I.

With a little laugh of sheer light-heartedness on her lips and a

twinkle in her blue eyes, Marguerite Melrose bound on a grotesque

automobile mask, and stuffed the last strand of her recalcitrant hair

beneath her veil. The pretty face was hidden from mouth to brow; and

her curls were ruthlessly imprisoned under a cap held in place by the

tightly tied veil.

"It's perfectly hideous, isn't it?" she demanded of her companions.

Jack Curtis laughed.

"Well," he remarked, quizzically, "it's just as well that we _know_

you are pretty."

"We could never discover it as you are now," added Charles Reid.

"Can't see enough of your face to tell whether you are white or

black."

The girl's red lips were pursed into a pout, which ungraciously hid

her white teeth, as she considered the matter seriously.

"I think I'll take it off," she said at last.

"Don't," Curtis warned her. "On a good road The Green Dragon only hits

the tall places."

"Tear your hair off," supplemented Reid. "When Jack lets her loose

it's just a pszzzzt!--and wherever you're going you're there."

"Not on a night as dark as this?" protested the girl, quickly.

"I've got lights like twin locomotives," Curtis assured her,

smilingly. "It's perfectly safe. Don't get nervous."

He tied on his own mask with its bleary goggles, while Reid did the

same. The Green Dragon, a low, gasoline car of racing build, stood

panting impatiently, awaiting them at a side door of the hotel. Curtis

assisted Miss Melrose into the front seat and climbed in beside her,

while Reid sat behind in the tonneau. There was a preparatory quiver,

the car jerked a little and then began to move.

The three persons in it were Marguerite Melrose, an actress who had

attracted attention in the West five years before by her great beauty

and had afterwards, by her art, achieved a distinct place; Jack

Curtis, a friend since childhood, when both lived in San Francisco and

attended the same school, and Charles Reid, his chum, son of a mine

owner at Denver.

The unexpected meeting of the three in Boston had been a source of

mutual pleasure. It had been two years since they had seen one another

in Denver, where Miss Melrose was playing. Now she was in Boston,

pursuing certain vocal studies before returning West for her next

season.

Reid was in Boston to lay siege to the heart of a young woman of

society, Miss Elizabeth Dow, whom he first met in San Francisco. She

was only nineteen years old, but despite this he had begun a siege and

his ardor had never cooled, even after Miss Dow returned East. In

Boston, he had heard, she looked with favor upon another man, Morgan

Mason, poor but of excellent family, and frantically Reid had rushed,

like Lochinvar out of the West, to find the rumor true.

Curtis was one who never had anything to do save seek excitement in a

new and novel way. He had come East with Reid. They had been together

constantly since their arrival in Boston. He was of a different type

from Reid in that his wealth was distinctly a burden, a thing which

left him with nothing to do, and opened illimitable possibilities of

dissipation. The pace he led was one which caused other young men to

pause and think.

Warm-hearted and perfectly at home with both Curtis and Reid, Miss

Melrose, the actress, frequently took occasion to scold them. It was

charming to be scolded by Miss Melrose, so much so in fact that it was

worth while sinning again. Since she had appeared on the horizon

Curtis had devoted a great deal of time to her; Reid had his own

difficulties trying to make Miss Dow change her mind.

The Green Dragon with its three passengers ran slowly down from the

Hotel Yarmouth, where Miss Melrose was stopping, toward the Common,

twisting and winding tortuously through the crowd of vehicles. It was

half-past six o'clock in the evening.

"Cut across here to Commonwealth Avenue," Miss Melrose suggested. She

remembered something and her bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the

disfiguring mask. "I know a delightful old-fashioned inn out this way.

It would be an ideal place to stop for supper. I was there once five

years ago when I was in Boston."

"How far?" asked Reid.

"Fifteen or twenty miles," was the reply.

"Right," said Curtis. "Here we go."

Soon after they were skimming along Commonwealth Avenue, which at that

time of day is practically given over to automobilists, past the

Vendome, the Somerset and on over the flat, smooth road. It was

perfectly light now, because the electric lights were about them; but

there was no moon above, and once in the country it would be dark

going.

Curtis was intent on his machine; Reid was thoughtful for a time, but

after awhile leaned over and talked to Miss Melrose.

