The Blue Buckle
Author: Osborne, William Hamilton
Date: 2015-09-27T05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery & Crime
Description: Ebook prepared by crutledge@knology.net
Rights: Public Domain

TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I—THE LADY OF THE BLUE BUCKLE

CHAPTER II—THE SECRET MESSAGE

CHAPTER III—THE SECRET-SERVICE MEN

CHAPTER IV—THE BLUE BUCKLE IN JEOPARDY

CHAPTER V—A SUMMONS FROM THE ROYAL SUITE

CHAPTER VI—THE HOUSE IN TENTH STREET

CHAPTER VII—NECKLACE OR BUCKLE —WHICH?

CHAPTER VIII—MADEMOISELLE ARANY CALLS

CHAPTER IX—THE HOUSE ON RIVERSIDE DRIVE

CHAPTER X—THE NEW VALET

CHAPTER XI—FATHER AND DAUGHTER

CHAPTER XII—A “SETTING-UP” EXERCISE,

CHAPTER XIII—THE LITTLE ITALIAN RESTAURANT

CHAPTER XIV—” OXB IVI ESAF IPSE”

CHAPTER XV—TRUTH OR FALSEHOOD?

CHAPTER XVI—THE GRIP IN THE DARK

CHAPTER XVII—AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE

CHAPTER XVIII—SHOWING THE USEFULNESS OF AN ALIBI

CHAPTER XIX—A VELOUR HAT AND A VELVET GOWN

CHAPTER XX—THE FORGED NOTE

CHAPTER XXI—A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

CHAPTER XXII—THE INACCESSIBLE BOX SEVEN

CHAPTER XXIII—A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

CHAPTER XXIV—THE THIRD BOOKKEEPER

CHAPTER XXV—THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE

CHAPTER XXVI—THE STRAWBERRY VENDER

CHAPTER XXVII—THE SILENT LISTENER

CHAPTER XXVIII—THE SECRET OF THE BIG WHITE ROOM

CHAPTER XXIX—AND LAST

CHAPTER I
THE LADY OF THE BLUE BUCKLE

It was a woman’s voice—the voice that was wafted down the wind.

“Nowhere are they safe—nowhere, do you understand?”

Craig Rutherford, idling in the shadow, with his elbow on the steamer rail, gazing dreamily at the glory of a moonlit sea at midnight in midocean, heard this remark—but could not tell whence it came. In fact, he heard without heeding. Later he recalled the tone, the words—but now. . . .

A man’s voice, in tones subdued, harsh, peremptory, broke in,

“S-h-h-h. You are a woman. You talk too much—too loud. I tell you, when we reach New York—”

“New York—” this was the woman again, “New York—I tell you they will be waiting for us in New York—I can feel their outstretched hands —

“Sh-h-h-h,” again the man. “Those outstretched hands will find—what?”

“That is what I fear.”

“They will find—nothing. Nothing, I tell you.”

“How can you arrange it, then?”

The man’s answer was a sneer. “There are fools aboard—fools aplenty—gullible fools. They’ll do the work for us. I’ve picked one out—a fool —”

“Which one is that?”

“Sh-h-h-h.” There was a dick—it seemed as though somewhere a porthole closed—perhaps a window.

The voices became silent. Craig heard no more.

And what he had heard, truth to tell, made at the time no impression on his mind. Later, hours later, dkys later, weeks and months later, he remembered it—remembered clearly. That conversation, hdd in half whispers, uttered by unrecognizable voices—save that one was feminine and the other masculine—etched itself indelibly upon the tablets of his memory.

But now Craig Rutherford was occupied with other thoughts. The witchery of the moonlit night had cast its spell upon him—and the witchery of someone else—the owner of a veil he had just picked up from the deck by the empty steamer chair.

Rutherford was in love. It was useless for him to deny it longer to his own conscience. He must be honest with himself and face the truth He had battled with his heart ever since he had first glimpsed the girl who had come up the gangplank at Ham’ burg, and walked seemingly straight into his soul. Heroically he had fought the passion, which welled up only the more fiercely, day by day; for the girl bore the name of another man, and Craig was too old-fashioned—he told himself—to indulge in intrigue.

Howbeit, he retained possession of the veil, and resolutely took his stand beside the chair. A single glance told him that the latter had been but lately vacated. The steward had not removed the rugs and cushions. The owner was liable to miss her veil, and might soon return.

His deductions proved correct, for it was not long before he heard the tap of small heels on the deck. Each separate little click throbbed sharply in his breast. His blood jumped as if it had developed a new method of circulating. But he did not turn his head. He rested his arm upon the back of the chair, and continued to seem absorbed in the moonlight scena A girl with brown hair, drawn into a loose knot rather high on her head, from which the wind tore feathery tendrils as if in play, came toward him. In spite of the high heels she walked with the easy grace and light, long step of youth—a youth and physical freedom gained in the sweet communion of the broad outdoors. Seeing a tall figure leaning on her chair, she hesitated as if about to retreat. Fearing to lose her, Craig turned his head.

“Oh I it’s you, Mr. Rutherford?” she said, coming forward smilingly.

Just a simple little sentence such as any well-bred woman might utter; yet Craig caught himself flushing and trembling like a schoolboy. This would never do I He tried to think of something witty to say.

“I think so,” was his actual remark, as he schooled his voice into a tone of conventional friendliness.

The breeze ruffled his hair as he pulled off his cap. He stood smiling down upon her from his well-proportioned height of five-eleven*

“Aren’t you sure?” she parried lightly.

The man’s heart opened like a flower in the warm satisfaction that pervaded him, at the cordiality of her words. Little as she had spoken, he felt the bond of a congenial and friendly spirit. He reached for the ulster she carried over her arm, and helped her put it on.

Who said that I was going to linger?” she protested. “It is late—and I really came back looking for something.”

Craig’s left hand snuggled down into the folds of the veil, deep in his pocket, but he did not even ask her what it was she sought. Instead, he sought again to say something brilliant, to coax this wonderful girl into the confidences of a friendly chat.

“The moonlight injects a fantastic unreality, even into water-buckets and steamer chairs I” he observed, after a silence during which neither of them had marked the time.

“Do you think it will feel crowded if I get into my chair with it?” she asked, with a pretty upward glance that showed she expected him to appreciate the whimsical remark.

“There are chairs made for two, you know,” he replied in the same mood, as he bent to arrange the cushions for her, rejoicing that he was to have her alone for a few precious moments, in the glory of the radiant night. Then, as if in an access of energy, he overturned the chair and sent the pillows flying.

“Why—don’t you want me to stay 2” she asked wonderingly.

“I just do,” he answered boyishly; “but I’m jealous of the moonlight, so I’m routing it out of the chair 1”

She glanced up at him again, then sat down silently. Rutherford felt as though she had reproved him for saying too much. He was supersensitive to-night. But the quick glance of the girl had seen nothing but clear brown eyes which looked frankly into hers. Written in physical characters, he carried the records of his life on the polo fields, at the hurdles, and following the hounds. In his game he had always played to win; and that meant keeping scrupulously fit in body and in mind. Alert and elastic, he was at once attractive and confidence-inspiring in his presence.

“There!” he exclaimed, looking down at her as she rested her head against the dark background. “By Jove, you look—just watch the moonlight! It is dancing about the silver fringe of your gown, as if it were trying to find out if you were real!”

Rutherford laughed at his blundering effort to express a picturesque idea. He laughed, too, as if to reassure her for the third glance she shot upward at him, half curiosity, half alarm. He was talking the bewildering nonsense of a man in love, to Mrs. Henry Talcott, and he knew it, but to save his soul he could not stop. He had the moonlight madness. He knew that he had no business even to think of her in the way that sent his blood coursing madly through his veins; and he had no right to let that leaping madness find expression in words.

Rutherford had hoped against hope that the man whose name stood proprietarily ahead of hers on the passenger-list was not her husband. Mr. Henry Talcott was an elderly invalid, and the pretty concern with which the girl had looked after him had made Rutherford believe her the solicitous daughter. Moreover, they occupied separate staterooms, her own being located just across the corridor from Rutherford’s. Still he could not be sure, and he was too much of a gentleman to pry into confidences that were not invited. Indeed, they had, been avoided, for the Talcotts had earned the reputation of shunning the society of all on shipboard. Thus it was that Rutherford had felt so elated at the pros pect of a tete-a-tete—and now lie had spoiled it all!

“You—you don’t mind my staying awhile, Mrs. Talcott?” he asked, when the pause caused by his own embarrassment and her evident intention not to encourage such an expressive companion, had forced him to an indirect apology.

“Oh no,— stay,” she said.

Rutherford discreetly cautioned himself, as he took the chair beside her, not to indulge in personalities. He would earn his right to her society by sticking mucilaginously tp commonplaces.

“This is a night just made for—confidences,” the girl said dreamily.

Rutherford started. Womanlike, her seemingly idle words had pierced the one weak spot in his armor that he had just been patching. He glanced toward her quickly, and at once his own selfish interests were forgotten in a lively concern for her. The moon, peeping down under the edge of the canopy, had illumined her face, and it had suddenly seemed to grow older and lined with care. He was sure that unshed tears glittered in her eyes. Impulsively he leaned toward her.

“Mrs. Talcott, what is it? There is something troubling you!”

“Why, what did I say?” she asked, as if startled by what she might have unconsciously betrayed.

“You only mentioned confidences; but it is the way you look that makes me —”

Isn’t that a natural subject—for a night like this? It was a trite.remark, I know. You must forgive me if I am not entertaining—but it is so restful to be trite now and then.”

She spoke with purposeful archness, the conversational fencing with which a clever woman leads the talk away from dangerous themes.

Rutherford was a curious compound of boyish candor coupled with a man’s firmness. At the risk of seeming rude he persisted.

Pardon me, Mrs.Talcott, but I am sure that something is weighing upon your mind. I have thought so before to-night. And you have seemed so alone—so unprotected. Your—Mr. Talcott seems to be an invalid. If I could only be of some assistance —”

He was floundering again, but the girl turned to him with a candor as complete, and more tender than his.

