache himself, was writhing and heaving convulsively; andeven as Lanyard looked, the huge body of the creature lifted from thefloor in one last, heroic spasm, then collapsed, and moved no more. 

Viewing this hideous tableau, appreciating what it meant--thatPopinot, forearmed with advice from a trusted quarter, had stationedhimself outside the door to Monk's stateroom, to waylay and garotte theman whom he expected to emerge therefrom laden with the plunder ofMonk's safe--Lanyard appreciated further that he had done Mr. Mussey agreat wrong. 

For he had all the time believed that the chief engineer was laying atrap for him on behalf of his ancient shipmate, that unhappy victim ofgroundless jealousy, Captain Whitaker Monk. 

XXVII

ÇA VA BIEN!

Fearful lest, left to herself, Liane Delorme would do an injury to hiseardrums as well as to her own vocal chords, Lanyard stepped across thedead bulk of the Apache and planted himself squarely in front of thewoman. Seizing her forearms with his two hands, he used force to dragthem down to the level of her waist, and purposely made his grasp sostrong that his fingers sank deep into the soft flesh. At the sametime, staring fixedly into her vacant eyes, he smiled his most winningsmile, but with the muscles of his mouth alone, and said quietly:

"Shut up, Liane! Stop making a fool of yourself! Shut up--do you hear?"

The incongruity of his brutal grasp with his smile, added to theincongruity of an ordinary conversational tone with his peremptory andsavage phrases had the expected effect. 

Sanity began to inform the violet eyes, a shrill, empty scream was cutsharply in two, the woman stared for an instant with a look ofconfusion; then her lashes drooped, her body relaxed, she fell limplyagainst the partition and was quiet save for fits of trembling thatshook her body from head to foot; still, each successive seizure wassensibly less severe. Lanyard let go her wrists. 

"There!" he said--"that's over, Liane. The beast is done for--no moreto fear from him. Now forget him--brace up, and realise the debt youowe good Monsieur Phinuit. "

With a grin, that gentleman looked up from his efforts to reviveCaptain Monk. 

"I'm a shy, retiring violet, " he stated somewhat superfluously, "but ifthe world will kindly lend its ears, I'll inform it coyly that was_some_ shootin'. Have a look, will you, Lanyard, like a good fellow, and make sure our little friend over there isn't playing 'possum on us. Seems to me I've heard of his doing something like that before--maybeyou remember. And, mademoiselle, if you'll be kind enough to fetch methat carafe of ice water, I'll see if we can't bring the skipper to hissenses, such as they are. "

His tone was sufficiently urgent to rouse Liane out of the lassitudeinto which reaction from terror had let her slip. She passed a handover still dazed eyes, looked uncertainly about, then with perceptibleexertion of will power collected herself, stood away from the partitionand picked up the carafe. 

Lanyard adopted the sensible suggestion of Phinuit, dropping on a kneeto rest his hand above the heart of Popinot. To his completesatisfaction, if not at all to his surprise, no least flutter of lifewas to be detected in that barrel-like chest. 

A moment longer he lingered, looking the corpse over with inquisitiveeyes. No sign that he could see suggested that Popinot had sufferedhardship during his two weeks of close sequestration; he seemed to havefared well as to food and drink, and his clothing, if nothing to boastof in respect of cut or cloth, and though wrinkled and stretched withconstant wear, was tolerably clean--unstained by bilge, grease, or coalsmuts, as it must have been had the man been hiding in the hold orbunkers, those traditional refuges of your simon-pure stowaway. 

No: Monsieur Popinot had been well taken care of--and Lanyard couldname an officer of prestige ponderable enough to secure his quarters, wherein presumably Popinot had lain perdu, against search when theyacht has been "turned inside out, " according to its commander. 

So this was the source of Mr. Mussey's exact understanding of thebusiness!

As to the question of how the Apache had been smuggled aboard, andwhen, Lanyard never learned the truth. Circumstances were to preventhis interrogating Mr. Mussey, and he could only assume that--sincePopinot could hardly have been in the motor car wrecked on the roadfrom Paris--he must have left that pursuit to trusted confrères, and, anticipating their possible failure, have hurried on to Cherbourg byanother route to make precautionary arrangements with Mr. Mussey. 

