[Illustration: With her eye for detail Marie observed that the youngofficer, instead of imparting information, received it. ]

SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE

By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS

1915

TO HOPE DAVIS

CONTENTS

"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"

PLAYING DEAD

THE CARD-SHARP

BILLY AND THE BIG STICK

THE BOY SCOUT

THE FRAME-UP

"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"

Marie Gessler, known as Marie Chaumontel, Jeanne d'Avrechy, the Countessd'Aurillac, was German. Her father, who served through theFranco-Prussian War, was a German spy. It was from her mother shelearned to speak French sufficiently well to satisfy even an Academicianand, among Parisians, to pass as one. Both her parents were dead. Beforethey departed, knowing they could leave their daughter nothing savetheir debts, they had had her trained as a nurse. But when they weregone, Marie in the Berlin hospitals played politics, intrigued, indiscriminately misused the appealing, violet eyes. There was ascandal; several scandals. At the age of twenty-five she was dismissedfrom the Municipal Hospital, and as now--save for the violet eyes--shewas without resources, as a _compagnon de voyage_ with a German doctorshe travelled to Monte Carlo. There she abandoned the doctor for HenriRavignac, a captain in the French Aviation Corps, who, when his leaveended, escorted her to Paris. 

The duties of Captain Ravignac kept him in barracks near the aviationfield, but Marie he established in his apartments on the BoulevardHaussmann. One day he brought from the barracks a roll of blue-prints, and as he was locking them in a drawer, said: "The Germans would paythrough the nose for those!" The remark was indiscreet, but then Mariehad told him she was French, and any one would have believed her. 

The next morning the same spirit of adventure that had exiled her fromthe Berlin hospitals carried her with the blue-prints to the Germanembassy. There, greatly shocked, they first wrote down her name andaddress, and then, indignant at her proposition, ordered her out. Butthe day following a strange young German who was not at all indignant, but, on the contrary, quite charming, called upon Marie. For theblue-prints he offered her a very large sum, and that same hour withthem and Marie departed for Berlin. Marie did not need the money. Nordid the argument that she was serving her country greatly impress her. It was rather that she loved intrigue. And so she became a spy. 

Henri Ravignac, the man she had robbed of the blue-prints, was tried bycourt martial. The charge was treason, but Charles Ravignac, hisyounger brother, promised to prove that the guilty one was the girl, andto that end obtained leave of absence and spent much time and money. Atthe trial he was able to show the record of Marie in Berlin and MonteCarlo; that she was the daughter of a German secret agent; that on theafternoon the prints disappeared Marie, with an agent of the Germanembassy, had left Paris for Berlin. In consequence of this the charge ofselling military secrets was altered to one of "gross neglect, " andHenri Ravignac was sentenced to two years in the military prison atTours. But he was of an ancient and noble family, and when they came totake him from his cell in the Cherche-Midi, he was dead. Charles, hisbrother, disappeared. It was said he also had killed himself; that hehad been appointed a military attaché in South America; that to revengehis brother he had entered the secret service; but whatever became ofhim no one knew. All that was certain was that, thanks to the act ofMarie Gessler, on the rolls of the French army the ancient and noblename of Ravignac no longer appeared. 

In her chosen profession Marie Gessler found nothing discreditable. Ofherself her opinion was not high, and her opinion of men was lower. Forher smiles she had watched several sacrifice honor, duty, loyalty; andshe held them and their kind in contempt. To lie, to cajole, to rob menof secrets they thought important, and of secrets the importance ofwhich they did not even guess, was to her merely an intricate andexciting game. 

She played it very well. So well that in the service her advance wasrapid. On important missions she was sent to Russia, through theBalkans; even to the United States. There, with credentials as an armynurse, she inspected our military hospitals and unobtrusively asked manyinnocent questions. 

When she begged to be allowed to work in her beloved Paris, "they" toldher when war came "they" intended to plant her inside that city, andthat, until then, the less Paris knew of her the better. 

But just before the great war broke, to report on which way Italy mightjump, she was sent to Rome, and it was not until September she wasrecalled. The telegram informed her that her Aunt Elizabeth was ill, andthat at once she must return to Berlin. This, she learned from the codebook wrapped under the cover of her thermos bottle, meant that she wasto report to the general commanding the German forces at Soissons. 

From Italy she passed through Switzerland, and, after leaving Basle, onmilitary trains was rushed north to Luxemburg, and then west to Laon. She was accompanied by her companion, Bertha, an elderly andrespectable, even distinguished-looking female. In the secret serviceher number was 528. Their passes from the war office described them asnurses of the German Red Cross. Only the Intelligence Department knewtheir real mission. With her also, as her chauffeur, was a young Italiansoldier of fortune, Paul Anfossi. He had served in the Belgian Congo, inthe French Foreign Legion in Algiers, and spoke all the Europeanlanguages. In Rome, where as a wireless operator he was serving acommercial company, in selling Marie copies of messages he hadmemorized, Marie had found him useful, and when war came she obtainedfor him, from the Wilhelmstrasse, the number 292. From Laon, in one ofthe automobiles of the General Staff, the three spies were driven firstto Soissons, and then along the road to Meaux and Paris, to the villageof Neufchelles. They arrived at midnight, and in a château of one of thechampagne princes, found the colonel commanding the IntelligenceBureau. He accepted their credentials, destroyed them, and replaced themwith a _laisser-passer_ signed by the mayor of Laon. That dignitary, thecolonel explained, to citizens of Laon fleeing to Paris and the coasthad issued many passes. But as now between Laon and Paris there werethree German armies, the refugees had been turned back and their passesconfiscated. 

"From among them, " said the officer, "we have selected one for you. Itis issued to the wife of Count d'Aurillac, a captain of reserves, andher aunt, Madame Benet. It asks for those ladies and their chauffeur, Briand, a safe-conduct through the French military lines. If it gets youinto Paris you will destroy it and assume another name. The Countd'Aurillac is now with his regiment in that city. If he learned of thepresence there of his wife, he would seek her, and that would not begood for you. So, if you reach Paris, you will become a Belgian refugee. You are highborn and rich. Your château has been destroyed. But you havemoney. You will give liberally to the Red Cross. You will volunteer tonurse in the hospitals. With your sad story of ill treatment by us, withyour high birth, and your knowledge of nursing, which you acquired, ofcourse, only as an amateur, you should not find it difficult to jointhe Ladies of France, or the American Ambulance. What you learn from thewounded English and French officers and the French doctors you will sendus through the usual channels. "

"When do I start?" asked the woman. 

"For a few days, " explained the officer, "you remain in this château. You will keep us informed of what is going forward after we withdraw. "

"Withdraw?" It was more of an exclamation than a question. Marie was toowell trained to ask questions. 

"We are taking up a new position, " said the officer, "on the Aisne. "

The woman, incredulous, stared. 

"And we do not enter Paris?"

"_You_ do, " returned the officer. "That is all that concerns you. Wewill join you later--in the spring. Meanwhile, for the winter weintrench ourselves along the Aisne. In a chimney of this château we haveset up a wireless outfit. We are leaving it intact. The chauffeurBriand--who, you must explain to the French, you brought with you fromLaon, and who has been long in your service--will transmit whatever youdiscover. We wish especially to know of any movement toward our left. Ifthey attack in front from Soissons, we are prepared; but of any attemptto cross the Oise and take us in flank, you must warn us. "

The officer rose and hung upon himself his field-glasses, map-cases, andside-arms. 

"We leave you now, " he said. "When the French arrive you will tell themyour reason for halting at this château was that the owner, MonsieurIverney, and his family are friends of your husband. You found us here, and we detained you. And so long as you can use the wireless, makeexcuses to remain. If they offer to send you on to Paris, tell them youraunt is too ill to travel. "

"But they will find the wireless, " said the woman. "They are sure to usethe towers for observation, and they will find it. "

"In that case, " said the officer, "you will suggest to them that we fledin such haste we had no time to dismantle it. Of course, you had noknowledge that it existed, or, as a loyal French woman, you would haveat once told them. " To emphasize his next words the officer pointed ather: "Under no circumstances, " he continued, "must you be suspected. Ifthey should take Briand in the act, should they have even the leastdoubt concerning him, you must repudiate him entirely. If necessary, tokeep your own skirts clear, it would be your duty yourself to denouncehim as a spy. "

"Your first orders, " said the woman, "were to tell them Briand had beenlong in my service; that I brought him from my home in Laon. "

"He might be in your service for years, " returned the colonel, "and younot know he was a German agent. "

"If to save myself I inform upon him, " said Marie, "of course you knowyou will lose him. "

The officer shrugged his shoulders. "A wireless operator, " he retorted, "we can replace. But for you, and for the service you are to render inParis, we have no substitute. _You_ must not be found out. You areinvaluable. "

The spy inclined her head. "I thank you, " she said. 

The officer sputtered indignantly. 

"It is not a compliment, " he exclaimed; "it is an order. You must not befound out!"

Withdrawn some two hundred yards from the Paris road, the château stoodupon a wooded hill. Except directly in front, trees of great heightsurrounded it. The tips of their branches brushed the windows;interlacing, they continued until they overhung the wall of the estate. Where it ran with the road the wall gave way to a lofty gate and ironfence, through which those passing could see a stretch of noble turf, aswide as a polo-field, borders of flowers disappearing under the shadowsof the trees; and the château itself, with its terrace, its manywindows, its high-pitched, sloping roof, broken by towers and turrets. 

Through the remainder of the night there came from the road to those inthe château the roar and rumbling of the army in retreat. It movedwithout panic, disorder, or haste, but unceasingly. Not for an instantwas there a breathing-spell. And when the sun rose, the three spies--thetwo women and the chauffeur--who in the great château were now alone, could see as well as hear the gray column of steel rolling past belowthem. 

The spies knew that the gray column had reached Claye, had stood withinfifteen miles of Paris, and then upon Paris had turned its back. Theyknew also that the reverberations from the direction of Meaux, that eachmoment grew more loud and savage, were the French "seventy-fives"whipping the gray column forward. Of what they felt the Germans did notspeak. In silence they looked at each other, and in the eyes of Mariewas bitterness and resolve. 

Toward noon Marie met Anfossi in the great drawing-room that stretchedthe length of the terrace and from the windows of which, through thepark gates, they could see the Paris road. 

"This, that is passing now, " said Marie, "is the last of our rear-guard. Go to your tower, " she ordered, "and send word that except forstragglers and the wounded our column has just passed throughNeufchelles, and that any moment we expect the French. " She raised herhand impressively. "From now, " she warned, "we speak French, we thinkFrench, we _are_ French!"

Anfossi, or Briand, as now he called himself, addressed her in thatlanguage. His tone was bitter. "Pardon my lese-majesty, " he said, "butthis chief of your Intelligence Department is a _dummer Mensch_. He isthrowing away a valuable life. "

Marie exclaimed in dismay. She placed her hand upon his arm, and theviolet eyes filled with concern. 

"Not yours!" she protested. 

"Absolutely!" returned the Italian. "I can send nothing by this knapsackwireless that they will not learn from others; from airmen, Uhlans, thepeasants in the fields. And certainly I will be caught. Dead I am dead, but alive and in Paris the opportunities are unending. From the FrenchLegion Etranger I have my honorable discharge. I am an expert wirelessoperator and in their Signal Corps I can easily find a place. Imagineme, then, on the Eiffel Tower. From the air I snatch news from all ofFrance, from the Channel, the North Sea. You and I could work together, as in Rome. But here, between the lines, with a pass from a village_sous préfet_, it is ridiculous. I am not afraid to die. But to diebecause some one else is stupid, that is hard. "

Marie clasped his hand in both of hers. 

"You must not speak of death, " she cried; "you know I must carry out myorders, that I must force you to take this risk. And you know thatthought of harm to you tortures me!"

Quickly the young man disengaged his hand. The woman exclaimed withanger. 

"Why do you doubt me?" she cried. 

Briand protested vehemently. 

"I do not doubt you. "

"My affection, then?" In a whisper that carried with it the feeling of acaress Marie added softly: "My love?"

The young man protested miserably. "You make it very hard, mademoiselle, " he cried. "You are my superior officer, I am yourservant. Who am I that I should share with others--"

The woman interrupted eagerly. 

"Ah, you are jealous!" she cried. "Is that why you are so cruel? Butwhen I _tell_ you I love you, and only you, can you not _feel_ it is thetruth?"

The young man frowned unhappily. 

"My duty, mademoiselle!" he stammered. 

With an exclamation of anger Marie left him. As the door slammed behindher, the young man drew a deep breath. On his face was the expression ofineffable relief. 

In the hall Marie met her elderly companion, Bertha, now her aunt, Madame Benet. 

"I heard you quarrelling, " Bertha protested. "It is most indiscreet. Itis not in the part of the Countess d'Aurillac that she makes love to herchauffeur. "

Marie laughed noiselessly and drew her farther down the hall. "He isimbecile!" she exclaimed. "He will kill me with his solemn face and hisconceit. I make love to him--yes--that he may work the more willingly. But he will have none of it. He is jealous of the others. "

Madame Benet frowned. 

"He resents the others, " she corrected. "I do not blame him. He is agentleman!"

"And the others, " demanded Marie; "were they not of the most noblefamilies of Rome?"

"I am old and I am ugly, " said Bertha, "but to me Anfossi is always asconsiderate as he is to you who are so beautiful. "

"An Italian gentleman, " returned Marie, "does not serve in Belgian Congounless it is the choice of that or the marble quarries. "

"I do not know what his past may be, " sighed Madame Benet, "nor do Iask. He is only a number, as you and I are only numbers. And I beg youto let us work in harmony. At such a time your love-affairs threaten oursafety. You must wait. "

Marie laughed insolently. "With the Du Barry, " she protested, "I canboast that I wait for no man. "

"No, " replied the older woman; "you pursue him!"

Marie would have answered sharply, but on the instant her interest wasdiverted. For one week, by day and night, she had lived in a worldpeopled only by German soldiers. Beside her in the railroad carriage, onthe station platforms, at the windows of the trains that passed the onein which she rode, at the grade crossings, on the bridges, in the roadsthat paralleled the tracks, choking the streets of the villages andspread over the fields of grain, she had seen only the gray-greenuniforms. Even her professional eye no longer distinguished regimentfrom regiment, dragoon from grenadier, Uhlan from Hussar or Landsturm. Stripes, insignia, numerals, badges of rank, had lost their meaning. Those who wore them no longer were individuals. They were not evenhuman. During the three last days the automobile, like a motor-boatfighting the tide, had crept through a gray-green river of men, stained, as though from the banks, by mud and yellow clay. And for hours, whilethe car was blocked, and in fury the engine raced and purred, thegray-green river had rolled past her, slowly but as inevitably as lavadown the slope of a volcano, bearing on its surface faces with staringeyes, thousands and thousands of eyes, some fierce and bloodshot, othersfilled with weariness, homesickness, pain. At night she still saw them:the white faces under the sweat and dust, the eyes dumb, inarticulate, asking the answer. She had been suffocated by German soldiers, by themass of them, engulfed and smothered; she had stifled in a landinhabited only by gray-green ghosts. 

And suddenly, as though a miracle had been wrought, she saw upon thelawn, riding toward her, a man in scarlet, blue, and silver. One manriding alone. 

Approaching with confidence, but alert; his reins fallen, his handsnursing his carbine, his eyes searched the shadows of the trees, theempty windows, even the sun-swept sky. His was the new face at the door, the new step on the floor. And the spy knew had she beheld an army corpsit would have been no more significant, no more menacing, than thesolitary _chasseur à cheval_ scouting in advance of the enemy. 

"We are saved!" exclaimed Marie, with irony. "Go quickly, " shecommanded, "to the bedroom on the second floor that opens upon thestaircase, so that you can see all who pass. You are too ill to travel. They must find you in bed. "

"And you?" said Bertha. 

"I, " cried Marie rapturously, "hasten to welcome our preserver!"

The preserver was a peasant lad. Under the white dust his cheeks wereburned a brown-red, his eyes, honest and blue, through much staring atthe skies and at horizon lines, were puckered and encircled with tinywrinkles. Responsibility had made him older than his years, and inspeech brief. With the beautiful lady who with tears of joy ran to greethim, and who in an ecstasy of happiness pressed her cheek against thenose of his horse, he was unimpressed. He returned to her her papersand gravely echoed her answers to his questions. "This château, " herepeated, "was occupied by their General Staff; they have left nowounded here; you saw the last of them pass a half-hour since. " Hegathered up his reins. 

Marie shrieked in alarm. "You will not leave us?" she cried. 

For the first time the young man permitted himself to smile. "Othersarrive soon, " he said. 

He touched his shako, wheeled his horse in the direction from which hehad come, and a minute later Marie heard the hoofs echoing through theempty village. 

When they came, the others were more sympathetic. Even in times of war abeautiful woman is still a beautiful woman. And the staff officers whomoved into the quarters so lately occupied by the enemy found in thepresence of the Countess d'Aurillac nothing to distress them. In theabsence of her dear friend, Madame Iverney, the châtelaine of thechâteau, she acted as their hostess. Her chauffeur showed the companycooks the way to the kitchen, the larder, and the charcoal-box. She, herself, in the hands of General Andre placed the keys of the famouswine-cellar, and to the surgeon, that the wounded might be freshlybandaged, intrusted those of the linen-closet. After the indignities shehad suffered while "detained" by _les Boches_, her delight and relief atagain finding herself under the protection of her own people would havetouched a heart of stone. And the hearts of the staff were not of stone. It was with regret they gave the countess permission to continue on herway. At this she exclaimed with gratitude. She assured them, were heraunt able to travel, she would immediately depart. 

"In Paris she will be more comfortable than here, " said the kindsurgeon. He was a reservist, and in times of peace a fashionablephysician and as much at his ease in a boudoir as in a field hospital. "Perhaps if I saw Madame Benet?"

At the suggestion the countess was overjoyed. But they found MadameBenet in a state of complete collapse. The conduct of the Germans hadbrought about a nervous breakdown. 

"Though the bridges are destroyed at Meaux, " urged the surgeon, "evenwith a detour, you can be in Paris in four hours. I think it is worththe effort. "

But the mere thought of the journey threw Madame Benet into hysterics. She asked only to rest, she begged for an opiate to make her sleep. Shebegged also that they would leave the door open, so that when shedreamed she was still in the hands of the Germans, and woke in terror, the sound of the dear French voices and the sight of the beloved Frenchuniforms might reassure her. She played her part well. Concerning herMarie felt not the least anxiety. But toward Briand, the chauffeur, thenew arrivals were less easily satisfied. 

The general sent his adjutant for the countess. When the adjutant hadclosed the door General Andre began abruptly:

"The chauffeur Briand, " he asked, "you know him; you can vouch for him?"

"But, certainly!" protested Marie. "He is an Italian. "

As though with sudden enlightenment, Marie laughed. It was as if now inthe suspicion of the officer she saw a certain reasonableness. "Briandwas so long in the Foreign Legion in Algiers, " she explained, "where myhusband found him, that we have come to think of him as French. As muchFrench as ourselves, I assure you. "

The general and his adjutant were regarding each other questioningly. 

"Perhaps I should tell the countess, " began the general, "that we havelearned--"

The signal from the adjutant was so slight, so swift, that Marie barelyintercepted it. 

The lips of the general shut together like the leaves of a book. To showthe interview was at an end, he reached for a pen. 

"I thank you, " he said. 

"Of course, " prompted the adjutant, "Madame d'Aurillac understands theman must not know we inquired concerning him. "

General Andre frowned at Marie. 

"Certainly not!" he commanded. "The honest fellow must not know thateven for a moment he was doubted. "

Marie raised the violet eyes reprovingly. 

"I trust, " she said with reproach, "I too well understand the feelingsof a French soldier to let him know his loyalty is questioned. "

With a murmur of appreciation the officers bowed and with a gesture ofgracious pardon Marie left them. 

Outside in the hall, with none but orderlies to observe, like a cloakthe graciousness fell from her. She was drawn two ways. In her workAnfossi was valuable. But Anfossi suspected was less than of no value;he became a menace, a death-warrant. 

General Andre had said, "We have learned--" and the adjutant had haltedhim. What had he learned? To know that, Marie would have given much. Still, one important fact comforted her. Anfossi alone was suspected. Had there been concerning herself the slightest doubt, they certainlywould not have allowed her to guess her companion was undersurveillance; they would not have asked one who was herself suspected tovouch for the innocence of a fellow conspirator. Marie found the courseto follow difficult. With Anfossi under suspicion his usefulness was forthe moment at an end; and to accept the chance offered her to continueon to Paris seemed most wise. On the other hand, if, concerning Anfossi, she had succeeded in allaying their doubts, the results most to bedesired could be attained only by remaining where they were. 

Their position inside the lines was of the greatest strategic value. Therooms of the servants were under the roof, and that Briand should sleepin one of them was natural. That to reach or leave his room he shouldconstantly be ascending or descending the stairs also was natural. Thefield-wireless outfit, or, as he had disdainfully described it, the"knapsack" wireless, was situated not in the bedroom he had selected forhimself, but in one adjoining. At other times this was occupied by themaid of Madame Iverney. To summon her maid Madame Iverney, from herapartment on the second floor, had but to press a button. And it was inthe apartment of Madame Iverney, and on the bed of that lady, thatMadame Benet now reclined. When through the open door she saw an officeror soldier mount the stairs, she pressed the button that rang a bell inthe room of the maid. In this way, long before whoever was ascending thestairs could reach the top floor, warning of his approach came toAnfossi. It gave him time to replace the dust-board over the fireplacein which the wireless was concealed and to escape into his own bedroom. The arrangement was ideal. And already information picked up in thehalls below by Marie had been conveyed to Anfossi to relay in a Frenchcipher to the German General Staff at Rheims. 

Marie made an alert and charming hostess. To all who saw her it wasevident that her mind was intent only upon the comfort of her guests. Throughout the day many came and went, but each she made welcome; toeach as he departed she called "_bonne chance_. " Efficient, tireless, tactful, she was everywhere: in the dining-room, in the kitchen, in thebedrooms, for the wounded finding mattresses to spread in the gorgeoussalons of the champagne prince; for the soldier-chauffeurs carryingwine into the courtyard, where the automobiles panted and growled, andthe arriving and departing shrieked for right of way. At all times analluring person, now the one woman in a tumult of men, her smart frockcovered by an apron, her head and arms bare, undismayed by the sight ofthe wounded or by the distant rumble of the guns, the Countessd'Aurillac was an inspiring and beautiful picture. The eyes of theofficers, young and old, informed her of that fact, one of which alreadyshe was well aware. By the morning of the next day she was accepted asthe owner of the château. And though continually she reminded the staffshe was present only as the friend of her schoolmate, Madame Iverney, they deferred to her as to a hostess. Many of them she already salutedby name, and to those who with messages were constantly motoring to andfrom the front at Soissons she was particularly kind. Overnight thelegend of her charm, of her devotion to the soldiers of all ranks, hadspread from Soissons to Meaux, and from Meaux to Paris. It was noon ofthat day when from the window of the second story Marie saw an armoredautomobile sweep into the courtyard. It was driven by an officer, youngand appallingly good-looking, and, as was obvious by the way he spunhis car, one who held in contempt both the law of gravity and death. That he was some one of importance seemed evident. Before he couldalight the adjutant had raced to meet him. With her eye for detail Marieobserved that the young officer, instead of imparting information, received it. He must, she guessed, have just arrived from Paris, and hisbrother officer either was telling him the news or giving him hisorders. Whichever it might be, in what was told him the new arrival wasgreatly interested. One instant in indignation his gauntleted fist beatupon the steering-wheel, the next he smiled with pleasure. To interpretthis pantomime was difficult; and, the better to inform herself, Mariedescended the stairs. 

As she reached the lower hall the two officers entered. To the spy theman last to arrive was always the one of greatest importance; and Marieassured herself that through her friend, the adjutant, to meet with thisone would prove easy. 

But the chauffeur commander of the armored car made it most difficult. At sight of Marie, much to her alarm, as though greeting a dear friend, he snatched his kepi from his head and sprang toward her. 

"The major, " he cried, "told me you were here, that you are Madamed'Aurillac. " His eyes spoke his admiration. In delight he beamed uponher. "I might have known it!" he murmured. With the confidence of onewho is sure he brings good news, he laughed happily. "And I, " he cried, "am 'Pierrot'!"

Who the devil "Pierrot" might be the spy could not guess. She knew onlythat she wished by a German shell "Pierrot" and his car had been blownto tiny fragments. Was it a trap, she asked herself, or was the handsomeyouth really some one the Countess d'Aurillac should know. But, as fromhis introducing himself it was evident he could not know that lady verywell, Marie took courage and smiled. 

"_Which_ 'Pierrot'?" she parried. 

"Pierre Thierry!" cried the youth. 

To the relief of Marie he turned upon the adjutant and to him explainedwho Pierre Thierry might be. 