“Mr. Rutherford, I am afraid I have seemed ungracious, and I do beg your pardon. You misunderstood, though. What I said had no particular significance—”

“Mrs. Talcott,” said Craig, leaning still closer, you are honest in saying you do not want to seem ungracious. But I know you are hiding some secret anxiety. I do not urge confidences. But if you are ever in need of a friend, will you call upon—me?” “I will remember—and indeed I thank you. One never knows —”

She stopped suddenly, as the sound of footsteps reached their ears.

Down the deck at some distance from them, but much too near to suit Eutherford, a man moved forward into the bright moonlight. He was smoking, and seemed oblivious to them. After approaching them in a series of jerky strides, he turned and retraced his steps. But Butherford’s hope that he was taking himself way and leaving them in sole possession of the deck was doomed to disappointment, for back he turned and paced again in their direction.

“Helderman,” observed Eutherford.

To his surprise and regret, Mrs. Talcott was rising.

“You are not going I” he exclaimed.

“Oh yes, I must! I came out to find my veil, but I—forgot.”

And with scarcely a word of adieu she hurried away. Butherford’s hand still snuggled into the folds of the veil, which he had no intention of restoring to her, but she had given up its search so hastily, that he looked around in bewilderment for some reason for her flight.

All he saw was Helderman pursuing the same eccentric walk that had caused him to be identified so readily, a few moments before. Indeed, who of the first-cabin passengers did not know and remark upon the eccentricities of Helderman? Now it dawned upon Craig that the man was turning back along a new route, one which would bring him nearer to the spot where he had been chatting with Mrs. Talcott. Could it be that this tall, ungainly man had been the cause of her hasty departure! And the veil—might it not have been left to serve as a pretext for a meeting with — Helderman?

Rutherford grew furiously angry with himself, the instant these thoughts formed in his mind. He instinctively distrusted Helderman, and quite as instinctively he trusted Mrs. Talcott. But of one thing he was certain: the easy congeniality of their tete-a-tete had ended the moment Helderman appeared. And no matter how deftly she might cover it, he was sure that Mrs. Talcott had some secret anxiety. With his usual directness of attack, that had made him a formidable antagonist in college football and later on the polo field, and was still later to bring him his larger success in life, he determined to approach this man who seemed to have some influence over her.

“The top of the morning to you, Herr Helderman!” he said, sauntering forward and speaking deliberately to this man, for the first time during the voyage.

Helderman stopped in his walk, drew out his watch, and glanced at it before replying. It was a showy timepiece, and its owner held it in such a way that the moonlight rioted over the diamonds that decorated its dial.

“Ha!” he said in the dramatic way that seemed characteristic with him. “You are right—it is morning—very much so—to be sure!”

He spoke in deep, abrupt tones which harmonized curiously with his strong, jerky stride. He placed a monocle in his left eye, and trained his keen glance upon Craig, who noticed that the eye behind the glass had an uncanny way of acting independently of its fellow.

“But why do you call me ‛Herr’? he queried.

“I took you for a German,” Craig replied quietly.

He watched the jerk of this man’s shoulders, with a sort of fascination. It impressed him that Helder-man seemed to luxuriate in mannerisms.

“No,” Helderman protested, “except in name. I am an American—an American of the Americans — a New Yorker among New Yorkers!”

“New York 1” exclaimed Craig, quite unable to see in this unassimilated German one of the foreigners who have become genuine Americans. “ I should have said almost any place else. Berlin, or Vienna, or even Paris.”

Helderman drew a showy card-case, elaborately ornamented with a gold monogram, from his pocket. In this, as in all his other actions, he seemed to take pains to be conspicuous. He drew and presented a bit of pasteboard, with a flourish.

“You can read fine print in the open air, tonight,” he remarked.

Rutherford’s lips twitched a trifle as he saw the lettering. It was certainly far from fine. In large, black letter type, in heavy deep engraving he read the following:

“So you are that Helderman,” commented Craig. He remembered now, vaguely, something about Helderman and Wall Street—he recalled some coup detat, some stroke of genius. But it was a memory that eluded him—the details he could not recollect.

The eye behind the monocle gleamed with a cynical smile.

“Yes, I am that Helderman. Does it make any difference—yes?”

“It does,” replied Craig, a bit cynically, too. “It signifies whether one is just Helderman, or Helderman, the banker of U. S. A. That is, it does—to most people.”

And then—it came to him. He recalled the postage stamp. Helderman was the man who, a few short years before, had put in a bid for a huge block of United States bonds—his bid had cost him but a postage stamp. He was awarded his block of bonds—he had sold his bid at a large advance—he had made big money—and all out of a two-cent stamp.

This trick had taught Wall Street and the Government a lesson. After this stroke of Helderman’s, they asked security of bidders. That didn’t affect Helderman. He had been there first, that’s all. Craig remembered this—he recalled other things of Helderman. He was an unknown quantity—Helderman. At times he was spectacular, and then for months he would drop completely out of sight.

“That Helderman,” repeated Craig, “yes, to most people it would make a difference.”

Helderman regarded this frank-faced young man measuringly. He was evidently used to a bit more adulation than Craig afforded him.

“But it does not signify to you?” he queried. “Is that what you infer?”

“Not particularly,” returned Craig, cheeking a shrug of his shoulders. “Of course I am not so narrow as to fail in acknowledging what success in the financial world means; but I am not inclined to regard the mere possession of money as a virtue. To me, you are what you are, and I am what I am, independent of our worldly goods.”

He said this half contemptuously, and yet the moment he had spoken, he was ashamed of this impulsive expression of his opinions. However, Helderman’s manner had impelled him to it. His blatant self-appreciation had seemed to him the unjustified confidence which the merely rich assume in the unlimited buying power of their money.

“And who are you, pray?” Helderman inquired, either a trifle miffed at the other’s speech, or pretending to be so, in order to draw him out still further.

Butherford was not going to fall into a trap. He knew what the question meant: What is your position in the world of money? To one of this type the only measure of excellence was in dollars and cents—and such genius as might produce dollars and cents. Craig took his own card out and handed it to Helderman. It bore nothing save the name of his club, following his own.

“I—oh, I’m nobody, as you see,” he said sen-tentiously.

Helderman looked at the card shrewdly, and realized that his new acquaintance might, in fact, be somebody. Experience had taught him that a nobody never owns up to his own unimportance. The young man beside him was smiling. He knew that it would hardly impress Helderman to be told that Craig Butherford was a trained athlete and a sportsman of international fame. And as for the rest, it was not within Craig’s purpose to inform this man, that he, Butherford, had recently purchased the controlling interest in a Wall Street trust company, and proposed to learn the business from the bottom up. Craig kept all this to himself.

But Helderman scrutinized him carefully.

“You have great power, young friend,” he said abruptly. “Why do you not join me in my enterprise?”

Craig stared at him aghast “What great power have I?” he queried.

Helderman regarded him intently. “A great quality,” he exclaimed; “that of impressing your sincerity upon people. That is your strength, young friend. You are sincere—always sincere. It is a great asset—an asset that nine-tenths of the people have not got Sincerity—I need it in my enterprise.”

“What is your enterprise?” asked Craig.

Helderman lowered his voice. “It is my great ambition to own every trust company in New York.”

Craig laughed aloud. “Hitch your wagon to a star—you’re crazy, man,” he said. “It would take billions to buy up the trust companies in New York.”

Helderman smiled superciliously. “Not billions,” he returned, “hardly a million.”

Craig shook his head. And then he nodded. “I’m interested,” he said. “Let me hear about it”

Helderman touched him gently on the arm. “Give me a million—and a few frank-faced young men like you, and I can do it.” He tapped his forehead. “Behind it all is this—it needs Helderman to push it through. Let me explain. First, a million dollars—less. Maybe half a million. We buy one trust company—its stock. We buy control. This trust company has assets. We control those assets, because we control the stock. What do we do with these assets and this stock? We buy another trust company—and we put up the stock, and possibly the assets, as collateral security for the purchase price of the second trust company. So far, so good. We now have two trust companies. But trust company number two—it also has stock which we control, assets also. We put those up to buy trust company number three. What follows—just this: What we can do once we can do a hundred times —”

“An endless chain,” murmured Craig. He was right when he said this interested him. It did more -— it startled him.

“An endless chain,” echoed Helderman. “Exactly, and we start it with less than a million dollars.”

“What about the law?” queried Craig.

“The law,” returned Helderman, dismissing the law with a wave of his hand. “The law deals only with failures—this plan will be a great success. What I touch turns to gold.”

He waved his hand toward the ship, as if he owned it.

“I occupy the royal suite. I am known on board as the man who occupies, who can pay for, the royal suite!”

Again he waved his large, white hand sweepingly, and the moonlight broke into brilliant splinters on the facets of a huge and flawless diamond he wore.

“Money?—bah!” he exclaimed.

Rutherford did not smile, nor was he disgusted. He might have been amused by the grandiloquent ostentation; he might have scorned it as showing a lack of brains and breeding. But another lively thought possessed him. He knew beyond peradven-ture that the man possessed an extraordinary intelligence, that he was already recognized as a peculiar power in the Wall Street world, and—this was the conviction that came to Rutherford—the posing and the blatant pretension were only a mask purposely assumed for the time, in order to hide some other object or scheme of a brilliant and wily mind. Knowing this, or feeling it intuitively, the young man divined that he must be on his guard.

They had reached the stem of the ship, where the deck ran from rail to rail.

“Shall we return?” said Helderman.

Without waiting for a reply, he wheeled sharply and started back. Rutherford wondered if he were overworking his own imagination. Awhile ago, he had fancied that Mrs. Talcott wanted to escape from his or Helderman’s neighborhood; and now he fancied that Helderman was seeking to elude some undesirable meeting.

“Just a second,” said Craig, stepping close to the cabin wall, as if to light a fresh cigar.

“Ah!” he breathed confirmatively to himself. Out of the tail of his eye he had caught sight of a slender and graceful woman emerging from the shadow of the aft-deck.