Ah, well! no fault could be found with the fellow for lack ofdetermination and tenacity. On the point of rising, Lanyardreconsidered and, bending over the body, ran clever hands rapidlythrough the clothing, turning out every pocket and heaping themiscellany of rubbish thus brought to light upon the floor--with asingle exception; Popinot had possessed a pistol, an excellentautomatic. Why he hadn't used it to protect himself, Heaven only knew. Presumably he had been too thoroughly engrossed in the exercise of hisfavourite sport to think of the weapon up to the time when Phinuit hadopened fire on him; and then, thrown into panic, he had been able toentertain one thought only, that of escape. 

Lanyard entertained for a moment a vivid imaginary picture of the scenein the saloon when Phinuit had surprised the Apache in the act ofstrangling Monk; a picture that Phinuit subsequently confirmedsubstantially in every detail.... 

One saw the garroter creeping through the blackness of the saloon fromhis hiding place, forward in the cabin of the chief engineer;stationing himself at the door to Monk's quarters, with his chosenweapon, that deadly handkerchief of his trade, ready for the throat ofthe Lone Wolf when he should emerge, in accordance with his agreementwith Mr. Mussey, the spoils of the captain's safe in his hands. Thenone saw Monk, alarmed by the sudden failure of the lights, hurrying outto return to the bridge, the pantherish spring upon the victim's back, the swift, dextrous noosing of the handkerchief about his windpipe, themerciless tightening of it--all abruptly illuminated by the white glareof Phinuit's electric torch. And then the truncated crimson of thefirst pistol flash, the frantic effort to escape, the hunting of thatgross shape of flesh by the beam of light and the bullets as Popinotdoubled and twisted round the saloon like a rat in a pit, the last madplunge for the companionway, the flight up its steps that had by thenarrowest margin failed to save him... 

Phinuit and Liane Delorme were too busy to heed; quietly Lanyardslipped the pistol into a pocket and got to his feet. Then Swain camecharging down the steps to find out what all the row was about, and toreport--which he did as soon as Monk was sufficiently recovered tounderstand--those outrageous and darkly mysterious assaults upon thehelmsman and Mr. Collison. Both men, he stated, were unfit for furtherduty that night, though neither (Lanyard was happy to learn) hadsuffered any permanent injury. 

But what--in the name of insanity!--could have inspired such ameaningless atrocity? What could its perpetrator have hoped to gain?What--!

Monk, stretched out upon a leather couch in his sitting-room, levelledeyebrows of suspicion at Lanyard, who countered with a guilelessness soperfect as to make it appear that he did not even comprehend theinsinuation. 

"If I may offer a suggestion... " he said with becoming diffidence. 

"Well?" Monk demanded with a snap, despite his languors. "What's onyour mind?"

"It would seem to a benevolent neutral like myself... You understand Iwas in my deck-chair by the taffrail throughout all this affair. Themen at the sounding machine nearby can tell you I did not move beforethe shots in the saloon----"

"How the devil could they know that in the dark?"

"I was smoking, monsieur; they must, if they looked, have seen the fireof my cigarette... As I was about to suggest: It would seem to me thatthere must be some obscure but not necessarily unfathomable connectionbetween the three events; else how should they synchronise soperfectly? How did Popinot know the lights would go out a few minutesafter five bells? He was prepared, he lost no time. How did the othermiscreant, whoever he was, know it would be safe to commit thatwickedness, whatever its purpose, upon the bridge at precisely thattime? For plainly he, too, was prepared to act upon the instant--thatis, if I understand Mr. Swain's report correctly. And how did it happenthat the dynamo went out of commission just then? What _did_ happen inthe engine-room? Does anybody know? I think, messieurs, if you find outthe answer to that last question you will have gone some way towardsolving your mystery. "

Captain Monk addressed Mr. Swain curtly: "It's the chief's watch in theengine-room?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I'll have a talk with him presently, and go further into this affair. In the meantime, how does she stand?"

"Under steerage way only"--Mr. Swain consulted the tell-tale compassaffixed to the deck-beam overhead--"sou'west-by-south, sir. "

"Must've swung off during that cursed dark spell. When I came below, two or three minutes before, we were heading into The Race, west-nor'west, having left Cerberus Shoal whistling buoy to port aboutfifteen minutes earlier. Get her back on that course, if you please, Mr. Swain, and proceed at half-speed. Don't neglect your soundings. I'll join you as soon as I feel fit. "

"Very good, sir. "

Mr. Swain withdrew. Captain Monk let his head sink back on its pillowsand shut his eyes. Liane Delorme solicitously stroked his forehead. Thecaptain opened his eyes long enough to register adoration with the ableassistance of the eyebrows. Liane smiled down upon him divinely. Lanyard thought that affection was a beautiful thing, but preserved aduly concerned countenance. 