"Paul d'Aurillac, " he said, "is my dearest friend. When he married thischarming lady I was stationed in Algiers, and but for the war I mightnever have met her. "

To Marie, with his hand on his heart in a most charming manner, hebowed. His admiration he made no effort to conceal. 

"And so, " he said, "I know why there is war!"

The adjutant smiled indulgently, and departed on his duties, leavingthem alone. The handsome eyes of Captain Thierry were raised to theviolet eyes of Marie. They appraised her boldly and as boldly expressedtheir approval. 

In burlesque the young man exclaimed indignantly: "Paul deceived me!" hecried. "He told me he had married the most beautiful woman in Laon. Hehas married the most beautiful woman in France!"

To Marie this was not impertinence, but gallantry. 

This was a language she understood, and this was the type of man, because he was the least difficult to manage, she held most in contempt. 

"But about you, Paul did not deceive me, " she retorted. In apparentconfusion her eyes refused to meet his. "He told me 'Pierrot' was a mostdangerous man!"

She continued hurriedly. With wifely solicitude she asked concerningPaul. She explained that for a week she had been a prisoner in thechâteau, and, since the mobilization, of her husband save that he waswith his regiment in Paris she had heard nothing. Captain Thierry wasable to give her later news. Only the day previous, on the boulevards, he had met Count d'Aurillac. He was at the Grand Hôtel, and as Thierrywas at once motoring back to Paris he would give Paul news of theirmeeting. He hoped he might tell him that soon his wife also would be inParis. Marie explained that only the illness of her aunt prevented herfrom that same day joining her husband. Her manner became serious. 

"And what other news have you?" she asked. "Here on the firing-line weknow less of what is going forward than you in Paris. "

So Pierre Thierry told her all he knew. They were preparing despatcheshe was at once to carry back to the General Staff, and, for the moment, his time was his own. How could he better employ it than in talking ofthe war with a patriotic and charming French woman?

In consequence Marie acquired a mass of facts, gossip, and guesses. Fromthese she mentally selected such information as, to her employers acrossthe Aisne, would be of vital interest. 

And to rid herself of Thierry and on the fourth floor seek Anfossi wasnow her only wish. But, in attempting this, by the return of theadjutant she was delayed. To Thierry the adjutant gave a sealedenvelope. 

"Thirty-one, Boulevard des Invalides, " he said. With a smile he turnedto Marie. "And you will accompany him!"

"I!" exclaimed Marie. She was sick with sudden terror. 

But the tolerant smile of the adjutant reassured her. 

"The count, your husband, " he explained, "has learned of your detentionhere by the enemy, and he has besieged the General Staff to have youconvoyed safely to Paris. " The adjutant glanced at a field telegram heheld open in his hand. "He asks, " he continued, "that you be permittedto return in the car of his friend, Captain Thierry, and that onarriving you join him at the Grand Hôtel. "

Thierry exclaimed with delight. 

"But how charming!" he cried. "To-night you must both dine with me at LaRue's. " He saluted his superior officer. "Some petrol, sir, " he said. "And I am ready. " To Marie he added: "The car will be at the steps infive minutes. " He turned and left them. 

The thoughts of Marie, snatching at an excuse for delay, raced madly. The danger of meeting the Count d'Aurillac, her supposed husband, didnot alarm her. The Grand Hôtel has many exits, and, even before theyreached it, for leaving the car she could invent an excuse that thegallant Thierry would not suspect. But what now concerned her was how, before she was whisked away to Paris, she could convey to Anfossi theinformation she had gathered from Thierry. First, of a woman overcomewith delight at being reunited with her husband she gave an excellentimitation; then she exclaimed in distress: "But my aunt, Madame Benet!"she cried. "I cannot leave her!"

"The Sisters of St. Francis, " said the adjutant, "arrive within an hourto nurse the wounded. They will care also for your aunt. "

Marie concealed her chagrin. "Then I will at once prepare to go, " shesaid. 

The adjutant handed her a slip of paper. "Your _laisser-passer_ toParis, " he said. "You leave in five minutes, madame!"

As temporary hostess of the château Marie was free to visit any part ofit, and as she passed her door a signal from Madame Benet told her thatAnfossi was on the fourth floor, that he was at work, and that the coastwas clear. Softly, in the felt slippers she always wore, as sheexplained, in order not to disturb the wounded, she mounted thestaircase. In her hand she carried the housekeeper's keys, and as anexcuse it was her plan to return with an armful of linen for thearriving Sisters. But Marie never reached the top of the stairs. Whenher eyes rose to the level of the fourth floor she came to a suddenhalt. At what she saw terror gripped her, bound her hand and foot, andturned her blood to ice. 

At her post for an instant Madame Benet had slept, and an officer of thestaff, led by curiosity, chance, or suspicion, had, unobserved andunannounced, mounted to the fourth floor. When Marie saw him he was infront of the room that held the wireless. His back was toward her, butshe saw that he was holding the door to the room ajar, that his eye waspressed to the opening, and that through it he had pushed the muzzle ofhis automatic. What would be the fate of Anfossi Marie knew. Nor did shefor an instant consider it. Her thoughts were of her own safety; thatshe might live. Not that she might still serve the Wilhelmstrasse, theKaiser, or the Fatherland; but that she might live. In a moment Anfossiwould be denounced, the château would ring with the alarm, and, thoughshe knew Anfossi would not betray her, by others she might be accused. To avert suspicion from herself she saw only one way open. She must bethe first to denounce Anfossi. 

Like a deer she leaped down the marble stairs and, in a panic she hadno need to assume, burst into the presence of the staff. 

"Gentlemen!" she gasped, "my servant--the chauffeur--Briand is a spy!There is a German wireless in the château. He is using it! I have seenhim. " With exclamations, the officers rose to their feet. General Andrealone remained seated. General Andre was a veteran of many Colonialwars: Cochin-China, Algiers, Morocco. The great war, when it came, foundhim on duty in the Intelligence Department. His aquiline nose, bristlingwhite eyebrows, and flashing, restless eyes gave him his nickname of_l'Aigle_. 

In amazement, the flashing eyes were now turned upon Marie. He glared ather as though he thought she suddenly had flown mad. 

"A German wireless!" he protested. "It is impossible!"

"I was on the fourth floor, " panted Marie, "collecting linen for theSisters. In the room next to the linen closet I heard a strange buzzingsound. I opened the door softly. I saw Briand with his back to me seatedby an instrument. There were receivers clamped to his ears! My God! Thedisgrace. The disgrace to my husband and to me, who vouched for him toyou!" Apparently in an agony of remorse, the fingers of the woman lacedand interlaced. "I cannot forgive myself!"

The officers moved toward the door, but General Andre halted them. Stillin a tone of incredulity, he demanded: "When did you see this?"

Marie knew the question was coming, knew she must explain how she sawBriand, and yet did not see the staff officer who, with his prisoner, might now at any instant appear. She must make it plain she haddiscovered the spy and left the upper part of the house before theofficer had visited it. When that was she could not know, but the chancewas that he had preceded her by only a few minutes. 

"When did you see this?" repeated the general. 

"But just now, " cried Marie; "not ten minutes since. "

"Why did you not come to me at once?"

"I was afraid, " replied Marie. "If I moved I was afraid he might hearme, and he, knowing I would expose him, would kill me--and so _escapeyou!_" There was an eager whisper of approval. For silence, GeneralAndre slapped his hand upon the table. 

"Then, " continued Marie, "I understood with the receivers on his ears hecould not have heard me open the door, nor could he hear me leave, andI ran to my aunt. The thought that we had harbored such an animalsickened me, and I was weak enough to feel faint. But only for aninstant. Then I came here. " She moved swiftly to the door. "Let me showyou the room, " she begged; "you can take him in the act. " Her eyes, wildwith the excitement of the chase, swept the circle. "Will you come?" shebegged. 

Unconscious of the crisis he interrupted, the orderly on duty opened thedoor. 

"Captain Thierry's compliments, " he recited mechanically, "and is he todelay longer for Madame d'Aurillac?"

With a sharp gesture General Andre waved Marie toward the door. Withoutrising, he inclined his head. "Adieu, madame, " he said. "We act at onceupon your information. I thank you!"

As she crossed from the hall to the terrace, the ears of the spy wereassaulted by a sudden tumult of voices. They were raised in threats andcurses. Looking back, she saw Anfossi descending the stairs. His handswere held above his head; behind him, with his automatic, the staffofficer she had surprised on the fourth floor was driving him forward. Above the clenched fists of the soldiers that ran to meet him, the eyesof Anfossi were turned toward her. His face was expressionless. His eyesneither accused nor reproached. And with the joy of one who has lookedupon and then escaped the guillotine, Marie ran down the steps to thewaiting automobile. With a pretty cry of pleasure she leaped into theseat beside Thierry. Gayly she threw out her arms. "To Paris!" shecommanded. The handsome eyes of Thierry, eloquent with admiration, looked back into hers. He stooped, threw in the clutch, and the greatgray car, with the machine gun and its crew of privates guarding therear, plunged through the park. 

"To Paris!" echoed Thierry. 

In the order in which Marie had last seen them, Anfossi and the staffofficer entered the room of General Andre, and upon the soldiers in thehall the door was shut. The face of the staff officer was grave, but hisvoice could not conceal his elation. 

"My general, " he reported, "I found this man in the act of givinginformation to the enemy. There is a wireless--"

General Andre rose slowly. He looked neither at the officer nor at hisprisoner. With frowning eyes he stared down at the maps upon his table. 

"I know, " he interrupted. "Some one has already told me. " He paused, and then, as though recalling his manners, but still without raising hiseyes, he added: "You have done well, sir. "

In silence the officers of the staff stood motionless. With surprisethey noted that, as yet, neither in anger nor curiosity had GeneralAndre glanced at the prisoner. But of the presence of the general thespy was most acutely conscious. He stood erect, his arms still raised, but his body strained forward, and on the averted eyes of the generalhis own were fixed. 

In an agony of supplication they asked a question. 

At last, as though against his wish, toward the spy the general turnedhis head, and their eyes met. And still General Andre was silent. Thenthe arms of the spy, like those of a runner who has finished his raceand breasts the tape exhausted, fell to his sides. In a voice low andvibrant he spoke his question. 

"It has been so long, sir, " he pleaded. "May I not come home?"

General Andre turned to the astonished group surrounding him. His voicewas hushed like that of one who speaks across an open grave. 

"Gentlemen, " he began, "my children, " he added. "A German spy, a woman, involved in a scandal your brother in arms, Henri Ravignac. His honor, he thought, was concerned, and without honor he refused to live. Toprove him guiltless his younger brother Charles asked leave to seek outthe woman who had betrayed Henri, and by us was detailed on secretservice. He gave up home, family, friends. He lived in exile, inpoverty, at all times in danger of a swift and ignoble death. In the WarOffice we know him as one who has given to his country services shecannot hope to reward. For she cannot return to him the years he haslost. She cannot return to him his brother. But she can and will clearthe name of Henri Ravignac, and upon his brother Charles bestowpromotion and honors. "

The general turned and embraced the spy. "My children, " he said, "welcome your brother. He has come home. "

Before the car had reached the fortifications, Marie Gessler hadarranged her plan of escape. She had departed from the château withouteven a hand-bag, and she would say that before the shops closed she mustmake purchases. 

Le Printemps lay in their way, and she asked that, when they reached it, for a moment she might alight. Captain Thierry readily gave permission. 

From the department store it would be most easy to disappear, and inanticipation Marie smiled covertly. Nor was the picture of CaptainThierry impatiently waiting outside unamusing. 

But before Le Printemps was approached, the car turned sharply down anarrow street. On one side, along its entire length, ran a high graywall, grim and forbidding. In it was a green gate studded with ironbolts. Before this the automobile drew suddenly to a halt. The crew ofthe armored car tumbled off the rear seat, and one of them beat upon thegreen gate. Marie felt a hand of ice clutch at her throat. But shecontrolled herself. 

"And what is this?" she cried gayly. 

At her side Captain Thierry was smiling down at her, but his smile washateful. 

"It is the prison of St. Lazare, " he said. "It is not becoming, " headded sternly, "that the name of the Countess d'Aurillac should be madecommon as the Paris road!"

Fighting for her life, Marie thrust herself against him; her arm thatthroughout the journey had rested on the back of the driving-seatcaressed his shoulders; her lips and the violet eyes were close to his. 

"Why should you care?" she whispered fiercely. "You have _me_! Let theCount d'Aurillac look after the honor of his wife himself. "

The charming Thierry laughed at her mockingly. 

"He means to, " he said. "I _am_ the Count d'Aurillac!"

PLAYING DEAD

To fate, "Jimmie" Blagwin had signalled the "supreme gesture. " He hadaccomplished the Great Adventure. He was dead. 

And as he sat on his trunk in the tiny hall bedroom, and in theafternoon papers read of his suicide, his eyes were lit with pleasurablepride. Not at the nice things the obituaries told of his past, butbecause his act of self-sacrifice, so carefully considered, had beencarried to success. As he read Jimmie smiled with self-congratulation. He felt glad he was alive; or, to express it differently, felt glad hewas dead. And he hoped Jeanne, his late wife, now his widow, also wouldbe glad. But not _too_ glad. In return for relieving Jeanne of hispresence he hoped she might at times remember him with kindness. Of heralways would he think gratefully and tenderly. Nothing could end hislove for Jeanne--not even this suicide. 

As children, in winter in New York, in summer on Long Island, JimmieBlagwin and Jeanne Thayer had grown up together. They had the sametastes in sports, the same friends, the same worldly advantages. Neither of them had many ideas. It was after they married that Jeannebegan to borrow ideas and doubt the advantages. 

For the first three years after the wedding, in the old farmhouse whichJimmie had made over into a sort of idealized country club, Jeanne liveda happy, healthy, out-of-door existence. To occupy her there wereJimmie's hunters and a pack of joyous beagles; for tennis, at week-endsJimmie filled the house with men, and during the week they both playedpolo, he with the Meadow Brooks and she with the Meadow Larks, and thegolf links of Piping Rock ran almost to their lodge-gate. Until ProctorMaddox took a cottage at Glen Cove and joined the golf-club, than Jeanneand Jimmie on all Long Island no couple were so content. 

At that time Proctor Maddox was the young and brilliant editor of the_Wilderness_ magazine, the wilderness being the world we live in, andthe Voice crying in it the voice of Proctor Maddox. He was a Socialistand Feminist, he flirted with syndicalism, and he had a good word evenfor the I. W. W. He was darkly handsome, his eyeglasses were fastened to ablack ribbon, and he addressed his hostess as "dear lady. " He was thatsort. Women described him as "dangerous, " and liked him because hetalked of things they did not understand, and because he told each ofthem it was easy to see it would be useless to flatter _her_. The mendid not like him. The oldest and wealthiest members of the clubprotested that the things Maddox said in his magazine should exclude himfrom the society of law-abiding, money-making millionaires. But FreddyBayliss, the leader of the younger crowd, said that, to him, it did notmatter what Maddox said in the _Wilderness_, so long as he stayed there. It was Bayliss who christened him "the Voice. "

Until the Voice came to Glen Cove all that troubled Jeanne was that herpony had sprained a tendon, and that in the mixed doubles her eye wasoff the ball. Proctor Maddox suggested other causes for discontent. 

"What does it matter, " he demanded, "whether you hit a rubber ballinside a whitewashed line, or not? That energy, that brain, thatinfluence of yours over others, that something men call--charm, shouldbe exerted to emancipate yourself and your unfortunate sisters. "

"Emaciate myself, " protested Jeanne eagerly; "do you mean I'm taking onflesh?"

"I said 'emancipate, '" corrected Maddox. "I mean to free yourself of thebonds that bind your sex; for instance, the bonds of matrimony. It isobsolete, barbarous. It makes of women--slaves and chattels. "

"But, since I married, I'm _much_ freer, " protested Jeanne. "Mothernever let me play polo, or ride astride. But Jimmie lets me. He sayscross saddle is safer. "

"Jimmie _lets_ you!" mocked the Voice. "_That_ is exactly what I mean. Why should you go to him, or to any man, for permission? Are you hiscook asking for an evening out? No! You are a free soul, and your dutyis to keep your soul from bondage. There are others in the world besidesyour husband. What of your duty to them? Have you ever thought of them?"

"No, I have not, " confessed Jeanne. "Who do you mean by 'them'?Shop-girls, and white slaves, and women who want to vote?"

"I mean the great army of the discontented, " explained the Voice. 

"And should I be discontented?" asked Jeanne. "Tell me why. "

So, then and on many other occasions, Maddox told her why. It was one ofthe best things he did. 

People say, when the triangle forms, the husband always is the last tosee. But, if he loves his wife, he is the first. And after three yearsof being married to Jeanne, and, before that, five years of wanting tomarry Jeanne, Jimmie loved her devotedly, entirely, slavishly. It wasthe best thing _he_ did. So, when to Jeanne the change came, her husbandrecognized it. What the cause was he could not fathom; he saw only that, in spite of her impatient denials, she was discontented, restless, unhappy. Thinking it might be that for too long they had gone "back tothe land, " he suggested they might repeat their honeymoon in Paris. Theidea was received only with alarm. Concerning Jeanne, Jimmie decidedsecretly to consult a doctor. Meanwhile he bought her a new hunter. 

The awakening came one night at a dance at the country club. Thatevening Jeanne was filled with unrest, and with Jimmie seemedparticularly aggrieved. Whatever he said gave offense; even hiseagerness to conciliate her was too obvious. With the other men who didnot dance, Jimmie was standing in the doorway when, over the heads ofthose looking in from the veranda, he saw the white face and black eyesof Maddox. Jimmie knew Maddox did not dance, at those who danced hadheard him jeer, and his presence caused him mild surprise. The editor, leaning forward, unconscious that he was conspicuous, searched theballroom with his eyes. They were anxious, unsatisfied; they gave to hispale face the look of one who is famished. Then suddenly his face litand he nodded eagerly. Following the direction of his eyes, Jimmie sawhis wife, over the shoulder of her partner, smiling at Maddox. Her facewas radiant; a great peace had descended upon it. 

Jimmie knew just as surely as though Jeanne had told him. He walked outand sat down on the low wall of the terrace with his back to theclub-house and his legs dangling. Below him in the moonlight lay thegreat basin of the golf links, the white rectangle of the polo fieldswith the gallows-like goals, and on a hill opposite, above thetree-tops, the chimneys of his house. He was down for a tennis match thenext morning, and the sight of his home suggested to him only that heought to be in bed and asleep. 

Then he recognized that he never would sleep again. He went over it fromthe beginning, putting the pieces together. He never had liked Maddox, but he had explained that by the fact that, as Maddox was so much moreintelligent than he, there could be little between them. And it wasbecause every one said he was so intelligent that he had looked upon hisdevotion to Jeanne rather as a compliment. He wondered why already ithad not been plain to him. When Jeanne, who mocked at golf as a refugefor old age, spent hours with Maddox on the links; when, after she haddeclined to ride with her husband, on his return he would find her attea with Maddox in front of the wood fire. 

That night, when he drove Jeanne home, she still was joyous, radiant; itwas now she who chided him upon being silent. 

He waited until noon the next morning and then asked her if it weretrue. It was true. Jeanne thanked him for coming to her so honestly andstraightforwardly. She also had been straightforward and honest. Theyhad waited, she said, not through deceit but only out of considerationfor him. 

"Before we told you, " Jeanne explained, "we wanted to be quite sure that_I_ was sure. "

The "we" hurt Jimmie like the stab of a rusty knife. 

But he said only: "And you _are_ sure? Three years ago you were sure youloved _me_. "

Jeanne's eyes were filled with pity, but she said: "That was three yearsago. I was a child, and now I am a woman. In many ways you have stoodstill and I have gone on. "

"That's true, " said Jimmie; "you always were too good for me. "

"_No_ woman is good enough for you, " returned Jeanne loyally. "And yourbrains are just as good as mine, only you haven't used them. I havequestioned and reached out and gained knowledge of all kinds. I am aFeminist and you are not. If you were you would understand. "

"I don't know even what a Feminist is, " said Jimmie, "but I'm glad I'mnot one. "

"A Feminist is one, " explained Jeanne, "who does not think her lifeshould be devoted to one person, but to the world. "

Jimmie shook his head and smiled miserably. 

"_You_ are _my_ world, " he said. "The only world I know. The only worldI want to know. "

He walked to the fireplace and leaned his elbows on the mantel, andburied his head in his hands. But that his distress might not hurtJeanne, he turned and, to give her courage, smiled. 

"If you are going to devote yourself to the World, " he asked, "and notto any one person, why can't I sort of trail along? Why need you leaveme and go with--with some one else?"

"For the work I hope to do, " answered Jeanne, "you and I are not suited. But Proctor and I are suited. He says he never met a woman whounderstands him as I do. "

"Hell!" said Jimmie. After that he did not speak for some time. Then heasked roughly:

"He's going to marry you, of course?"

Jeanne flushed crimson. 

"Of course!" she retorted. Her blush looked like indignation, and soJimmie construed it, but it was the blush of embarrassment. For Maddoxconsidered the ceremony of marriage an ignoble and barbaric bond. Itdegraded the woman, he declared, in making her a slave, and the man inthat he accepted such a sacrifice. Jeanne had not argued with him. Untilshe were free, to discuss it with him seemed indecent. But in her ownmind there was no doubt. If she were to be the helpmate of ProctorMaddox in uplifting the world, she would be Mrs. Proctor Maddox; or, much as he was to her, each would uplift the world alone. But she didnot see the necessity of explaining all this to Jimmie, so she said: "Ofcourse!"

"I will see the lawyers to-morrow, " said Jimmie. "It will take some timeto arrange, and so, " he added hopefully, "you can think it over. "

Jeanne exclaimed miserably:

"I have thought of nothing else, " she cried, "for six months!"

Jimmie bent above her and laid his hand upon her shoulder. 

"I am sorry, so sorry, " he said. "If I'd any brains I'd have seen how itwas long ago. Now I'll not waste time. You'll be rid of me as quick asthe courts can fix it. "

He started for the door, but Jeanne caught his hand. 

"Won't you kiss me, Jimmie?" she said. 

Jimmie hesitated unhappily and Jeanne raised her eyes to his. 

"Not since we were married, Jimmie, " she said, "has any one kissed mebut you. "

So Jimmie bent and kissed her. She clung to his sleeve. 

"Jimmie, " she begged, "you haven't told me you forgive me. Unless youforgive me I can't go on with it. Tell me you forgive me!"

"Forgive you?" protested Jimmie. "I love you!"

When Jimmie went to the office of the lawyer, who also was his bestfriend, and told him that Jennie wanted a separation, that young mankicked the waste-paper basket against the opposite wall. 

"I'll not do it, " he protested, "and I won't let you do it, either. Whyshould you smear your name and roll in the dirt and play dead to pleaseJeanne? If Jeanne thinks I'm going to send you to a Raines hotel andfollow you up with detectives to furnish her with a fake divorce, youcan tell her I won't. What are they coming to?" demanded the bestfriend. "What do they want? A man gives a woman all his love, all histhoughts, gives her his name, his home; only asks to work his brains outfor her, only asks to see her happy. And she calls it 'charity, ' callsherself a 'slave'!" The best friend kicked violently at the place wherethe waste-basket had been. "_Give_ them the vote, I say, " he shouted. "It's all they're good for!"

The violence of his friend did not impress Jimmie. As he walked up-townthe only part of the interview he carried with him was that there mustbe no scandal. Not on his account. If Jeanne wished it, he assuredhimself, in spite of the lawyer, he was willing, in the metaphor of thatgentleman, to "roll in the dirt and play dead. " "Play dead!" The wordsstruck him full in the face. Were he dead and out of the way, Jeanne, without a touch of scandal, could marry the man she loved. Jimmie haltedin his tracks. He believed he saw the only possible exit. He turnedinto a side street, and between the silent houses, closed for thesummer, worked out his plan. For long afterward that city block remainedin his memory; the doctors' signs on the sills, the caretakers seekingthe air, the chauffeurs at the cab rank. For hours they watched thepassing and repassing of the young man, who with bent head and fixedeyes struck at the pavement with his stick. 

That he should really kill himself Jimmie did not for a momentcontemplate. To him self-destruction appeared only as an offense againstnature. On his primitive, out-of-door, fox-hunting mind the ethics ofsuicide lay as uneasily as absinthe on the stomach of a baby. But, heargued, by _pretending_ he were dead, he could set Jeanne free, couldsave her from gossip, and could still dream of her, love her, and occupywith her, if not the same continent, the same world. 

He had three problems to solve, and as he considered them he devotedlywished he might consult with a brain more clever than his own. But anaccomplice was out of the question. Were he to succeed, everybody mustbe fooled; no one could share his secret. It was "a lone game, playedalone, and without my partner. "

The three problems were: first, in order to protect his wife, toprovide for the suicide a motive other than the attentions of Maddox;second, to make the suicide look like a real suicide; third, withoutlater creating suspicion, to draw enough money from the bank to keephimself alive after he was dead. For his suicide Jeanne must not holdherself to blame; she must not believe her conduct forced his end; aboveevery one else, she must be persuaded that in bringing about his deathshe was completely innocent. What reasons then were accepted forsuicide?