Helderman had turned back, without pausing, and the woman seemed to approach him, as though unconscious of the younger man who had stepped into the shadow to light his cigar. Apparently without observing her, Helderman threw back his head and puffed a succession of white smoke-rings into the blue night air. The woman scarcely altered her pace or direction as she passed on; yet Craig was certain that she had observed the signal and had been warned away.

He stared after her, as she hurried along the deck. A long, dark veil, fluttering about her head and shoulders, completely disguised the contour of her head and color of her hair. Yet he had seen a certain gray ulster too many times not to recognize it now. He had watched its wearer too often—so he told himself—not to know just how becomingly it set off the slender figure. And not fifteen minutes before—again he told himself—he had seen just such dainty, white slippers resting on the rung of the steamer chair.

The train of thought which this set up was particularly displeasing to Rutherford, yet at the same time held a powerful fascination for him. Had he, in fact, prevented a secret interview twice in the same night? What could it mean? What hold, if any, did this unscrupulous financier have upon the troubled woman who had seemed to invite his confidence? He was swinging forward, absorbed in painful thoughts, when Helderman again turned abruptly.

“Let’s get back into the moonlight,” he suggested, suiting the action to the word.

“Why? asked Craig.

“Just the lady’s reason—because.”

Craig’s dominant trait, straightforwardness, came to the front again. He would question Helderman about their mysterious visitor, and see if he would vouchsafe any information.

“You noticed the lady who passed us! he asked.

“Ah!” exclaimed Helderman dramatically, “even a man with a monocle notices curves like hers!”

Rutherford was silent. He was angry, and yet he felt helpless to reply, as he seemed to have invited the remark.

“She interests me amazingly,” the other man continued, as if he found something mentally stimulating in the silent antagonism of his companion.

“You know her then?” Craig asked the question in spite of himself. He disliked, unutterably, to make the. woman of his thoughts the subject of seemingly idle gossip, and with a man whom he disliked intuitively.

Helderman laughed—a short, quick, altogether disagreeable laugh. Craig had never thought of it before, but now knew that a man’s laugh may reveal phases of his character, which every other mannerism may cloak.

“I may deduce that you are referring to Mrs. Henry Talcott?” Helderman interrupted his laughter to ask.

Rutherford was stingingly conscious that he had not mentioned her name, but had used the pronoun with the vague particularity of a bashful lover. He summoned an excess of dignity, and answered:

“Your deduction is entirely correct”

“Ah!” Helderman again posed dramatically. There was so much suggestion of ironic fun-poking in it all that Craig’s hands clenched, unconsciously. How he would like to double this fellow on the deck! Perhaps the other observed the action. Carelessly, and as in good-nature, he laid his own hand casually upon Craig’s right arm; but there was nothing casual in the grip that followed the motion. The vise-like clasp of the long, sinewy fingers made Craig catch his breath in astonishment Himself a trained athlete, he knew at once that few men would be a match for this man physically; and the gesture might have been a quiet hint for his own restraint “Do I know Mrs. Talcott?” Helderman asked, seemingly fond of repeating the name. “To my regret, no. I have done a little clever scheming, to no purpose. But I have heard her voice. I have seen her throat ripple. I—”

Rutherford wrenched himself from the other’s grip.

“I have even felt,” continued Helderman quietly, as if nothing had happened, “that atmosphere which surrounds a young and beautiful woman, as a flower is encircled by its own fragrance.”

Craig looked at him resentfully. The language of a man of feeling and sentiment fell from the other’s lips as easily, and with far greater effect, than his arrant boasting had done. He continued, as though speaking to himself:

“Mrs. Talcott has not only her youth and her beauty; she has charm and intellect, that distinction of breeding, that fine aloofness which puts her out of the reach of ordinary men, and lures the man of brain and passion. For this reason, I regard her as a dangerous woman—a very dangerous woman.” “What makes you think so? How do you know?” Craig asked impulsively.

“I do not know, but like a good American I guess—and I usually guess right.”

Rutherford had the disagreeable consciousness that he was getting the worst of the interview. He felt that Helderman was amused at his expense.

“Perhaps we are discussing with unwarranted freedom a lady unknown to both of us,” he observed crisply; “let’s change the topic.”

“Ah! our American chivalry! How proud we should be of that, we Americans!”

Rutherford felt the‘red rage which had seethed in him intermittently, throughout this conversation, boil up dangerously. Both Helderman’s tone and manner were unbearable. Just now he seemed an obnoxious mongrel claiming a citizenship he utterly failed to appreciate, except as it afforded him financial opportunity. But a calming thought suddenly ‘flashed across Craig’s mind. The man either had a lively interest in Mrs. Talcott, or was assuming it, in order to arouse him and draw him out. He must meet cold steel with cold steel; in other words he must hold himself in hand.

The sinister, monocled eye flashed him a look of oblique amusement, as if it were following the young man’s mental processes.

“If you will allow me to mention one more matter,” remarked Helderman; “it concerns the lady we are not to discuss.”

“Proceed,” snapped Butherford.

“Mrs. Talcott constantly wears a certain ornament. Tou sit just across from her at table; perhaps you have noticed it?”

“Yes, I have,” returned Rutherford shortly.

“It could scarcely escape even a dull man’s notice,” Helderman observed ambiguously, though politely. “It is all the more noticeable from her wearing it with each and all costumes. Shall I accuse so charming a lady of poor taste?”

Helderman paused as if determined to draw his taciturn companion into the conversation. Rutherford had, indeed, wondered often at the curious ornament, which was a part of every costume in which Mrs. Talcott appeared.

“It looked peculiarly out of place, this evening,” persisted Helderman. “On that simple but dainty gown of gray, in which she came down to dinner, t it looked like a dark blot. Did you notice what it was!”

“It is a buckle—a large blue buckle—evidently of steel,” answered Rutherford.

“Ah! a blue buckle!” Helderman repeated slowly.

“Well, what of it?” Rutherford asked, irritated by the “banker’s” evident desire to lay a sinister stress upon an innocent feminine foible.

“Take my word for it, she is a dangerous, [woman!” Helderman insisted, again laying his surprisingly powerful hand upon Craig’s arm.

Craig endured the grasp silently. He was thinking deeply. Why was Helderman trying to convince him that he did not know Mrs. Talcott? Why was he seeking to poison his mind? Why had there been a pre-arranged interview—if there had been a prearranged interview? And was he certain that the second woman had been Mrs. Talcott?

A rebellion quite out of proportion to the length of time he had known of her existence rose in his mind, against the thought that she was in any way concerned with Helderman. He knew how money and power could influence beautiful and ambitious women. But she was not of that stamp — she could not be of that stamp! Blindly but positively he reaffirmed his faith in her; and the words of his new confession of faith were:

CHAPTER II
THE SECRET MESSAGE

“My friend, come with me,” suggested Helderman suddenly.

Craig was about as well disposed toward this blatant financier, at that moment, as he would have been toward the advances of a man-eating tiger.

“Oh, come on!” Helderman urged, good-naturedly ignoring the young man’s obvious disapproval of him. “It’s really worth your while, Mr. Rutherford, to join me. You may hear something that will be to your interest. Certainly it will be entertaining.”

“What is it?” asked Craig.

“Come and see.”

The financier turned, in his usual jerky fashion, and led the way. Craig followed him, scarcely knowing why. In spite of his aversion, Helderman held his attention and demanded his consideration. The man had brains and a certain compelling magnetism which he used to advantage. If he had some sinister hold upon Mrs. Talcott, Rutherford wanted to know it, either for his own protection, or for hers.

Without an idea as to their destination, he fol lowed, interested from the start in the mannerisms of the tall, eccentric figure just ahead. All the tricks of motion which he had formerly observed now impressed themselves indelibly upon his mind. It was perfectly plain to him that the jerks and twists and turns in the man’s gait were affected, put on to attract attention, just as certainly as were the enormous diamonds and the monocle. However, he had practised them so assiduously, that they had actually become a part of the man himself.

Abruptly as Helderman had begun his walk, he stopped and waited for his companion to come up with him; then reached out a long, thin hand, and rested it on Eutherford’s shoulder.

“You are interested in mysteries?” he asked in an undertone.

“That depends,” Eutherford answered.

He had a feeling that the other was playing for attention, and also that what he had in store would justify it. That was the queer and attractive thing about Helderman; he unfailingly rewarded the curiosity that he awakened, by proving himself constantly diverse and entertaining.

“Follow!”

He spoke but the one word, yet Craig experienced a thrill. Into one of the dimly-lighted corridors Helderman plunged, with Craig right at his heels. They descended to the lower deck, the older man moving quickly but with caution, the younger man intently observant and keenly alert. His thoughts pursued one another faster than the quick steps bore him in his companion’s trail to whatever mystery might await him.

Helderman was indeed a good showman, and Butherford’s curiosity had no chance to languish. From time to time, the former would glance back, as if to make sure that the young man was following, and always in a peculiar way. First, he would steal a slow, furtive glance over one shoulder, then would quickly turn his head and look back stealthily over the other. Butherford noted, after he had repeated the strange action several times, that he always began the backward scrutiny by glancing over the right shoulder. He would twitch his head as if he had the impulse to look, but restrained it. Then he would turn his head slowly until he caught sight of Butherford. A few seconds later, he would repeat the performance, over the opposite shoulder. So, in groups of two, his singular actions continued, until Butherford had ceased to be merely interested, and felt that he had actually come under the spell of some hypnotic suggestion.

Certainly, he no longer weighed or doubted, but followed eagerly. A growing sense of the importance of the mystery came over him. Once he wondered if he were being led to some place where his freedom or safety might be endangered. Downward they plunged, into the semi-darkness of the lower decks. Unconsciously he was tiptoeing forward, in imitation of the other’s step. The great ship seemed asleep. The purring noise of its steady progress through the water was like its own deep breath in slumber.

Amazingly familiar with every corridor in the huge floating hotel, Helderman twisted and turned with scarcely a pause. Suddenly he gave up the downward route, and began ascending to the upper decks. Rutherford wondered if, after all, he had not been made the victim of some practical joke. He debated practising some of the same kind of feeble humor on the banker. The corridor which led to his own room offered a convenient way. He could quietly desert, and let the facetious Helderman go on alone. But there might be a method in the other’s madness; he would see it to the end.