"I could do with a whiskey and soda, " Monk confessed feebly. "No, notyou, please"--as Liane offered to withdraw the compassionatehand--"Phin isn't busy. "

Mr. Phinuit hastened to make himself useful. 

A muted echo of the engine-room telegraph was audible then, and theengines took up again their tireless chant. Lanyard cocked a sly eye atthe tell-tale; it designated their course as west-by-north a quarterwest. He was cheered to think that his labours at the binnacle werebearing fruit, and grateful that Monk was so busy being an invalidwaited upon and pitied by a beautiful volunteer nurse that he waswilling to trust the navigation to Mr. Swain and had no time to observeby the tell-tale whether or not the course he had prescribed was beingfollowed. 

Liane's exquisite and tender arm supported the suffering head ofCaptain Monk as he absorbed the nourishment served by Phinuit. Theeyebrows made an affectingly faint try at a gesture of gratitude. Theeyes closed, once more Monk's head reposed upon the pillow. He sighedlike a weary child. 

From the saloon came sounds of shuffling feet and mumbling voices asseamen carried away all that was mortal of Monsieur Popinot. 

Between roars of the fog signal, six bells vibrated on the air. Phinuitcocked his head intelligently to one side, ransacked his memory, andlooked brightly to Lanyard. 

"Ar-har!" he murmured--"the fatal hour!"

Lanyard gave him a gracious smile. 

In attenuated accents Captain Monk, without opening his eyes orstirring under the caresses of that lovely hand, enquired:

"What say, Phin?"

"I was just reminding Monsieur Lanyard the fatal hour has struck, oldthing. "

The eyebrows knitted in painful effort to understand. When one hasnarrowly escaped death by strangulation one may be pardoned some slightmental haziness. Besides, it makes to retain sympathy, not to be tooconfoundedly clear-headed. 

"Fatal hour?"

"The dear man promised to turn in his answer to our unselfish littleproposition at six bells to-night and not later. "

"Really?" The voice was interested, and so were the eyebrows; but Monkwas at pains not to move. "And has he?"

"Not yet, old egg. "

Monk opened expectant eyes and fixed them upon Lanyard's face, theeyebrows acquiring a slant of amiable enquiry. 

"There is much to be said, " Lanyard temporised. "That is, if you feelstrong enough... "

"Oh, quite, " Monk assured him in tones barely audible. 

"Must it be a blow to the poor dear?" Phinuit enquired. 

"I hope not, very truly. "

(The tell-tale now betrayed a course northwest-by-north. Had thebinnacle compass, then, gone out of its head altogether, on findingitself bereft of its accustomed court of counter-attractions?)

"Well, here we all are, sitting forward on the edges of our chairs, holding onto the seats with both hands, ears pricked forward, eyesshining... The suspense, " Phinuit avowed, "is something fierce!"

"I am sorry. "

"What d'you mean, you're sorry? You're not going to back out?"

"Having never walked into the arrangement you propose, it would bedifficult to back out--would it not?"

Monk forgot that he was suffering acutely, forgot even the beautifuland precious hand that was soothing his fevered brow, and rudelyshaking it off, sat up suddenly. The eyebrows were distinctly minatoryabove eyes that loosed ugly gleams. 

"You refuse?"

Lanyard slowly inclined his head: "I regret I must beg to be excused. "

"You damned fool!"

"Pardon, monsieur?"

A look of fury convulsed Liane's face. Phinuit, too, was glaring, nolonger a humourist. Monk's mouth was working, and his eyebrows had gotout of hand altogether. 

"I said you were a damned fool--"

"But is not that a matter of personal viewpoint? At least, the questionwould seem to be open to debate. "

"If you think arguments will satisfy us--!"

"But, my dear Captain Monk, I am really not at all concerned to satisfyyou. However, if you wish to know my reasons for declining the honouryou would thrust upon me, they are at your service. "

"I'll be glad to hear them, " said Monk grimly. 

"One, I fancy, will do as well as a dozen. It is, then, my consideredjudgment that, were I in the least inclined to resume the evil ways ofmy past--as I am not--I would be, as you so vividly put it, a damnedfool to associate myself with people of a low grade of intelligence, wanting even enough to hold fast that which they have thieved!"

"By God!" Monk brought down a thumping fist. "What are you getting at?"

