IV

The number drew to a close, and John Chestnut sat alone at his table,

stirring auxiliary bubbles in his glass of champagne. Just before the

lights went on, there was a soft rasp of gold cloth, and Rags, flushed

and breathing quickly, sank into her chair. Her eyes were shining with

tears.

John looked at her moodily.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He was very quiet."

"Didn't he say a word?"

Her hand trembled as she took up her glass of champagne.

"He just looked at me while it was dark. And he said a few conventional

things. He was like his pictures, only he looks very bored and tired. He

didn't even ask my name."

"Is he leaving New York to-night?"

"In half an hour. He and his aides have a car outside, and they expect

to be over the border before dawn."

"Did you find him--fascinating?"

She hesitated and then slowly nodded her head.

"That's what everybody says," admitted John glumly. "Do they expect you

back there?"

"I don't know." She looked uncertainly across the floor but the

celebrated personage had again withdrawn from his table to some retreat

outside. As she turned back an utterly strange young man who had been

standing for a moment in the main entrance came toward them hurriedly.

He was a deathly pale person in a dishevelled and inappropriate business

suit, and he had laid a trembling hand on John Chestnut's shoulder.

"Monte!" exclaimed John, starting up so suddenly that he upset his

champagne. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"They've picked up the trail!" said the young man in a shaken whisper.

He looked around. "I've got to speak to you alone."

John Chestnut jumped to his feet, and Rags noticed that his face too had

become white as the napkin in his hand. He excused himself and they

retreated to an unoccupied table a few feet away. Rags watched them

curiously for a moment, then she resumed her scrutiny of the table

across the floor. Would she be asked to come back? The prince had simply

risen and bowed and gone outside. Perhaps she should have waited until

he returned, but though she was still tense with excitement she had, to

some extent, become Rags Martin-Jones again. Her curiosity was

satisfied--any new urge must come from him. She wondered if she had

really felt an intrinsic charm--she wondered especially if he had in

any marked way responded to her beauty.

The pale person called Monte disappeared and John returned to the table.

Rags was startled to find that a tremendous change had come over him. He

lurched into his chair like a drunken man.

"John! What's the matter?"

Instead of answering, he reached for the champagne bottle, but his

fingers were trembling so that the splattered wine made a wet yellow

ring around his glass.

"Are you sick?"

"Rags," he said unsteadily, "I'm all through."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm all through, I tell you." He managed a sickly smile. "There's been

a warrant out for me for over an hour."

"What have you done?" she demanded in a frightened voice. "What's the

warrant for?"

The lights went out for the next number, and he collapsed suddenly over

the table.

"What is it?" she insisted, with rising apprehension. She leaned

forward--his answer was barely audible.

"Murder?" She could feel her body grow cold as ice.

He nodded. She took hold of both arms and tried to shake him upright, as

one shakes a coat into place. His eyes were rolling in his head.

"Is it true? Have they got proof?"

Again he nodded drunkenly.

"Then you've got to get out of the country now! Do you understand, John?

You've got to get out _now_, before they come looking for you here!"

He loosed a wild glance of terror toward the entrance.

"Oh, God!" cried Rags, "why don't you do something?" Her eyes strayed

here and there in desperation, became suddenly fixed. She drew in her

breath sharply, hesitated, and then whispered fiercely into his ear.

"If I arrange it, will you go to Canada to-night?"

"How?"

"I'll arrange it--if you'll pull yourself together a little. This is

Rags talking to you, don't you understand, John? I want you to sit here

and not move until I come back!"

A minute later she had crossed the room under cover of the darkness.

"Baron Marchbanks," she whispered softly, standing just behind his

chair.

He motioned her to sit down.

"Have you room in your car for two more passengers to-night?"

One of the aides turned around abruptly.

"His lordship's car is full," he said shortly.

"It's terribly urgent." Her voice was trembling.

"Well," said the prince hesitantly, "I don't know."

Lord Charles Este looked at the prince and shook his head.