Now they had reached the upper deck, and were greeted by a sound like the ripping of strong silk. Helderman seized the knob of a certain state-room door, and opened it. As he did so the sharp, insistent noise rushed out in trebled volume. It was the room in which the wireless apparatus carried on its marvelous conversations with the invisible world across the moon-laved sea.

Rutherford stopped in frank disgust at this commonplace ending to the adventure. He was turning away silently, when Helderman again reached out a lean finger. “Wait!” he commanded. “Come in!”

Craig entered the room after his guide. The operator, a ruddy-cheeked boy not out of his teens, rose up and saluted the visitors effusively.

“A friend of mine,” said Helderman, twitching his chin in Craig’s direction; “a gentleman who, like myself, never sleeps of nights, and who wants to know what’s going on in the world.”

The operator bowed and smiled elaborately, evidently schooled to admiring the feeble jests of wealthy visitors. Rutherford read in his servile attitude toward the financier, that he was a victim of Helderman’s money.

“Be seated, gentlemen,” he said, turning again to the instrument, which was calling him stridently.

Craig sat down, and held his cap between the leaping flame and his eyes. Himself in the shadow, he watched attentively the powerful, subtle face of his companion, and the boyish, rosy face of the operator. It was a scene worthy of Mephisto, and probably quite as true to the tempter’s role.

The wireless ripped and rattled, as if it hated the message it was bringing.

“Ah-h!” Helderman breathed. His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the white fire. When the spark had ceased, he took off his monocle and deliberately winked at Craig.

“It is the witching hour when the secret messages come in,” he said, significantly.

“You mean the secret-service messages?”

Craig purposely spoke in louder and commonplace tones. He was not going to allow himself to be hoodwinked into any more pseudo-mysteries. And he was beginning to grow weary of this constant striving after the theatrical.

“Yes—secret-service messages, and secret messages; messages that are not intended for the general ear, and which often carry many a pretty story.”

Then he turned and addressed the operator, in the crisp tones of an employer to an employee:

“Come, loosen up! Tell us what you got, just now, out of the wilderness of space I”

The operator opened his lips as if to obey the gruff authority back of the words—then smiled and shook his head.

“This message is confidential, Mr. Helderman.”

The financier drew from his pocket one of his superlatively fine cigars.

“Perhaps we can smoke out the secret,” he said jocularly.

“Nothing doing,” the young fellow retorted.

Helderman silently thrust the cigar back into his pocket, and then brought to light a generous roll of bank notes. Without seeming aware of any insult in the action, he took off the top bill, a twenty dollar note, and laid it before the operator.

“Will that start a fire?” he asked.

The operator, busy with a message, held up his hand for time. Rutherford’s throat swelled painfully. His first impulse was to protest—to help the inexperienced boy resent such an affront. But the operator—once more at leisure—long since calloused, showed no sign of resentment. Instead, he grinned broadly and answered suggestively:

“Nothing doing—yet—Mr. Helderman.”

Rutherford sank back into his seat. That one word “yet” had effectually killed all his sympathy for the banker’s victim. He settled back to watch a contest between two knaves.

Helderman placed two twenties on the desk, within easy reach of the operator. The operator regarded them complacently.

“You want to take a message, do you?” he inquired.

“Just that,” said Helderman.

“Wait a minute,” said the operator. He spent some seconds in transmitting. Then he picked up the yellow-backs.

“All right,” he said, still more complacently, “you can fire ahead.”

He relinquished the receivers and Helderman adjusted them. The boy turned to Craig.

“He’s made of money,” he observed.

Craig did not answer. He didn’t want to answer. The flashes ripped and tore upon the coil. Helderman, with the receivers at his ears, started and bent closer. The boy winked at Craig.

“Jiminy,” he exclaimed, “but he must know how to read—I didn’t think it of him. He takes that message like one of the old guard. Watch him, will you, now.”

Craig watched Helderman. Helderman’s face was intent—the message seemed to be of terrific interest. Suddenly, however, as by some effort, he lounged back in his chair and his countenance took on an expression of merely languid interest. Finally he laid the apparatus down. The flashes had ceased.

“Very pleasing pastime— that,” he said.

The boy grinned. “You’re quite an expert, Mr. Helderman.”

Helderman nodded. “I am expert—at everything,” he admitted. He tapped Craig on the shoulder. “Come, my friend,” he exclaimed, “let us depart.”

“Much obliged, Mr. Helderman,” said the operator. He didn’t seem to know what to make of it all. His baffled, ashamed eyes worried Craig, who wished himself out in the cool night air.

Helderman drew Craig out upon the deck. The door swung to behind him.

“That was a beastly shame,” said Craig.

Helderman, purposely or not, misconstrued his meaning.

“You are right. Another idol shattered. Every man has his price, it seems. But he has been useful to me—that young chap. And he may be useful in the future—he is worth the price. No man makes mistakes when he buys up men, my friend.”

Rutherford might have explained the true state of his mind. But Helderman burst suddenly into one of his obnoxious fits of laughter.

“It was worth forty dollars—that,” he said. What,” queried Craig, “the message?” Helderman lauded almost uproariously. “He never suspected—he doesn’t know now—what happened. Listen. Did you notice him when I asked leave to take a message—when I handed him his price? He sent a message then—a message to some far-away operator, doubtless, to hand me some balderdash. Well — the other operator didn’t do it. The message I got was intended, not for my ears, but for the ears of this young operator alone—for his confidential ears. And he thought I couldn’t translate messages—I saw him tell you that while I was listening. Well, I heard this one—and he didn’t. He’ll never hear it now. It was a message that will not be sent again. It was significant—in the light of recent circumstances.” He dwelt upon the phrase. “In the light of recent circumstances—to say the least.”

Then he lapsed into silence. But his glance at Craig invited query.

Craig waited for a decent interval of time. Then he spoke.

“I am not usually curious,” he said, “but—is this message something you desire to confide to me \” Helderman nodded again, then beckoned his companion to a corner sheltered from the breeze, and offered him a cigar, while he proceeded to light another.

“You will understand that this is confidential \” lie said, after so long a silence that Rutherford was afraid he sought to divert the conversation into other channels.

“Certainly.”

“The message was from the Caledonia, which had it from Liverpool. It ran like this: ‛Ten days ago, a diamond necklace, value two hundred and fifty thousand francs, was purchased in the shop of Kirschwasser, in Berlin, apparently for import to America.’You gather the meaning of this, Mr. Rutherford? It is for the secret-service men, and refers to—smugglers.”

Rutherford was frankly interested.

“Who bought the necklace? Did the message give any particulars t” he asked.

“The details were few. The purchasers were people of evident prosperity.”

“There was more than one person, then?”

“There were two,” answered the banker.

“Men?”

“One man,” said Helderman slowly, “and a woman.”

Rutherford could not suppress the nervous haste with which he put the next inquiry.

“How were they to be identified?”

“The information was meager. The woman was young and quite attractive. The man was middle aged and wore a beard.”

Craig made no further inquiries. He was smitten with a sense of disaster impending. Helderman, however, continued to talk, with the freedom of one superficially interested.

“The message would not have been sent to this ship, hut for two reasons: The man and woman are our fellow-passengers, and there are secret-service men also here, detailed to watch them.”

Butherford felt that his silence would seem strange. He forced himself to speak.

“First or second cabin?”

“First, of course.”

For an instant, as they emerged into the silver radiance that flooded the upper deck, the two men regarded each other; then Craig turned away, with a pretense of contemplating the beauty of the night. He knew that Helderman had read his mind, as he in turn had interpreted that of Helderman; and both of them were thinking of the same first-class passengers, an attractive young woman and an elderly, bearded man.

“Well—what do you think?” Helderman finally asked, twirling upward the points of his mustache, and downward the point of his goatee, both grizzled and betraying his age unnecessarily.

“I haven’t any definite opinion —” Craig began, reluctantly.

“Be honest with yourself! You know you have! You think what I think!”

If the financier had expected denial or surprise from Butherford, he was disappointed. The young man merely shrugged his shoulders, and kept his own counsel.

“You do not, Mr. Rutherford, happen to know a secret-service man, when you see him?” persisted Helderman.

“No, I do not,” replied Craig.

“To-morrow, then I suggest that you correct your ignorance. Keep your eyes open, and perhaps you will see what I have seen.”

“Where do you suggest that I look?” asked Craig.

“In the neighborhood of Mrs. Henry Talcott!” Helderman answered, turning abruptly toward the royal suite. “I have the honor to bid you goodnight.”

If Helderman had striven all evening to plant a barbed arrow in Rutherford’s mind, he should have gone to bed proud of his success. The arrow was there, and it rankled keenly. Craig’s mind traveled and retraveled the various points for and against Mrs. Talcott, in the short time he had known her. How little was his positive knowledge of her, and yet how she appealed constantly to his trust and loyalty! Here, in one short evening, he had reason to doubt her motives and actions, on two separate occasions, and yet with the blind unreasonableness of a man in love, he was striving to dismiss everything except the charm of her sweet and buoyant personality.

Granted, however, that her possible interview with the banker might be reasonably explained; granted that she was innocent of smuggling, which was not, indeed, the most heinous of sins — what concern was it of his—Craig Rutherford’s—that her charm set even this cynical financier aflame?

Craig had never liked the kind of men who find diversion in affairs with married women, and the disapproval that he had bestowed upon them now rebounded upon himself. Could it be that he was jealous? He recalled the phrase with which Helderman had described her. He had spoken of her dainty aloofness, and the lure of it. Craig conceded bitterly that the clever financier had analyzed the secret of her appeal From this point, the young man ceased to reason, and gave himself over to his fancy. He saw this girl—for she was no more than a girl—moving lightly along the deck, the folds of her gray ulster pressed close against her erect, slender figure, as she gaily breasted the wind. He was proudly conscious of the admiration with which all eyes followed her. His imagination appropriated her, and reveled in the possession. He forgot his own culpability in thinking of her at all. He forgot his stubborn efforts to allay his suspicion. He knew only that at last into his life had come the one inevitable woman, for whom poets had sung and warriors had fought since the foundation of the world. Forgetful of all else, he drew the flimsy veil from his pocket, and pressed it to his lips.