"Your hopeless inefficiency, monsieur.... Forgive my bluntness. "

"Come through, " Phinuit advised in a dangerous voice. "Just what do youmean?"

"I mean that you, knowing I have but one object in submitting toassociation with you in any way, to wit, the recovery of the jewels ofMadame de Montalais and their restoration to that lady, have not hadsufficient wit to prevent my securing those jewels under your verynoses. "

"You mean to say you've stolen them?"

Lanyard nodded. "They are at present in my possession--if thatconfesses an act of theft. "

Monk laughed discordantly. "Then I say you're a liar, Monsieur the LoneWolf, as well as a fool!" His fist smote the desk again. "The Montalaisjewels are here. "

Lanyard shrugged. 

"When did you lift them?" Phinuit demanded with sarcasm. "Tell usthat!"

Lanyard smiled an exasperating smile, lounged low in his chair, andlooked at the deck beams--taking occasion to note that the tell-talehad swung to true northwest. Ça va bien!

"Why, you insane impostor!" Monk stormed--"I had that box in my ownhands no later than this afternoon. "

Without moving, Lanyard directed his voice toward the ceiling. 

"Did you by any chance open it and see what was inside?"

There was no answer, and though he was careful not to betray anyinterest by watching them, he was well aware that looks of alarm andsuspicion were being exchanged by those three. So much for enjoying theprestige of a stupendously successful criminal past! A single thoughtwas in the mind of Liane Delorme, Captain Monk, and Mr. Phinuit: Withthe Lone Wolf, nothing was impossible. 

Liane Delorme said abruptly, in a choking voice: "Open the safe, please, Captain Monk. "

"I'll do nothing of the sort. "

"Go on, " Phinuit advised--"make sure. If it's true, we get them back, don't we? If it isn't, we show him up for a pitiful bluff. "

"It's a dodge, " Monk declared, "to get the jewels where he can layhands on them. The safe stays shut. "

"Open it, I beg you!" Liane implored in tremulous accents. 

"No--"

"Why not?" Phinuit argued. "What can he do? I've got him covered. "

"And I, " Lanyard interjected softly, "as you all know, am unarmed. "

"Please!" Liane insisted. 

There was a pause which ended in a sullen grunt from Monk. Lanyardsmiled cheerfully and sat up in his chair, watching the captain whilehe unlocked the door in the pedestal and with shaking fingersmanipulated the combination dial. Liane Delorme left her chair to standnearby, in undissembled anxiety. Only Phinuit remained as he had been, lounging back and watching Lanyard narrowly, his automatic pistoldangling between his knees. 

Lanyard offered him a pleasant smile. Phinuit scowled forbiddingly inresponse. 

Monk swung open the safe-door, seized the metal despatch-box by thehandle, and set it upon the desk with a bang. Then, extracting hispocket key-ring, he selected the proper key and made several attemptsto insert it in the slot of the lock. But his confidence was so shaken, his morale so impaired by Lanyard's sublime effrontery added to hisrecent shocking experience, that the gaunt hands trembled beyond hiscontrol, and it was several seconds before he succeeded. 

Lanyard gave no sign, but his heart sank. He had exhausted his lastresource to gain time, he was now at his wits' ends. Only his starcould save him now.... 

Monk turned the keys, but all at once forgot his purpose, and withhands stayed upon the lid of the box paused and cocked his earsattentively to rumours of excitement and confusion on the deck. Theinstinct of the seafaring man uppermost, Monk stiffened, grew rigidfrom head to foot. 

One heard hurried feet, outcries, a sudden jangle of the engine-roomtelegraph... 

"Monsieur! monsieur!" Liane implored. "Open that box!"

The words were on her lips when she was thrown off her feet by afrightful shock which stopped the Sybarite dead in full career, beforethe screw, reversed in obedience to the telegraph, could grip the waterand lessen her momentum. The woman cannoned against Monk, shoulderinghim bodily aside. Instinctively snatching at the box, Monk succeededonly in dragging it to the edge of the desk before a second shock, accompanied by a grinding crash of steel and timbers, seemed to makethe yacht leap like a live thing stricken mortally. She heeled heavilyto starboard, the despatch-box went to the floor with a thump lost inthe greater din, Liane Delorme was propelled headlong into a corner, Monk thrown to his knees, Phinuit lifted out of his chair and flungsprawling into the arms of Lanyard, who, pinned down by the other'sweight in his own chair, felt this last slide backwards to starboardand bring up against a partition with a bang that drove the breath outof him in one enormous gust. 