As to this, Jimmie, refusing to consider the act justified for anyreason, was somewhat at a loss. He had read of men who, owing to loss ofhonor, loss of fortune, loss of health, had "gone out. " He wasdetermined he owed it to himself not to go out under a cloud, and hecould not lose his money, as then there would be none to leave Jeanne;so he must lose his health. As except for broken arms and collar-boneshe never had known a sick-bed, this last was as difficult as the others, but it must serve. After much consideration he decided he would goblind. At least he would pretend he was going blind. To give a semblanceof truth to this he would that day consult distinguished oculists and, in spite of their assurances, would tell them that slowly and surelyhis eyesight was failing him. He would declare to them, in the dread ofsuch a catastrophe, he was of a mind to seek self-destruction. To othershe would confide the secret of his blindness and his resolution not tosurvive it. And, later, all of these would remember and testify. 

The question of money also was difficult. After his death he no longercould sign a check or negotiate securities. He must have cash. But iffrom the bank he drew large sums of actual money, if he converted stocksand bonds into cash and a week later disappeared, apparently forever, questions as to what became of the sums he had collected would arise, and that his disappearance was genuine would be doubted. This difficultymade Jimmie for a moment wonder if being murdered for his money, andhaving his body concealed by the murderer, would not be better thansuicide. It would, at least, explain the disappearance of the money. Buthe foresaw that for his murder some innocent one might be suspected andhanged. This suggested leaving behind him evidence to show that the onewho murdered him was none other than Proctor Maddox. The idea appealedto his sense of humor and justice. It made the punishment fit thecrime. Not without reluctance did he abandon it and return to his planof suicide. But he recognized that to supply himself with any large sumof money would lead to suspicion and that he must begin his new lifealmost empty-handed. In his new existence he must work. 

For that day and until the next afternoon he remained in town, and inthat time prepared the way for his final exit. At a respectablelodging-house on West Twenty-third Street, near the ferry, he gave hisname as Henry Hull, and engaged a room. To this room, from a departmentstore he never before had entered, he shipped a trunk and valise markedwith his new initials and filled with clothes to suit his new estate. Tosupply himself with money, at banks, clubs, and restaurants he cashedmany checks for small sums. The total of his collections, from placesscattered over all the city, made quite a comfortable bank roll. And inhis box at the safe-deposit vault he came upon a windfall. It was anemerald bracelet left him by an eccentric aunt who had lived and died inParis. The bracelet he had offered to Jeanne, but she did not like itand had advised him to turn it into money and, as the aged relative hadwished, spend it upon himself. That was three years since, and now wereit missing Jeanne would believe that at some time in the past he hadfollowed her advice. So he carried the bracelet away with him. For ayear it would keep a single man in comfort. 

His next step was to acquaint himself with the nature of the afflictionon account of which he was to destroy himself. At the public library hecollected a half-dozen books treating of blindness, and selected hisparticular malady. He picked out glaucoma, and for his purpose it wasadmirably suited. For, so Jimmie discovered, in a case of glaucoma theoculist was completely at the mercy of the patient. Except to thepatient the disease gave no sign. To an oculist a man might say, "Threenights ago my eyesight played me the following tricks, " and from thatthe oculist would know the man was stricken with glaucoma; but the eyeswould tell him nothing. 

The next morning to four oculists Jimmie detailed his symptoms. Eachlooked grave, and all diagnosed his trouble as glaucoma. 

"I knew it!" groaned Jimmie, and assured them sooner than go blind hewould jump into the river. They pretended to treat this as anextravagance, but later, when each of them was interviewed, heremembered that Mr. Blagwin had threatened to drown himself. On his wayto the train Jimmie purchased a pair of glasses and, in order to invitequestions, in the club car pretended to read with them. When his friendsexpressed surprise, Jimmie told them of the oculists he had consulted, and that they had informed him his case was hopeless. If this provedtrue, he threatened to drown himself. 

On his return home he explained to Jeanne he had seen the lawyer, andthat that gentleman suggested the less she knew of what was going on thebetter. In return Jeanne told him she had sent for Maddox and informedhim that, until the divorce was secured, they had best not be seentogether. The wisdom of this appealed even to Maddox, and already, tofill in what remained of the summer, he had departed for Bar Harbor. ToJimmie the relief of his absence was inexpressible. He had given himselfonly a week to live, and, for the few days still remaining to him, to bealone with Jeanne made him miserably happy. The next morning Jimmieconfessed to his wife that his eyes were failing him. The trouble came, he explained, from a fall he had received the year beforesteeplechasing. He had not before spoken of it, as he did not wish todistress her. The oculists he had consulted gave him no hope. He wouldend it, he declared, in the gun-room. 

Jeanne was thoroughly alarmed. That her old playmate, lover, husbandshould come to such a plight at the very time she had struck him thehardest blow of all filled her with remorse. In a hundred ways she triedto make up to him for the loss of herself and for the loss of his eyes. She became his constant companion; never had she been so kind and soconsiderate. They saw no one from the outside, and each day through thewood paths that circled their house made silent pilgrimages. And eachday on a bench, placed high, where the view was fairest, together, andyet so far apart, watched the sun sink into the sound. 

"These are the times I will remember, " said Jimmie; "when--when I amalone. "

The last night they sat on the bench he took out his knife and carvedthe date--July, 1913. 

"What does that mean?" asked Jeanne. 

"It means to-night I seem to love you more and need you more than everbefore, " said Jimmie. "That is what it means. Will you remember?"

Jeanne was looking away from him, but she stretched out her hand andlaid it upon his. 

"To-morrow I am going to town, " said Jimmie, "to see that oculist fromParis. They say what he tells you is the last word. And, if he says--"

Jeanne swung toward him and with all the jealousy of possession heldhis hand. Her own eyes were blurred with tears. 

"He will tell you the others are wrong!" she cried. "I know he will. Hemust! You--who have always been so kind! God could not be so cruel!"

Jimmie stopped her. 

"If I am not to see _you_--"

During his last week at home Jimmie had invented a Doctor Picard, adistinguished French oculist, who, on a tour of the world, was by therarest chance at that moment in New York. According to Jimmie, all theother oculists had insisted he must consult Picard, and might considerwhat Picard said as final. Picard was staying with a friend--Jimmie didnot say where--and after receiving Jimmie was at once taking the trainfor San Francisco. As Jimmie had arranged his scenario, it was Picardwho was to deal him his death sentence. 

Her husband seemed so entirely to depend on what Picard might say thatJeanne decided, should the verdict be unfavorable, she had best be athis side. But, as this would have upset Jimmie's plan, he argued againstit. Should the news be bad, he pointed out, for her to receive it in herown home would be much easier for both. Jeanne felt she had beenrebuffed, but that, if Jimmie did not want her with him, she no longerwas in a position to insist. 

So she contented herself with driving him to the train and, before thosewho knew them at the station, kissing him good-by. 

Afterward, that she had done so comforted her greatly. 

"I'll be praying for you, Jimmie, " she whispered. "And, as soon as youknow, you'll--"

So upset was Jimmie by the kiss, and by the knowledge that he was sayingfarewell for the last time, that he nearly exposed his purpose. 

"I want the last thing I say to you, " he stammered, "to be this: thatwhatever you do will be right. I love you so that I will understand. "

When he arrived in New York, in his own name, he booked a stateroom onthe _Ceramic_. She was listed to sail that evening after midnight. Itwas because she departed at that hour that for a week Jimmie had fixedupon her as furnishing the scene of his exit. During the day he toldseveral of his friends that the report of the great oculist had beenagainst him. Later, they recalled that he talked wildly, that he wasdeeply despondent. In the afternoon he sent a telegram to Jeanne:

 "Verdict unfavorable. Will remain to-night in town. All love. J. "

At midnight he went on board. The decks and saloons were swarming andnoisy with seagoers, many of whom had come to the ship directly from thetheatres and restaurants, the women bareheaded, in evening gowns. Jimmiefelt grateful to them. They gave to the moment of his taking off an airof gentle gayety. Among those who were sailing, and those who had cometo wish them "bon voyage, " many were known to Jimmie. He told them hewas going abroad at the command of his oculist. Also, he forced himselfupon the notice of officers and stewards, giving them his name, andmaking inquiries concerning the non-appearance of fictitious baggage. Later, they also recalled the young man in dinner jacket and golf capwho had lost a dressing-case marked "James Blagwin. "

In his cabin Jimmie wrote two letters. The one to the captain of theship read:

 "After we pass Fire Island I am going overboard. Do not make any effort to find me, as it will be useless. I am sorry to put you to this trouble. "

The second letter was to Jeanne. It read:

 "Picard agreed with the others. My case is hopeless. I am ending all to-night. Forgive me. I leave you all the love in all the world. Jimmie. "

When he had addressed these letters he rang for the steward. 

"I am not going to wait until we leave the dock, " he said. "I am turningin now. I am very tired, and I don't want you to wake me on any excusewhatsoever until to-morrow at noon. Better still, don't come until Iring!"

When the steward had left him, Jimmie pinned the two letters upon thepillow, changed the steamer-cap for an Alpine hat, and beneath arain-coat concealed his evening clothes. He had purposely selected thedeck cabin farthest aft. Accordingly, when after making the cabin darkhe slipped from it, the break in the deck that separated the first fromthe second class passengers was but a step distant. The going-ashorebugles had sounded, and more tumult than would have followed had theship struck a rock now spread to every deck. With sharp commandsofficers were speeding the parting guests; the parting guests wereshouting passionate good-bys and sending messages to Aunt Maria;quartermasters howled hoarse warnings, donkey-engines panted under theweight of belated luggage, fall and tackle groaned and strained. And theship's siren, enraged at the delay, protested in one long-drawn-out, inarticulate shriek. 

Jimmie slipped down the accommodation ladder that led to the well-deck, side-stepped a yawning hatch, dodged a swinging cargo net stuffed withtrunks, and entered the second-class smoking-room. From there he elbowedhis way to the second-class promenade deck. A stream of tearful andhilarious visitors who, like sheep in a chute, were being herded downthe gangway, engulfed him. Unresisting, Jimmie let himself, by weight ofnumbers, be carried forward. 

A moment later he was shot back to the dock and to the country fromwhich at that moment, in deck cabin A4, he was supposed to be drawingsteadily away. 

Dodging the electric lights, on foot he made his way to hislodging-house. The night was warm and moist, and, seated on the stoop, stripped to shirt and trousers, was his landlord. 

He greeted Jimmie affably. 

"Evening, Mr. Hull, " he said. "Hope this heat won't keep you awake. "

Jimmie thanked him and passed hurriedly. 

"Mr. Hull!"

The landlord had said it. 

Somewhere out at sea, between Fire Island and Scotland Lightship, thewaves were worrying with what once had been Jimmie Blagwin, and in ahall bedroom on Twenty-third Street Henry Hull, with frightened eyes, sat staring across the wharves, across the river, thinking of afarmhouse on Long Island. 

His last week on earth had been more of a strain on Jimmie than heappreciated; and the night the _Ceramic_ sailed he slept the druggedsleep of complete nervous exhaustion. Late the next morning, while hestill slept, a passenger on the _Ceramic_ stumbled upon the fact of hisdisappearance. The man knew Jimmie; had greeted him the night beforewhen he came on board, and was seeking him that he might subscribe to apool on the run. When to his attack on Jimmie's door there was no reply, he peered through the air-port, saw on the pillow, where Jimmie's headshould have been, two letters, and reported to the purser. Already theship was three hundred miles from where Jimmie had announced he woulddrown himself; a search showed he was not on board, and the evidence ofa smoking-room steward, who testified that at one o'clock he had leftMr. Blagwin alone on deck, gazing "mournful-like" at Fire Island, seemedto prove Jimmie had carried out his threat. When later the samepassenger the steward had mistaken for Jimmie appeared in thesmoking-room and ordered a drink from him, the steward was rattled. Butas the person who had last seen Jimmie Blagwin alive he had gainedmelancholy interest, and, as his oft-told tale was bringing him manyshillings, he did not correct it. Accordingly, from Cape Sable the newsof Jimmie's suicide was reported. That afternoon it appeared in all thelate editions of the evening papers. 

Pleading fever, Jimmie explained to his landlord that for him to ventureout by day was most dangerous, and sent the landlord after thenewspapers. The feelings with which he read them were mixed. He wasproud of the complete success of his plot, but the inevitableness of itterrified him. The success was _too_ complete. He had left himself noloophole. He had locked the door on himself and thrown the key out ofthe window. Now, that she was lost to him forever, he found, if thatwere possible, he loved his wife more devotedly than before. He feltthat to live in the same world with Jeanne and never speak to her, nevereven look at her, could not be borne. He was of a mind to rush to thewharf and take another leap into the dark waters, and this time withouta life-line. From this he was restrained only by the thought that if heused infinite caution, at infrequent intervals, at a great distance, hestill might look upon his wife. This he assured himself would bepossible only after many years had aged him and turned his hair gray. Then on second thoughts he believed to wait so long was not absolutelynecessary. It would be safe enough, he argued, if he grew a beard. Healways had been clean-shaven, and he was confident a beard woulddisguise him. He wondered how long a time must pass before one wouldgrow. Once on a hunting-trip he had gone for two weeks without shaving, and the result had not only disguised but disgusted him. His face hadchanged to one like those carved on cocoanuts. A recollection of thisgave him great pleasure. His spirits rose happily. He saw himself in therags of a tramp, his face hidden in an unkempt beard, skulking behindthe hedges that surrounded his house. From this view-point, beforesailing away from her forever, he would again steal a look at Jeanne. Hedetermined to postpone his departure until he had grown a beard. Meanwhile he would plead illness, and keep to his room, or venture outonly at night. Comforted by the thought that in two weeks he might againsee his wife, as she sat on the terrace or walked in her gardens, hesank peaceably to sleep. 

The next morning the landlord brought him the papers. In them were manypictures of himself as a master of foxhounds, as a polo-player, as agentleman jockey. The landlord looked at him curiously. Five minuteslater, on a trivial excuse, he returned and again studied Jimmie asclosely as though he were about to paint his portrait. Then two of theother boarders, chums of the landlord, knocked at the door, to borrow amatch, to beg the loan of the morning paper. Each was obviously excited, each stared accusingly. Jimmie fell into a panic. He felt that ifalready his identity was questioned, than hiding in his room and growinga beard nothing could be more suspicious. At noon, for West Indianports, a German boat was listed to sail from the Twenty-fourth Streetwharf. Jimmie decided at once to sail with her and, until his beard wasgrown, not to return. It was necessary first to escape the suspiciouslandlord, and to that end he noiselessly packed his trunk and suit-case. In front of the house, in an unending procession, taxi-cabs returningempty from the Twenty-third Street ferry passed the door, and from thestreet Jimmie hailed one. Before the landlord could voice his doubtsJimmie was on the sidewalk, his bill had been paid, and, giving theaddress of a hotel on Fourteenth Street, he was away. 

At the Fourteenth Street hotel Jimmie dismissed the taxi-cab and askedfor a room adjoining an imaginary Senator Gates. When the clerk told himSenator Gates was not at that hotel, Jimmie excitedly demanded to be ledto the telephone. He telephoned the office of the steamship line: and, in the name of Henry Hull, secured a cabin. Then he explained to theclerk that over the telephone he had learned that his friend, SenatorGates, was at another hotel. He regretted that he must follow him. Another taxi was called, and Jimmie drove to an inconspicuous andold-fashioned hotel on the lower East Side, patronized exclusively bygunmen. There, in not finding Senator Gates, he was again disappointed, and now having broken the link that connected him with the suspiciouslandlord, he drove back to within a block of his original starting-pointand went on board the ship. Not until she was off Sandy Hook did heleave his cabin. 

It was July, and passengers to the tropics were few; and when Jimmieventured on deck he found most of them gathered at the port rail. Theywere gazing intently over the ship's side. Thinking the pilot might beleaving, Jimmie joined them. A young man in a yachting-cap was pointingnorth and speaking in the voice of a conductor of a "seeing New York"car. 

"Just between that lighthouse and the bow of this ship, " he exclaimed, "is where yesterday James Blagwin jumped overboard. At any moment we maysee the body!"

An excitable passenger cried aloud and pointed at some floating seaweed. 

"I'll bet that's it now!" he shouted. 

Jimmie exclaimed indignantly:

"I'll bet you ten dollars it isn't!" he said. 

In time the ship touched at Santiago, Kingston, and Colon, but, fearingrecognition, Jimmie saw these places only from the deck. He travelledtoo fast for newspapers to overtake him, and those that on the returnpassage met the ship, of his death gave no details. So, except that hissuicide had been accepted, Jimmie knew nothing. 

Least of all did he know, or even guess, that his act of renunciation, intended to bring to Jeanne happiness, had nearly brought about her ownend. She believed Jimmie was dead, but not for a moment did she believeit was for fear of blindness he had killed himself. She and Maddox hadkilled him. Between them they had murdered the man who, now that he wasgone, she found she loved devotedly. To a shocked and frightened letterof condolence from Maddox she wrote one that forever ordered him out ofher life. Then she set about making a saint of Jimmie, and counting thedays when in another world they would meet, and her years of remorse, penitence, and devotion would cause him to forgive her. In their homeshe shut herself off from every one. She made of it a shrine to Jimmie. She kept his gloves on the hall table; on her writing-desk she placedflowers before his picture. Preston, the butler, and the other servantswho had been long with them feared for her sanity, but, loving "Mr. James" as they did, sympathized with her morbidness. So, in the oldfarmhouse, it was as though Jimmie still stamped through the halls, orfrom his room, as he dressed, whistled merrily. In the kennels thehounds howled dismally, in the stables at each footstep the poniesstamped with impatience, on the terrace his house dog, Huang Su, laywith his eyes fixed upon the road waiting for the return of the master, and in the gardens a girl in black, wasted and white-faced, walked aloneand rebelled that she was still alive. 

After six weeks, when the ship re-entered New York harbor, Jimmie, hisbeard having grown, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, walked boldlydown the gangplank. His confidence was not misplaced. The polo-player, clean-faced, lean, and fit, had disappeared. Six weeks of Germancooking, a German barber, and the spectacles had produced a graduate ofHeidelberg. 

At a furnished room on a side street Jimmie left his baggage, and atonce at the public library, in the back numbers of the daily papers, read the accounts of his death and interviews with his friends. They allagreed the reason for his suicide was his fear of approaching blindness. As he read, Jimmie became deeply depressed. Any sneaking hopes he mighthave held that he was not dead were now destroyed. The evidence of hisfriends was enough to convince any one. It convinced him. Now that itwas too late, his act of self-sacrifice appeared supremely stupid andridiculous. Bitterly he attacked himself as a bungler and an ass. Heassured himself he should have made a fight for it; should have foughtfor his wife: and against Maddox. Instead of which he weakly had effacedhimself, had surrendered his rights, had abandoned his wife at a timewhen most was required of him. He tortured himself by thinking thatprobably at that very moment she was in need of his help. And at thatvery moment head-lines in the paper he was searching proved this wastrue. 

"BLAGWIN'S LOST WILL, " he read. "DETECTIVES RELINQUISH SEARCH! REWARDOF TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FAILS TO BRING CLEW!"

Jimmie raced through the back numbers. They told him his will, in whichhe had left everything to Jeanne, could not be found; that inconsequence, except her widow's third, all of his real estate, which wasthe bulk of his property, would now go to two distant cousins whoalready possessed more than was good for them, and who in Paris wereleading lives of elegant wastefulness. The will had been signed the weekbefore his wedding-day, but the lawyer who had drawn it was dead, andthe witnesses, two servants, had long since quit Jimmie's service andcould not be found. It was known Jimmie kept the will in the safe at hiscountry house, but from the safe it had disappeared. 

Jimmie's best friend, and now Jeanne's lawyer, the man who had refusedhim the divorce, had searched the house from the attic to the coalcellar; detectives had failed to detect; rewards had remained unclaimed;no one could tell where the will was hidden. Only Jimmie could tell. AndJimmie was dead. And no one knew that better than Jimmie. Again heupbraided himself. Why had he not foreseen this catastrophe? Why, before his final taking off, had he not returned the will to the safe?Now, a word from him would give Jeanne all his fortune, and that word hecould not speak. 

The will was between the leaves of a copy of "Pickwick, " and it stood ona shelf in his bedroom. One night, six months before, to alter a smallbequest, he had carried the will up-stairs and written a rough draft ofthe new codicil. And then, merely because he was sleepy and disinclinedto struggle with a combination lock, he had stuck the will in the bookhe was reading. He intended the first thing the next morning to put itback in the safe. But the first thing the next morning word came fromthe kennels that during the night six beagle puppies had arrived, andnaturally Jimmie gave no thought to anything so unimportant as a will. Nor since then had he thought of it. And now how was he, a dead man, toretrieve it?

That those in the library might not observe his agitation, he wentoutside, and in Bryant Park on a bench faced his problem. Excepthimself, of the hidden place of the will no one could possibly know. So, if even by an anonymous letter, or by telephone, he gave the informationto his late lawyer or to the detectives, they at once would guess fromwhere the clew came and that James Blagwin was still alive. So that planwas abandoned. Then he wondered if he might not convey the tip to someone who had access to his bedroom; his valet or a chambermaid who, asthough by accident, might stumble upon the will. But, as every one wouldknow the anonymous tipster could be only Blagwin himself, that plan alsowas rejected. He saw himself in a blind alley. Without an accomplice hecould not act; with an accomplice his secret would be betrayed. 

Suddenly a line in one of the newspapers returned to him. It was to theeffect that to discover the lost will several clairvoyants, mediums, andcrystal-gazers had offered their services. Jimmie determined that one ofthese should be his accomplice. He would tell the clairvoyant heformerly had been employed as valet by Blagwin and knew where Blagwinhad placed his will. But he had been discharged under circumstances thatmade it necessary for him to lie low. He would hint it was the police hefeared. This would explain why he could not come forward, and why hesought the aid of the clairvoyant. If the clairvoyant fell in with hisplan he would tell him where the will could be found, the clairvoyantwould pretend in a trance to discover the hiding-place, would confidehis discovery to Mrs. Blagwin's lawyer, the lawyer would find the will, the clairvoyant would receive the reward, and an invaluableadvertisement. And Jimmie's ghost would rest in peace. He needed only aclairvoyant who was not so upright that he fell over backward. Jimmieassured himself one of that kind would not be difficult to find. 

He returned to the newspaper-room of the library and in the advertisingcolumns of a Sunday paper found a clairvoyant who promised to be the manhe wanted. 

He was an Indian prince, but for five dollars would tell fortunes, casthoroscopes, and recover lost articles. Jimmie found him in the back roomon the first floor of an old-fashioned house of sandstone on a sidestreet. A blonde young woman, who was directing envelopes and enclosingin them the business card of the prince, accepted Jimmie's five dollarsand ushered him into the presence. The back room was very dark. Therewere no windows showing, and the walls were entirely hidden by curtainsin which twinkled tiny mirrors. The only light came from a lamp thatswung on chains. 

The prince was young, tall, dark-skinned, with a black, pointed beard. He wore his national costume and over it many necklaces of strangestones, and of jewels more strange. He sat on a papier-maché throne withgilded elephants for supports, and in his hand held a crystal globe. Hishead was all but hidden in an enormous silken turban on which hung asingle pearl. Jimmie made up his mind that if the prince was no more onthe level than his jewels there would be no trouble. 

Jimmie came quickly to the point. 

"I can't show up, " he explained, "because after I lost my job as Mr. Blagwin's valet several articles of value were missing. But _you_ canshow up for me. If the will is not where I saw it--where I tell you itis--you're no worse off than you are now. You can say the spirits misledyou. But, if I'm telling you the truth, you stand to get half the rewardand the biggest press story any ghost-raiser ever put across. 

"And why, " in conclusion Jimmie demanded, "should I ask you to do this, if what I say is not true?"

The prince made no reply. 

With a sweeping gesture he brought the crystal globe into his lap and, bending his head, apparently peered into its depths. In reality he wasgaining time. To himself he was repeating Jimmie's question. If thestranger were _not_ speaking the truth, why was he asking him to join ina plot to deceive? The possibility that Jimmie _was_ telling the truththe prince did not even consider. He was not used to the truth, and asto the motives of Jimmie in inviting him to break the law he already hadmade his guess. It was that Jimmie must be a detective setting a trapwhich later would betray him to the police. And the prince had no desireto fall in with the police nor to fall out with them. All he ever askedof those gentlemen was to leave him alone. And, since apparently theywould not leave him alone, he saw, deep down in the crystal globe, a wayby which not only could he avoid their trap, but might spring it to hisown advantage. 

Instead of the detective denouncing him, he would denounce thedetective. Of the police he would become an ally. He would call uponthem to arrest a man who was planning to blackmail Mrs. James Blagwin. 