The action, slight as it was, brought him to his senses with a start. He cursed himself for a fool. Here he stood, idly dreaming, while the woman he sought to serve was daily and hourly exposed to danger. The hidden menace which lay behind Helderman’s allusion to the secret-service men was now clear to him, for the first time. Helderman was frankly interested in Mrs. Talcott, and might try to put to some ulterior use the information he had gained by wireless. He was apparently powerful; he already knew about the detectives and their mission. Against these forces, Mrs. Talcott was practically defenseless. Culpable or not, she should not be without the help that he, Craig, might give her.

Here, the young man’s chin set grimly, and he walked forthwith to his room, resolved to get the rest that he needed to make him an opponent worthy of the wily Helderman. He must be ready and prepared to counter his next move. That there would be a next move, he no longer had any doubt.

CHAPTER III
THE SECRET-SERVICE MEN

The next morning, Rutherford arose with his determination of the night strengthened into immediate action. Whether or not Mrs. Talcott confided in him, or would even be grateful for his help, he felt that he must look after her interests. She must be protected—even her invalid husband would commend him in that, he virtuously told himself.

Full of his project, he sauntered around the ship, seeking the disturbing owner of the veil, and at last was rewarded by seeing her, seated demurely in the library, looking through the pages of a cumbersome volume. But the smart, simple blue hat, with its long quill, gave Craig sufficient excuse to enter and interrupt her labors.

“Your book indicates a laudable desire to work,” he said; “but your hat points longingly toward outdoors. Don’t you think it too fine a morning to be inside?”

“Then why are you here?” she asked, in the same bantering tone that he had assumed/

“I?—I came to do missionary work.”

“What a dreadful task!” she said, pouting.

“To have to visit the heathen, and on a fine morning like this!”

“Oh, some heathen aren’t so bad,” he said, reassuringly, “especially after they have been converted. Come on, let’s go outside!”

“I would like to, awfully,” she said. “It is not hard to preach to me about outdoors. But, duty first, you know; and I wanted to find something.” And she glanced down at the volume in her hands.

“Perhaps I can help you,” he suggested.

“Are you good at finding things?” she asked, darting at him a quick keen glance out of eyes that seemed alternately to laugh and then to be veiled by a softening mist of sadness. She had never seemed so bewitching to him, as she did in this moment.

“I am that!” said Craig, emphatically. “The only trouble with me is that I find too much! ”

“Too much?” she repeated, puzzled.

“Yes—for my own good.”

She was silent, and began turning the leaves of her book. Craig wondered if he would ever be able to curb his impetuous tongue. He glanced at the book. It was a New York directory.

“One can usually find too much in directories,” he amended. “But let me help you; I’m pretty well up in New York.”

“Thank you,” she said, simply, as Craig reached over to take the bulky volume out of her hands. His hands touched hers for the first time. The breath caught in his throat as he saw the rich color surge softly up under the clear skin of her cheeks. Then, with the defensive instinct of womankind, her eyes flashed quick glances about the room, to see who had observed her blushing.

The look was like wine to Rutherford. It meant that she was not ashamed to reveal an interest in him, and had no fear of the use to which he might put it, but was careful of the interpretation that strangers might give it.

Keenly sensitive on her account, wildly happy on his own, Craig’s glance followed hers here and there in the room. A pair of piercing gray eyes darted back to a book, as they encountered his. They belonged to a stocky man, not exactly of the student type,— though apparently intent upon the volume which he held,— who was the only other occupant of the library.

Instantly, Helderman’s reference to the secret-service man who was watching Mrs. Talcott leaped into his mind. This man evidently had been watching the girl, but whether from the idle curiosity of the voyager, or for some special reason, who could say? Rutherford resolved to make it his business to find out. He was all the more anxious to have a confidential chat with Mrs. Talcott, to learn, if possible, what was troubling her, and at any rate to warn her of her peril.

“Come out on deck, and ask me about New York,” he urged.

The girl hesitated; she seemed to be weighing his suggestion. Then he saw the white, ungloved fingers grasp the comers of her steamer-coat and draw them together.

The mysterious blue buckle shone with a dull gleam against the purity of her throat “You know you always have to wait for a woman to get ready,” she said, smiling up at him, while she drew on her gloves.

“That is no crime, if the woman is worth waiting for,” he rejoined, moving toward the door. He was elated. She was going to walk with him on the sunny deck. The same warm wind would sweep them both. It was not much, perhaps; but it was enough to make him forget, for the moment, that she bore another man’s name, and that she was menaced by a painful suspicion. He was to hear the sound of her voice—perhaps would be told the reason for many things he did not now understand. Why should he not be happy? It was so infinitely beyond the casual greeting, the occasional smile that he had thus far enjoyed. It was a fit sequel to the rare, brief interview of the night before, when she reclined in the silver moonlight, like a veritable creature of another world.

To-day, in the broad sunshine, Rutherford could have laughed at the ease with which he had fallen under Helderman’s carefully-created spell of mystery, and his suggestion that this woman was in any way connected with something dark and under handed. He watched her as she walked with free, light step, her head held high, and the frank, sweet fearlessness of her look proclaiming the blameless life behind it. Rutherford reveled in the thought of being admitted into her friendship, and being permitted to shield her from unjust attack.

They made one circuit of the ship, the girl chatting and laughing in the manner of the care-free; the man answering her with like banter, and forgetting for the moment any more important business. But as they came again to the library door, from which they had emerged, Rutherford caught sight of the stocky student fellow lolling against the doorway; and glancing back again out of the comer of his eye, saw him make a sign to another man who lounged against the bulkhead. Rutherford was now certain that these two were the secret-service men detailed to watch this charming girl at his side.

However, he gave no sign of interest by look or speech, and, indeed, continued to revel in her society, without fear or depression. He would presently find a chance, he reasoned, to tell her of this imminent danger, and then she could place in his hands such indubitable proofs of her innocence, that he would thereafter be able to squelch both Helderman and these spies at one blow. But his hopes of learning something tangible were doomed to disappointment; as they rounded the deck on another lap, they encountered Mr. Talcott reclining in a steamer chair, with an empty one—and only one—by his side.

“You have been away a long time,” he observed, in the colorless voice of an invalid.

The girl’s face flushed, as she ran eagerly forward.

“I’m sorry, dear, to have kept you waiting,” she said; and deftly arranged his cushions more comfortably around him.

Rutherford, violently partisan, thought that the elderly husband was making the youthful wife miserable by polite tyranny, but if she felt this she gave no outward sign. His own impulse was to withdraw at once. He waited, however, long enough to assist her with some scattered pillows, and employed the opportunity to observe the invalid more closely than he had ever before been able to do.

Mr. Talcott was a man of singularly fine physique, despite his present condition. As his head lay back among the cushions, Craig was bound to acknowledge that never had he seen a form and face better harmonizing the ideals of classic beauty. This man might have posed as a middle-aged Apollo; and in spite of the pointed beard he wore in foreign fashion, he was well worth being regarded favorably by the young and lovely eyes of his companion. For, reluctantly as he observed it, Craig could not fail to mark the solicitude, the tenderness, the pretty absorption of the girl by his side. She was almost maternal, and the invalid had given himself over into her care with a little sigh of content.

Rutherford excused himself and walked away, out of humor with life. He was apparently no farther along in his friendship, or in his ability to be of the slightest service, than before. He had scarcely swung into a good stride and begun to see a bit beyond his own immediate misery, when a man who had done many miles with him in daily constitutionals around the deck happened to cross his path.

“Things are getting a bit squally this morning,” he remarked.

“That so? I hadn’t noticed,” rejoined Craig, glancing at the sunny stretch of water.

“Yes, sir—but I don’t mean the weather. It’s right here on board ship.”

“What’s the trouble?” asked Rutherford, uninterestedly.

“You must have gotten up late to-day! The air is fairly buzzing! Everybody’s talking!”

“What about?” asked Craig, seeing that the man would persist until he had communicated his news.

“Smugglers aboard!”

Rutherford started into decided attention.

“What makes you think—how do you know?” he demanded.

“A wireless message received last night says that a week ago a man and woman bought a diamond necklace, worth two hundred and fifty thousand francs, in Berlin.”

Rutherford listened, thunderstruck, to the almost exact repetition of Helderman’s words. Evidently he had been correct, and the secret message had become noised abroad—but by whom ?

“The smugglers—the man and woman—are on board this boat,” the man continued glibly; “ that is why we were warned. The woman is youngish, and the man has a beard.”

“How did you hear about it? The ship’s paper publish it?”

“Not much!”

“Who told you, then?” Craig insisted.

“Blest if I know! Everybody seems to know about it, though it’s naturally the business of the secret-service. But it has leaked somehow.”

Rutherford busied himself for the next hour in verifying the man’s words. Everybody did seem to know about it. Everybody was talking. Little knots of seeming conspirators could be seen here, there, and everywhere. Suspicion wagged and seesawed and dodged about. The few bearded men among the throng of smooth-faced Americans wanted to, but dared not, seek the barber.

And amid all this confusion and gossip,-the two people who answered most nearly the description sat in their steamer chairs on the sunny deck, apart from the buzzing crowd, talking in low tones, or gazing dreamily out across the sea.

CHAPTER IV
THE BLUE BUCKLE IN JEOPARDY

One other course of action presented itself to Rutherford, and this he decided to try at once. He would accost the secret-service man whom he had discovered in the library, and learn what he knew concerning the matter, and if possible why he was trailing the Talcotts.

He rounded the deck again before finding the man he sought, but was at last rewarded by seeing him come out and relieve the fellow who had been lounging against the bulkheads, within sight of the Tal-cotts’ chairs. Craig marched straight up to him, with the intention of accosting him; but was interrupted on the way.