"I don't think it's advisable. This is a ticklish business anyhow with

contrary orders from home. You know we agreed there'd be no

complications."

The prince frowned.

"This isn't a complication," he objected.

Este turned frankly to Rags.

"Why is it urgent?"

Rags hesitated.

"Why"--she flushed suddenly--"it's a runaway marriage."

The prince laughed.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "That settles it. Este is just being official.

Bring him over right away. We're leaving shortly, what?"

Este looked at his watch.

"Right now!"

Rags rushed away. She wanted to move the whole party from the roof while

the lights were still down.

"Hurry!" she cried in John's ear. "We're going over the border--with the

Prince of Wales. You'll be safe by morning."

He looked up at her with dazed eyes. She hurriedly paid the check, and

seizing his arm piloted him as inconspicuously as possible to the other

table, where she introduced him with a word. The prince acknowledged his

presence by shaking hands--the aides nodded, only faintly concealing

their displeasure.

"We'd better start," said Este, looking impatiently at his watch.

They were on their feet when suddenly an exclamation broke from all of

them--two policemen and a red-haired man in plain clothes had come in

at the main door.

"Out we go," breathed Este, impelling the party toward the side

entrance. "There's going to be some kind of riot here." He swore--two

more bluecoats barred the exit there. They paused uncertainly. The

plain-clothes man was beginning a careful inspection of the people at

the tables.

Este looked sharply at Rags and then at John, who shrank back behind the

palms.

"Is that one of your revenue fellas out there?" demanded Este.

"No," whispered Rags. "There's going to be trouble. Can't we get out

this entrance?"

The prince with rising impatience sat down again in his chair.

"Let me know when you chaps are ready to go." He smiled at Rags. "Now

just suppose we all get in trouble just for that jolly face of yours."

Then suddenly the lights went up. The plain-clothes man whirled around

quickly and sprang to the middle of the cabaret floor.

"Nobody try to leave this room!" he shouted. "Sit down, that party

behind the palms! Is John M. Chestnut in this room?"

Rags gave a short involuntary cry.

"Here!" cried the detective to the policeman behind him. "Take a look at

that funny bunch across over there. Hands up, you men!"

"My God!" whispered Este, "we've got to get out of here!" He turned to

the prince. "This won't do, Ted. You can't be seen here. I'll stall them

off while you get down to the car."

He took a step toward the side entrance.

"Hands up, there!" shouted the plain-clothes man. "And when I say hands

up I mean it! Which one of you's Chestnut?"

"You're mad!" cried Este. "We're British subjects. We're not involved in

this affair in any way!"

A woman screamed somewhere, and there was a general movement toward the

elevator, a movement which stopped short before the muzzles of two

automatic pistols. A girl next to Rags collapsed in a dead faint to the

floor, and at the same moment the music on the other roof began to play.

"Stop that music!" bellowed the plain-clothes man. "And get some

earrings on that whole bunch--quick!"

Two policemen advanced toward the party, and simultaneously Este and the

other aides drew their revolvers, and, shielding the prince as they best

could, began to edge toward the side. A shot rang out and then another,

followed by a crash of silver and china as half a dozen diners

overturned their tables and dropped quickly behind.

The panic became general. There were three shots in quick succession,

and then a fusillade. Rags saw Este firing coolly at the eight amber

lights above, and a thick fume of gray smoke began to fill the air. As a

strange undertone to the shouting and screaming came the incessant

clamor of the distant jazz band.

Then in a moment it was all over. A shrill whistle rang out over the

roof, and through the smoke Rags saw John Chestnut advancing toward the

plain-clothes man, his hands held out in a gesture of surrender. There

was a last nervous cry, a chill clatter as some one inadvertently

stepped into a pile of dishes, and then a heavy silence fell on the

roof--even the band seemed to have died away.

"It's all over!" John Chestnut's voice rang out wildly on the night air.

"The party's over. Everybody who wants to can go home!"

Still there was silence--Rags knew it was the silence of awe--the strain

of guilt had driven John Chestnut insane.