Unseen by Jimmie, in the arm of his throne he pressed an electricbutton, and in the front room in the ear of the blonde a signal buzzed. In her turn the blonde pushed aside the curtains that hid the door tothe front hall. 

"Pardon, Highness, " she said, "a certain party in Wall Street"--shepaused impressively, and the prince nodded--"wants to consult you abouthis Standard Oil stock. "

"He must wait, " returned the prince. 

"Pardon, Highness, " persisted the lady; "he cannot wait. It is a matterof millions. "

Of this dialogue, which was the vehicle always used to get the princeout of the audience-chamber and into the front hall, undoubtedly thebest line was the one given to the blonde--"it is a matter of millions!"

Knowing this, she used to speak it slowly and impressively. It impressedeven Jimmie. And after the prince had reverently deposited his globeupon a velvet cushion and disappeared, Jimmie sat wondering who in WallStreet was rich enough to buy Standard Oil stock, and who was foolenough to sell it. 

But over such idle questions he was not long left to meditate. Somethingmore personal demanded his full attention. Behind him the princecarefully had closed the door to the front hall. But, not having hiscrystal globe with him, he did not know it had not remained closed, andas he stood under the hall stairs and softly lifted the receiver fromthe telephone, he was not aware that his voice carried to the room inwhich Jimmie was waiting. 

"Hello, " whispered the prince softly. His voice, Jimmie noted withapproval, even over a public telephone was as gentle as a cooing dove. 

"Hello! Give me Spring 3100. "

A cold sweat swept down Jimmie's spine. A man might forget his birthday, his middle name, his own telephone number, but not Spring 3100!

Every drama of the underworld, crook play, and detective story hadhelped to make it famous. 

Jimmie stood not upon the order of his going. Even while policeheadquarters was telling the prince to get the Forty-seventh Streetpolice station, Jimmie had torn open the front door and was leaping downthe steps. 

Not until he reached Sixth Avenue, where if a man is seen running everyone takes a chance and yells "Stop thief!" did Jimmie draw a halt. Thenhe burst forth indignantly. 

"How was I to know he was honest!" he panted. "He's a hell of aclairvoyant!"

With indignation as great the prince was gazing at the blonde secretary;his eyes were filled with amazement. 

"Am I going dippy?" he demanded. "I sized him up for a detective--and hewas a perfectly honest crook! And in five minutes, " he roaredremorsefully, "this house will be full of bulls! What am I to do? Whatam I to tell 'em?"

"Tell 'em, " said the blonde coldly, "you're going on a long journey. "

Jimmie now appreciated that when he determined it was best he shouldwork without an accomplice he was most wise. He must work alone and, lest the clairvoyant had set the police after him, at once. He decidedswiftly that that night he would return to his own house, and that hewould return as a burglar. From its hiding-place he would rescue themissing will and restore it to the safe. By placing it among papers oflittle importance he hoped to persuade those who already had searchedthe safe that through their own carelessness it had been overlooked. Thenext morning, when once more it was where the proper persons could findit, he would again take ship for foreign parts. Jimmie recognized thatthis was a desperate plan, but the situation was desperate. 

And so midnight found him entering the grounds upon which he never againhad hoped to place his foot. 

The conditions were in his favor. The night was warm, which meantwindows would be left open; few stars were shining, and as he tiptoedacross the lawn the trees and bushes wrapped him in shadows. Inside thehedge, through which he had forced his way, he had left his shoes, andhe moved in silence. Except that stealing into the house where layasleep the wife he so dearly loved made a cruel assault upon hisfeelings, the adventure presented no difficulties. Of ways of enteringhis house Jimmie knew a dozen, and, once inside, from cellar to attic hecould move blindfolded. His bedroom, where was the copy of "Pickwick" inwhich he had placed the will, was separated from his wife's bedroom byher boudoir. The walls were thick; through them no ordinary sound couldpenetrate, and, unless since his departure Jeanne had moved her maid orsome other chaperon into his bedroom, he could ransack it at hisleisure. The safe in which he would replace the will was in thedining-room. From the sleeping-quarters of Preston, the butler, and theother servants it was far removed. 

Cautiously in the black shadows of the trees Jimmie reconnoitred. Allthat was in evidence reassured him. The old farmhouse lay sunk inslumber, and, though in the lower hall a lamp burned, Jimmie knew it waslit only that, in case of fire or of an intruder like himself, it mightshow the way to the telephone. For a moment a lace curtain fluttering atan open window startled him, but in an instant he was reassured, and haddetermined through that window to make his entrance. He stepped out ofthe shadows toward the veranda, and at once something warm brushed hisleg, something moist touched his hand. 

Huang Su, his black chow, was welcoming him home. In a sudden access offright and pleasure Jimmie dropped to his knees. He had not known he hadbeen so lonely. He smothered the black bear in his hands. Huang Suwithdrew hastily. The dignity of his breed forbade man-handling, and ata safe distance he stretched himself nervously and yawned. 

Jimmie stepped to the railing of the veranda, raised his foot to a cleatof the awning, and swung himself sprawling upon the veranda roof. Onhands and knees across the shingles, still warm from the sun, he creptto the open window. There for some minutes, while his eyes searched theroom, he remained motionless. When his eyes grew used to thesemidarkness he saw that the bed lay flat, that the door to the boudoirwas shut, that the room was empty. As he moved across it toward thebookcase, his stockinged feet on the bare oak floor gave forth nosound. He assured himself there was no occasion for alarm. But when, with the electric torch with which he had prepared himself, he swept thebook-shelves, he suffered all the awful terrors of a thief. 

His purpose was to restore a lost fortune; had he been intent onstealing one he could not have felt more deeply guilty. At last the tinyshaft of light fell upon the title of the "Pickwick Papers. " Withshaking fingers Jimmie drew the book toward him. In his hands it fellopen, and before him lay "The Last Will and Testament of James Blagwin, Esquire. "

With an effort Jimmie choked a cry of delight. He had reason to feelrelief. In dragging the will from its hiding-place he had put behind himthe most difficult part of his adventure; the final ceremony ofreplacing it in the safe was a matter only of minutes. Withself-satisfaction Jimmie smiled; in self-pity he sighed miserably. For, when those same minutes had passed, again he would be an exile. As soonas he had set his house in order, he must leave it, and once more uponthe earth become a wanderer and an outcast. 

The knob of the door from the bedroom he grasped softly and, as heturned it, firmly. Stealthily, with infinite patience and stepping closeto the wall, he descended the stairs, tiptoed across the hall, andentered the living-room. On the lower floor he knew he was alone. Nolonger, like Oliver Twist breaking into the scullery of Mr. Giles, needhe move in dreadful fear. But as a cautious general, even when headvances, maps out his line of retreat, before approaching the safeJimmie prepared his escape. The only entrances to the dining-room werethrough the living-room, in which he stood, and from the butler'spantry. It was through the latter he determined to make his exit. Hecrossed the dining-room, and in the pantry cautiously raised the window, and on the floor below placed a chair. If while at work upon the safe hewere interrupted, to reach the lawn he had but to thrust back the doorto the pantry, leap to the chair, and through the open window fall uponthe grass. If his possible pursuers gave him time, he would retrieve hisshoes; if not, he would abandon them. They had not been made to hisorder, but bought in the Sixth Avenue store where he was unknown, andthey had been delivered to a man named Henry Hull. If found, instead ofcompromising him, they rather would help to prove the intruder was astranger. 

Having arranged his get-away, Jimmie returned to the living-room. Indefiance of caution and that he might carry with him a farewell pictureof the place where for years he had been so supremely happy, he swept itwith his torch. 

The light fell upon Jeanne's writing-desk and there halted. Jimmie gavea low gasp of pleasure and surprise. In the shaft of light, undisturbedin their silver frames and in their place of honor, he saw threephotographs of himself. The tears came to his eyes. Then Jeanne had notcast him utterly into outer darkness. She still remembered him kindly, still held for him a feeling of good will. Jimmie sighed gratefully. Thesacrifice he had made for the happiness of Jeanne and Maddox now seemedeasier to bear. And that happiness must not be jeopardized. 

More than ever before the fact that he, a dead man, must not be seen, impressed him deeply. At the slightest sound, at even the suggestion ofan alarm, he must fly. The will might take care of itself. In case hewere interrupted, where he dropped it there must it lie. The fact ofsupreme importance was that unrecognized he should escape. 

The walls of the dining-room were covered with panels of oak, and builtinto the jog of the fireplace and concealed by a movable panel was thesafe. In front of it Jimmie sank to his knees and pushed back thepanel. Propped upon a chair behind him, the electric torch threw itsshaft of light full upon the combination lock. On the floor, ready tohis hand, lay the will. 

The combination was not difficult. It required two turns left, threeright, and in conjunction two numerals. While so intent upon his workthat he scarcely breathed, Jimmie spun the knob. Then he tugged gently, and the steel door swung toward him. 

At the same moment, from behind him, a metallic click gave an instant'swarning, and then the room was flooded with light. 

From his knees, in one bound, Jimmie flung himself toward his avenue ofescape. 

It was blocked by the bulky form of Preston, the butler. 

Jimmie turned and doubled back to the door of the living-room. He foundhimself confronted by his wife. 

The sleeve of her night-dress had fallen to her shoulder and showed herwhite arm extended toward him. In her hand, pointing, was an automaticpistol. 

Already dead, Jimmie feared nothing but discovery. 

The door to the living-room was wide enough for two. With his head downhe sprang toward it. There was a report that seemed to shake the walls, and something like the blow of a nightstick knocked his leg from underhim and threw him on his back. The next instant Preston had landed withboth knees on his lower ribs and was squeezing his windpipe. 

Jimmie felt he was drowning. Around him millions of stars danced. Andthen from another world, in a howl of terror, the voice of Prestonscreamed. The hands of the butler released their hold upon his throat. As suddenly as he had thrown himself upon him he now recoiled. 

"It's _'im!_" he shouted; "it's _'im!_"

"Him?" demanded Jeanne. 

"_It's Mr. Blagwin!_"

Unlike Preston, Jeanne did not scream; nor did she faint. So greatly didshe desire to believe that "'im" was her husband, that he still was inthe same world with herself, that she did not ask how he had escapedfrom the other world, or why, having escaped, he spent his time robbinghis own house. 

Instead, much like Preston, she threw herself at him and in her young, firm arms lifted him and held him close. 

"Jimmie!" she cried, "_speak_ to me; _speak_ to me!"

The blow on the back of the head, the throttling by Preston, the"stopping power" of the bullet, even though it passed only through hisleg, had left Jimmie somewhat confused. He knew only that it was adream. But wonderful as it was to dream that once more he was withJeanne, that she clung to him, needed and welcomed him, he could notlinger to enjoy the dream. He was dead. If not, he must escape. Honorcompelled it. He made a movement to rise, and fell back. 

The voice of Preston, because he had choked his master, full of remorse, and, because his mistress had shot him, full of reproach, rose indismay:

"You've 'it 'im in the leg, ma'am!"

Jimmie heard Jeanne protest hysterically:

"That's nothing, he's _alive_!" she cried. "I'd hit him again if itwould only make him _speak_!" She pressed the bearded face against herown. "Speak to me, " she whispered; "tell me you forgive me. Tell me youlove me!"

Jimmie opened his eyes and smiled at her. 

"You never had to shoot me, " he stammered, "to make me tell you _that_. "

THE CARD-SHARP

I had looked forward to spending Christmas with some people in Suffolk, and every one in London assured me that at their house there would bethe kind of a Christmas house party you hear about but see only in theillustrated Christmas numbers. They promised mistletoe, snapdragon, andSir Roger de Coverley. On Christmas morning we would walk to church, after luncheon we would shoot, after dinner we would eat plum puddingfloating in blazing brandy, dance with the servants, and listen to thewaits singing "God rest you, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. "

To a lone American bachelor stranded in London it sounded fine. And inmy gratitude I had already shipped to my hostess, for her children, ofwhose age, number, and sex I was ignorant, half of Gamage's dolls, skees, and cricket bats, and those crackers that, when you pull them, sometimes explode. But it was not to be. Most inconsiderately mywealthiest patient gained sufficient courage to consent to anoperation, and in all New York would permit no one to lay violent handsupon him save myself. By cable I advised postponement. Having lived inlawful harmony with his appendix for fifty years, I thought, for oneweek longer he might safely maintain the _status quo_. But his cable inreply was an ultimatum. So, on Christmas eve, instead of Hallam Hall anda Yule log, I was in a gale plunging and pitching off the coast ofIreland, and the only log on board was the one the captain kept tohimself. 

I sat in the smoking-room, depressed and cross, and it must have been onthe principle that misery loves company that I forgathered with Talbot, or rather that Talbot forgathered with me. Certainly, under happierconditions and in haunts of men more crowded, the open-faced manner inwhich he forced himself upon me would have put me on my guard. But, either out of deference to the holiday spirit, as manifested in thefictitious gayety of our few fellow passengers, or because the young manin a knowing, impertinent way was most amusing, I listened to him fromdinner time until midnight, when the chief officer, hung with snow andicicles, was blown in from the deck and wished all a merry Christmas. 

Even after they unmasked Talbot I had neither the heart nor theinclination to turn him down. Indeed, had not some of the passengerstestified that I belonged to a different profession, the smoking-roomcrowd would have quarantined me as his accomplice. On the first night Imet him I was not certain whether he was English or giving an imitation. All the outward and visible signs were English, but he told me that, though he had been educated at Oxford and since then had spent most ofhis years in India, playing polo, he was an American. He seemed to havespent much time, and according to himself much money, at the Frenchwatering-places and on the Riviera. I felt sure that it was in France Ihad already seen him, but where I could not recall. He was hard toplace. Of people at home and in London well worth knowing he talkedglibly, but in speaking of them he made several slips. It was his takingthe trouble to cover up the slips that first made me wonder if histalking about himself was not mere vanity, but had some special object. I felt he was presenting letters of introduction in order that later hemight ask a favor. Whether he was leading up to an immediate loan, or inNew York would ask for a card to a club, or an introduction to a banker, I could not tell. But in forcing himself upon me, except inself-interest, I could think of no other motive. The next evening Idiscovered the motive. 

He was in the smoking-room playing solitaire, and at once I recalledthat it was at Aix-les-Bains I had first seen him, and that he held abank at baccarat. When he asked me to sit down I said: "I saw you lastsummer at Aix-les-Bains. "

His eyes fell to the pack in his hands and apparently searched it forsome particular card. 

"What was I doing?" he asked. 

"Dealing baccarat at the Casino des Fleurs. "

With obvious relief he laughed. 

"Oh, yes, " he assented; "jolly place, Aix. But I lost a pot of moneythere. I'm a rotten hand at cards. Can't win, and can't leave 'emalone. " As though for this weakness, so frankly confessed, he begged meto excuse him, he smiled appealingly. "Poker, bridge, chemin de fer, Ilike 'em all, " he rattled on, "but they don't like me. So I stick tosolitaire. It's dull, but cheap. " He shuffled the cards clumsily. Asthough making conversation, he asked: "You care for cards yourself?"

I told him truthfully I did not know the difference between a club and aspade and had no curiosity to learn. At this, when he found he had beenwasting time on me, I expected him to show some sign of annoyance, evenof irritation, but his disappointment struck far deeper. As though I hadhurt him physically, he shut his eyes, and when again he opened them Isaw in them distress. For the moment I believe of my presence he wasutterly unconscious. His hands lay idle upon the table; like a manfacing a crisis, he stared before him. Quite improperly, I felt sorryfor him. In me he thought he had found a victim; and that the loss ofthe few dollars he might have won should so deeply disturb him showedhis need was great. Almost at once he abandoned me and I went on deck. When I returned an hour later to the smoking-room he was deep in a gameof poker. 

As I passed he hailed me gayly. 

"Don't scold, now, " he laughed; "you know I can't keep away from it. "

From his manner those at the table might have supposed we were friendsof long and happy companionship. I stopped behind his chair, but hethought I had passed, and in reply to one of the players answered:"Known him for years; he's set me right many a time. When I broke myright femur 'chasin, ' he got me back in the saddle in six weeks. All mypeople swear by him. "

One of the players smiled up at me, and Talbot turned. But his eyes metmine with perfect serenity. He even held up his cards for me to see. "What would you draw?" he asked. 

His audacity so astonished me that in silence I could only stare at himand walk on. 

When on deck he met me he was not even apologetic. Instead, as though wewere partners in crime, he chuckled delightedly. 

"Sorry, " he said. "Had to do it. They weren't very keen at my taking ahand, so I had to use your name. But I'm all right now, " he assured me. "They think you vouched for me, and to-night they're going to raise thelimit. I've convinced them I'm an easy mark. "

"And I take it you are not, " I said stiffly. 

He considered this unworthy of an answer and only smiled. Then the smiledied, and again in his eyes I saw distress, infinite weariness, andfear. 

As though his thoughts drove him to seek protection, he came closer. 

"I'm 'in bad, ' doctor, " he said. His voice was frightened, bewildered, like that of a child. "I can't sleep; nerves all on the loose. I don'tthink straight. I hear voices, and no one around. I hear knockings atthe door, and when I open it, no one there. If I don't keep fit I can'twork, and this trip I _got_ to make expenses. You couldn't help me, could you--couldn't give me something to keep my head straight?"

The need of my keeping his head straight that he might the easier robour fellow passengers raised a pretty question of ethics. I meanlydodged it. I told him professional etiquette required I should leave himto the ship's surgeon. 

"But I don't know _him_, " he protested. 

Mindful of the use he had made of my name, I objected strenuously:

"Well, you certainly don't know me. "

My resentment obviously puzzled him. 

"I know who you _are_, " he returned. "You and I--" With a deprecatorygesture, as though good taste forbade him saying who we were, hestopped. "But the ship's surgeon!" he protested; "he's an awful bounder!Besides, " he added quite simply, "he's watching me. "

"As a doctor, " I asked, "or watching you play cards?"

"Play cards, " the young man answered. "I'm afraid he was ship's surgeonon the P. & O. I came home on. There was trouble that voyage, and Ifancy he remembers me. "

His confidences were becoming a nuisance. 

"But you mustn't tell me that, " I protested. "I can't have you makingtrouble on this ship, too. How do you know I won't go straight fromhere to the captain?"

As though the suggestion greatly entertained him, he laughed. 

He made a mock obeisance. 

"I claim the seal of your profession, " he said. 

"Nonsense, " I retorted. "It's a professional secret that your nerves areout of hand, but that you are a card-sharp is _not_. Don't mix me upwith a priest. "

For a moment Talbot, as though fearing he had gone too far, looked at mesharply; he bit his lower lip and frowned. 

"I got to make expenses, " he muttered. "And, besides, all card games aregames of chance, and a card-sharp is one of the chances. Anyway, " herepeated, as though disposing of all argument, "I got to make expenses. "

After dinner, when I came to the smoking-room, the poker party satwaiting, and one of them asked if I knew where they could find "myfriend. " I should have said then that Talbot was a steamer acquaintanceonly; but I hate a row, and I let the chance pass. 

"We want to give him his revenge, " one of them volunteered. 

"He's losing, then?" I asked. 

The man chuckled complacently. 

"The only loser, " he said. 

"I wouldn't worry, " I advised. "He'll come for his revenge. "

That night after I had turned in he knocked at my door. I switched onthe lights and saw him standing at the foot of my berth. I saw also thatwith difficulty he was holding himself in hand. 

"I'm scared, " he stammered, "scared!"

I wrote out a requisition on the surgeon for a sleeping-potion and sentit to him by the steward, giving the man to understand I wanted it formyself. Uninvited, Talbot had seated himself on the sofa. His eyes wereclosed, and as though he were cold he was shivering and hugging himselfin his arms. 

"Have you been drinking?" I asked. 

In surprise he opened his eyes. 

"_I_ can't drink, " he answered simply. "It's nerves and worry. I'mtired. "

He relaxed against the cushions; his arms fell heavily at his sides; thefingers lay open. 

"God, " he whispered, "how tired I am!"

In spite of his tan--and certainly he had led the out-of-door life--hisface showed white. For the moment he looked old, worn, finished. 

"They're crowdin' me, " the boy whispered. "They're always crowdin' me. "His voice was querulous, uncomprehending, like that of a childcomplaining of something beyond his experience. "I can't remember whenthey haven't been crowdin' me. Movin' me on, you understand? Alwaysmovin' me on. Moved me out of India, then Cairo, then they closed Paris, and now they've shut me out of London. I opened a club there, veryquiet, very exclusive, smart neighborhood, too--a flat in BerkeleyStreet--roulette and chemin de fer. I think it was my valet sold me out;anyway, they came in and took us all to Bow Street. So I've plunged onthis. It's my last chance!"

"This trip?"

"No; my family in New York. Haven't seen 'em in ten years. They paid meto live abroad. I'm gambling on _them_; gambling on their takin' meback. I'm coming home as the Prodigal Son, tired of filling my bellywith the husks that the swine do eat; reformed character, repentant andall that; want to follow the straight and narrow; and they'll kill thefatted calf. " He laughed sardonically. "Like hell they will! They'drather see _me_ killed. "

It seemed to me, if he wished his family to believe he were returningrepentant, his course in the smoking-room would not help to reassurethem. I suggested as much. 

"If you get into 'trouble, ' as you call it, " I said, "and they send awireless to the police to be at the wharf, your people would hardly--"

"I know, " he interrupted; "but I got to chance that. I _got_ to makeenough to go on with--until I see my family. "

"If they won't see you?" I asked. "What then?"

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed lightly, almost with relief, asthough for him the prospect held no terror. 

"Then it's 'Good night, nurse, '" he said. "And I won't be a bother toanybody any more. "

I told him his nerves were talking, and talking rot, and I gave him thesleeping-draft and sent him to bed. 

It was not until after luncheon the next day when he made his firstappearance on deck that I again saw my patient. He was once more ahealthy picture of a young Englishman of leisure; keen, smart, and fit;ready for any exercise or sport. The particular sport at which he was soexpert I asked him to avoid. 

"Can't be done!" he assured me. "I'm the loser, and we dock to-morrowmorning. So to-night I've got to make my killing. "

It was the others who made the killing. 

I came into the smoking-room about nine o'clock. Talbot alone wasseated. The others were on their feet, and behind them in a widersemicircle were passengers, the smoking-room stewards, and the ship'spurser. 

Talbot sat with his back against the bulkhead, his hands in the pocketsof his dinner coat; from the corner of his mouth his longcigarette-holder was cocked at an impudent angle. There was a tumult ofangry voices, and the eyes of all were turned upon him. Outwardly atleast he met them with complete indifference. The voice of one of mycountrymen, a noisy pest named Smedburg, was raised in excitedaccusation. 

"When the ship's surgeon first met you, " he cried, "you called yourselfLord Ridley. "

"I'll call myself anything I jolly well like, " returned Talbot. "If Ichoose to dodge reporters, that's _my_ pidgin. I don't have to give myname to every meddling busybody that--"

"You'll give it to the police, all right, " chortled Mr. Smedburg. In theconfident, bullying tone of the man who knows the crowd is with him, heshouted: "And in the meantime you'll keep out of this smoking-room!"

The chorus of assent was unanimous. It could not be disregarded. Talbotrose and with fastidious concern brushed the cigarette ashes from hissleeve. As he moved toward the door he called back: "Only too delightedto keep out. The crowd in this room makes a gentleman feel lonely. "

But he was not to escape with the last word. 

His prosecutor pointed his finger at him. 

"And the next time you take the name of Adolph Meyer, " he shouted, "makesure first he hasn't a friend on board; some one to protect him fromsharpers and swindlers--"

Talbot turned savagely and then shrugged his shoulders. 

"Oh, go to the devil!" he called, and walked out into the night. 

The purser was standing at my side and, catching my eye, shook his head. 

"Bad business, " he exclaimed. 

"What happened?" I asked. 

"I'm told they caught him dealing from the wrong end of the pack, " hesaid. "I understand they suspected him from the first--seems our surgeonrecognized him--and to-night they had outsiders watching him. Theoutsiders claim they saw him slip himself an ace from the bottom of thepack. It's a pity! He's a nice-looking lad. "

I asked what the excited Smedburg had meant by telling Talbot not tocall himself Meyer. 

"They accused him of travelling under a false name, " explained thepurser, "and he told 'em he did it to dodge the ship's news reporters. Then he said he _really_ was a brother of Adolph Meyer, the banker; butit seems Smedburg is a friend of Meyer's, and he called him hard! It wasa silly ass thing to do, " protested the purser. "Everybody knows Meyerhasn't a brother, and if he hadn't made _that_ break he might have gotaway with the other one. But now this Smedburg is going to wirelessahead to Mr. Meyer and to the police. "

"Has he no other way of spending his money?" I asked. 