“Oh, sir, may I trouble you?”

The voice was rich and low, and it seemed, somehow, familiar. Rutherford, with instinctive courtesy, halted and turned. A handsomely-dressed woman stood helplessly beside a steamer chair and looked expectantly up at him, a frown and a smile blending upon her expressive face. Her hands were busy with the folds of her gown.

“I cannot get it loose!” she complained, as Rutherford came toward her.

The hem of her skirt was caught and held securely in the joint of the chair. While the secret-service man moved quickly away, Craig busied himself in the lady’s release. Something in the grace and coquetry of her look and attitude told Rutherford—perfectly normal and masculine in his self-appreciation—that she was not at all displeased with the adventure. He even regarded the fastened skirt as an excuse. A moment’s unavailing work, however, reduced his conceit and enlisted his ingenuity.

“I’m afraid I shall have to tear it,” he announced regretfully.

“Well—if you must. But, of course, I am only a woman—and a gown is a gown, you know! ”

Craig showed an instant approval of her feminine attitude, and devoted himself seriously to the task of releasing the skirt from the clutches of the obstinate chair, without harm.

“It’s this little bunch—this small wad in the hem that holds it so securely,” he said.

She laughed, and he glanced up quickly. Her veil was raised, enabling him to look straight into the warm brown eyes of a woman whose features were almost perfect, and whose rapidly-changing expressions reflected the vivacity which has long made the Viennese women famous. Her height and graceful form were not unlike those of another passenger who was not long absent from Craig’s thoughts; but her breezy, unconventional conversation was in marked contrast to the shy reserve of the other.

“That small wad is a tiny weight,” she said. “The wind is no respecter of ankles, you know, so the hem must be made—shall I say, conservative?” She was cosmopolitan, certainly. Craig knew that no American girl, who looked so refined and beautiful as she, would have cared to begin an acquaintance with the suggestive coquetry of such words, accompanied by a quick downward glance that invited his own scrutiny. He had the impression that she was accustomed to being judged as a beauty, and knew her power with mankind.

Rutherford recognized her charm, admired her beauty, and sensed the piquancy of the situation, but he was armored against the three-fold appeal.

“There! At last you are free, Madam,” he said, as a final tug released the dress.

“At last? I do not think you have been long! And, not Madam, please, but Mademoiselle — Mademoiselle Irene Arany, to be exact. Indeed, I thank you, sir. You are an artist; it is not hurt at all, Mr.—Mr.—?”

“Rutherford,” he prompted.

“Thank you, Mr. Rutherford.”

She spoke with a quaintly-tinged speech that showed she had another mother-tongue, although her English was excellent. She was frankly ready for him to stay and make himself agreeable, but Craig’s mind had already returned to the business in hand while transferring his energies to her service. He bowed and hurried away somewhat abruptly, while Mademoiselle Arany followed him with a calculating glance which proved her to be a clever woman, as well as beautiful. It suggested, too, that her interest in him was not bora merely of this morning’s adventure.

Craig was striding forward again at full speed, when a new thought interrupted his progress as effectively as any physical obstacle could have done. Suppose he should find the secret-service man, what should he say to him? If he questioned him directly about the Talcotts, would he not give the detective an idea of his own interest in them, and virtually get himself, too, into the position of being watched? Altogether, the wisest thing for him to do, would be to preserve the appearance of a mere traveling acquaintance—which was all he was, he told himself grimly—to watch without being watched, and thus perhaps be able to serve the woman he loved.

Rutherford had long since given up trying to conceal or combat this love, with himself. He loved Mrs. Talcott, in spite of his own notions of honor, in spite of any doubt which might attach to her conduct. And loving her, he found himself utterly unable to believe her anything but the sweet, true woman that she seemed. So all his reasoning, and it now seemed, all his planning got him nowhere. He had reached a dead line beyond which he could not pass. At every turn he seemed to be thwarted, until his whole being stormed at the obstacles which prevented him from standing boldly by her side, and offering her his help, his protection. He asked no reward but this.

The day had passed, and he had accomplished nothing, for all his high resolves of the morning. Dusk was settling gently over the ship. The tender witchery of the twilight was not yet invaded by the triumphant magic of electricity, which should transform the vessel into a floating miracle of light. Thoroughly dispirited with his feeling of helplessness, Craig entered one of the dim corridors which led toward his stateroom.

Then, as if in answer to his great desire for action, came a sudden interruption. A woman’s low, startled cry rang above the mellow monotone of the ship’s sounds. Again it arose, frightened, pleading, followed by the husky, imperative tones of a man’s voice.

“Coming!” cried Rutherford, running at top speed toward the voices, certain that it was a woman crying for help.

He was not mistaken. Turning the comer of the passage which led to his own door, he came full upon two struggling figures. A woman was endeavoring to ward off a man. She was young and slight, the man short and stocky, yet the woman seemed to hold her own in a manner which showed surprising strength, for every move of her assailant was met and foiled.

All this Craig took in at a single glance. The next look showed him that one of the two was Mrs. Talcott—the woman of all the world that he had been wanting to aid—and in a trice he had sprung upon the man and grappled with him. This action, as it transpired, required no special heroism. The man’s defense was surprisingly weak; indeed, he seemed desirous only of getting away. Meanwhile, he sought to shield his face, either from discovery or from attack, with his left arm. Craig struck at the shielding hand. With a quick twist of his body the man tore himself loose, and fled down the corridor.

Eutherford started to give chase, when an imploring call from the girl brought him to a standstill.

“Don’t go! Oh, don’t, please!”

She was leaning against the wall, panting for breath, and seemed almost ready to drop from the unusual exertion. Craig sprang to her side, his arms extended. Involuntarily, she shrank back and drew herself upright, lithe and firm. Howbeit, the trembling hands pressed against her breast, and the startled eyes gleaming large and bright from the white oval of her face told eloquently of her need of protection.

Craig looked at that slender figure, so alone in the world, with all the longing of ages upon ages of physically-dominant man written in his features—but his arms fell limply to his side. It seemed to him, in that moment, as though he would have given anything he possessed for the courage, if not the right, to take her. But her very weakness was her best protection,

“Who was that man?” Craig demanded,

“I—I don’t know,” she whispered uncertainly, peering over her shoulder, and unconsciously moving nearer to Butherford. “1 don’t think—I ever saw him before.”

Craig wondered momentarily why she hesitated, and why she had seemed afraid for him to follow the fugitive. Her next words, however, gave him fresh food for thought. Putting her hands to her face, as if the fright and excitement which she had undergone were finally dominating her resolution, she sobbed:

“Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do! I had no idea that any one on board knew about this! I thought we were safe!”

She lifted her hands, and there, dangling from the tom edge of her cloak, Craig glimpsed the blue buckle. Her nervous fingers sought to loosen or secure it, he could not tell which; and in his usual masterful way, which had been successful with womankind until he met Mrs. Henry Talcott, he reached out to help her with it.

Instantly she pressed both hands tightly over it, and shrank away from him.

“Ho, no! I can trust no one—not even you!” she cried.

Her words and gesture, though of refusal, set Craig’s heart to pounding in his breast. “Not even you!” It seemed to be a sort of acknowledgment that she was willing to trust him above all others. Perhaps she realized the confession underlying her words, for she loosened the buckle by a final tug, and turned aside. Craig knew that she was hiding it in the sacred security of her breast.

Just as she faced him again the ship’s lights glowed above their heads. The girl glanced timidly up at him, and found him regarding her with a steady eye. The blood rushed into her cheeks until they lost the pale drawn look of fright, and glowed, whether from confusion or guilt, Craig could not discover. She seemed to realize his right to the explanation he had not as yet asked in words.

“I thought that we had evaded them. It was such a surprise and shock to find that any one knew about it—and was trying to get it,” she began, hesitatingly and ill at ease.

“You mean —?” prompted Craig.

“Why—the blue buckle, of course. I know it looks odd, of course, but I don’t see why any one else should want it, unless they know what it means.”

“What does it mean?” asked Craig deliberately. He must sacrifice politeness to get to the bottom of this mystery, if possible; for it came to him suddenly that Helderman had led the subject up abruptly to this same blue buckle.

The look which the young woman flashed back at him was a mute plea for indulgence, a charming apology for being not wholly frank with him.

“I’m not quite sure. That is, I—well, I don’t exactly know,” she evaded.

A half-smile crept around Craig’s lips, as he continued to look in her eyes.

“Oh, I know it seems silly!” she exclaimed. “I really don’t know what it means; but I know that I mustn’t lose it—that something dreadful would happen! That is the reason why I’ve kept it always in my sight.”

She turned, as if impatient of this silent cross-examination. The chill of her sudden reserve startled Rutherford’s finer sensibilities into life. He dreaded losing a fraction of the little progress he had made toward the real self of this alluring woman. Might she not, indeed, be telling him the simple truth? The idea came to Rutherford that her elderly husband, that man of such distinguished bearing and classically-handsome face, was using her very innocence and fascination to serve some underhanded purpose of his own. She was being made a catspaw, was being hurled into unseen dangers—the recent attack of that stocky man showed it—while the real criminal played invalid, and shielded himself behind a woman’s skirts! The violent blood rushed into Craig’s face, as this disturbing thought came home to him. Impetuously he leaned forward and with an action so swift that she could not avoid it, he took one of her hands in both his own, and again gazed straight into her eyes.

“Mrs. Talcott,” he said, in a voice vibrant with suppressed emotion, “a moment ago you said you could trust no one—not even me! You are wrong. You can trust me. I may seem presumptuous in prying thus into your affairs, but it is only because I want to help you. You may be in danger — you seem alone. Will you not trust me—and let me help you—in any and every event!”

She gently released her hand, and met his impassioned look with a clear gaze that seemed to read his very soul. He never faltered, although he felt that she was appraising him for all time to come. Then a smile, so wonderfully blended of the glint of laughter and the shine of tears that the man could scarcely preserve his calm “attention” gaze, shone up at him.

