fathomed the secret of the happy relations of his host and hostess, and
was not deceived by Harrington when he represented himself the sport of
circumstances.
“You bet I’m not,” said Michael, without resentment. “By the way,” he
added, “if you want your nightcaps later, ring for Lambart. He’s used to
being summoned at any hour.”
“I won’t forget,” Denby returned.
“I hope you won’t,” his host assured him. “I’d hate to think of Lambart
having a really good night’s rest.” He pointed to an alarm on the wall
by the door. “But don’t get up half asleep and push that red thing over
there.”
“What on earth is it?” Monty asked. “It looks like a hotel
fire-alarm--‘Break the glass in case of fire.’”
“It’s a burglar-alarm that wakes the whole house.”
“What?” Denby cried, suddenly interested. “You don’t really expect
burglars?”
“I know it’s funny,” Michael said, “and a bit old maidish, but I happen
to be vice-president of the New York Burglar Insurance Company, and I’ve
got to have their beastly patents in the house to show my faith in ’em.”
“I’ll keep away from it,” Denby assured him, looking at it curiously.
“The last man who had this room sent it off by mistake. Said a mosquito
worried him so much that he threw a shoe at it. He missed the
mosquito--between you and me,” Michael said confidentially, “we haven’t
any out here at Westbury--but he hit the alarm. I’m afraid Hazen had
been putting too many nightcaps on his head and couldn’t see straight.
Mrs. Harrington made me search the whole house. Of course there wasn’t
anyone there and Alice seemed sorry that I’d had my hunt in vain. The
beauty of these things,” the vice-president commented, “is that they
warn the burglars to get out and so you don’t get shot as you might if
you hadn’t told ’em you were coming.”
Michael took up the second glass and had barely taken a sip when quick,
light footfalls approached.
“Good Lord,” said he, “my wife! Here, Monty, quick,” placing the
half-emptied glass in Denby’s hand and the one from which he had first
drunk in Monty’s, “I count on you, boys,” he whispered, and then strode
to the door and flung it open.
“Are we intruders?” his wife asked.
“You are delightfully welcome,” Denby cried. “Please come in.”
“We thought you’d still be up,” Nora explained. “Michael said he was
bringing you up some highballs.”
“Great stuff,” Monty said, taking his cue, “best whiskey I ever tasted.
Nothing like really old Bourbon after all.”
Michael shot a glance of agonized reproach at the man who could make
such a stupid mistake. “Monty,” he explained to his wife, who had caught
this ingenuous remark and had looked at him inquiringly, “is still so
filled with excitement that he doesn’t know old Scotch when he tastes
it.”
“Your husband is a noble abstainer,” Denby said quickly, to help them
out, “we place temptation right before him and he resists.”
“That’s my wife’s training,” said Harrington, smiling complacently.
“I’m not so sure,” she returned. “Putting temptation before Michael, Mr.
Denby, shows him just like old Adam--only Michael’s weakness is for
grapes, not apples.”
“We’ve come,” Nora reminded them, “to get a fourth at auction. We’re all
too much excited to sleep. Mr. Denby, I’m sure you’re a wonderful
player. Surely you must shine at something.”
“Among my other deficiencies,” he confessed, “I don’t play bridge.”
Nora sighed. “There remains only Monty. Monty,” she commanded, “you must
play.”
“Glad to!” he cried. “I like company, and I’m not tired either.”
Suddenly he caught sight of Denby’s face. His look plainly said,
“Refuse.”
“In just a few minutes,” Monty stammered. “I was just figuring out
something when you came in. How long will it take, Steve?”
“Hardly five minutes,” Denby said.
“It’s a gold-mine you see,” Monty explained laboriously, “and first it
goes up, and then it goes down.”
“I always strike an average,” Michael told him. “It’s the easiest way.”
“Is it a good investment?” Alice demanded. She had a liking for taking
small flutters with gold-mines.
“You wouldn’t know one if you saw it,” her husband said, laughing.
“I learnt what I know from you,” she reminded him.
“I’d rather dance than bridge it,” Nora said impatiently, doing some
rather elaborate maxixe steps very gracefully and humming a popular tune
meanwhile.
“Be quiet,” Alice warned her; “you’ll disturb Ethel.”
“Has Miss Cartwright gone to bed?” Denby asked her.
“She felt very tired,” Alice explained.
“It’s wrong to go to bed so early,” Nora exclaimed. “It can’t be much
after two.”
She sang a few bars of another song much in vogue, but Alice stopped her
again.