He retained, however, sufficient presence of mind neatly to disarmPhinuit before that one guessed what he was about. 

After that second blow, the Sybarite remained at a standstill, but thecontinued beating of her engines caused her to quiver painfully fromtrucks to keelson, as if in agonies of death such as those which hadmarked the end of Popinot. Of a sudden the engines ceased, and therewas no more movement of any sort, only an appalling repose with silencemore dreadful still. 

Lanyard had no means to measure how long that dumb suspense lastedwhich was imposed by the stunned faculties of all on board. It seemedinterminable. Eventually he saw Monk pick himself up and, makingstrange moaning noises, like a wounded animal, throw himself upon thedoor, jerk it open, and dash out. 

As if he had only needed that vision of action to animate him, Lanyardthrew Phinuit off, so that he staggered across the slanting floortoward the door. When he brought himself up by catching hold of itsframe, he was under the threat of his own pistol in Lanyard's hands. Helingered for a moment, showing Lanyard a distraught and vacant face, then apparently realising his danger faded away into the saloon. 

With a roughness dictated by the desperate extremity, Lanyard strodeover to Liane Delorme, where she still crouched in her corner, staringwitlessly, caught her by one arm, fairly jerked her to her feet, andthrust her stumbling out into the saloon. Closing the door behind her, he shot its bolts. 

He went to work swiftly then, in a fever of haste. In his ears theclamour of the shipwrecked men upon the decks was only a distantdroning, hardly recognised for what it was by him who had notone thought other than to make all possible advantage of every preciousinstant; and so with the roar of steam from the escape-valves. 

Stripping off coat and waistcoat, he took from the pocket of the latterthe wallet that held his papers, then ripped open his shirt andunbuckled the money belt round his waist. Its pockets were ample andfitted with trustworthy fastenings; and all but one, that held a fewEnglish sovereigns, were empty. The jewels of Madame de Montalais wentinto them as rapidly as his fingers could move. 

Thus engaged, he heard a pistol explode in the saloon, and saw thepolished writing-bed of the captain's desk scored by a bullet. His gazeshifting to the door, he discovered a neat round hole in one of itsrosewood panels. At the same time, to the tune of another report, asecond hole appeared, and the bullet, winging above the desk, burieditself in the after-bulkhead, between the dead-lights. A stream ofbullets followed, one after another boring the stout panels as if theirconsistency had been that of cheese. 

Lanyard stepped out of their path and hugged the partition while hefinished stuffing the jewels into the belt and, placing the thin walletbeneath it, strapped it tightly round him once more.... 

That would be Phinuit out there, no doubt, disdaining to waste timebreaking in the door, or perhaps fearing his reception once it wasdown. An innocent and harmless amusement, if he enjoyed it, that itseemed a pity to interrupt. At the same time it grew annoying. The doorwas taking on the look of a sieve, and the neighbourhood of thedeadlights, Lanyard's sole avenue of escape, was being well peppered. Something would have to be done about it... 

Lanyard completed his preparations by kicking off his shoes and takingup another notch in the belt that supported his trousers. If the swimbefore him proved a long one, he could get rid of his garments in thewater readily enough; if on the other hand the shore proved to be closeat hand, it would be more convenable to land at least half clothed. 

Then--the fusillade continuing without intermission save when the manoutside stopped long enough to extract an empty clip and replace itwith one loaded--Lanyard edged along the partition to the door, calculated the stand of the lunatic in the saloon from the angle atwhich the bullets were coming through, and emptied the pistol he hadtaken from Phinuit at the panels as fast as he could pull trigger. 

There was no more firing... 

He tossed aside the empty weapon, made sure of Popinot's on his hip, approached one of the deadlights, placed a chair, climbed upon it, andwith infinite pains managed to wriggle and squirm head and shouldersthrough the opening. It was very fortunate for him indeed that theSybarite happened to have been built for pleasure yachting, withdeadlights uncommonly large for the sake of air and light, else hewould have been obliged to run the risk of opening the door to thesaloon and fighting his way out and up to the deck. 

As it was, the business was difficult enough. He had to work one of hisarms out after his shoulders and then, twisting round, strain and clawat the smooth overhang of the stern until able to catch the outer lipof the scuppers above. 

After that he had to lift and drag the rest of him out through thedeadlight and, hanging by fingertips, work his way round, inch by inch, until it seemed possible to drop into the sea and escape hitting thescrew. 