“Mr. Butherford, I thank you,” she said with simple sincerity. “Perhaps there will be no danger—let us hope there will be none—but if there is, or any other occasion arises—I shall remember!” It was a confused but effective little speech—yet Craig, manlike, was disappointed, and showed it. She was seized with a kindly impulse to explain.

“You see, no one must know—”

“But I —”

“No, not even you—at least, not now. I must try to carry it through alone.”

Before he could speak again, she turned and hurried away.

CHAPTER V
A SUMMONS FROM THE ROYAL SUITE

Craig Rutherford felt as if someone had struck him a well-directed blow, driving a terrible and insistent question into his brain. “I must try to carry it through alone! What else did she mean—what else could she mean, except the smuggling?

The glamour of that beautiful, confiding smile was still upon him, fighting back the meaning conveyed by her last words; Rutherford tried to bring himself to her possible point of view. He tried to make himself understand that a girl, otherwise good and honorable, might regard smuggling valuables into a country as a legitimate sort of business. He forced himself to believe that a girl like this might have been reared with the notion that smuggling was a perfectly respectable way of earning a living—quite as respectable, in fact, as running a millinery establishment She might even look upon it as requiring high mental development. He knew that there were many people who regarded petty smuggling as a pastime—as something which lent zest to the voyage over. Indeed, some of the very passengers—curse them!—who were now ready to point the finger of scorn at the Talcotts, were probably quaking in their boots at the thought of the customs officers! But, try as he might, he could not square his own old-fashioned notions with regard to such things any more than he could make this girl a party to them. And yet—and yet, what did she mean?

Another vexing question thrust itself into prominence beside the first. What had that commonplace blue buckle to do with it? How could it possibly aid in the secreting of jewels? And yet that man—could it have been one of the secretrservice men?—that fellow who had frightened her was trying to seize the buckle! “I must try to carry it through alone,” she had said. It — what was it?

Rutherford tramped grimly along the passage. The blue buckle was a blind. The girl was the unsuspecting tool of an adept villain who posed as her husband. He recalled with what courteous coldness Mr. Talcott had repulsed every effort on the part of the passengers to make the acquaintance of his fair companion. What he had thought was the grumpy jealousy of an elderly husband, whose young wife attracted too much attention, now appeared to be the clever ruse of a crook to protect himself from scrutiny and possible detection. Rutherford would have found a certain satisfaction in the thought that this man was either obnoxious to. or inconsiderate of the girl who bore his name—but he was denied even this slender consolation. eott might be to others, he was the perfection of kindness and affection to the young creature who hung about him and tended the sick man, with manifest love. And so, all Rutherford’s reasoning got him nowhere.

During the succeeding days, as the steamer neared her port, the young man grew more and more restless. He sought other opportunities to speak to Mrs. Talcott alone, but found none. Meanwhile, the story of the smugglers poisoned the minds of nearly every one else. Humors flitted about among the passengers. Those who had formed pleasant acquaintances during the voyage suddenly found chill and suspicion spoiling them. The entire first-cabin became a place of ferment and discontent. The few bearded men dodged about as inconspicuously as possible, or appeared unwarrantably brazen in their efforts to seem above suspicion. The situation was not without its humor, but for once Rutherford was blind to the funny side of things. He could do nothing but worry over the twain—or rather the one—who seemed unconscious of, or indifferent to, all this covert suspicion. And, try as he might, he found no chance to get within speaking-distance of Mrs. Talcott, unwatched by the invalid or the secret-service men.

Rutherford’s discomfort and uneasiness were not lessened when, on his return to his stateroom, one morning, he found many trifling evidences that his things had been disturbed. He hurried into the smoking-room, and found other men fuming and fussing over similar surreptitious searches in their quarters. This was strange. Certainly, all the passengers could not be under suspicion, and if they were, he knew of no legal right for such overhauling. It looked as if the net were gradually being hauled in around the Talcotts, and this general search were merely a pretense. ‘ But the whole performance struck him as at variance with Government procedure, and more like the work of private detectives.

Nevertheless, it was decidedly annoying, and Rutherford listened in silent sympathy while the men poured out their vials of wrath upon the whole situation. Presently a voice at his side claimed his attention.

“Mr. Helderman would be glad to have you join him in his room, sir.”

Craig started up, glad of any distraction. The financier’s valet was standing respectfully waiting for a reply.

“Very well. Tell him I shall be there in fifteen minutes—if that’s agreeable.”

The man bowed and withdrew. Craig did not know just why he had not followed the man, at once. Perhaps he did not want to seem to be dancing attendance upon the occupant of the royal suite. Perhaps he wanted breathing-space to think things over, before trusting himself with the lynx-eyed German. At any rate, he started to his own room first As he walked noiselessly ahead, over the rubber carpet, he saw two men standing between his own door and that of Mrs. Talcott. They were so absorbed in their investigations that they did not notice his approach.

“The door’s always locked!” one complained.

“She keeps the key,” the other asserted.

The two men hurried off in opposite directions, the moment they glimpsed Rutherford, but a flash of understanding came to him, as he saw the square, stocky back of one of them. He was the secret-service man, and likewise the man who had tried to take the blue buckle away from Mrs. Talcott.

This put another and very disturbing idea into Rutherford’s head. Certainly the man could have no possible use for the buckle; was that, then, what he had really been after—or had the girl used the buckle as a blind? Had the man really wanted the diamond necklace, concealed upon her person.

The more Rutherford puzzled over the situation, the more at sea he was. Customs officers didn’t usually proceed that way; and he was ready to stake his soul upon his faith in the girl. He went into hia room, scowling and shaking his head, and busied himself trying to discover whether or not his unwelcome visitors had been his way again.

Presently he heard the door just across the corridor open softly, almost stealthily. His own door stood open by a tiny crack, and cautiously he stepped to it, and peered through. He saw a slender figure in a gray cloak, her back turned to him, as she tried, evidently, to turn the key in the lock. The key stuck, and in turning it she dropped it to the floor. It struck against the metal trim with a sharp clang. She did not stoop to pick it up; on the contrary, with a swift and, he thought, frightened glance along the corridor in both directions, she hurried off.

This was very strange conduct to the silent onlooker— then a swift second thought seemed to enlighten him. The girl had been in her room all the time the two spies were trying the door. She had been too frightened to call for aid, especially with the lively memory of the attack upon her in the corridor; and now at the first opportunity she was hurrying to her husband for protection. Rutherford silently cursed the man who, though ill, could subject his young wife to such indignities.

Eager to aid the girl, he rushed out into the hall, picked up the key she had dropped, and started after her. At the turn he saw her figure a little way ahead.

“Mrs. Talcott!” he called.

But she either did not hear, or would not heed. He chose to believe the first, and quickened his pace into a run.

“Mrs. Talcott, one moment —”

The girl, however, did not pause, although she could^ not have helped hearing him. She seemed to be actually running away from him.

His pride made him pause; then the thought of her peril and loneliness urged him to forget himself in her. Obviously, she was frightened. It was enough to scare any woman to have her door tampered with. In her haste she was confusing him with one of the fellows who had been annoying her.

He sped forward again, but she had gained a good start and a comer suddenly shut her from view. When he reached the turn she was nowhere to be seen.

He stopped and stared along the passage. The unrevealing doors of the rooms on either side faced each other and him as blankly as if they had no secrets in the world, and had never heard of a slender woman in a gray cloak and blue veil who had lately rushed by them, or entered one.

Rutherford was baffled, and his wits did not tend to clear, as he suddenly realized that Mr. Talcott’s room was not at hand at all, but aft. Where, then, could the young woman have been going? Into what room did she disappear? The Talcotts had no acquaintances on board, that one knew about.

Rutherford thrust the key savagely into his pocket, and turned the other way. After all, what concern was it of his where the girl was going? Why should he care? But his self-revealing heart told him that, willy-nilly, he did care. He promised himself that, sooner or later, she must come out on deck, and then he would obtain permission to speak to her alone— to tell her what he knew, and perhaps clear up some of the things that were vexing him.

As he strode along he suddenly remembered that he had an appointment with Helderman. Half-reluctantly he turned in the direction of the royal suite, in no mood for the financier’s witticisms or gibes. Just as he reached the private corridor leading to the suite, he found himself attacked by a human catapult. A man fled by him with such haste that he was dashed back against the wall. The door from which the man had emerged slammed, cutting in two the volley of German oaths which had attended the ejection.

Craig pulled himself together, fairly sizzling with indignation, and laid hold of the man who had bumped into him so unceremoniously. It was the stocky student, the secret-service man. The man recognized him no less quickly, and with one of his quick dodges was off again down the passage. Rutherford’s anger of a moment before was as nothing to the rage that now possessed him. With a quick leap he seized the thick shoulder and swung the man around.

“Not so fast, my fine fellow!” exclaimed Craig. “You might at least stop long enough to apologize. Besides, I have been looking for you for some time.”

The man shifted uneasily, but was silent.

“Talk, you sneak!” said Craig, shaking him. “Government officer, or not, I don’t believe you have any license to search rooms, or attack young women in the halls!” And Craig punctuated his remarks by a shaking such as a terrier would give a rat Curiously enough, the man again made no attempt to fight: but at the words, “government officer,” he glanced furtively at his assailant,

“Let up!” he growled.

“Not till you tell me what I want to know! What do you mean by sneaking into my room, trying to get into Mrs. Talcott’s, and nosing around in Helderman’s? He served you just about right! And if I had caught you down my way, you’d have come out just about the way he sent you!”

The fellow flashed another quick glance at Rutherford.

“You rich guys think you ought to be left alone,” he muttered, “but we’ve got to stick to our job. ’Tain’t no use huntin’ for diamonds in the steerage, so I just took a look in the royal suite.”

In spite of himself, Rutherford chuckled at the idea of Helderman—the blatant, self-appreciative Helderman who believed that his money could do anything—being subjected to surveillance like the others.

“It seems like a mighty bad way to go about it,” observed Craig, momentarily relaxing his grasp. “I suppose you want to prove us all. Do you suspect any one in particular?”

His concern for Mrs. Talcott had taken the place of his anger. The detectives were searching every one, and the fact that they had tried to enter her room might not mean anything in particular.