“Hush, Nora, don’t you understand Ethel’s in the next room asleep, or
trying to?”
“I thought it was empty,” Nora said, in excuse for her burst of song.
“Ethel insisted on changing. She was very nervous and she wanted to be
down near the men in case of trouble.”
“And I had to go through forty-seven bunches of keys to get one to fit
that door,” her husband complained. Denby shot a swift glance toward
Monty, who was wearing an “I told you so” expression. “She seemed
positively afraid of you, Denby, from what my wife said,” Harrington
concluded.
“You’re not drinking your highball, Mr. Denby,” Alice observed.
“I’m saving it,” he smiled.
“That’s a very obvious hint,” Nora cried. “Let’s leave them, Alice.” She
sauntered to the door.
“Very well,” her hostess said, “and we’ll expect you in a few minutes,
Monty. You’re coming, Michael?”
“In just a moment,” he returned. “I’ve got one more old wheeze I want to
spring on Denby. He’s a capital audience for the elderly ones.”
“When Mr. Denby has recovered,” she commanded, “come down and play.”
“Certainly, my dear,” he said obediently.
“And, Michael,” she said smiling, “don’t think you’ve fooled me.”
“Fooled you,” he exclaimed innocently, “why, I’d never even dream of
trying to!”
His wife moved toward Denby and took the half-finished highball from his
hand.
“Michael,” she said, handing it to him, “here’s the rest of your drink.”
She went from the room still smiling at the deep knowledge she had of
her Michael’s little ways.
Michael imbibed it gratefully.
“My wife’s a damned clever woman,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, as he
trotted out obediently in her wake.
Directly he had gone Denby went quickly to the door and made sure it was
closed tightly. “It was that girl, after all, Monty!” he said in a low,
tense voice. “She tried to pry open the drawer with that paper-knife.
You can see the marks. I found the knife on the floor, where she’d
dropped it on hearing me at the door.”
Monty looked at him with sympathy in his eyes. “That’s pretty tough, old
man,” he said softly.
“It’s hard to believe that she is the kind of woman to take advantage of
our friendship to turn me over to the police,” he admitted. Then his
face took on a harder, sterner look. “But it’s no use beating about the
bush; that’s exactly what she did.”
“I’m sorry, mighty sorry,” Monty said, realizing as he had never done
what this perfidy meant to his old friend.
“I don’t want to have to fight her,” Denby said. “The very idea seems
unspeakable.”
“What can we do if you don’t?” Monty asked doubtfully.
“If she’ll only tell me who it is that sent her here--the man who’s
after me--I’ll fight him, and leave her out of it.”
“But if she won’t do that?” Monty questioned.
“Then I’ll play her own game,” Denby answered, “only this time she
follows my rules for it.” As he said this both of the men fancied they
could hear a creaking in the next room.
“What’s that?” Monty demanded.
Denby motioned to him to remain silent, and then tiptoed his way to the
door connecting the rooms.
“Is she there?” Monty felt himself compelled to whisper.
Denby nodded acquiescence and quietly withdrew to the centre of the
room.
“Has she heard us?” asked his friend.
“I don’t think so. I heard her close the window and then come over to
the door.”
He crossed to the desk and began to write very fast.
“What are you doing?” Monty inquired softly.
Denby, scribbling on, did not immediately answer him. Presently he
handed the written page to Monty. “Here’s my plan,” he said, “read it.”
While Monty was studying the paper Denby moved over to the light switch,
and the room, except for the rose-shaded electric lamp, was in darkness.
“Jumping Jupiter!” Monty exclaimed, looking up from the paper with knit
brows.
“Do you understand?” Denby asked.
“Yes,” Monty answered agitatedly; “I understand, but suppose I get
rattled and make a mistake when the time comes?”
“You won’t,” Denby replied, still in low tone. “I’m depending on you,
Monty, and I know you won’t disappoint me.” When he next spoke it was in
a louder voice, louder in fact than he needed for conversational use.
“It’s a pity Miss Cartwright has gone to bed,” he exclaimed. “I might
have risked trying to learn bridge, if she’d been willing to teach me.
She’s a bully girl.”
“Don’t talk so loud,” Monty advised him, grinning.
“In these dictagraph days the walls have ears. Let’s go outside. We
can’t tell who might hear us in this room. We’ll be safe enough on the
lawn.”