"He's a confounded nuisance!" growled the purser. "He wants to show ushe knows Adolph Meyer; wants to put Meyer under an obligation. It meansa scene on the wharf, and newspaper talk; and, " he added with disgust, "these smoking-room rows never helped any line. "

I went in search of Talbot; partly because I knew he was on the vergeof a collapse, partly, as I frankly admitted to myself, because I wassorry the young man had come to grief. I searched the snow-swept decks, and then, after threading my way through faintly lit tunnels, I knockedat his cabin. The sound of his voice gave me a distinct feeling ofrelief. But he would not admit me. Through the closed door he declaredhe was "all right, " wanted no medical advice, and asked only to resumethe sleep he claimed I had broken. I left him, not without uneasiness, and the next morning the sight of him still in the flesh was a genuinethrill. I found him walking the deck carrying himself nonchalantly andtrying to appear unconscious of the glances--amused, contemptuous, hostile--that were turned toward him. He would have passed me withoutspeaking, but I took his arm and led him to the rail. We had long passedquarantine and a convoy of tugs were butting us into the dock. 

"What are you going to do?" I asked. 

"Doesn't depend on me, " he said. "Depends on Smedburg. He's a busylittle body!"

The boy wanted me to think him unconcerned, but beneath the flippancy Isaw the nerves jerking. Then quite simply he began to tell me. He spokein a low, even monotone, dispassionately, as though for him theincident no longer was of interest. 

"They were watching me, " he said. "But I _knew_ they were, and besides, no matter how close they watched I could have done what they said I didand they'd never have seen it. But I didn't. "

My scepticism must have been obvious, for he shook his head. 

"I didn't!" he repeated stubbornly. "I didn't have to! I was playing inluck--wonderful luck--sheer, dumb luck. I couldn't _help_ winning. Butbecause I _was_ winning and because they were watching, I was carefulnot to win on my own deal. I laid down, or played to lose. It was thecards _they_ gave me I won with. And when they jumped me I told 'emthat. I could have proved it if they'd listened. But they were all up inthe air, shouting and spitting at me. They believed what they wanted tobelieve; they didn't want the facts. "

It may have been credulous of me, but I felt the boy was telling thetruth, and I was deeply sorry he had not stuck to it. So, ratherharshly, I said:

"They didn't want you to tell them you were a brother to Adolph Meyer, either. Why did you think you could get away with anything like that?"

Talbot did not answer. 

"Why?" I insisted. 

The boy laughed impudently. 

"How the devil was I to know he hadn't a brother?" he protested. "It wasa good name, and he's a Jew, and two of the six who were in the game areJews. You know how they stick together. I thought they might stick byme. "

"But you, " I retorted impatiently, "are not a Jew!"

"I am not, " said Talbot, "but I've often _said_ I was. It's helped--lotsof times. If I'd told you my name was Cohen, or Selmsky, or Meyer, instead of Craig Talbot, _you'd_ have thought I was a Jew. " He smiledand turned his face toward me. As though furnishing a description forthe police, he began to enumerate:

"Hair, dark and curly; eyes, poppy; lips, full; nose, Roman or Hebraic, according to taste. Do you see?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"But it didn't work, " he concluded. "I picked the wrong Jew. "

His face grew serious. "Do you suppose that Smedburg person _has_wirelessed that banker?"

I told him I was afraid he had already sent the message. 

"And what will Meyer do?" he asked. "Will he drop it or make a fuss?What sort is he?"

Briefly I described Adolph Meyer. I explained him as the richest Hebrewin New York; given to charity, to philanthropy, to the betterment of hisown race. 

"Then maybe, " cried Talbot hopefully, "he won't make a row, and myfamily won't hear of it!"

He drew a quick breath of relief. As though a burden had been lifted, his shoulders straightened. 

And then suddenly, harshly, in open panic, he exclaimed aloud:

"Look!" he whispered. "There, at the end of the wharf--the little Jew infurs!"

I followed the direction of his eyes. Below us on the dock, protected bytwo obvious members of the strong-arm squad, the great banker, philanthropist, and Hebrew, Adolph Meyer, was waiting. 

We were so close that I could read his face. It was stern, set; the faceof a man intent upon his duty, unrelenting. Without question, of a badbusiness Mr. Smedburg had made the worst. I turned to speak to Talbotand found him gone. 

His silent slipping away filled me with alarm. I fought against agrowing fear. How many minutes I searched for him I do not know. Itseemed many hours. His cabin, where first I sought him, was empty anddismantled, and by that I was reminded that if for any desperate purposeTalbot were seeking to conceal himself there now were hundreds of otherempty, dismantled cabins in which he might hide. To my inquiries no onegave heed. In the confusion of departure no one had observed him; no onewas in a humor to seek him out; the passengers were pressing to thegangway, the stewards concerned only in counting their tips. From deckto deck, down lane after lane of the great floating village, I racedblindly, peering into half-opened doors, pushing through groups of men, pursuing some one in the distance who appeared to be the man I sought, only to find he was unknown to me. When I returned to the gangway thelast of the passengers was leaving it. 

I was about to follow to seek for Talbot in the customs shed when awhite-faced steward touched my sleeve. Before he spoke his look told mewhy I was wanted. 

"The ship's surgeon, sir, " he stammered, "asks you please to hurry tothe sick-bay. A passenger has shot himself!"

On the bed, propped up by pillows, young Talbot, with glazed, shockedeyes, stared at me. His shirt had been cut away; his chest lay bare. Against his left shoulder the doctor pressed a tiny sponge which quicklydarkened. 

I must have exclaimed aloud, for the doctor turned his eyes. 

"It was _he_ sent for you, " he said, "but he doesn't need you. Fortunately, he's a damned bad shot!"

The boy's eyes opened wearily; before we could prevent it he spoke. 

"I was so tired, " he whispered. "Always moving me on. I was so tired!"

Behind me came heavy footsteps, and though with my arm I tried to barthem out, the two detectives pushed into the doorway. They shoved me toone side and through the passage made for him came the Jew in the sablecoat, Mr. Adolph Meyer. 

For an instant the little great man stood with wide, owl-like eyes, staring at the face on the pillow. 

Then he sank softly to his knees. In both his hands he caught the handof the card-sharp. 

"Heine!" he begged. "Don't you know me? It is your brother Adolph; yourlittle brother Adolph!"

BILLY AND THE BIG STICK

Had the Wilmot Electric Light people remained content only to makelight, had they not, as a by-product, attempted to make money, they neednot have left Hayti. 

When they flooded with radiance the unpaved streets of Port-au-Prince noone, except the police, who complained that the lights kept them awake, made objection; but when for this illumination the Wilmot Companydemanded payment, every one up to President Hamilcar Poussevain wassurprised and grieved. So grieved was President Ham, as he was lovinglydesignated, that he withdrew the Wilmot concession, surrounded thepower-house with his barefooted army, and in a proclamation announcedthat for the future the furnishing of electric light would be a monopolyof the government. 

In Hayti, as soon as it begins to make money, any industry, native orforeign, becomes a monopoly of the government. The thing worksautomatically. It is what in Hayti is understood as _haut finance_. TheWilmot people should have known that. Because they did not know that, they stood to lose what they had sunk in the electric-light plant, andafter their departure to New York, which departure was accelerated asfar as the wharf by seven generals and twelve privates, they proceededto lose more money on lobbyists and lawyers who claimed to understandinternational law; even the law of Hayti. And lawyers who understandthat are high-priced. 

The only employee of the Wilmot force who was not escorted to the wharfunder guard was Billy Barlow. He escaped the honor because he wassuperintendent of the power-house, and President Ham believed thatwithout him the lightning would not strike. Accordingly by an executiveorder Billy became an employee of the government. With this arrangementthe Wilmot people were much pleased. For they trusted Billy, and theyknew while in the courts they were fighting to regain their property, hewould see no harm came to it. 

Billy's title was Directeur Général et Inspecteur Municipal de LuminaireElectrique, which is some title, and his salary was fifty dollars aweek. In spite of Billy's color President Ham always treated his onlywhite official with courtesy and gave him his full title. About givinghim his full salary he was less particular. This neglect greatly annoyedBilly. He came of sturdy New England stock and possessed that NewEngland conscience which makes the owner a torment to himself, and toevery one else a nuisance. Like all the other Barlows of Barnstable onCape Cod, Billy had worked for his every penny. He was no shirker. Fromthe first day that he carried a pair of pliers in the leg pocket of hisoveralls, and in a sixty-knot gale stretched wires between ice-cappedtelegraph poles, he had more than earned his wages. Never, whether ontime or at piece-work, had he by a slovenly job, or by beating thewhistle, robbed his employer. And for his honest toil he was determinedto be as honestly paid--even by President Hamilcar Poussevain. AndPresident Ham never paid anybody; neither the Armenian street peddlers, in whose sweets he delighted, nor the Bethlehem Steel Company, nor thehouse of Rothschild. 

Why he paid Billy even the small sums that from time to time Billy wrungfrom the president's strong box the foreign colony were at a loss toexplain. Wagner, the new American consul, asked Billy how he managed it. As an American minister had not yet been appointed, to the duties ofthe consul, as Wagner assured everybody, were added those of diplomacy. But Haytian diplomacy he had yet to master. At the seaport in Scotlandwhere he had served as vice-consul, law and order were as solidlyestablished as the stone jetties, and by contrast the eccentricities ofthe Black Republic baffled and distressed him. 

"It can't be that you blackmail the president, " said the consul, "because I understand he boasts he has committed all the known crimes. "

"And several he invented, " agreed Billy. 

"And you can't do it with a gun, because they tell me the presidentisn't afraid of anything except a voodoo priestess. What is yoursecret?" coaxed the consul. "If you'll only sell it, I know severalPowers that would give you your price. "

Billy smiled modestly. 

"It's very simple, " he said. "The first time my wages were shy I went tothe palace and told him if he didn't come across I'd shut off the juice. I think he was so stunned at anybody asking him for real money thatwhile he was still stunned he opened his safe and handed me two thousandfrancs. I think he did it more in admiration for my nerve than becausehe owed it. The next time pay-day arrived, and the pay did not, I didn'tgo to the palace. I just went to bed, and the lights went to bed, too. You may remember?"

The consul snorted indignantly. 

"I was holding three queens at the time, " he protested. "Was it _you_did that?"

"It was, " said Billy. "The police came for me to start the current goingagain, but I said I was too ill. Then the president's own doctor came, old Gautier, and Gautier examined me with a lantern and said that inHayti my disease frequently proved fatal, but he thought if I turned onthe lights I might recover. I told him I was tired of life, anyway, butthat if I could see three thousand francs it might give me an incentive. He reported back to the president and the three thousand francs arrivedalmost instantly, and a chicken broth from Ham's own chef, with HisExcellency's best wishes for the recovery of the invalid. My recoverywas instantaneous, and I switched on the lights. 

"I had just moved into the Widow Ducrot's hotel that week, and herdaughter Claire wouldn't let me eat the broth. I thought it was because, as she's a dandy cook herself, she was professionally jealous. She putthe broth on the top shelf of the pantry and wrote on a piece of paper, 'Gare!' But the next morning a perfectly good cat, who apparentlycouldn't read, was lying beside it dead. "

The consul frowned reprovingly. 

"You should not make such reckless charges, " he protested. "I would callit only a coincidence. "

"You can call it what you please, " said Billy, "but it won't bring thecat back. Anyway, the next time I went to the palace to collect, thepresident was ready for me. He said he'd been taking out information, and he found if I shut off the lights again he could hire another man inthe States to turn them on. I told him he'd been deceived. I told himthe Wilmot Electric Lights were produced by a secret process, and thatonly a trained Wilmot man could work them. And I pointed out to him ifhe dismissed me it wasn't likely the Wilmot people would loan himanother expert; not while they were fighting him through the courts andthe State Department. That impressed the old man; so I issued myultimatum. I said if he must have electric lights he must have me, too. Whether he liked it or not, mine was a life job. "

"What did he say to that?" gasped the new consul. 

"Said it _wasn't_ a life job, because he was going to have me shot atsunset. "

"Then you said?"

"I said if he did that there wouldn't be any electric lights, and _you_would bring a warship and shoot Hayti off the map. "

The new consul was most indignant. 

"You had no right to say that!" he protested. "You did very ill. Myinstructions are to avoid all serious complications. "

"That was what I was trying to avoid, " said Billy. "Don't you call beingshot at sunset a serious complication? Or would that be just acoincidence, too? You're a hellofa consul!"

Since his talk with the representative of his country four months hadpassed and Billy still held his job. But each month the number of francshe was able to wrest from President Hamilcar dwindled, and were won onlyafter verbal conflicts that each month increased in violence. 

To the foreign colony it became evident that, in the side of PresidentHam, Billy was a thorn, sharp, irritating, virulent, and that at anymoment Ham might pluck that thorn and Billy would leave Hayti in haste, and probably in handcuffs. This was evident to Billy, also, and theprospect was most disquieting. Not because he loved Hayti, but becausesince he went to lodge at the café of the Widow Ducrot, he had learnedto love her daughter Claire, and Claire loved him. 

On the two thousand dollars due him from Ham they plotted to marry. Thiswas not as great an adventure as it might appear. Billy knew that fromthe Wilmot people he always was sure of a salary, and one which, withsuch an excellent housekeeper as was Claire, would support them both. But with his two thousand dollars as capital they could afford toplunge; they could go upon a honeymoon; they need not dread a rainy day, and, what was of greatest importance, they need not delay. There wasgood reason against delay, for the hand of the beautiful Claire wasalready promised. The Widow Ducrot had promised it to Paillard, he ofthe prosperous commission business, the prominent _embonpoint_, and fourchildren. Monsieur Paillard possessed an establishment of his own, butit was a villa in the suburbs; and so, each day at noon, for his_déjeûné_ he left his office and crossed the street to the Café Ducrot. For five years this had been his habit. At first it was the widow'scooking that attracted him, then for a time the widow herself; but whenfrom the convent Claire came to assist her mother in the café, and whenfrom a lanky, big-eyed, long-legged child she grew into a slim, joyous, and charming young woman, she alone was the attraction, and the WidowerPaillard decided to make her his wife. Other men had made the samedecision; and when it was announced that between Claire and the widowera marriage had been "arranged, " the clerks in the foreign commissionhouses and the agents of the steamship lines drowned their sorrow in rumand ran the house flags to half-staff. Paillard himself took theproposed alliance calmly. He was not an impetuous suitor. With WidowDucrot he agreed that Claire was still too young to marry, and tohimself kept the fact that to remarry he was in no haste. In his minddoubts still lingered. With a wife, young enough to be one of hischildren, disorganizing the routine of his villa, would it be any morecomfortable than he now found it? Would his eldest daughter and herstepmother dwell together in harmony? The eldest daughter had assuredhim that so far as she was concerned they would not; and, after all, inmarrying a girl, no matter how charming, without a dot, and the daughterof a boarding-house keeper, no matter how respectable, was he notdisposing of himself too cheaply? These doubts assailed Papa Paillard;these speculations were in his mind. And while he speculated Billyacted. 

"I know that in France, " Billy assured Claire, "marriages are arrangedby the parents; but in _my_ country they are arranged in heaven. And whoare we to disregard the edicts of heaven? Ages and ages ago, before theflood, before Napoleon, even before old Paillard with his four children, it was arranged in heaven that you were to marry me. So, what littleplans your good mother may make don't cut enough ice to cool a greenmint. Now, we can't try to get married here, " continued Billy, "withoutyour mother and Paillard knowing it. In this town as many people have tosign the marriage contract as signed our Declaration of Independence:all the civil authorities, all the clergy, all the relatives; if everyman in the telephone book isn't a witness, the marriage doesn't 'take. 'So, we must elope!"

Having been brought up in a convent, where she was taught to obey hermother and forbidden to think of marriage, Claire was naturallydelighted with the idea of an elopement. 

"To where will we elope to?" she demanded. Her English, as she learnedit from Billy, was sometimes confusing. 

"To New York, " said Billy. "On the voyage there I will put you in chargeof the stewardess and the captain; and there isn't a captain on theRoyal Dutch or the Atlas that hasn't known you since you were a baby. And as soon as we dock we'll drive straight to the city hall for alicense and the mayor himself will marry us. Then I'll get back my oldjob from the Wilmot folks and we'll live happy ever after!"

"In New York, also, " asked Claire proudly, "are you directeur of theelectric lights?"

"On Broadway alone, " Billy explained reprovingly, "there is one signthat uses more bulbs than there are in the whole of Hayti!"

"New York is a large town!" exclaimed Claire. 

"It's a large sign, " corrected Billy. "But, " he pointed out, "with nomoney we'll never see it. So to-morrow I'm going to make a social callon Grandpa Ham and demand my ten thousand francs. "

Claire grasped his arm. 

"Be careful, " she pleaded. "Remember the chicken soup. If he offers youthe champagne, refuse it!"

"He won't offer me the champagne, " Billy assured her. "It won't be thatkind of a call. "

Billy left the Café Ducrot and made his way to the water-front. He wasexpecting some electrical supplies by the _Prinz der Nederlanden_, andshe had already come to anchor. 

He was late, and save for a group of his countrymen, who with thecustoms officials were having troubles of their own, the customs shedwas all but deserted. Billy saw his freight cleared and was going awaywhen one of those in trouble signalled for assistance. 

He was a good-looking young man in a Panama hat and his manner seemed totake it for granted that Billy knew who he was. 

"They want us to pay duty on our trunks, " he explained, "and we want toleave them in bond. We'll be here only until to-night, when we're goingon down the coast to Santo Domingo. But we don't speak French, and wecan't make them understand that. "

"You don't need to speak any language to give a man ten dollars, " saidBilly. 

"Oh!" exclaimed the man in the Panama. "I was afraid if I tried thatthey might arrest us. "

"They may arrest you if you don't, " said Billy. 

Acting both as interpreter and disbursing agent, Billy satisfied thedemands of his fellow employees of the government, and his fellowcountrymen he directed to the Hotel Ducrot. 

As some one was sure to take their money, he thought it might as well goto his mother-in-law elect. The young man in the Panama expressed thedeepest gratitude, and Billy, assuring him he would see him later, continued to the power-house, still wondering where he had seen himbefore. 

At the power-house he found seated at his desk a large, bearded strangerwhose derby hat and ready-to-wear clothes showed that he also had butjust arrived on the _Prinz der Nederlanden_. 

"You William Barlow?" demanded the stranger. "I understand you beenthreatening, unless you get your pay raised, to commit sabotage on theseworks?"

"Who the devil are you?" inquired Billy. 

The stranger produced an impressive-looking document covered with seals. 

"Contract with the president, " he said. "I've taken over your job. Youbetter get out quiet, " he advised, "as they've given me a squad ofnigger policemen to see that you do. "

"Are you aware that these works are the property of the Wilmot Company?"asked Billy, "and that if anything went wrong here they'd hold youresponsible?"

The stranger smiled complacently. 

"I've run plants, " he said, "that make these lights look like a stablelantern on a foggy night. "

"In that case, " assented Billy, "should anything happen, you'll knowexactly what to do, and I can leave you in charge without feeling theleast anxiety. "

"That's just what you can do, " the stranger agreed heartily, "and youcan't do it too quick!" From the desk he took Billy's favorite pipe andloaded it from Billy's tobacco-jar. But when Billy had reached the doorhe called to him. "Before you go, son, " he said, "you might give me atip about this climate. I never been in the tropics. It's kind ofunhealthy, ain't it?"

His expression was one of concern. 

"If you hope to keep alive, " began Billy, "there are two things toavoid--"

The stranger laughed knowingly. 

"I got you!" he interrupted. "You're going to tell me to cut out wineand women. "

"I was going to tell you, " said Billy, "to cut out hoping to collect anywages and to avoid every kind of soup. "

From the power-house Billy went direct to the palace. His anxiety wasgreat. Now that Claire had consented to leave Hayti, the loss of hisposition did not distress him. But the possible loss of his back paywould be a catastrophe. He had hardly enough money to take them both toNew York, and after they arrived none with which to keep them alive. Before the Wilmot Company could find a place for him a month mightpass, and during that month they might starve. If he went alone andarranged for Claire to follow, he might lose her. Her mother might marryher to Paillard; Claire might fall ill; without him at her elbow to keepher to their purpose the voyage to an unknown land might require morecourage than she possessed. Billy saw it was imperative they shoulddepart together, and to that end he must have his two thousand dollars. The money was justly his. For it he had sweated and slaved; had givenhis best effort. And so, when he faced the president, he was in noconciliatory mood. Neither was the president. 

By what right, he demanded, did this foreigner affront his ears withdemands for money; how dared he force his way into his presence and tohis face babble of back pay? It was insolent, incredible. Withindignation the president set forth the position of the government. Billy had been discharged and, with the appointment of his successor, the stranger in the derby hat, had ceased to exist. The government couldnot pay money to some one who did not exist. All indebtedness to Billyalso had ceased to exist. The account had been wiped out. Billy had beenwiped out. 

The big negro, with the chest and head of a gorilla, tossed his kinkywhite curls so violently that the ringlets danced. Billy, he declared, had been a pest; a fly that buzzed and buzzed and disturbed hisslumbers. And now when the fly thought he slept he had caught andcrushed it--so. President Ham clinched his great fist convulsively and, with delight in his pantomime, opened his fingers one by one, and heldout his pink palm, wrinkled and crossed like the hand of a washerwoman, as though to show Billy that in it lay the fly, dead. 

"_C'est une chose jugée_!" thundered the president. 

He reached for his quill pen. 

But Billy, with Claire in his heart, with the injustice of it ranklingin his mind, did not agree. 

"It is not an affair closed, " shouted Billy in his best French. "It isan affair international, diplomatic; a cause for war!"

Believing he had gone mad, President Ham gazed at him speechless. 

"From here I go to the cable office, " shouted Billy. "I cable for awarship! If, by to-night, I am not paid my money, marines will surroundour power-house, and the Wilmot people will back me up, and mygovernment will back me up!"

It was, so Billy thought, even as he launched it, a tirade satisfyingand magnificent. But in his turn the president did not agree. 

He rose. He was a large man. Billy wondered he had not previouslynoticed how very large he was. 

"To-night at nine o'clock, " he said, "the German boat departs for NewYork. " As though aiming a pistol, he raised his arm and at Billy pointeda finger. "If, after she departs, you are found in Port-au-Prince, youwill be shot!"

The audience-chamber was hung with great mirrors in frames of tarnishedgilt. In these Billy saw himself reproduced in a wavering line ofBillies that, like the ghost of Banquo, stretched to the disappearingpoint. Of such images there was an army, but of the real Billy, as hewas acutely conscious, there was but one. Among the black faces scowlingfrom the doorways he felt the odds were against him. Without making areply he passed out between the racks of rusty muskets in the anteroom, between the two Gatling guns guarding the entrance, and on the palacesteps, in indecision, halted. 

As Billy hesitated an officer followed him from the palace and beckonedto the guard that sat in the bare dust of the Champ de Mars playingcards for cartridges. Two abandoned the game, and, having receivedtheir orders, picked their muskets from the dust and stood lookingexpectantly at Billy. 

They were his escort, and it was evident that until nine o'clock, whenhe sailed, his movements would be spied upon; his acts reported to thepresident. 

Such being the situation, Billy determined that his first act to bereported should be of a nature to cause the president active mentalanguish. With his guard at his heels he went directly to the cablestation, and to the Secretary of State of the United States addressedthis message: "President refuses my pay; threatens shoot; wirelessnearest war-ship proceed here full speed. William Barlow. "

Billy and the director of telegraphs, who out of office hours was afield-marshal, and when not in his shirt-sleeves always appeared inuniform, went over each word of the cablegram together. When Billy wasassured that the field-marshal had grasped the full significance of ithe took it back and added, "Love to Aunt Maria. " The extra words costfour dollars and eighty cents gold, but, as they suggested ties of bloodbetween himself and the Secretary of State, they seemed advisable. Inthe account-book in which he recorded his daily expenditures Billycredited the item to "life-insurance. "

The revised cablegram caused the field-marshal deep concern. He frownedat Billy ferociously. 

"I will forward this at once, " he promised. "But, I warn you, " he added, "I deliver also a copy to _my_ president!"

Billy sighed hopefully. 

"You might deliver the copy first, " he suggested. 

From the cable station Billy, still accompanied by his faithfulretainers, returned to the power-house. There he bade farewell to theblack brothers who had been his assistants, and upon one of them presseda sum of money. 

As they parted, this one, as though giving the pass-word of a secretsociety, chanted solemnly:

"_A huit heures juste_!"

And Billy clasped his hand and nodded. 

At the office of the Royal Dutch West India Line Billy purchased aticket to New York and inquired were there many passengers. 

"The ship is empty, " said the agent. 

"I am glad, " said Billy, "for one of my assistants may come with me. Healso is being deported. "

"You can have as many cabins as you want, " said the agent. "We are sosorry to see you go that we will try to make you feel you leave us onyour private yacht. "

The next two hours Billy spent in seeking out those acquaintances fromwhom he could borrow money. He found that by asking for it inhomoeopathic doses he was able to shame the foreign colony into loaninghim all of one hundred dollars. This, with what he had in hand, wouldtake Claire and himself to New York and for a week keep them alive. After that he must find work or they must starve. 