"It was a great performance," he was shouting. "I want to thank you one

and all. If you can find any tables still standing, champagne will be

served as long as you care to stay."

It seemed to Rags that the roof and the high stars suddenly began to

swim round and round. She saw John take the detective's hand and shake

it heartily, and she watched the detective grin and pocket his gun. The

music had recommenced, and the girl who had fainted was suddenly dancing

with Lord Charles Este in the corner. John was running here and there

patting people on the back, and laughing and shaking hands. Then he was

coming toward her, fresh and innocent as a child.

"Wasn't it wonderful?" he cried.

Rags felt a faintness stealing over her. She groped backward with her

hand toward a chair.

"What was it?" she cried dazedly. "Am I dreaming?"

"Of course not! You're wide awake. I made it up, Rags, don't you see? I

made up the whole thing for you. I had it invented! The only thing real

about it was my name!"

She collapsed suddenly against his coat, clung to his lapels, and would

have wilted to the floor if he had not caught her quickly in his arms.

"Some champagne--quick!" he called, and then he shouted at the Prince of

Wales, who stood near by. "Order my car quick, you! Miss Martin-Jones

has fainted from excitement."

V

The skyscraper rose bulkily through thirty tiers of windows before it

attenuated itself to a graceful sugar-loaf of shining white. Then it

darted up again another hundred feet, thinned to a mere oblong tower in

its last fragile aspiration toward the sky. At the highest of its high

windows Rags Martin-Jones stood full in the stiff breeze, gazing down at

the city.

"Mr. Chestnut wants to know if you'll come right in to his private

office."

Obediently her slim feet moved along the carpet into a high, cool

chamber overlooking the harbor and the wide sea.

John Chestnut sat at his desk, waiting, and Rags walked to him and put

her arms around his shoulder.

"Are you sure _you're_ real?" she asked anxiously. "Are you absolutely

_sure_?"

"You only wrote me a week before you came," he protested modestly, "or I

could have arranged a revolution."

"Was the whole thing just _mine_?" she demanded. "Was it a perfectly

useless, gorgeous thing, just for me?"

"Useless?" He considered. "Well, it started out to be. At the last

minute I invited a big restaurant man to be there, and while you were at

the other table I sold him the whole idea of the night-club."

He looked at his watch.

"I've got one more thing to do--and then we've got just time to be

married before lunch." He picked up his telephone. "Jackson? ... Send a

triplicated cable to Paris, Berlin, and Budapest and have those two

bogus dukes who tossed up for Schwartzberg-Rhineminster chased over the

Polish border. If the Dutchy won't act, lower the rate of exchange to

point triple zero naught two. Also, that idiot Blutchdak is in the

Balkans again, trying to start a new war. Put him on the first boat for

New York or else throw him in a Greek jail."

He rang off, turned to the startled cosmopolite with a laugh.

"The next stop is the City Hall. Then, if you like, we'll run over to

Paris."

"John," she asked him intently, "who was the Prince of Wales?"

He waited till they were in the elevator, dropping twenty floors at a

swoop. Then he leaned forward and tapped the lift-boy on the shoulder.

"Not so fast, Cedric. This lady isn't used to falls from high places."

The elevator-boy turned around, smiled. His face was pale, oval, framed

in yellow hair. Rags blushed like fire.

"Cedric's from Wessex," explained John. "The resemblance is, to say the

least, amazing. Princes are not particularly discreet, and I suspect

Cedric of being a Guelph in some left-handed way."

Rags took the monocle from around her neck and threw the ribbon over

Cedric's head.

"Thank you," she said simply, "for the second greatest thrill of my

life."

John Chestnut began rubbing his hands together in a commercial gesture.

"Patronize this place, lady," he besought her. "Best bazaar in the

city!"

"What have you got for sale?"

"Well, m'selle, to-day we have some perfectly bee-_oo_-tiful love."

"Wrap it up, Mr. Merchant," cried Rags Martin-Jones. "It looks like a

bargain to me."