In point of fact, he barely missed splitting himself in two on thething, and on coming to the surface clung to it while taking suchobservations as one might in that befogged blackness. 

Impossible to guess which way to strike out: the fog hung low upon thewater, greying its smooth, gently heaving black surface, he could seenothing on either beam. 

At length, however, he heard through the hissing uproar of escapingsteam a mournful bell somewhere off to port, which he at first took fora buoy, then perceived to be tolling with a regularity inconsistentwith the eccentric action of waves. Timed by pulsebeats, it struck onceevery fifteen seconds or thereabouts: undoubtedly the fog signal of someminor light-house. 

In confirmation of this conclusion, Lanyard heard, from the deck above, the resonant accents of Captain Monk, clearly articulate in that riotof voices, apparently storming at hapless Mr. Swain. 

"Don't you hear that bell, you ass? Doesn't that tell you what you'vedone? You've piled us on the rocks off the eastern end of Plum Island. And God in Heaven only knows how you managed to get so far off thecourse!"

Breathing to the night air thanks which would have driven Captain Monkmad could he have heard them, Lanyard let go the bronze blade andstruck out for the melancholy bell. 

Ten minutes later the fingers of one hand--he was swimming on hisside--at the bottom of its stroke touched pebbles. 

He lowered his feet and waded through extensive shallows to a wide andsandy beach. 

XXVIII

FINALE

The window of the living-room in his suite at the Walpole, set high incliff-like walls, commanded a southward vista of Fifth Avenue whoseenchantment, clothed in ever changing guises of light and shade, was sopotent that Lanyard, on the first day of his tenancy, thought it couldnever tire. Yet by noon of the third he was viewing it with the eyes ofsoul-destroying ennui, though the disfavour it had so quickly won inhis sight was, he knew, due less to cloying familiarity than to theuncertainty and discontent that were eating out his heart. 

Three days before, immediately on arriving in New York and installinghimself in this hotel, to whose management he was well known from otherdays, he had cabled Eve de Montalais and Wertheimer. 

The response to the latter--a cheerful request that credit be arrangedfor him by cable--was as prompt and satisfactory as he had expected itto be. 

But from Madame de Montalais he heard nothing. 

"Mission successful, " he had wired--"returning France by La Savoie infive days having arranged safe transportation your property--pleaseadvise if you can meet me in Paris to receive same or your commandsotherwise. "

And to this, silence only!--silence to him to whom words of herdictation, however few and terse and filtered through no matter howmany indifferent mediums of intelligence, would have been preciousbeyond expression. 

So it was that, as hour followed hour and the tale of them lengthenedinto days, he fell into a temper of morbid brooding that was littlelike the man, and instead of faring abroad and seeking what amusementhe might find in the most carefree city of the post-War world, shuthimself up in his rooms and moped, indifferent to all things but theknocks at his door, the stridulation of the telephone bell that mightannounce the arrival of the desired message. 

And so it was that, when the telephone did ring--at last!--towards noonof that third day, he fairly stumbled over himself in his haste toreach the instrument. But the animation with which he answered theprofessional voice at the other end of the wire faded very quickly, thelook of weariness returned, his accents voiced an indifference fairlydesolating. 

"Yes?... Oh, yes... Very well... Yes, at once. "

He returned to his view from the window, and was hating it with all hisheart when a stout knuckling on his door announced his callers. 

They filed into the room with a cheerfulness of mien in strikingcontrast to the weary courtesy with which Lanyard received them: LianeDelorme first, then Monk, then Phinuit, rather bleached of colour andwearing one arm in a sling; all very smart in clothes conspicuously newand as costly as the Avenue afforded, striking figures of contentmentin prosperity. 

"It is a pleasure indeed, " Lanyard gravely acknowledged their severalsalutations--"not, I must confess, altogether unexpected, but apleasure none the less. "

"So you didn't think we'd be long spotting you in the good little oldtown?" Phinuit enquired. "Had a notion you thought the best way to loseus would be to put up at this well-known home of the highest prices. "

"No, " Lanyard replied. "I never thought to be rid of you without onemore meeting--"

"Then there's good in the old bean yet, " Phinuit interrupted in wastedirony. 