“A good idea,” Denby agreed, moving away from the connecting door which
they guessed had a listener concealed behind it, and turning out the
lights. And Ethel Cartwright, straining her ears, heard the door opened
and banged noisily, and footsteps hurrying past toward the stairway. It
was at last the opportunity.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE turned the key, less noisily this time, and stepped into Denby’s
room. Making her way to the drawer she gave it a gentle pull. But it was
still fastened, and she grasped the heavy brass knife when of a sudden
the room was full of light, and Denby stepped from the shadow of the
door where he had been concealed.
“Oh!” she cried in terror, and turned her face away from him.
He walked slowly over to the table by which she stood.
“So you’ve come for the necklace, then? Why do you want it?”
She looked at him in desperation. Only the truth would serve her now.
“I am employed by the government. I was sent here to get it,” she
answered.
“What?” he cried. “The charming Miss Cartwright a secret service agent!
It’s quite incredible.”
“But it’s true,” she said.
“Who employed you?” he asked sharply.
“I can’t tell you that,” she said slowly.
“Then how can I believe you?” he asked her.
“But it’s the truth,” she insisted. “For what other reason should I be
here?”
“Women have collected jewels before now for themselves as well as their
governments,” he reminded her.
She flushed. “Do you wish to insult me?”
“I don’t think you quite realize your position,” he said. “I find you
here trying to steal something of mine. If you tell me the name of the
man, or men, under whose orders you are acting, I may be able to
believe.”
“I can’t tell you,” she cried; “I can’t tell you.”
“It’s most likely to be Bangs,” he said meditatively, and then turned to
her quickly. “It was John H. Bangs of the secret service who sent you.”
At all costs she knew she must keep the name of Daniel Taylor from him.
To admit that it was a fellow official would do no harm.
“Yes,” she said; “it was.”
Contempt looked from his face. “You lie, Miss Cartwright, you lie!”
“Mr. Denby!” she cried.
“I’ve no time for politeness now,” he told her. “There is no Bangs in
the secret service.”
“But you, how can you know?” she said, fighting for time.
“It’s my business to know my opponents,” he observed. “Can’t you tell
the truth?”
“I can’t tell you who it was,” she persisted, “but if you’ll just give
me the necklace--”
He laughed scornfully at her childish request. Her manner puzzled him
extremely. He had seen her fence and cross-examine, use her tongue with
the adroitness of an old hand at intrigue, and yet she was simple,
guileless enough to ask him to hand over the necklace.
“And if I refuse you’ll call the men in who seized Mr. Vaughan, thinking
it was I, and let them get the right man this time?”
“I don’t know,” she said despairingly. “What else can I do? I can’t
fail.”
“Nor can I,” he snapped, “and don’t intend to, either. Do you know what
happens to a man who smuggles in the sort of thing I did and resists the
officials as I shall do, and is finally caught? I’ve seen it, and I
know. It’s prison, Miss Cartwright, and gray walls and iron bars. It
means being herded for a term of years with another order of men, the
men who are crooked at heart; it means the losing of all one’s hopes in
prison gloom and coming out debased and suspected by every man set in
authority over you, for evermore. I’ve sometimes gone sick at seeing men
who have done as I am doing, but have not escaped. I’m not going to
prison, Miss Cartwright, remember that.”
“But I don’t want you to,” she cried eagerly, so eagerly, that he
groaned to think her magnificent acting should be devoted to such a
scene as this. “I don’t want you to.”
“Then there’s only one way out of it for both of us,” he said, coming
nearer.
“What?” she asked fervently.
“Tell them you’ve failed, that you couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“I couldn’t,” she said vehemently.
There was a certain studied contempt in his manner which hurt her badly.
And to know that he would always regard her as an adventuress,
unprincipled and ready to sell herself for the rewards of espionage, and
never have even one pleasant and genuine memory of her, made her
desperate.
“I didn’t intend you to lose on the transaction,” he said coldly. “I’ll
give you ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh, no, no!” she cried, “you don’t understand.”
“Twenty thousand, then,” he said. “Only you and I would know. Your
principals could never hold it against you. Isn’t it a good offer?”
She made a gesture of despair. “It’s no good.”
“Twenty thousand no good!” he jeered. “Think again, Miss Cartwright. It
will pay you better to stand in with me than give me up.”
“No, no!” she cried, half hysterically.
“It’s all I can afford,” he said. Her manner seemed so strange, that for
the first time since he had found her in his room, he began to doubt
whether, after all, it was merely the splendid acting he had supposed.
“I can’t accept,” she told him. “I’ve _got_ to get that necklace; it
means more than any money to me.”
He looked at her keenly, seeking to gauge the depth of her emotion.