"I heard something to-day that might interest you," he remarked.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Don MacLean is in Boston."

"I heard that," she replied, casually.

"Who is he?" asked Curtis.

"A man who is frantically in love with Marguerite," said Reid, with a

smile.

"Charlie!" the girl reproved, and a flush crept into her face. "It was

never anything very serious."

Curtis looked at her curiously for a moment, then his eyes turned

again to the road ahead.

"I don't suppose it's very serious if a man proposes to a girl seven

times, is it?" Reid asked, banteringly.

"Did he do that?" asked Curtis, quickly.

"He merely made a fool of himself and me," replied the actress, with

spirit, speaking to Curtis. "He was--in love with me, I suppose, but

his family objected because I was on the stage and threatened to

disinherit him, and all that sort of thing. So--it ended it. Not that

I ever considered the matter seriously anyway," she added.

There was silence again as The Green Dragon plunged into the darkness

of the country, the two brilliant lights ahead showing every dip and

rise in the road. After awhile Curtis spoke again.

"He's now in Boston?"

"Yes," said the girl. "At least, I've heard so," she added, quickly.

Then the conversation ran into other channels, and Curtis, busy with

the great machine and the innumerable levers which made it do this or

do that or do the other, dropped out of it. Reid and Miss Melrose

talked on, but the whirr of the car as it gained speed made talking

unsatisfactory and finally the girl gave herself up to the pure

delight of high speed; a dangerous pleasure which sets the nerves

atingle and makes one greedy for more.

"Do you smell gasoline?" Curtis asked suddenly, turning to the others.

"Believe I do," said Reid.

"Confound it! If I've sprung a leak in my tank it will be the deuce,"

Curtis growled amiably.

"Do you think you've got enough to get to the inn?" asked Miss

Melrose. "It can't be more than five or six miles now."

"I'll run on until we stop," said Curtis. "We might be able to stir up

some along here somewhere. I suppose they are prepared for autos."

At last lights showed ahead, many lights glimmering through the trees.

"I suppose that's the inn now," said Curtis. "Is it?" he asked of the

girl.

"Really, I don't know, but I have an impression that it isn't. The one

I mean seems farther out than this and it seems to me we passed one on

the way. However, I don't remember very well."

"We'll stop and get some gasoline, anyhow," said Curtis.

Puffing and snorting odorously The Green Dragon came to a standstill

in front of an old house which stood back twenty feet or more from the

road. It was lighted up, and from inside they could hear the cheery

rattle of dishes and see white-aproned waiters moving about. Above the

door was a sign, "Monarch Inn."

"Is this the place?" asked Reid.

"Oh, no," replied Miss Melrose. "The inn I spoke of was back from the

road three or four hundred feet through a grove."

Curtis leaped out, and evidently dropped something from his pocket as

he did so, for he stopped and felt around for a moment. Then he

examined his tank.

"It's a leak," he said, in irritation. "I haven't more than half a

gallon left. These people must have some gasoline. Wait a few

minutes."

Miss Melrose and Reid still sat in the car as he started away toward

the house. Almost at the veranda he turned and called back:

"Charlie, I dropped something there when I jumped out. Get down and

strike a match and see if you can find it. Don't go near that gasoline

tank with the match."

He disappeared inside the house. Reid climbed out and struck several

matches. Finally he found what was lost and thrust it into an outside

pocket. Miss Melrose was gazing away down the road at two brilliant

lights coming toward them rapidly.

"Rather chilly," Reid said, as he straightened up. "Want a cup of

coffee or something?"

"Thanks, no," the girl replied.

"I think I'll run in and scare up some sort of a hot drink, if you'll

excuse me?"

"Now, Charlie, don't," the girl asked, suddenly. "I don't like it."

"Oh, one won't hurt," he replied, lightly.

"I shan't speak to you when you come out," she insisted, half

banteringly.

"Oh, yes, you will." He laughed, and passed into the house.

Miss Melrose tossed her pretty head impatiently and turned to watch

the approaching lights. They were blinding as they drew nearer,

clearly revealing her figure, in its tan auto coat, to the occupant of

the other car. The newcomer stopped and then she heard whoever was in

it--she couldn't see--speaking to her.