"One cherishes that hope, monsieur.... But the trail I left for you tofollow! I would be an ass indeed if I thought you would fail to findit. When one borrows a rowboat at Plum Island Light without askingpermission--government property, too--and leaves it moored to a dockon the Greenport waterfront; when one arrives in Greenport clothed inshirt and trousers only, and has to bribe its pardonably suspiciousinhabitants with handfuls of British gold--which they are the moreloath to accept in view of its present depreciation--in order to securea slopchest coat and shoes and transportation by railway to New York;when a taxicab chauffeur refuses a sovereign for his fare from thePennsylvania Station to this hotel, and one is constrained to borrowfrom the management--why, I should say the trail was fairly broad andwell blazed, mes amis. "

"Be that as it may, " said Phinuit--"here in a manner of speaking we allare, at least, the happy family reunited and ready to talk business. "

"And no hard feelings, Monsieur Phinuit?"

"There will be none"--Monk's eyebrows were at once sardonic andself-satisfied; which speaks volumes for their versatility--"at least, none on our side--when we are finished. "

"That makes me more happy still. And you, Liane?"

The woman gave a negligent movement of pretty shoulders. 

"One begins to see how very right you are, Michael, " she saidwearily--"and always were, for that matter. If one wishes to do wrong, one should do it all alone... And escape being bored to death by the... Oh! the unpardonable stupidity of associates. 

"But no, messieurs!" she insisted with temper as Monk and Phinuitsimultaneously flew signals of resentment. "I mean what I say. I wish Ihad never seen any of you, I am sick of you all! What did I tell youwhen you insisted on coming here to see Monsieur Lanyard? That youwould gain nothing and perhaps lose much. But you would not listen tome, you found it impossible to believe there could be in all the worlda man who keeps his word, not only to others but to himself. You are solost in admiration of your own cleverness in backing that poor littleship off the rocks and letting her fill and sink, so that there couldbe no evidence of wrong-doing against you, that you must try to proveyour wits once more where they have always failed"--she illustratedwith a dramatic gesture--"against his! You say to yourselves: Since weare wrong, he must be wrong; and since that is now clearly proved, thathe is as wrong in every way as we, then it follows naturally that hewill heed our threats and surrender to us those jewels... Those jewels!"she declared bitterly, "which we would have been fortunate never tohave heard of!"

She threw herself back in her chair and showed them a scornfulshoulder, compressing indignant lips to a straight, unlovely line, andbeating out the devil's tattoo with her slipper. 

Lanyard watched her with a puzzled smile. How much of this was acting?How much, if anything, an expression of true feeling? Was she actuallypersuaded it was waste of time to contend against him? Or was sheshrewdly playing upon his not unfriendly disposition toward her in thehope that it would spare her in the hour of the grand débâcle?

He could be sure of one thing only: since she was a woman, he wouldnever know... 

Monk had been making ominous motions with the eyebrows, but Phinuitmade haste to be beforehand with him. 

"You said one thing, mademoiselle, one thing anyway that meantsomething: that Monsieur Lanyard would give up those jewels to us. That's all arranged. "

Lanyard turned to him with genuine amusement. "Indeed, monsieur?"

"Indeed and everything! We don't want to pull any rough stuff on you, Lanyard, and we won't unless you force us to--"

"Rough stuff, monsieur? You mean, physical force?"

"Not exactly. But I think you'll recall my telling you I stand in wellwith the Police Department in the old home town. Maybe you thought thatwas swank. Likely you did. But it wasn't. I've got a couple of friendsof mine from Headquarters waiting downstairs this very minute, readyand willing to cop out the honour of putting the Lone Wolf under arrestfor stealing the Montalais jewels. "

"But is it possible, " Lanyard protested, "you still do not understandme? Is it possible you still believe I am a thief at heart andinterested in those jewels only to turn them to my own profit?"

He stared unbelievingly at the frosty eyes of Monk beneath theirfatuously stubborn brows, at the hard, unyielding eyes of Phinuit. 

"You said it, " this last replied with brevity. 

"It was a good bluff while it lasted, Monsieur Lanyard, " Monk added;"but it couldn't last forever. You can't get away with it. Why not givein gracefully, admit you're licked for once, be a good fellow?"

"My God!" Lanyard pronounced in comic despair--"it passesunderstanding! It is true, then--and true especially of such as you areto-day, as I was in my yesterday--that 'Whom Fortune wishes to destroyshe first makes mad'! For, I give you my word of honour, you seem to mequite mad, messieurs, too mad to be allowed at large. And in proof ofmy sincerity, I propose that you shall not longer remain at large. "

"What's that?" Monk demanded, startled. 