In the garden of the Café Ducrot Billy placed his guard at a table withbottles of beer between them, and at an adjoining table with Claireplotted the elopement for that night. The garden was in the rear of thehotel and a door in the lower wall opened into the rue Cambon, that leddirectly to the water-front. 

Billy proposed that at eight o'clock Claire should be waiting in the rueCambon outside this door. They would then make their way to one of theless frequented wharfs, where Claire would arrange to have a rowboat inreadiness, and in it they would take refuge on the steamer. An hourlater, before the flight of Claire could be discovered, they would havestarted on their voyage to the mainland. 

"I warn you, " said Billy, "that after we reach New York I have onlyenough to keep us for a week. It will be a brief honeymoon. After thatwe will probably starve. I'm not telling you this to discourage you, " heexplained; "only trying to be honest. "

"I would rather starve with you in New York, " said Claire, "than diehere without you. "

At these words Billy desired greatly to kiss Claire, but the guards werescowling at him. It was not until Claire had gone to her room to packher bag and the chance to kiss her had passed that Billy recognized thatthe scowls were intended to convey the fact that the beer bottles wereempty. He remedied this and remained alone at his table considering theoutlook. The horizon was, indeed, gloomy, and the only light upon it, the loyalty and love of the girl, only added to his bitterness. Aboveall things he desired to make her content, to protect her from disquiet, to convince her that in the sacrifice she was making she also wasplotting her own happiness. Had he been able to collect his ten thousandfrancs his world would have danced in sunshine. As it was, the heavenswere gray and for the future the skies promised only rainy days. Inthese depressing reflections Billy was interrupted by the approach ofthe young man in the Panama hat. Billy would have avoided him, but theyoung man and his two friends would not be denied. For the service Billyhad rendered them they wished to express their gratitude. It foundexpression in the form of Planter's punch. As they consumed this Billyexplained to the strangers why the customs men had detained them. 

"You told them you were leaving to-night for Santo Domingo, " said Billy;"but they knew that was impossible, for there is no steamer down thecoast for two weeks. "

The one whose features seemed familiar replied:

"Still, we _are_ leaving to-night, " he said; "not on a steamer, but on awar-ship. "

"A war-ship?" cried Billy. His heart beat at high speed. "Then, " heexclaimed, "you are a naval officer?"

The young man shook his head and, as though challenging Billy to makeanother guess, smiled. 

"Then, " Billy complied eagerly, "you are a diplomat! Are you our newminister?"

One of the other young men exclaimed reproachfully:

"You know him perfectly well!" he protested. "You've seen his picturethousands of times. "

With awe and pride he placed his hand on Billy's arm and with the otherpointed at the one in the Panama hat. 

"It's Harry St. Clair, " he announced. "Harry St. Clair, the King of theMovies!"

"The King of the Movies, " repeated Billy. His disappointment was so keenas to be embarrassing. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I thought you--" Then he remembered his manners. "Glad to meet you, " he said. "Seen you on the screen. "

Again his own troubles took precedence. "Did you say, " he demanded, "oneof our war-ships is coming here _to-day_?"

"Coming to take me to Santo Domingo, " explained Mr. St. Clair. He spokeairily, as though to him as a means of locomotion battle-ships were astrolley-cars. The Planter's punch, which was something he had neverbefore encountered, encouraged the great young man to unbend. Heexplained further and fully, and Billy, his mind intent upon his ownaffair, pretended to listen. 

The United States Government, Mr. St. Clair explained, was assisting himand the Apollo Film Company in producing the eight-reel film entitled"The Man Behind the Gun. "

With it the Navy Department plotted to advertise the navy and encouragerecruiting. In moving pictures, in the form of a story, with loveinterest, villain, comic relief, and thrills, it would show the life ofAmerican bluejackets afloat and ashore, at home and abroad. They wouldbe seen at Yokohama playing baseball with Tokio University; in thecourtyard of the Vatican receiving the blessing of the Pope; at Waikikiriding the breakers on a scrubbing-board; in the Philippines eatingcocoanuts in the shade of the sheltering palm, and in Brooklyn in theY. M. C. A. Club, in the shadow of the New York sky-scrapers, playingbilliards and reading the sporting extras. 

As it would be illustrated on the film the life of "The Man Behind theGun" was one of luxurious ease. In it coal-passing, standing watch in ablizzard, and washing down decks, cold and unsympathetic, held no part. But to prove that the life of Jack was not all play he would be seenfighting for the flag. That was where, as "Lieutenant Hardy, U. S. A. , "the King of the Movies entered. 

"Our company arrived in Santo Domingo last week, " he explained. "Andthey're waiting for me now. I'm to lead the attack on the fortress. Weland in shore boats under the guns of the ship and I take the fortress. First, we show the ship clearing for action and the men lowering theboats and pulling for shore. Then we cut back to show the gun-crewsserving the guns. Then we jump to the landing-party wading through thebreakers. I lead them. The man who is carrying the flag gets shot anddrops in the surf. I pick him up, put him on my shoulder, and carry him_and_ the flag to the beach, where I--"

Billy suddenly awoke. His tone was one of excited interest. 

"You got a uniform?" he demanded. 

"Three, " said St. Clair impressively, "made to order according toregulations on file in the Quartermaster's Department. Each absolutelycorrect. " Without too great a show of eagerness he inquired: "Like tosee them?"

Without too great a show of eagerness Billy assured him that he would. 

"I got to telephone first, " he added, "but by the time you get yourtrunk open I'll join you in your room. "

In the café, over the telephone, Billy addressed himself to thefield-marshal in charge of the cable office. When Billy gave his name, the voice of that dignitary became violently agitated. 

"Monsieur Barlow, " he demanded, "do you know that the warship for whichyou cabled your Secretary of State makes herself to arrive?"

At the other end of the 'phone, although restrained by the confines ofthe booth, Billy danced joyously. But his voice was stern. 

"Naturally, " he replied. "Where is she now?"

An hour before, so the field-marshal informed him, the battleship_Louisiana_ had been sighted and by telegraph reported. She wasapproaching under forced draught. At any moment she might anchor in theouter harbor. Of this President Ham had been informed. He was grieved, indignant; he was also at a loss to understand. 

"It is very simple, " explained Billy. "She probably was somewhere in theWindward Passage. When the Secretary got my message he cabledGuantanamo, and Guantanamo wirelessed the warship nearestPort-au-Prince. "

"President Poussevain, " warned the field-marshal, "is greatlydisturbed. "

"Tell him not to worry, " said Billy. "Tell him when the bombardmentbegins I will see that the palace is outside the zone of fire. "

As Billy entered the room of St. Clair his eyes shone with a strangelight. His manner, which toward a man of his repute St. Clair hadconsidered a little too casual, was now enthusiastic, almostaffectionate. 

"My dear St. Clair, " cried Billy, "_I've fixed it_! But, until I was_sure_, I didn't want to raise your hopes!"

"Hopes of what?" demanded the actor. 

"An audience with the president!" cried Billy. "I've just called him upand he says I'm to bring you to the palace at once. He's heard of you, of course, and he's very pleased to meet you. I told him about 'The ManBehind the Gun, ' and he says you must come in your make-up as'Lieutenant Hardy, U. S. A. , ' just as he'll see you on the screen. "

Mr. St. Clair stammered delightedly. 

"In uniform, " he protested; "won't that be--"

"White, special full dress, " insisted Billy. "Medals, side-arms, full-dress belt, _and_ gloves. What a press story! 'The King of theMovies meets the President of Hayti!' Of course, he's only an ignorantnegro, but on Broadway they don't know that; and it will sound fine!"

St. Clair coughed nervously. 

"_Don't_ forget, " he stammered, "I can't speak French, or understand it, either. "

The eyes of Billy became as innocent as those of a china doll. 

"Then I'll interpret, " he said. "And, oh, yes, " he added, "he's sendingtwo of the palace soldiers to act as an escort--sort of guard of honor!"

The King of the Movies chuckled excitedly. 

"Fine!" he exclaimed. "You _are_ a brick!"

With trembling fingers he began to shed his outer garments. 

To hide his own agitation Billy walked to the window and turned hisback. Night had fallen and the electric lights, that once had been hiscare, sprang into life. Billy looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. The window gave upon the harbor, and a mile from shore he saw the cargolights of the _Prinz der Nederlanden_, and slowly approaching, as thoughfeeling for her berth, a great battleship. When Billy turned from thewindow his voice was apparently undisturbed. 

"We've got to hurry, " he said. "The _Louisiana_ is standing in. She'llsoon be sending a launch for you. We've just time to drive to the palaceand back before the launch gets here. "

From his mind President Ham had dismissed all thoughts of the warshipthat had been sighted and that now had come to anchor. For the moment hewas otherwise concerned. Fate could not harm him; he was about to dine. 

But, for the first time in the history of his administration, thatsolemn ceremony was rudely halted. An excited aide, trembling at his owntemerity, burst upon the president's solitary state. 

In the anteroom, he announced, an officer from the battleship_Louisiana_ demanded instant audience. 

For a moment, transfixed in amazement, anger, and alarm President Hamremained seated. Such a visit, uninvited, was against all tradition; itwas an affront, an insult. But that it was against all precedent arguedsome serious necessity. He decided it would be best to receive theofficer. Besides, to continue his dinner was now out of the question. Both appetite and digestion had fled from him. 

In the anteroom Billy was whispering final instructions to St. Clair. 

"Whatever happens, " he begged, "don't _laugh_! Don't even smilepolitely! He's very ignorant, you see, and he's sensitive. When he meetsforeigners and can't understand their language, he's always afraid ifthey laugh that he's made a break and that they're laughing at _him_. So, be solemn; look grave; look haughty!"

"I got you, " assented St. Clair. "I'm to 'register' pride. "

"Exactly!" said Billy. "The more pride you register, the better forus. "

Inwardly cold with alarm, outwardly frigidly polite, Billy presented"Lieutenant Hardy. " He had come, Billy explained, in answer to the callfor help sent by himself to the Secretary of State, which by wirelesshad been communicated to the _Louisiana_. Lieutenant Hardy begged him tosay to the president that he was desolate at having to approach HisExcellency so unceremoniously. But His Excellency, having threatened thelife of an American citizen, the captain of the _Louisiana_ was forcedto act quickly. 

"And this officer?" demanded President Ham; "what does he want?"

"He says, " Billy translated to St. Clair, "that he is very glad to meetyou, and he wants to know how much you earn a week. "

The actor suppressed his surprise and with pardonable pride said thathis salary was six hundred dollars a week and royalties on each film. 

Billy bowed to the president. 

"He says, " translated Billy, "he is here to see that I get my tenthousand francs, and that if I don't get them in ten minutes he willreturn to the ship and land marines. "

To St. Clair it seemed as though the president received his statementas to the amount of his salary with a disapproval that was hardlyflattering. With the heel of his giant fist the president beat upon thetable, his curls shook, his gorilla-like shoulders heaved. 

In an explanatory aside Billy made this clear. 

"He says, " he interpreted, "that you get more as an actor than he getsas president, and it makes him mad. "

"I can see it does myself, " whispered St. Clair. "And I don't understandFrench, either. "

President Ham was protesting violently. It was outrageous, he exclaimed;it was inconceivable that a great republic should shake the Big Stickover the head of a small republic, and for a contemptible ten thousandfrancs. 

"I will not believe, " he growled, "that this officer has authority tothreaten me. You have deceived him. If he knew the truth, he wouldapologize. Tell him, " he roared suddenly, "that I _demand_ that heapologize!"

Billy felt like the man who, after jauntily forcing the fighting, unexpectedly gets a jolt on the chin that drops him to the canvas. 

While the referee might have counted three Billy remained upon thecanvas. 

Then again he forced the fighting. Eagerly he turned to St. Clair. 

"He says, " he translated, "you must recite something. "

St. Clair exclaimed incredulously:

"Recite!" he gasped. 

Than his indignant protest nothing could have been more appropriate. 

"Wants to see you act out, " insisted Billy. "Go on, " he begged; "humorhim. Do what he wants or he'll put us in jail!"

"But what shall I--"

"He wants the curse of Rome from Richelieu, " explained Billy. "He knowsit in French and he wants you to recite it in English. Do you know it?"

The actor smiled haughtily. 

"I _wrote_ it!" he protested. "Richelieu's my middle name. I've done itin stock. "

"Then do it now!" commanded Billy. "Give it to him hot. I'm Julie deMortemar. He's the villain Barabas. Begin where Barabas hands you thecue, 'The country is the king! '"

In embarrassment St. Clair coughed tentatively. 

"Whoever heard of Cardinal Richelieu, " he protested, "in a navyuniform?"

"Begin!" begged Billy. 

"What'll I do with my cap?" whispered St. Clair. 

In an ecstasy of alarm Billy danced from foot to foot. 

"I'll hold your cap, " he cried. "Go on!"

St. Clair gave his cap of gold braid to Billy and shifted his"full-dress" sword-belt. Not without concern did President Ham observethese preparations. For the fraction of a second, in alarm, his eyesglanced to the exits. He found that the officers of his staff completelyfilled them. Their presence gave him confidence and his eyes returned toLieutenant Hardy. 

That gentleman heaved a deep sigh. Dejectedly, his head fell forwarduntil his chin rested upon his chest. Much to the relief of thepresident, it appeared evident that Lieutenant Hardy was about to accedeto his command and apologize. 

St. Clair groaned heavily. 

"Ay, is it so?" he muttered. His voice was deep, resonant, vibratinglike a bell. His eyes no longer suggested apology. They were strange, flashing; the eyes of a religious fanatic; and balefully they were fixedupon President Ham. 

"Then wakes the power, " the deep voice rumbled, "that in the age of ironburst forth to curb the great and raise the low. " He flung out his leftarm and pointed it at Billy. 

"Mark where she stands!" he commanded. 

With a sweeping, protecting gesture he drew a round Billy an imaginarycircle. The pantomime was only too clear. To the aged negro, who fearedneither God nor man, but only voodoo, there was in the voice and gesturethat which caused his blood to chill. 

"Around her form, " shrieked St. Clair, "I draw the awful circle of oursolemn church! Set but one foot within that holy ground and on thyhead--" Like a semaphore the left arm dropped, and the right arm, withthe forefinger pointed, shot out at President Ham. "Yea, though it worea CROWN--I launch the CURSE OF ROME!"

No one moved. No one spoke. What terrible threat had hit him PresidentHam could not guess. He did not ask. Stiffly, like a man in a trance, heturned to the rusty iron safe behind his chair and spun the handle. Whenagain he faced them he held a long envelope which he presented to Hilly. 

"There are the ten thousand francs, " he said. "Ask him if he issatisfied, and demand that he go at once!"

Billy turned to St. Clair. 

"He says, " translated Billy, "he's very much obliged and hopes we willcome again. Now, " commanded Billy, "bow low and go out facing him. Wedon't want him to shoot us in the back!"

Bowing to the president, the actor threw at Billy a glance full ofindignation. 

"Was I as bad as _that_?" he demanded. 

On schedule time Billy drove up to the Hotel Ducrot and relinquished St. Clair to the ensign in charge of the launch from the _Louisiana_. Atsight of St. Clair in the regalia of a superior officer, that younggentleman showed his surprise. 

"I've been giving a 'command' performance for the president, " explainedthe actor modestly. "I recited for him, and, though I spoke in English, I think I made quite a hit. "

"You certainly, " Billy assured him gratefully, "made a terrible hit withme. "

As the moving-picture actors, escorted by the ensign, followed theirtrunks to the launch, Billy looked after them with a feeling of greatloneliness. He was aware that from the palace his carriage had beenfollowed; that drawn in a cordon around the hotel negro policemencovertly observed him. That President Ham still hoped to recover hislost prestige and his lost money was only too evident. 

It was just five minutes to eight. 

Billy ran to his room, and with his suitcase in his hand slipped downthe back stairs and into the garden. Cautiously he made his way to thegate in the wall, and in the street outside found Claire awaiting him. 

With a cry of relief she clasped his arm. 

"You are safe!" she cried. "I was so frightened for you. That PresidentHam, he is a beast, an ogre!" Her voice sank to a whisper. "And formyself also I have been frightened. The police, they are at each corner. They watch the hotel. They watch _me_! Why? What do they want?"

"They want something of mine, " said Billy. "But I can't tell you what itis until I'm sure it _is_ mine. Is the boat at the wharf?"

"All is arranged, " Claire assured him. "The boatmen are our friends;they will take us safely to the steamer. "

With a sigh of relief Billy lifted her valise and his own, but he didnot move forward. 

Anxiously Claire pulled at his sleeve. 

"Come!" she begged. "For what it is that you wait?"

It was just eight o'clock. 

Billy was looking up at the single electric-light bulb that lit thenarrow street, and following the direction of his eyes, Claire saw thelight grow dim, saw the tiny wires grow red, and disappear. From overall the city came shouts, and cries of consternation, oaths, andlaughter, and then darkness. 

"I was waiting for _this_!" cried Billy. 

With the delight of a mischievous child Claire laughed aloud. 

"_You_--you did it!" she accused. 

"I did!" said Billy. "And now--we must run like the devil!"

The _Prinz der Nederlanden_ was drawing slowly out of the harbor. Shoulder to shoulder Claire and Billy leaned upon the rail. On thewharfs of Port-au-Prince they saw lanterns tossing and candlestwinkling; saw the _Louisiana_, blazing like a Christmas-tree, steamingmajestically south; in each other's eyes saw that all was well. 

From his pocket Billy drew a long envelope. 

"I can now with certainty, " said Billy, "state that this ismine--_ours_. "

He opened the envelope, and while Claire gazed upon many mille francnotes Billy told how he had retrieved them. 

"But what danger!" cried Claire. "In time Ham would have paid. Yourpresident at Washington would have _made_ him pay. Why take such risks?You had but to wait!"

Billy smiled contentedly. 

"Dear one!" he exclaimed, "the policy of watchful waiting is safer, butthe Big Stick acts quicker and gets results!"

THE BOY SCOUT

A rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Notbecause the copy-books tell you it deserves another, but in spite ofthat pleasing possibility. If you are a true scout, until you haveperformed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy asis the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the NewYork _Sun_. But as soon as you have proved yourself you may, with a dearconscience, look the world in the face and untie the knot in yourkerchief. 

Jimmie Reeder untied the accusing knot in his scarf at just ten minutespast eight on a hot August morning after he had given one dime to hissister Sadie. With that she could either witness the first-run films atthe Palace, or by dividing her fortune patronize two of the nickel showson Lenox Avenue. The choice Jimmie left to her. He was setting out forthe annual encampment of the Boy Scouts at Hunter's Island, and in theexcitement of that adventure even the movies ceased to thrill. But Sadiealso could be unselfish. With a heroism of a camp-fire maiden she madea gesture which might have been interpreted to mean she was returningthe money. 

"I can't, Jimmie!" she gasped. "I can't take it off you. You saved it, and you ought to get the fun of it. "

"I haven't saved it yet, " said Jimmie. "I'm going to cut it out of therailroad fare. I'm going to get off at City Island instead of at PelhamManor and walk the difference. That's ten cents cheaper. "

Sadie exclaimed with admiration:

"An' you carryin' that heavy grip!"

"Aw, that's nothin', " said the man of the family. 

"Good-by, mother. So long, Sadie. "

To ward off further expressions of gratitude he hurriedly advised Sadieto take in "The Curse of Cain" rather than "The Mohawk's Last Stand, "and fled down the front steps. 

He wore his khaki uniform. On his shoulders was his knapsack, from hishands swung his suitcase, and between his heavy stockings and his"shorts" his kneecaps, unkissed by the sun, as yet unscathed byblackberry vines, showed as white and fragile as the wrists of a girl. As he moved toward the "L" station at the corner, Sadie and his motherwaved to him; in the street, boys too small to be Scouts hailed himenviously; even the policeman glancing over the newspapers on thenews-stand nodded approval. 

"You a Scout, Jimmie?" he asked. 

"No, " retorted Jimmie, for was not he also in uniform? "I'm Santa Clausout filling Christmas stockings. "

The patrolman also possessed a ready wit. 

"Then get yourself a pair, " he advised. "If a dog was to see yourlegs--"

Jimmie escaped the insult by fleeing up the steps of the Elevated. 

 * * * * *

An hour later, with his valise in one hand and staff in the other, hewas tramping up the Boston Post Road and breathing heavily. The day wascruelly hot. Before his eyes, over an interminable stretch of asphalt, the heat waves danced and flickered. Already the knapsack on hisshoulders pressed upon him like an Old Man of the Sea; the linen in thevalise had turned to pig iron, his pipe-stem legs were wabbling, hiseyes smarted with salt sweat, and the fingers supporting the valisebelonged to some other boy, and were giving that boy much pain. But asthe motor-cars flashed past with raucous warnings, or, that those whorode might better see the boy with bare knees, passed at "half speed, "Jimmie stiffened his shoulders and stepped jauntily forward. Even whenthe joy-riders mocked with "Oh, you Scout!" he smiled at them. He waswilling to admit to those who rode that the laugh was on the one whowalked. And he regretted--oh, so bitterly--having left the train. He wasindignant that for his "one good turn a day" he had not selected oneless strenuous--that, for instance, he had not assisted a frightened oldlady through the traffic. To refuse the dime she might have offered, asall true scouts refuse all tips, would have been easier than to earn itby walking five miles, with the sun at ninety-nine degrees, and carryingexcess baggage. Twenty times James shifted the valise to the other hand, twenty times he let it drop and sat upon it. 

And then, as again he took up his burden, the good Samaritan drew near. He drew near in a low gray racing-car at the rate of forty miles anhour, and within a hundred feet of Jimmie suddenly stopped and backedtoward him. The good Samaritan was a young man with white hair. He worea suit of blue, a golf cap; the hands that held the wheel were disguisedin large yellow gloves. He brought the car to a halt and surveyed thedripping figure in the road with tired and uncurious eyes. 

"You a Boy Scout?" he asked. 

With alacrity for the twenty-first time Jimmie dropped the valise, forced his cramped fingers into straight lines, and saluted. 

The young man in the car nodded toward the seat beside him. 

"Get in, " he commanded. 

When James sat panting happily at his elbow the old young man, toJimmie's disappointment, did not continue to shatter the speed limit. Instead, he seemed inclined for conversation, and the car, growlingindignantly, crawled. 

"I never saw a Boy Scout before, " announced the old young man. "Tell meabout it. First, tell me what you do when you're not scouting. "

Jimmie explained volubly. When not in uniform he was an office boy, andfrom peddlers and beggars guarded the gates of Carroll and Hastings, stock-brokers. He spoke the names of his employers with awe. It was afirm distinguished, conservative, and long established. The white-hairedyoung man seemed to nod in assent. 

"Do you know them?" demanded Jimmie suspiciously. "Are you a customer ofours?"

"I know them, " said the young man. "They are customers of mine. "

Jimmie wondered in what way Carroll and Hastings were customers of thewhite-haired young man. Judging him by his outer garments, Jimmieguessed he was a Fifth Avenue tailor; he might be even a haberdasher. Jimmie continued. He lived, he explained, with his mother at One Hundredand Forty-sixth Street; Sadie, his sister, attended the public school;he helped support them both, and he now was about to enjoy a well-earnedvacation camping out on Hunter's Island, where he would cook his ownmeals, and, if the mosquitoes permitted, sleep in a tent. 

"And you like that?" demanded the young man. "You call that fun?"

"Sure!" protested Jimmie. "Don't _you_ go camping out?"

"I go camping out, " said the good Samaritan, "whenever I leave NewYork. "

Jimmie had not for three years lived in Wall Street not to understandthat the young man spoke in metaphor. 

"You don't look, " objected the young man critically, "as though you werebuilt for the strenuous life. "

Jimmie glanced guiltily at his white knees. 

"You ought ter see me two weeks from now, " he protested. "I get allsunburnt and hard--hard as anything!"

The young man was incredulous. 

"You were near getting sunstruck when I picked you up, " he laughed. "Ifyou're going to Hunter's Island, why didn't you go to Pelham Manor?"

"That's right!" assented Jimmie eagerly. "But I wanted to save the tencents so's to send Sadie to the movies. So I walked. "

The young man looked his embarrassment. 

"I beg your pardon, " he murmured. 

But Jimmie did not hear him. From the back of the car he was draggingexcitedly at the hated suitcase. 

"Stop!" he commanded. "I got ter get out. I got ter _walk_. "

The young man showed his surprise. 

"Walk!" he exclaimed. "What is it--a bet?"

Jimmie dropped the valise and followed it into the roadway. It took sometime to explain to the young man. First, he had to be told about theScout law and the one good turn a day, and that it must involve somepersonal sacrifice. And, as Jimmie pointed out, changing from a slowsuburban train to a racing-car could not be listed as a sacrifice. Hehad not earned the money, Jirnmie argued; he had only avoided paying itto the railroad. If he did not walk he would be obtaining the gratitudeof Sadie by a falsehood. Therefore, he must walk. 