“Then they’ve got some hold on you,” he asserted.
“No,” she assured him, “I must get the necklace.”
“So you’re going to make me fight you then?” he questioned.
“I’ve got to fight,” she exclaimed.
“Look here,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “let’s get this thing
right. You won’t accept any--shall we call it compromise?--and you won’t
tell me for whom you are acting. And you won’t admit that you are doing
this because someone has such a hold on you that you must obey. Is that
right, so far?”
For a moment she had a wild idea of telling him, of putting an end to
the scene that was straining her almost to breaking-point. She knew he
could be chivalrous and tender, and she judged he could be ruthless and
hard if necessity compelled. But above all, and even stronger than her
fear of irrevocably breaking with him and being judged hereafter as one
unworthy, was the dread of Taylor and that warrant that could at his
will send Amy to prison and her mother possibly to her grave. She
hardened herself to go through with the ordeal.
“So far you are right,” she admitted.
“Then it remains only for us two to fight. I hate fighting women. A few
hours ago I would have sworn that you and I never could fight, but a few
hours have shown me that I’m as liable to misread people as--as Monty,
for example. You say you’ve got to fight. Very well then; I accept the
challenge, and invite you to witness my first shot.”
He walked to the door through which she had come and opening it, took
the key from her side of it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“Merely that I’m going to keep you here,” he retorted. “I was afraid we
might be interrupted.”
“Open that door!” she commanded quickly.
“When I am ready no doubt I shall,” he returned.
“You wouldn’t do that?” she cried, beginning to realize that she was to
have no easy victory if indeed victory were to be her reward.
“I regret the necessity,” he said. “These methods don’t particularly
appeal to me, but we have declared war, and there’s no choice.”
“But I don’t understand,” she said nervously.
“Don’t you?” he said, coming nearer and looking at her closely. “Don’t
you understand that you are a beautiful woman and I am a man? Have you
forgotten that it’s nearly three, and you are in my room, the room next
which you begged to be moved? They were a little puzzled at your wanting
that key so badly, and when you’re found here _en negligée_--for you
will be found here--I think I know the world well enough to judge what
construction will be placed upon that discovery.”
For the moment she forgot about everything but the personal aspect of
the situation in which she found herself. That this man of all others
should be willing to compromise her reputation awakened the bitterest
contempt for him.
“I thought at least _you_ were a _man_!” she cried.
“I am,” he returned without heat. “That’s just it, Miss Cartwright, I’m
a man, and you are a woman.”
“And I thought you were my friend,” she exclaimed indignantly.
“Please don’t bandy the name of friendship with me,” he said with a
sneer. “You of all women that live, to dare to talk like that! You knew
I liked you--liked you very much, and because you were so sure of it,
you wheedled me into betraying myself. You smiled and lied and pledged
our friendship, and called to mind those days in Paris, which were the
happiest recollections of all my life. And yet it was all done so that
you might get enough out of me to lead me, with a prison sentence
awaiting me, to the man who gives you your orders.” He took a few swift
paces up and down the room. “This indignation of yours is a false note.
We’ll keep to the main facts. You are sworn to betray me, and I am sworn
to defeat you.”
“Don’t think that,” she said wretchedly; “I wasn’t--”
“And when I told you the truth,” he went on inexorably, “you asked me to
go into the garden where they were waiting for me.”
“I couldn’t help it,” she said, as calmly as she was able.
“And when you thought I was sending the necklace here you trumped up a
flimsy excuse so that you might be able to steal in here and get it. Is
that sort of thing in your code of friendship?”
“I wasn’t trying to trap you,” she explained. “I thought you were
innocent, and I wanted to convince them of it, too.”
“No doubt,” he said tauntingly, “and when you found out I was guilty,
you still tried to save me, I suppose, by asking me to walk into their
trap?”
The girl made an effort to defend her course of action. She knew that
without the admission of the truth he must feel his point of view
unassailable, but she wanted him not to think too hardly of her.
“After all,” she declared, “you had broken the law. You are guilty. Why
should my behavior be so called into account?”
“It isn’t that at all,” he returned impatiently. “You didn’t play the
game fairly. You used a woman’s last weapon--her sex. Well, I can play
your game, too, and I will. You shall stay here till morning.”
“You don’t dare to keep me!” she cried.
“Oh, yes, I do,” he retorted easily.
She assumed as well as she could an air of bravado, a false air of
courage that might convince him she was not so easily frightened as she
felt.
“And you think the possible loss of my reputation is going to frighten
me into letting you go?”