"Why, you have not hesitated to threaten me with the police. So now I, in my turn, have the honour to inform you that, anticipating this call, I have had relays of detectives waiting in this hotel day and night, with instructions to guard the doors as soon as you were shown up to myrooms. Be advised, Mr. Phinuit, and forget your pistol. Even to show itin this city would make matters infinitely worse for you than theyare. "

"He's lying, " Monk insisted, putting a restraining hand on Phinuit'sarm as that one started from his chair in rage and panic. "He wouldn'tdare. "

"Would I not? Then, since you believe nothing till it is proved to you, messieurs, permit me... "

Lanyard crossed rapidly to the hall door and flung it open--and fellback a pace with a cry of amazement. 

At the threshold stood, not the detective whom he had expected to see, but a woman with a cable message form in one hand, the other lifted toknock. 

"Madame!" Lanyard gasped--"Madame de Montalais!"

The cable-form fluttered to the floor as she entered with a gladnessin her face that was carried out by the impulsive gesture with whichshe gave him her hands. 

"My dear friend!" she cried happily--"I am so glad! And to think wehave been guests of the same hotel for three livelong days and neverknew it. I arrived by La Touraine Saturday, but your message, telegraphed back from Combe-Redonde, reached me not five minutes ago. Itelephoned the desk, they told me the number of your room and--here Iam!"

"But I cannot believe my senses!"

With unanimous consent Jules, Phinuit and Monk uprose and made for thedoor, only to find it blocked by the substantial form of a plaincitizen with his hands in his pockets and understanding in his eyes. 

"Steady, gents!" he counselled coolly. "Orders are to let everybody inand nobody out without Mr. Lanyard says so. "

For a moment they hung in doubt and consternation, consulting oneanother with dismayed stares. Then Phinuit made as if to shoulder theman aside. But for the sake of the moral effect the latter casuallyexhibited a pistol; and the moral effect of that was stupendous. Mr. Phinuit disconsolately slouched back into the room. 

Grasping the situation, Eve de Montalais turned to the quartet eyesthat glimmered in a face otherwise quite composed. 

"But how surprising!" she declared. "Madame la Comtesse deLorgnes--Monsieur Monk--Mr. Phinuit--how delightful to see you allagain!"

The civility met with inadequate appreciation. 

"Nothing could be more opportune, " Lanyard declared; "for it is to thislady, Madame de Montalais, and to these gentlemen that you owe therecovery of your jewels. "

"Truly?"

"As I am telling you. But for them, their charming hospitality ininviting me to cruise aboard their yacht, but for the assistance theylent me, though sometimes unconsciously, I admit--I should never havebeen able to say to you to-day: Your jewels are in a safe place, madame, immediately at your disposal. "

"But how can I thank them?"

"Well, " said Lanyard, "if you ask me, I think we have detained themlong enough, I believe they would be most grateful to be permitted toleave and keep their numerous and pressing appointments elsewhere. "

"I am entirely of your mind, monsieur. "

Lanyard nodded to the man in the doorway--"All right, Mr. Murray"--andhe stood indifferently aside. 

In silence the three men moved to the door and out, Phinuit with abrazen swagger, Jules without emotion visible, Monk with eyebrowsadroop and flapping. 

But Lanyard interposed when Liane Delorme would have followed. 

"A moment, Liane, if you will be so good. "

She paused, regarding him with a sombre and inscrutable face while heproduced from his coat-pocket a fat envelope without endorsement. 

"This is yours. "

The woman murmured blankly: "Mine?"

He said in a guarded voice: "Papers I found in the safe in yourlibrary, that night. I had to take them for use in event of need. Now... They are useless. But you are unwise to keep such papers, Liane. Good-bye. "

The envelope was unsealed. Lifting the flap, the woman half withdrewthe enclosure, recognised it at a glance, and crushed it in aconvulsive grasp, while the blood, ebbing swiftly from her face, threwher rouge into livid relief. For an instant she seemed about to speak, then bowed her head in dumb acknowledgment, and left the room. 

Lanyard nodded to Mr. Murray, who amiably closed the door, keepinghimself on the outside of it. 

Eve de Montalais was eyeing him with an indulgent and amused glance. Ashe turned to her, she shook her head slowly in mockery of reproof. 

"That woman loves you, monsieur, " she stated quietly. 

He succeeded admirably in looking as if the thought was strange to him. 

"One is sure madame must be mistaken. "

"Ah, but I am not!" said Eve de Montalais. "Who should know better thesigns that tell of woman's love for you, my dear?"

THE END