"Not at all, " protested the young man. "You've got it wrong. What goodwill it do your sister to have you sunstruck? I think you _are_sunstruck. You're crazy with the heat. You get in here, and we'll talkit over as we go along. "

Hastily Jimmie backed away. "I'd rather walk, " he said. 

The young man shifted his legs irritably. 

"Then how'll this suit you?" he called. "We'll declare that first 'onegood turn' a failure and start afresh. Do _me_ a good turn. "

Jimmie halted in his tracks and looked back suspiciously. 

"I'm going to Hunter's Island Inn, " called the young man, "and I've lostmy way. You get in here and guide me. That'll be doing me a good turn. "

On either side of the road, blotting out the landscape, giant handspicked out in electric-light bulbs pointed the way to Hunter's IslandInn. Jimmie grinned and nodded toward them. 

"Much obliged, " he called. "I got ter walk. " Turning his back upontemptation, he waddled forward into the flickering heat waves. 

 * * * * *

The young man did not attempt to pursue. At the side of the road, underthe shade of a giant elm, he had brought the car to a halt and with hisarms crossed upon the wheel sat motionless, following with frowning eyesthe retreating figure of Jimmie. But the narrow-chested and knock-kneedboy staggering over the sun-baked asphalt no longer concerned him. Itwas not Jimmie, but the code preached by Jimmie, and not only preachedbut before his eyes put into practise, that interested him. The youngman with white hair had been running away from temptation. At fortymiles an hour he had been running away from the temptation to do afellow mortal "a good turn. " That morning, to the appeal of a drowningCaesar to "Help me, Cassius, or I sink, " he had answered: "Sink!" Thatanswer he had no wish to reconsider. That he might not reconsider he hadsought to escape. It was his experience that a sixty-horse-powerracing-machine is a jealous mistress. For retrospective, sentimental, orphilanthropic thoughts she grants no leave of absence. But he had notescaped. Jimmie had halted him, tripped him by the heels, and set himagain to thinking. Within the half-hour that followed those who rolledpast saw at the side of the road a car with her engine running, andleaning upon the wheel, as unconscious of his surroundings as though hesat at his own fireplace, a young man who frowned and stared at nothing. The half-hour passed and the young man swung his car back toward thecity. But at the first road-house that showed a blue-and-white telephonesign he left it, and into the iron box at the end of the bar dropped anickel. He wished to communicate with Mr. Carroll, of Carroll andHastings; and when he learned Mr. Carroll had just issued orders that hemust not be disturbed, the young man gave his name. 

The effect upon the barkeeper was instantaneous. With the aggrieved airof one who feels he is the victim of a jest he laughed scornfully. 

"What are you putting over?" he demanded. 

The young man smiled reassuringly. He had begun to speak and, thoughapparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeperlistened. 

Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings alsolistened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices, and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, isthe most momentous. On the desk before him lay letters to his lawyer, tothe coroner, to his wife; and hidden by a mass of papers, but withinreach of his hand, was an automatic pistol. The promise it offered ofswift release had made the writing of the letters simple, had given hima feeling of complete detachment, had released him, at least in thought, from all responsibilities. And when at his elbow the telephone cougheddiscreetly, it was as though some one had called him from a world fromwhich already he had made his exit. 

Mechanically, through mere habit, he lifted the receiver. 

The voice over the telephone came in brisk, staccato sentences. 

"That letter I sent this morning? Forget it. Tear it up. I've beenthinking and I'm going to take a chance. I've decided to back you boys, and I know you'll make good. I'm speaking from a road-house in theBronx; going straight from here to the bank. So you can begin to drawagainst us within an hour. And--hello!--will three millions see youthrough?"

From Wall Street there came no answer, but from the hands of thebarkeeper a glass crashed to the floor. 

The young man regarded the barkeeper with puzzled eyes. 

"He doesn't answer, " he exclaimed. "He must have hung up. "

"He must have fainted!" said the barkeeper. 

The white-haired one pushed a bill across the counter. "To pay forbreakage, " he said, and disappeared down Pelham Parkway. 

Throughout the day, with the bill, for evidence, pasted against themirror, the barkeeper told and retold the wondrous tale. 

"He stood just where you're standing now, " he related, "blowing inmillion-dollar bills like you'd blow suds off a beer. If I'd knowed itwas _him_, I'd have hit him once and hid him in the cellar for thereward. Who'd I think he was? I thought he was a wire-tapper, working acon game!"

Mr. Carroll had not "hung up, " but when in the Bronx the beer-glasscrashed, in Wall Street the receiver had slipped from the hand of theman who held it, and the man himself had fallen forward. His desk hithim in the face and woke him--woke him to the wonderful fact that hestill lived; that at forty he had been born again; that before himstretched many more years in which, as the young man with the white hairhad pointed out, he still could make good. 

The afternoon was far advanced when the staff of Carroll and Hastingswere allowed to depart, and, even late as was the hour, two of them wereasked to remain. Into the most private of the private offices Carrollinvited Gaskell, the head clerk; in the main office Hastings had askedyoung Thorne, the bond clerk, to be seated. 

Until the senior partner has finished with Gaskell young Thorne mustremain seated. 

"Gaskell, " said Mr. Carroll, "if we had listened to you, if we'd runthis place as it was when father was alive, this never would havehappened. It _hasn't_ happened, but we've had our lesson. And after thiswe're going slow and going straight. And we don't need you to tell ushow to do that. We want you to go away--on a month's vacation. When Ithought we were going under I planned to send the children on a seavoyage with the governess--so they wouldn't see the newspapers. But nowthat I can look them in the eye again, I need them, I can't let them go. So, if you'd like to take your wife on an ocean trip to Nova Scotia andQuebec, here are the cabins I reserved for the kids. They call it theroyal suite--whatever that is--and the trip lasts a month. The boatsails to-morrow morning. Don't sleep too late or you may miss her. "

The head clerk was secreting the tickets in the inside pocket of hiswaistcoat. His fingers trembled, and when he laughed his voice trembled. 

"Miss the boat!" the head clerk exclaimed. "If she gets away from Millieand me she's got to start now. We'll go on board to-night!"

A half-hour later Millie was on her knees packing a trunk, and herhusband was telephoning to the drug-store for a sponge-bag and a curefor seasickness. 

Owing to the joy in her heart and to the fact that she was on her knees, Millie was alternately weeping into the trunk-tray and offering upincoherent prayers of thanksgiving. Suddenly she sank back upon thefloor. 

"John!" she cried, "doesn't it seem sinful to sail away in a 'royalsuite' and leave this beautiful flat empty?"

Over the telephone John was having trouble with the drug clerk. 

"No!" he explained, "I'm not seasick _now_. The medicine I want is to betaken later. I _know_ I'm speaking from the Pavonia; but the Pavoniaisn't a ship; it's an apartment-house. "

He turned to Millie. "We can't be in two places at the same time, " hesuggested. 

"But, think, " insisted Millie, "of all the poor people stifling to-nightin this heat, trying to sleep on the roofs and fire-escapes; and ourflat so cool and big and pretty--and no one in it. "

John nodded his head proudly. 

"I know it's big, " he said, "but it isn't big enough to hold all thepeople who are sleeping to-night on the roofs and in the parks. "

"I was thinking of your brother--and Grace, " said Millie. "They've beenmarried only two weeks now, and they're in a stuffy hall bedroom andeating with all the other boarders. Think what our flat would mean tothem; to be by themselves, with eight rooms and their own kitchen andbath, and our new refrigerator and the gramophone! It would be heaven!It would be a real honeymoon!"

Abandoning the drug clerk, John lifted Millie in his arms and kissedher, for, next to his wife, nearest his heart was the younger brother. 

 * * * * *

The younger brother and Grace were sitting on the stoop of theboarding-house. On the upper steps, in their shirt-sleeves, were theother boarders; so the bride and bridegroom spoke in whispers. The airof the cross street was stale and stagnant; from it rose exhalations ofrotting fruit, the gases of an open subway, the smoke of passingtaxicabs. But between the street and the hall bedroom, with its odors ofa gas-stove and a kitchen, the choice was difficult. 

"We've got to cool off somehow, " the young husband was saying, "or youwon't sleep. Shall we treat ourselves to ice-cream sodas or a trip onthe Weehawken ferry-boat?"

"The ferry-boat!" begged the girl, "where we can get away from all thesepeople. "

A taxicab with a trunk in front whirled into the street, kicked itselfto a stop, and the head clerk and Millie spilled out upon the pavement. They talked so fast, and the younger brother and Grace talked so fast, that the boarders, although they listened intently, could make nothingof it. 

They distinguished only the concluding sentences:

"Why don't you drive down to the wharf with us, " they heard the elderbrother ask, "and see our royal suite?"

But the younger brother laughed him to scorn. 

"What's your royal suite, " he mocked, "to our royal palace?"

An hour later, had the boarders listened outside the flat of the headclerk, they would have heard issuing from his bathroom the coolingmurmur of running water and from his gramophone the jubilant notes of"Alexander's Ragtime Band. "

When in his private office Carroll was making a present of the royalsuite to the head clerk, in the main office Hastings, the juniorpartner, was addressing "Champ" Thorne, the bond clerk. He addressed himfamiliarly and affectionately as "Champ. " This was due partly to thefact that twenty-six years before Thorne had been christened Champneysand to the coincidence that he had captained the football eleven of oneof the Big Three to the championship. 

"Champ, " said Mr. Hastings, "last month, when you asked me to raise yoursalary, the reason I didn't do it was not because you didn't deserve it, but because I believed if we gave you a raise you'd immediately getmarried. "

The shoulders of the ex-football captain rose aggressively; he snortedwith indignation. 

"And why should I _not_ get married?" he demanded. "You're a fine one totalk! You're the most offensively happy married man I ever met. "

"Perhaps I know I am happy better than you do, " reproved the juniorpartner; "but I know also that it takes money to support a wife. "

"You raise me to a hundred a week, " urged Champ, "and I'll make itsupport a wife whether it supports me or not. "

"A month ago, " continued Hastings, "we could have _promised_ you ahundred, but we didn't know how long we could pay it. We didn't want youto rush off and marry some fine girl--"

"Some fine girl!" muttered Mr. Thorne. "The finest girl!"

"The finer the girl, " Hastings pointed out, "the harder it would havebeen for you if we had failed and you had lost your job. "

The eyes of the young man opened with sympathy and concern. 

"Is it as bad as that?" he murmured. 

Hastings sighed happily. 

"It _was_, " he said, "but this morning the Young Man of Wall Street didus a good turn--saved us--saved our creditors, saved our homes, savedour honor. We're going to start fresh and pay our debts, and we agreedthe first debt we paid would be the small one we owe you. You'vebrought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we'regoing to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?"

Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell'smy hat?"

But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners. 

"I say, 'Thank you a thousand times, '" he shouted over his shoulder. "Excuse me, but I've got to go. I've got to break the news to--"

He did not explain to whom he was going to break the news; but Hastingsmust have guessed, for again he sighed happily and then, a littlehysterically laughed aloud. Several months had passed since he hadlaughed aloud. 

In his anxiety to break the news Champ Thorne almost broke his neck. Inhis excitement he could not remember whether the red flash meant theelevator was going down or coming up, and sooner than wait to find outhe started to race down eighteen flights of stairs when fortunately theelevator-door swung open. 

"You get five dollars, " he announced to the elevator man, "if you dropto the street without a stop. Beat the speed limit! Act like thebuilding is on fire and you're trying to save me before the roof falls. "

 * * * * *

Senator Barnes and his entire family, which was his daughter Barbara, were at the Ritz-Carlton. They were in town in August because there wasa meeting of the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber Company, ofwhich company Senator Barnes was president. It was a secret meeting. Those directors who were keeping cool at the edge of the ocean had beensummoned by telegraph; those who were steaming across the ocean, bywireless. 

Up from the equator had drifted the threat of a scandal, sickening, grim, terrible. As yet it burned beneath the surface, giving out only anodor, but an odor as rank as burning rubber itself. At any moment itmight break into flame. For the directors, was it the better wisdom tolet the scandal smoulder, and take a chance, or to be the first to givethe alarm, the first to lead the way to the horror and stamp it out?

It was to decide this that, in the heat of August, the directors and thepresident had forgathered. 

Champ Thorne knew nothing of this; he knew only that by a miracleBarbara Barnes was in town; that at last he was in a position to ask herto marry him; that she would certainly say she would. That was all hecared to know. 

A year before he had issued his declaration of independence. Before hecould marry, he told her, he must be able to support a wife on what heearned, without her having to accept money from her father, and until hereceived "a minimum wage" of five thousand dollars they must wait. 

"What is the matter with my father's money?" Barbara had demanded. 

Thorne had evaded the direct question. 

"There is too much of it, " he said. 

"Do you object to the way he makes it?" insisted Barbara. "Becauserubber is most useful. You put it in golf balls and auto tires andgaloches. There is nothing so perfectly respectable as galoches. Andwhat is there 'tainted' about a raincoat?"

Thorne shook his head unhappily. 

"It's not the finished product to which I refer, " he stammered; "it'sthe way they get the raw material. "

"They get it out of trees, " said Barbara. Then she exclaimed withenlightenment--"Oh!" she cried, "you are thinking of the Congo. There itis terrible! _That_ is slavery. But there are no slaves on the Amazon. The natives are free and the work is easy. They just tap the trees theway the farmers gather sugar in Vermont. Father has told me about itoften. "

Thorne had made no comment. He could abuse a friend, if the friend wereamong those present, but denouncing any one he disliked as heartily ashe disliked Senator Barnes was a public service he preferred to leave toothers. And he knew besides that if the father she loved and the man sheloved distrusted each other, Barbara would not rest until she learnedthe reason why. 

One day, in a newspaper, Barbara read of the Puju Mayo atrocities, ofthe Indian slaves in the jungles and backwaters of the Amazon, who areoffered up as sacrifices to "red rubber. " She carried the paper to herfather. What it said, her father told her, was untrue, and if it weretrue it was the first he had heard of it. 

Senator Barnes loved the good things of life, but the thing he lovedmost was his daughter; the thing he valued the highest was her goodopinion. So when for the first time she looked at him in doubt, heassured her he at once would order an investigation. 

"But, of course, " he added, "it will be many months before our agentscan report. On the Amazon news travels very slowly. "

In the eyes of his daughter the doubt still lingered. 

"I am afraid, " she said, "that that is true. "

That was six months before the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba RubberCompany were summoned to meet their president at his rooms in theRitz-Carlton. They were due to arrive in half an hour, and while SenatorBarnes awaited their coming Barbara came to him. In her eyes was a lightthat helped to tell the great news. It gave him a sharp, jealous pang. He wanted at once to play a part in her happiness, to make her gratefulto him, not alone to this stranger who was taking her away. So fearfulwas he that she would shut him out of her life that had she asked forhalf his kingdom he would have parted with it. 

"And besides giving my consent, " said the rubber king, "for which no oneseems to have asked, what can I give my little girl to make her rememberher old father? Some diamonds to put on her head, or pearls to hangaround her neck, or does she want a vacant lot on Fifth Avenue?"

The lovely hands of Barbara rested upon his shoulders; her lovely facewas raised to his; her lovely eyes were appealing, and a littlefrightened. 

"What would one of those things cost?" asked Barbara. 

The question was eminently practical. It came within the scope of thesenator's understanding. After all, he was not to be cast into outerdarkness. His smile was complacent. He answered airily:

"Anything you like, " he said; "a million dollars?"

The fingers closed upon his shoulders. The eyes, still frightened, stillsearched his in appeal. 

"Then, for my wedding-present, " said the girl, "I want you to take thatmillion dollars and send an expedition to the Amazon. And I will choosethe men. Men unafraid; men not afraid of fever or sudden death; notafraid to tell the truth--even to _you_. And all the world will know. And they--I mean _you_--will set those people free!"

Senator Barnes received the directors with an embarrassment which heconcealed under a manner of just indignation. 

"My mind is made up, " he told them. "Existing conditions cannotcontinue. And to that end, at my own expense, I am sending an expeditionacross South America. It will investigate, punish, and establishreforms. I suggest, on account of this damned heat, we do now adjourn. "

That night, over on Long Island, Carroll told his wife all, or nearlyall. He did not tell her about the automatic pistol. And together ontiptoe they crept to the nursery and looked down at their sleepingchildren. When she rose from her knees the mother said: "But how can Ithank him?"

By "him" she meant the Young Man of Wall Street. 

"You never can thank him, " said Carroll; "that's the worst of it. "

But after a long silence the mother said: "I will send him a photographof the children. Do you think he will understand?"

Down at Seabright, Hastings and his wife walked in the sunken garden. The moon was so bright that the roses still held their color. 

"I would like to thank him, " said the young wife. She meant the YoungMan of Wall Street. "But for him we would have lost _this_. "

Her eyes caressed the garden, the fruit-trees, the house with wide, hospitable verandas. "To-morrow I will send him some of these roses, "said the young wife. "Will he understand that they mean our home?"

At a scandalously late hour, in a scandalous spirit of independence, Champ Thorne and Barbara were driving around Central Park in a taxicab. 

"How strangely the Lord moves, his wonders to perform, " misquotedBarbara. "Had not the Young Man of Wall Street saved Mr. Hastings, Mr. Hastings could not have raised your salary; you would not have asked meto marry you, and had you not asked me to marry you, father would nothave given me a wedding-present, and--"

"And, " said Champ, taking up the tale, "thousands of slaves would stillbe buried in the jungles, hidden away from their wives and children andthe light of the sun and their fellow men. They still would be dying offever, starvation, tortures. "

He took her hand in both of his and held her finger-tips against hislips. 

"And they will never know, " he whispered, "when their freedom comes, that they owe it all to _you_. "

 * * * * *

On Hunter's Island, Jimmie Reeder and his bunkie, Sam Sturges, each onhis canvas cot, tossed and twisted. The heat, the moonlight, and themosquitoes would not let them even think of sleep. 

"That was bully, " said Jimmie, "what you did to-day about saving thatdog. If it hadn't been for you he'd ha' drownded. "

"He would _not_!" said Sammy with punctilious regard for the truth; "itwasn't deep enough. "

"Well, the scout-master ought to know, " argued Jimmie; "he said it wasthe best 'one good turn' of the day!"

Modestly Sam shifted the lime-light so that it fell upon his bunkie. 

"I'll bet, " he declared loyally, "_your_ 'one good turn' was a betterone!"

Jimmie yawned, and then laughed scornfully. 

"Me!" he scoffed. "I didn't do nothing. I sent my sister to the movies. "

THE FRAME-UP

When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killedHermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching atDelmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession toHamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman wasinterested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State SenatorBissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in the legalpoints involved in the bill, his brother-in-law would undoubtedly becharmed to advise him. So that morning, to talk it over, Bissell hadcome from Albany and, as he was forced to return the same afternoon, hadasked Wharton to lunch with him up-town near the station. 

That in public life there breathed a man with soul so dead who, were heoffered a chance to serve Hamilton Cutler, would not jump at the chancewas outside the experience of the county chairman. And in so judging hisfellow men, with the exception of one man, the senator was right. Theone man was Hamilton Cutler's brother-in-law. In the national affairsof his party Hamilton Cutler was one of the four leaders. In twocabinets he had held office. At a foreign court as an ambassador hisdinners, of which the diplomatic corps still spoke with emotion, hadupheld the dignity of ninety million Americans. He was rich. The historyof his family was the history of the State. When the Albany boats drewabreast of the old Cutler mansion on the east bank of the Hudson thepassengers pointed at it with deference. Even when the search-lightspointed at it, it was with deference. And on Fifth Avenue, as the"Seeing New York" car passed his town house it slowed respectfully tohalf speed. When, apparently for no other reason than that she was goodand beautiful, he had married the sister of a then unknown up-Statelawyer, every one felt Hamilton Cutler had made his first mistake. But, like everything else into which he entered, for him matrimony also was asuccess. The prettiest girl in Utica showed herself worthy of herdistinguished husband. She had given him children as beautiful asherself; as what Washington calls "a cabinet lady" she had kept her nameout of the newspapers; as Madame l'Ambassatrice she had putarchduchesses at their ease; and after ten years she was an adoringwife, a devoted mother, and a proud woman. Her pride was in believingthat for every joy she knew she was indebted entirely to her husband. Toowe everything to him, to feel that through him the blessings flowed, was her ideal of happiness. 

In this ideal her brother did not share. Her delight in a sense ofobligation left him quite cold. No one better than himself knew that hisrapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to thefact that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept hishands clean, and had worn no man's collar. Other people believed he owedhis advancement to his brother-in-law. He knew they believed that, andit hurt him. When, at the annual dinner of the Amen Corner, theyburlesqued him as singing to "Ham" Cutler, "You made me what I amto-day, I hope you're sat-isfied, " he found that to laugh with theothers was something of an effort. His was a difficult position. He wasa party man; he had always worked inside the organization. The fact thatwhenever he ran for an elective office the reformers indorsed him andthe best elements in the opposition parties voted for him did not shakehis loyalty to his own people. And to Hamilton Cutler, as one of hisparty leaders, as one of the bosses of the "invisible government, " hewas willing to defer. But while he could give allegiance to his partyleaders, and from them was willing to receive the rewards of office, from a rich brother-in-law he was not at all willing to accept anything. Still less was he willing that of the credit he deserved for years ofhard work for the party, of self-denial, and of efficient public servicethe rich brother-in-law should rob him. 

His pride was to be known as a self-made man, as the servant only of thevoters. And now that he had fought his way to one of the goals of hisambition, now that he was district attorney of New York City, to have itsaid that the office was the gift of his brother-in-law was bitter. Buthe believed the injustice would soon end. In a month he was coming upfor re-election, and night and day was conducting a campaign that hehoped would result in a personal victory so complete as to banish theshadow of his brother-in-law. Were he re-elected by the majority onwhich he counted, he would have the party leaders on their knees. Hamilton Cutler would be forced to come to him. He would be in line forpromotion. He knew the leaders did not want to promote him, that theyconsidered him too inclined to kick over the traces; but were he nowre-elected, at the next election, either for mayor or governor, hewould be his party's obvious and legitimate candidate. 

The re-election was not to be an easy victory. Outside his own party, toprevent his succeeding himself as district attorney, Tammany Hall wasusing every weapon in her armory. The commissioner of police was aTammany man, and in the public prints Wharton had repeatedly declaredthat Banf, his star witness against the police, had been killed by thepolice, and that they had prevented the discovery of his murderer. Forthis the wigwam wanted his scalp, and to get it had raked his public andprivate life, had used threats and bribes, and with women had tried totrap him into a scandal. But "Big Tim" Meehan, the lieutenant the Hallhad detailed to destroy Wharton, had reported back that for theirpurpose his record was useless, that bribes and threats only flatteredhim, and that the traps set for him he had smilingly side-stepped. Thiswas the situation a month before election day when, to oblige hisbrother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico's lunching with SenatorBissell. 

Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was onhis way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice waslowered and betrayed almost human interest. 

From the corner of her mouth she whispered:

"This man has a note for Mr. Wharton--says if he don't get it quickit'll be too late--says it will tell him who killed 'Heimie' Banf!"

The young man and the girl looked at each other and smiled. Theirexperience had not tended to make them credulous. Had he lived, HermannBanf would have been, for Wharton, the star witness against a ring ofcorrupt police officials. In consequence his murder was more than thetaking off of a shady and disreputable citizen. It was a blow struck atthe high office of the district attorney, at the grand jury, and thelaw. But, so far, whoever struck the blow had escaped punishment, andthough for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day "the office" and thepolice had sought him, he was still at large, still "unknown. " There hadbeen hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of thecity and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by newspapers, by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to gain favor. But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers, the last one hadbeen confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had protestedindignantly. 

"Stop bringing me clews!" he exclaimed. "I want the man. I can'telectrocute a clew!"

So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voiceoffered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was sceptical. He motioned thegirl to switch to the desk telephone. 

"Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking, " he said. "What can I dofor you?"

Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words, there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply:

"Hello, " he called. "Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speakto me?"

"I've gotta letter for the district attorney, " said the voice. "I'm togive it to nobody but him. It's about Banf. He must get it quick, orit'll be too late. "

"Who are you?" demanded Rumson. "Where are you speaking from?"

The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions. 

"Where'll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?"

"If I tell you, " parried Rumson, "will you bring the letter at once?"

The voice exclaimed indignantly:

"Bring nothing! I'll send it by district messenger. You're wasting timetrying to reach me. It's the _letter you_ want. It tells"--the voicebroke with an oath and instantly began again: "I can't talk over aphone. I tell you, it's life or death. If you lose out, it's your ownfault. Where can I find Wharton?"

"At Delmonico's, " answered Rumson. "He'll be there until two o'clock. "

"Delmonico's! That's Forty-fort Street?"

"Right, " said Rumson. "Tell the messenger--"

He heard the receiver slam upon the hook. 

With the light of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl. 

"They can laugh, " he cried, "but I believe we've hooked something. I'mgoing after it. "

In the waiting-room he found the detectives. 