“I do,” he said readily.
“Well, you’re wrong,” she assured him, “I have only to tell them the
truth about the necklace and what I’m doing here--”
“But the truth is so seldom believed,” he reminded her, “especially when
you’ve no evidence to support it. A lie is a much more easily digested
morsel.”
“All the evidence I need,” she asserted, “is in that locked drawer.”
“Quite so,” he admitted. “I’d forgotten that, only it happens you’re
wrong again.” He drew the necklace from his pocket and showed it to her.
“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
Moving over to the table he scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Manufacturing evidence,” he returned calmly.
“Meanwhile,” she said, gathering courage, “I propose to leave this
room.”
“An excellent idea from your way of thinking,” he said, looking up.
“Naturally I’m interested to know how.”
“I’ll show you,” she responded, and moved quickly to the bell button
which she pushed violently. “Now, Mr. Denby,” she cried triumphantly.
“This is my first shot! When the servants come, I shall take the
necklace with me.”
She was disappointed to see no trace of alarm on his face. Instead, he
answered her calmly enough.
“What a pity you did that--you’ll regret it so very soon.”
“Shall I?” she said satirically, and watched him go to the window. As he
did so, a low whistle was heard coming from the lawn beneath. Then he
took the necklace, wrapped it in the note he had written, and tossed it
through the opening.
“I hardly think you’ll take it with you,” he observed suavely.
“I shall get it,” she returned. “I shall tell the Harringtons exactly
what you are, and that you threw it on the lawn.”
“Wrong again, Miss Cartwright,” he said patiently. “If you’ll stand
where I am, you will see the retreating figure of my friend Monty, who
has it with him. Monty managed rather well, I think. His whistle
announced the coast was clear.”
“But he can’t get away with those men out there,” she reminded him.
“Monty waited until they were gone,” he repeated. “For the moment, your
friends of the secret service have left us.”
“Then I’ll tell Mr. Harrington about Monty, that he’s your accomplice.”
He shook his head. “I hardly think they’d believe that even from you.
That Montague Vaughan, whose income is what he desires it to be, should
lower himself to help me, is one of the truthful things nobody could
possibly credit. If you could ring in some poor but honest young man it
would sound so much more probable, but Monty, no.”
She looked at him like a thing stricken. Her poor bravado fell from her.
She felt beaten, and dreaded to think what might be the price of her
failure.
“And since you forced me,” he added, “I’ve had to play my last card. The
note that I threw to Monty was a letter to you. He’ll leave it where it
can easily be found.”
“A letter to me!” she repeated.
“It contained a suggestion that you try to get the room next mine,
pleading nervousness, and come here to-night. It was the invitation--of
a lover.”
“You beast!” she cried, flaming out into rage. “You coward!”
“You had your warning,” he reminded her. “The note will be conclusive,
and no matter what you say, you will find yourself prejudged. It’s the
world’s way to prejudge. The servants don’t seem to be coming, and
you’ll be found here in the morning. What explanation will you have to
offer?” He waited for her to speak, but she made no answer.
“I think the episode of the necklace remains as between just you and
me,” he added slowly, watching her closely.
“The servants will come,” she cried. “I shan’t have to stay here.”
“If they disappoint you,” he remarked, “may I suggest that
burglar-alarm? It will wake everybody up, the Harringtons, Miss
Rutledge, and all, even if they’re in bed and asleep soundly. Why don’t
you ring it? Miss Cartwright, I _dare_ you to ring it!”
Just then there came the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, then a
knock at the door. Denby waited calmly for some word from the girl. The
knock was repeated.
“Well,” he whispered at last, “why don’t you answer?”
She shrank back. “No, no, I can’t.”
Denby moved to the door. “Who is it?” he asked.
Lambart’s respectful voice made answer: “You rang, sir?”
“Yes,” he returned, “I forgot to tell you that Miss Cartwright wished
to be called at seven. Call me at the same time, too. That’s all,
Lambart; sorry to have had to disturb you. Good-night.”
He stood listening until the man’s footsteps died away. Then he turned,
and came toward the girl.
“So you didn’t dare denounce me after all,” he said mockingly.
“Oh, I knew it was all a joke,” she said, with an attempt to pass it
over lightly. “I knew you couldn’t be so contemptible.”
“A joke!” he exclaimed grimly. “Why does it seem a joke?”
“If you’d meant what you’d said, you’d have called Lambart in. That
would have answered your purpose very well. But I knew that you’d never
do that. I knew you couldn’t.”