"Would you mind turning your car a little so I can run in off the

road?"

"I don't know how," she replied, helplessly.

There was a little pause. The occupant of the other car was leaning

forward, looking at her closely.

"Is that you, Marguerite?" he asked finally.

"Yes," she replied. "Who is that? Don?"

"Yes."

A man's figure leaped out of the other machine and came toward her.

* * * * * *

Curtis appeared beside The Green Dragon with a huge can of gasoline

twenty minutes later. The two occupants of the car were clearly

silhouetted against the sky, and Reid, leaning back in the tonneau,

was smoking.

"Find it?" he asked.

"Yes," growled Curtis. And he began the work of repairing the leak and

refilling his tank. It took only five minutes or so, and then he

climbed up into the car.

"Cold, Marguerite?" he asked.

"She won't speak," said Reid, leaning forward a little. "She's angry

because I went inside to get a hot Scotch."

"Wish I had one myself," said Curtis.

"Let's wait till we get to the next place," Reid interposed. "A little

supper and trimmings will put all of us in a better humor."

Without answering, Curtis threw a lever, and the car pulled out. Two

automobiles which had been standing when they arrived were still

waiting for their owners. Annoyed at the delay, Curtis put on full

speed. Finally Reid leaned forward and spoke to the girl.

"In a good humor?" he asked.

She gave no sign of having heard, and Reid placed his hand on her

shoulder as he repeated the question. Still there was no answer.

"Make her talk to you, Jack," he suggested to Curtis.

"What's the matter, Marguerite?" asked Curtis, as he glanced around.

Still there was no answer, and he slowed up the car a little. Then he

took her arm and shook it gently. There was no response.

"What _is_ the matter with her?" he demanded. "Has she fainted?"

Again he shook her, this time more vigorously than before.

"Marguerite," he called.

Then his hand sought her face; it was deathly cold, clammy even about

the chin. The upper part was still covered by the mask. For the third

time he shook her, then, really frightened, apparently, he caught at

her gloved wrist and brought the car to a standstill. There was no

trace of a pulse; the wrist was cold as death.

"She must be ill--very ill," he said in some agitation. "Is there a

doctor near here?"

Reid was leaning over the senseless body now, having raised up in the

tonneau, and when he spoke there seemed to be fear in his tone.

"Better run on as fast as you can to the inn ahead," he instructed

Curtis. "It's nearer than the one we just left. There may be a doctor

there."

Curtis grabbed frantically at the lever and the car shot ahead

suddenly through the dark. In three minutes the lights of the second

inn were in sight. The two men leaped from the car simultaneously and

raced for the house.

"A doctor, quick," Curtis breathlessly demanded of a waiter.

"Next door."

Without waiting for further instructions, Curtis and Reid ran to the

auto, lifted the girl in their arms and took her to a house which

stood just a few feet away. There, after much clamoring, they aroused

some one. Was the doctor in? Yes. Would he hurry? Yes.

The door opened and the men laid the girl's body on a couch in the

hall. Dr. Leonard appeared. He was an old fellow, grizzled, with keen,

kindly eyes and rigid mouth.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Think she's dead," replied Curtis.

The doctor adjusted his glasses rather hurriedly.

"Who is she?" he asked, as he bent over the still figure and fumbled

about the throat and breast.

"Miss Marguerite Melrose, an actress," explained Curtis, hurriedly.

"What's the matter with her?" demanded Reid, fiercely.

The doctor still bent over the figure. In the dim lamplight Curtis and

Reid stood waiting anxiously, impatiently, with white faces. At last

the doctor straightened up.

"What is it?" demanded Curtis.

"She's dead," was the reply.

"Great God!" exclaimed Reid. "How?" Curtis seemed speechless.

"This," said the doctor, and he exhibited a long knife, damp with

blood. "Stabbed through the heart."

Curtis stared at him, at the knife, then at the inert figure, and

lastly at the dead white of her face where it showed beneath the mask.

"Look, Jack!" exclaimed Reid, suddenly. "The knife!"

Curtis looked again, then sank down on the couch beside the body.

"Oh, my God! It's horrible!" he said.