"Hewitt, " he ordered, "take the subway and whip up to Delmonico's. Talkto the taxi-starter till a messenger-boy brings a letter for the D. A. Let the boy deliver the note, and then trail him till he reports to theman he got it from. Bring the man here. If it's a district messenger andhe doesn't report, but goes straight back to the office, find out whogave him the note; get his description. Then meet me at Delmonico's. "

Rumson called up that restaurant and had Wharton come to the phone. Heasked his chief to wait until a letter he believed to be of greatimportance was delivered to him. He explained, but, of necessity, somewhat sketchily. 

"It sounds to me, " commented his chief, "like a plot of yours to get alunch up-town. "

"Invitation!" cried Rumson. "I'll be with you in ten minutes. "

After Rumson had joined Wharton and Bissell the note arrived. It wasbrought to the restaurant by a messenger-boy, who said that in answer toa call from a saloon on Sixth Avenue he had received it from a young manin ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. When Hewitt, the detective, asked what the young man looked like, the boy said he looked like ayoung man in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. But when the notewas read the identity of the man who delivered it ceased to be ofimportance. The paper on which it was written was without stampedaddress or monogram, and carried with it the mixed odors of thedrug-store at which it had been purchased. The handwriting was that of awoman, and what she had written was: "If the district attorney will comeat once, and alone, to Kessler's Café, on the Boston Post Road, near thecity line, he will be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don't come inan hour, it will be too late. If he brings anybody with him, he won'tbe told anything. Leave your car in the road and walk up the drive. IdaEarle. "

Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in togive expert advice, was enthusiastic. 

"Mr. District Attorney, " he cried, "that's no crank letter. This Earlewoman is wise. You got to take her as a serious proposition. Shewouldn't make that play if she couldn't get away with it. "

"Who is she?" asked Wharton. 

To the police, the detective assured them, Ida Earle had been known foryears. When she was young she had been under the protection of a manhigh in the ranks of Tammany, and, in consequence, with her differentventures the police had never interfered. She now was proprietress ofthe road-house in the note described as Kessler's Café. It was a placefor joy-riders. There was a cabaret, a hall for public dancing, androoms for very private suppers. 

In so far as it welcomed only those who could spend money it wasexclusive, but in all other respects its reputation was of the worst. Insituation it was lonely, and from other houses separated by a quarter ofa mile of dying trees and vacant lots. 

The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, butlately, through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had beenrelaid. It was patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle policemen. 

"But this, " continued the detective eagerly, "is where we win out. Theroad-house is an old farmhouse built over, with the barns changed intogarages. They stand on the edge of a wood. It's about as big as a cityblock. If we come in through the woods from the rear, the garages willhide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won't be a hundred yardsaway. You've only to blow a police whistle and we'll be with you. "

"You mean I ought to go?" said Wharton. 

Rumson exclaimed incredulously:

"You _got_ to go!"

"It looks to me, " objected Bissell, "like a plot to get you there aloneand rap you on the head. "

"Not with that note inviting him there, " protested Hewitt, "and signedby Earle herself. "

"You don't know she signed it?" objected the senator. 

"I know _her_, " returned the detective. "I know she's no fool. It's herplace, and she wouldn't let them pull off any rough stuff there--notagainst the D. A. , anyway. "

The D. A. Was rereading the note. 

"Might this be it?" he asked. "Suppose it's a trick to mix me up in ascandal? You say the place is disreputable. Suppose they're planning tocompromise me just before election. They've tried it already severaltimes. "

"You've still got the note, " persisted Hewitt. "It proves _why_ you wentthere. And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won't be a hundredyards away. And, " he added grudgingly, "you have Nolan. "

Nolan was the spoiled child of "the office. " He was the districtattorney's pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective andas a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton's chauffeur he now doubled theparts. 

"What Nolan testified wouldn't be any help, " said Wharton. "They wouldsay it was just a story he invented to save me. "

"Then square yourself this way, " urged Rumson. "Send a note now by handto Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell _them_ you're going to IdaEarle's--and why--tell them you're afraid it's a frame-up, and for themto keep your notes as evidence. And enclose the one from her. "

Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and thedetective planned how, without those inside the road-house being awareof their presence, they might be near it. 

Kessler's Café lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In taxi-cabsthey arranged to start at once and proceed down White Plains Avenue, which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on a line withKessler's, but from it hidden by the woods and the garages. A walk of aquarter of a mile across lots and under cover of the trees would bringthem to within a hundred yards of the house. 

Wharton was to give them a start of half an hour. That he might knowthey were on watch, they agreed, after they dismissed the taxi-cabs, tosend one of them into the Boston Post Road past the road-house. When itwas directly in front of the café, the chauffeur would throw away intothe road an empty cigarette-case. 

From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startlingyellow. At half a mile it was conspicuous. 

"When you see this in the road, " explained Rumson, "you'll know we're onthe job. And after you're inside, if you need us, you've only to go to arear window and wave. "

"If they mean to do him up, " growled Bissell, "he won't get to a rearwindow. "

"He can always tell them we're outside, " said Rumson--"and they areextremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?"

"No, " said the D. A. 

"Better have mine, " urged Hewitt. 

"I have my own, " explained the D. A. 

Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later, Whartonfollowed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big touring-car hefelt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed the trafficpolice, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they guessed hiserrand their interest in his progress would have been less perfunctory. In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf; in half anhour he himself might walk into a trap they had, in turn, staged forhim. As the car ran swiftly through the clean October air, and the windand sun alternately chilled and warmed his blood, Wharton consideredthese possibilities. 

He could not believe the woman Earle would lend herself to any plot todo him bodily harm. She was a responsible person. In her own world shewas as important a figure as was the district attorney in his. Herallies were the men "higher up" in Tammany and the police of the upperranks of the uniformed force. And of the higher office of the districtattorney she possessed an intimate and respectful knowledge. It was notto be considered that against the prosecuting attorney such a womanwould wage war. So the thought that upon his person any assault wasmeditated Wharton dismissed as unintelligent. That it was upon hisreputation the attack was planned seemed much more probable. But thatcontingency he had foreseen and so, he believed, forestalled. There thenremained only the possibility that the offer in the letter was genuine. It seemed quite too good to be true. For, as he asked himself, on thevery eve of an election, why should Tammany, or a friend of Tammany, place in his possession the information that to the Tammany candidatewould bring inevitable defeat. He felt that the way they were playinginto his hands was too open, too generous. If their object was to leadhim into a trap, of all baits they might use the promise to tell him whokilled Banf was the one certain to attract him. It made their invitationto walk into the parlor almost too obvious. But were the offer notgenuine, there was a condition attached to it that puzzled him. It wasnot the condition that stipulated he should come alone. His experiencehad taught him many will confess, or betray, to the district attorneywho, to a deputy, will tell nothing. The condition that puzzled him wasthe one that insisted he should come at once or it would be "too late. "

Why was haste so imperative? Why, if he delayed, would he be "too late"?Was the man he sought about to escape from his jurisdiction, was hedying, and was it his wish to make a death-bed confession; or was he soreluctant to speak that delay might cause him to reconsider and remainsilent?

With these questions in his mind, the minutes quickly passed, and it waswith a thrill of excitement Wharton saw that Nolan had left theZoological Gardens on the right and turned into the Boston Road. It hadbut lately been completed and to Wharton was unfamiliar. On either sideof the unscarred roadway still lay scattered the uprooted trees andbowlders that had blocked its progress, and abandoned by the contractorswere empty tar-barrels, cement-sacks, tool-sheds, and forges. Nor wasthe surrounding landscape less raw and unlovely. Toward the Soundstretched vacant lots covered with ash heaps; to the left a few old andbroken houses set among the glass-covered cold frames of truck-farms. 

The district attorney felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. And when anautomobile sign told him he was "10 miles from Columbus Circle, " he feltthat from the New York he knew he was much farther. Two miles up theroad his car overhauled a bicycle policeman, and Wharton halted him. 

"Is there a road-house called Kessler's beyond here?" he asked. 

"On the left, farther up, " the officer told him, and added: "You can'tmiss it, Mr. Wharton; there's no other house near it. "

"You know me, " said the D. A. "Then you'll understand what I want you todo. I've agreed to go to that house alone. If they see you pass they maythink I'm not playing fair. So stop here. "

The man nodded and dismounted. 

"But, " added the district attorney, as the car started forward again, "if you hear shots, I don't care how fast you come. "

The officer grinned. 

"Better let me trail along now, " he called; "that's a tough joint. "

But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the manstill stood where they had parted. 

Two minutes later an empty taxi-cab came swiftly toward him and, as itpassed, the driver lifted his hand from the wheel and with his thumbmotioned behind him. 

"That's one of the men, " said Nolan, "that started with Mr. Rumson andHewitt from Delmonico's. "

Wharton nodded; and, now assured that in their plan there had been nohitch, smiled with satisfaction. A moment later, when ahead of them onthe asphalt road Nolan pointed out a spot of yellow, he recognized thesignal and knew that within call were friends. 

The yellow ciagarette-box lay directly in front of a long woodenbuilding of two stories. It was linked to the road by a curving drivewaymarked on either side by whitewashed stones. On verandas enclosed inglass Wharton saw white-covered tables under red candle-shades and, protruding from one end of the house and hung with electric lights inpaper lanterns, a pavilion for dancing. In the rear of the house stoodsheds and a thick tangle of trees on which the autumn leaves showedyellow. Painted fingers and arrows pointing, and an electric sign, proclaimed to all who passed that this was Kessler's. In spite of itsreputation, the house wore the aspect of the commonplace. In evidencenothing flaunted, nothing threatened. From a dozen other inns along thePelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was in no way to bedistinguished. 

As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. "For fiveminutes stay where you are, " he ordered Nolan; "then go to the bar andget a drink. Don't talk to any one or they'll think you're trying to getinformation. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can seeyou from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson. "

On foot Wharton walked up the curving driveway, and if from the househis approach was spied upon, there was no evidence. In the second storythe blinds were drawn and on the first floor the verandas were empty. Nor, not even after he had mounted to the veranda and stepped inside thehouse, was there any sign that his visit was expected. He stood in ahall, and in front of him rose a broad flight of stairs that he guessedled to the private supper-rooms. On his left was the restaurant. 

Swept and garnished after the revels of the night previous, and asthough resting in preparation for those to come, it wore an air ofpeaceful inactivity. At a table a maitre d'hôtel was composing the menufor the evening, against the walls three colored waiters loungedsleepily, and on a platform at a piano a pale youth with drugged eyeswas with one hand picking an accompaniment. As Wharton pauseduncertainly the young man, disdaining his audience, in a shrill, nasaltenor raised his voice and sang:

 "And from the time the rooster calls I'll wear my overalls, And you, a simple gingham gown. So, if you're strong for a shower of rice, We two could make a paradise Of any One-Horse Town. "

At sight of Wharton the head waiter reluctantly detached himself fromhis menu and rose. But before he could greet the visitor, Wharton heardhis name spoken and, looking up, saw a woman descending the stairs. Itwas apparent that when young she had been beautiful, and, in spite of anexpression in her eyes of hardness and distrust, which seemed habitual, she was still handsome. She was without a hat and wearing a house dressof decorous shades and in the extreme of fashion. Her black hair, builtup in artificial waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her hands, covereddeep with rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the most fastidiouscare. But her complexion was her own; and her skin, free from paint andpowder, glowed with that healthy pink that is supposed to be theperquisite only of the simple life and a conscience undisturbed. 

"I am Mrs. Earle, " said the woman. "I wrote you that note. Will youplease come this way?"

That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious, for, asshe spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the stairs. After aninstant of hesitation, Wharton followed. 

As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant. Bothphysically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever surprise, forwhatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared. At the top of thestairs he found a wide hall along which on both sides were many doors. The one directly facing the stairs stood open. At one side of this thewoman halted and with a gesture of the jewelled fingers invited him toenter. 

"My sitting-room, " she said. As Wharton remained motionless shesubstituted: "My office. "

Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He sawcomfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver framesphotographs, and between two open windows a businesslike roller-top deskon which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the windows hebeheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To summon Rumson, tokeep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to one of these windows andbeckon. The strategic position of the room appealed, and with a bow ofthe head he passed in front of his hostess and entered it. He continuedto take note of his surroundings. 

He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to roomsadjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that beforethe interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs. Earlehad followed and, as she entered, closed the door. 

"No!" said Wharton. 

It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated, regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the dooropen. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the rustle ofsilk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a frown ofdisapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke hurriedly in awhisper. 

"A man brought a girl here to lunch, " she said; "they've been herebefore. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her. Lastnight she found out he has a wife already, and she came here to-daymeaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the room at thefar end of the hall. George, the waiter, heard the two shots and randown here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed to keepout noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found them on thefloor. The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl through the body. His story is that after she fired, in trying to get the gun from her, she shot herself--by accident. That's right, I guess. But the girl saysthey came here to die together--what the newspaper calls a 'suicidepact'--because they couldn't marry, and that he first shot her, intending to kill her and then himself. That's silly. She framed it toget him. She missed him with the gun, so now she's trying to get himwith this murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn'thave shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's _that_ sort. I knowher, and--"

With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And theman, " he demanded eagerly; "was it _he_ killed Banf?"

In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly _not_!" she said. 

"Then what _has_ this to do with Banf?"

"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. "That was only to bringyou here. "

His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself inanger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself topause. Then he repeated her words quietly. 

"Bring me here?" he asked. "Why?"

The woman exclaimed impatiently: "So you could beat the police to it, "she whispered. "So you could _hush it up_!"

The surprised laugh of the man was quite real. It bore no resentment orpose. He was genuinely amused. Then the dignity of his office, trickedand insulted, demanded to be heard. He stared at her coldly; hisindignation was apparent. 

"You have done extremely ill, " he told her. "You know perfectly well youhad no right to bring me up here; to drag me into a row in yourroad-house. 'Hush it up!'" he exclaimed hotly. This time his laugh wascontemptuous and threatening. 

"I'll show you how I'll hush it up!" He moved quickly to the openwindow. 

"Stop!" commanded the woman. "You can't do that!"

She ran to the door. 

Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring ofperfumes. 

He heard the key turn in the lock. It had come. It WAS a frame-up. Therewould be a scandal. And to save himself from it they would force him to"hush up" this other one. But, as to the outcome, in no way was heconcerned. Through the window, standing directly below it, he had seenNolan. In the sunlit yard the chauffeur, his cap on the back of hishead, his cigarette drooping from his lips, was tossing the remnants ofa sandwich to a circle of excited hens. He presented a picture of boredindolence, of innocent preoccupation. It was almost _too_ well done. 

Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile. "Why can't I do it?" he taunted. 

She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were fixedsteadily on his. "Because, " she whispered, "the man who shot thatgirl--is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!"

For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the eyes ofthe woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in thesudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summerafternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle ofthe piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, "Andyou'll wear a simple gingham gown, " from the yard below the cluck-cluckof the chickens and the cooing of pigeons. 

His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of whatthis bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought ofCutler, at the height of his power and usefulness, by this onedisreputable act dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bringto the party, to himself. 

If, as the woman invited, he helped to "hush it up, " and Tammany learnedthe truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for themurderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law, who hadtried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave voice tohis thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic. They wereof a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of which actsin their sane moments they would be incapable. 

The shock of the woman's words had unsettled his traditions. Not onlywas he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might dislikehim, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and admired. The panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his head. 

"I don't believe you, " he said quietly. 

The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured. 

"Will you see her?" she asked. 

"I'd rather see my brother-in-law, " he answered. 

The woman handed him a card. 

"Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital, " she said. "I loaned themmy car because it's a limousine. The address is on that card. But, " sheadded, "both your brother and Sammy--that's Sam Muir, the doctor--askedyou wouldn't use the telephone; they're afraid of a leak. "

Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were "Exhibit A, "presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she hadgiven him. He stuck it in his pocket. 

"I'll go to him at once, " he said. 

To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In leveltones she said: "Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn'tdo that until you'd fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known. He's afraid some one might find out where he is--and for a day or two noone must know that. "

"This doctor knows it, " retorted Wharton. 

The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the firsttime she laughed. 

"Sammy!" she exclaimed. "He's a lobbygow of mine. He's worked for me foryears. I could send him up the river if I liked. He knows it. " Her tonewas convincing. "They both asked, " she continued evenly, "you shouldkeep off until the girl is out of the country, and fixed. "

Wharton frowned thoughtfully. 

And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, towardthe unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was toher most gratifying. 

Wharton ceased frowning. 

"How fixed?" he asked. 

Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders. 

"Cutler's idea is money, " she said; "but, believe _me_, he's wrong. Thisgirl is a vampire. She'll only come back to you for more. She'll keep onthreatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix _her_is to throw a scare into her. And there's only one man can do that;there's only one man that can hush this thing up--that's you. "

"When can I see her?" asked Wharton. 

"Now, " said the woman. "I'll bring her. "

Wharton could not suppress an involuntary start. 

"Here?" he exclaimed. 

For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence ofembarrassment. 

"My room's in a mess, " she explained; "and she's not hurt so much asSammy said. He told her she was in bad just to keep her quiet until yougot here. "

Mrs. Earle opened one of the doors leading from the room. "I won't be aminute, " she said. Quietly she closed the door behind her. 

Upon her disappearance the manner of the district attorney underwent anabrupt change. He ran softly to the door opposite the one through whichMrs. Earle had passed, and pulled it open. But, if beyond it he expectedto find an audience of eavesdroppers, he was disappointed. The room wasempty--and bore no evidence of recent occupation. He closed the door, and, from the roller-top desk, snatching a piece of paper, scribbledupon it hastily. Wrapping the paper around a coin, and holding itexposed to view, he showed himself at the window. Below him, to anincreasing circle of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scatteringcrumbs. Without withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded. Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him heheard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattleof a doorknob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that towardthe spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnantsof his sandwich. 

The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported byher, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung indisorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had thrownabout her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl movedunsteadily and sank into a chair. 

In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her. 

"Rose, " she said, "this is the district attorney. " To him she added:"She calls herself Rose Gerard. "

One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other shebrushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes shestared at Wharton defiantly. 

"Well, " she challenged, "what about it?"

Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk. 

"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked. 

His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent. 

"Don't you worry, " she sneered, "I'm strong enough. Strong enough totell _all_ I know--to you, and to the papers, and to a jury--until I getjustice. " She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him. "_That's_ what I'm going to get, " she cried, her voice breakinghysterically, "justice. "

From behind the armchair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earlecaught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders. 

"Just what _did_ happen?" asked Wharton. 

Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together. 

"I first met your brother-in-law--" she began. 

Wharton interrupted quietly. 

"Wait!" he said. "You are not talking to me as anybody's brother-in-law, but as the district attorney. "

The girl laughed vindictively. 

"I don't wonder you're ashamed of him!" she jeered. 

Again she began: "I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry methen. He told me he was not a married man. "

As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speakingquickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative tothe moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her. Atthis point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and heraudience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but sheshook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicionas well, opened the door. 

With apologies her head waiter presented a letter. 

"For Mr. Wharton, " he explained, "from his chauffeur. "

Wharton's annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. "What thedevil--" he began. 

He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyesto Mrs. Earle. 

"He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube, " he said. "How longwould it take him to get there and back?"

The hard and distrustful expression upon the face of Mrs. Earle, whichwas habitual, was now most strongly in evidence. Her eyes searched thoseof Wharton. 

"Twenty minutes, " she said. 

"He can't go, " snapped Wharton. 

"Tell him, " he directed the waiter, "to stay where he is. Tell him Imay want to go back to the office any minute. " He turned eagerly to thegirl. "I'm sorry, " he said. With impatience he crumpled the note into aball and glanced about him. At his feet was a waste-paper basket. Fixedupon him he saw, while pretending not to see, the eyes of Mrs. Earleburning with suspicion. If he destroyed the note, he knew suspicionwould become certainty. Without an instant of hesitation, carelessly hetossed it intact into the waste-paper basket. Toward Rose Gerard heswung the revolving chair. 

"Go on, please, " he commanded. 

The girl had now reached the climax of her story, but the eyes of Mrs. Earle betrayed the fact that her thoughts were elsewhere. With anintense and hungry longing, they were concentrated upon her ownwaste-paper basket. 

The voice of the girl in anger and defiance recalled Mrs. Earle to thebusiness of the moment. 

"He tried to kill me, " shouted Miss Rose. "And his shooting himself inthe shoulder was a bluff. _That's_ my story; that's the story I'm goingto tell the judge"--her voice soared shrilly--"that's the story that'sgoing to send your brother-in-law to Sing Sing!"

For the first time Mrs. Earle contributed to the general conversation. 

"You talk like a fish, " she said. 

The girl turned upon her savagely. 

"If he don't like the way I talk, " she cried, "he can come across!"

Mrs. Earle exclaimed in horror. Virtuously her hands were raised inprotest. 

"Like hell he will!" she said. "You can't pull that under my roof!"

Wharton looked disturbed. 

"'Come across'?" he asked. 

"Come across?" mimicked the girl. "Send me abroad and keep me there. AndI'll swear it was an accident. Twenty-five thousand, that's all I want. Cutler told me he was going to make you governor. He can't make yougovernor if he's in Sing Sing, can he? Ain't it worth twenty-fivethousand to you to be governor? Come on, " she jeered, "kick in!"

With a grave but untroubled voice Wharton addressed Mrs. Earle. 

"May I use your telephone?" he asked. He did not wait for her consent, but from the desk lifted the hand telephone. 

"Spring, three one hundred!" he said. He sat with his legs comfortablycrossed, the stand of the instrument balanced on his knee, his eyesgazing meditatively at the yellow tree-tops. 

If with apprehension both women started, if the girl thrust herselfforward, and by the hand of Mrs. Earle was dragged back, he did notappear to know it. 

"Police headquarters?" they heard him ask. "I want to speak to thecommissioner. This is the district attorney. "

In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain in herside apparently returned, for the girl screamed sharply. 

"Be still!" commanded the older woman. Breathless, across the top of thearmchair, she was leaning forward. Upon the man at the telephone hereyes were fixed in fascination. 

"Commissioner, " said the district attorney, "this is Wharton speaking. Awoman has made a charge of attempted murder to me against mybrother-in-law, Hamilton Cutler. On account of our relationship, I wantYOU to make the arrest. If there were any slip, and he got away, itmight be said I arranged it. You will find him at the Winona apartmentson the Southern Boulevard, in the private hospital of a Doctor SamuelMuir. Arrest them both. The girl who makes the charge is at Kessler'sCafé, on the Boston Post Road, just inside the city line. Arrest hertoo. She tried to blackmail me. I'll appear against her. "

Wharton rose and addressed himself to Mrs. Earle. 

"I'm sorry, " he said, "but I had to do it. You might have known I couldnot hush it up. I am the only man who can't hush it up. The people ofNew York elected me to enforce the laws. " Wharton's voice was raised toa loud pitch. It seemed unnecessarily loud. It was almost as though hewere addressing another and more distant audience. "And, " he continued, his voice still soaring, "even if my own family suffer, even if Isuffer, even if I lose political promotion, those laws I will enforce!"

In the more conventional tone of every-day politeness, he added:

"May I speak to you outside, Mrs. Earle?"

But, as in silence that lady descended the stairs, the district attorneyseemed to have forgotten what it was he wished to say. 

It was not until he had seen his chauffeur arouse himself fromapparently deep slumber and crank the car that he addressed her. 

"That girl, " he said, "had better go back to bed. My men are all aroundthis house and, until the police come, will detain her. "

He shook the jewelled fingers of Mrs. Earle warmly. "I thank you, " hesaid; "I know you meant well. I know you wanted to help me, but"--heshrugged his shoulders--"my duty!"

As he walked down the driveway to his car his shoulders continued tomove. 

But Mrs. Earle did not wait to observe this phenomenon. Rid of hispresence, she leaped, rather than ran, up the stairs and threw open thedoor of her office. 

As she entered, two men followed her. One was a young man who held inhis hand an open note-book, the other was Tim Meehan, of Tammany. Thelatter greeted her with a shout. 

"We heard everything he said!" he cried. His voice rose in torment. "An'we can't use a word of it! He acted just like we'd oughta knowed he'dact. He's HONEST! He's so damned honest he ain't human; he's a ----gilded saint!"

Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the floorthe contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she snatched a pieceof crumpled paper. 

"Shut up!" she shouted. "Listen! His chauffeur brought him this. " In avoice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she readaloud:

"'As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth andcalled up Mrs. Cutler's house and got herself on the phone. Yourbrother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the children and theyare now going to the Hippodrome. 

"'Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room, butthey did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a stenographer. Heis taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs of a dictagraph. Looks like you'd better watch your step and not say nothing you don'twant Tammany to print. '" The voice of Mrs. Earle rose in a shrillshriek. 

"Him--a gilded saint?" she screamed; "you big stiff! He knew he wastalking into a dictagraph all the time--and he double-crossed us!"