“Don’t I, though!” the man exclaimed with a wink; then profiting by the other’s absorption, he turned quickly and made off down the hall.

The young man made no attempt to follow him. He was again busy with his own thoughts. What did the man mean by his wink? Did he actually suspect Helderman of smuggling? The idea had a certain fascination for him. Or, did the wink mean that the man had fixed his suspicions where the passengers had placed theirs? Surely, the espionage in the library, the attack in the corridor, the attempt at the door opposite his own, could have but one meaning.

A thought more disquieting than all the uncomfortable ones which had thus far assailed him now presented itself, and would not down. Helderman was interested in Mrs. Talcott. He had made no secret of it. If he were seeking to get her into his power, what a rare opportunity circumstances were offering the wily financier! He had been watching the net closing in about the girl. Perhaps he had summoned the secret-service man to his rooms, in order to bribe him to let the girl go free, and in this way obtain a hold upon her gratitude. It was altogether likely that he had offered the man a bribe. Craig recalled the ease with which he had tempted the wireless operator.

The stormy ejectment might just as well mean that the man had refused to serve two masters, and paid the price for his fidelity by getting kicked out. That, too, would explain the German oaths. This was a much more reasonable theory than that of intrusion. Indeed, intrusion in the royal suite, where several servants were constantly in attendance, would have been next to impossible. The secret-service man must have been asked to the royal apartment.

At this point, Craig’s imagination ran wild. He saw the astute financier allowing the elderly husband to become embroiled with the Government. He pictured him, with his remarkable mental resources and his smooth ways, slowly making himself indispensable to the young woman. He would relieve her of every anxiety. He would even assist her husband, while with his brilliant intellect and knowledge of the world he slowly weakened her faith in him. She would be made carefully to see her husband’s duplicity, and Helderman’s unbounded generosity, until—until —

Full of the madness his own imagination had conjured up, Craig turned sharply back toward the royal suite. He must face this man. He must know what lay back of Helderman’s interest in the woman he himself loved with a self-sacrificial passion. He had dedicated the best of his manhood to her service, without hope of reward. He suspected that Helderman’s interest would not be so unselfish.

He reached the private hall again. The door stood slightly open, giving a glimpse of the reception room, luxuriously furnished. A long mirror was set in the paneling directly opposite the door. Rutherford saw reflected therein the entire room.

Helderman, straight, cold, an expression of contempt on his face, was in the center. He stood looking down upon a woman whose arms were clasped about his neck, whose attitude expressed love and entreaty.

The woman wore a gray coat and a blue veil. Hers was the same slender form that had flitted ahead of Craig, from the door of the stateroom opposite his own.

CHAPTER VI
THE HOUSE IN TENTH STREET

Home again! The great ship had passed Sandy Hook and the outer and the inner bay. Up the Hudson River she had slowly nosed her way, convoyed by tugs, and dodged by ferries and smaller craft, until the welcoming flag of the docking pier had signaled the journey done. Then came the long, tedious wait while the vessel was warped carefully into her slip—minutes which seemed hours to those whose friends awaited them at the landing. At last, however, came the welcome clang of the lower gangway, and the passengers began to stream impatiently down.

Rutherford was detained but a moment by the customs officers. They seemed to take him pretty much at his word; and he hurried beyond the retaining ropes with a determined set of his eyes ahead.

He had scarcely closed his eyes, all the night before, with the memory of that last tableau in the royal stateroom ever rising in front of him. He felt that he could never trust womankind again, and that he never wanted to set eyes again upon any of his shipboard acquaintances. The very name of the ship was anathema to him.

He had trusted—he had even loved, in spite of his trust—and he had been thoroughly disillusioned. The sight of the familiar bustling streets of New York made him feel lonely indeed. He must get to work, and forget all this, like an evil dream. He remembered, with a breath of relief, that he had a controlling interest in a downtown bank. He would go to work there, if it were in the humblest place.

Rutherford had no relatives in this part of the continent. Traveling alone, he had sent a cable to Henri, his man. Now he glanced about for the well-known face, but it was nowhere to be seen. Henri, an almost superfluous presence as personal assistant, would never have looked so good nor seemed so necessary as now, if he had appeared.

Rutherford called a cab, and started to help the cabby load his leathers, including golf-bag and gun-cases; then seeing the man was willing to do it alone, he got into the cab and waited until the things were stowed aboard. He was staring idly out the opposite window, watching the throng of hurrying vehicles and people, and wondering if he would ever again take an interest in it all, when the cabby thrust an inquisitive head in at the other door.

“Where to, sir?”

Before Craig could reply, the man stood quickly aside to make way for a lady, who sprang into the taxi.

“Number—, West Tenth Street,” she instructed calmly.

The cabby closed the door, and the woman promptly pulled down the shade. The driver, assuming the two to be together, climbed into his seat and whirled away from the pier.

Craig looked around in cold wonder at the intruder. It was Mrs. Talcott. She smiled at him, and he lifted his hat politely. He could not have uttered a word, if his life depended upon it. He was utterly confounded.

Mrs. Talcott, however, betrayed no confusion. Her gloved hand reached across in front of him and lowered the other shade. They were shut together in the semi-darkness of the taxi. For several blocks they traveled thus, without a word being spoken. The girl’s only apparent emotion was that of impatience. When the cab was forced to go slowly because of the traffic, she would glance quickly out through the little back window, and then lean forward as if urging haste.

Presently she seemed to notice her companion’s taciturnity, and looked timidly at him, once or twice, as if waiting for him to speak. Seeing he was not disposed to do so, she said timidly:

“I—I cannot tell you—at least not now—why I have to do this! “

“Do not trouble yourself. It isn’t necessary,” he replied.

Rutherford’s nerves were on raw edge. In spite of what his own eyes had seen, the moment he was with this charming young person, he could feel noth ing save her all-pervading charm. She was so genuinely winsome; and in the new role of seeking his protection, of relying upon him, her attraction increased tenfold! But Craig was still too near to the precipice, over which he had looked, to wish to be brought back. He was determined not to listen to any explanation whatever, true or otherwise, which would only reveal more fully how desperately different she was from the woman he had stubbornly supposed her to be.

His words, while courteous, only added to her embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she stammered. “I would never have presumed—but you were kind enough to offer to help me at any time—and I thought—well, no one ever knows.”

No one ever knows,” Craig agreed, non-committally.

Silence for a few moments—then —

“If you don’t mind, I’ll raise this curtain now,” observed Rutherford. “It’s rather close in here.”

“Certainly,” she replied in a low voice.

He lifted the shade, then turned quickly to find the girl looking at him, her sweet eyes bright with tears. She flushed as his gaze met hers.

“You—you are not—oh, I am afraid I have offended you!” she exclaimed softly. “But there was no other way!”

If Craig had never before known how alluring can be the embarrassment of a naturally-poised woman, be learned it now. It seemed to him that a charm as tender as the mist brooding over the glowing summer landscape now enhanced the singular perfection in feature and coloring. Craig steeled his emotion, his native generosity, with an effort.

“I understand. I offered you my services, and I am glad you could avail yourself of them,” he replied with studied courtesy.

She sank back against the cushions and made no further effort to talk to him.

Craig fancied he could picture the events which led up to her abrupt entrance into his cab. Her husband had been arrested. She had escaped, probably with Helderman’s aid; and, just as before, she was trying to hoodwink him—to make a catspaw of him, in a clever escape!

Helderman he had seen only for a moment, before landing. He had not gone back to keep that tragic appointment in the royal suite, and had studiously avoided its occupant up to the time of docking. Then, in the throng awaiting to disembark he had felt a firm, familiar clasp on his shoulder, and had turned to see Helderman beaming cordially upon him. Craig had nodded curtly and shaken the man’s hand away, as he hurried toward the gangway. Just as he started down the narrow plank, he had glanced back momentarily to see the other smiling with cynical amusement. He was evidently laughing at Craig’s boyish resentment of the fact that a man had over-reached him, had played with him!

If the elderly husband had been caught in his wickedness and the pretty young wife had escaped, Rutherford could only conclude that Helderman was still operating the machinery to his own ends. But—another wild thought now leaped into Craig’s brain—in that very event, was not the financier playing right into his own hands, by allowing the girl to accept his protection ?

It was evident that, whether he chose or not, Fate had linked his fortunes in some way with these people; and he instantly resolved to right-about face. He would aid this lady to the best of his ability; he would trust her if he could; while as for loving her—ah, could he ever help that, he wondered?

The cab drew up to a curb in a side street, and the driver sprang down and opened the door. Rutherford glanced about at the unfamiliar neighborhood, and wondered why they had stopped.

“This is Number —, West Tenth, sir,” said the cabby.

Rutherford got out and extended a hand to Mrs. Talcott.

“Let me assist you,” he said, smiling.

Just four commonplace words; yet his tone and manner caused her to glance again at him, as if to make sure that he was really a friend again. She placed her hand in his, and he perceived that she was trembling. Poor little woman! She had been given the hardest task of this whole performance to perform, he thought; and now she seemed more for lorn and lonely than he had ever seen her. He spoke a few more words of cordial commonplace, while the man got out her luggage.

They were standing on the sidewalk of one of New York’s ancient thoroughfares, where change had hurried in before decay had completed its work. Old-fashioned, but still intact, brownstone fronts were being pulled down to make room for the everpresent business-block and apartment-house. Furnished-room and boarding-house signs dangled dejectedly, as if they knew that their days of usefulness were numbered, the moment the drifting lime-and-brick dust settled over them. Altogether, it was not the neighborhood which Rutherford would have expected a woman like Mrs. Talcott to find agreeable.

She was looking intently at the house in front of them.

“It hasn’t changed, except to grow uglier, perhaps,” she observed.

At this moment, a spick-and-span young man who had perched on the stone railing of the stoop came down the steps.

“Is this —?” he began.

“You are Mr. Maxwell?” she interrupted, before he could finish his question.

“I’m his son,” the young man acknowledged, with a buoyant breeziness which Craig keenly enjoyed as a pure product of the homeland to which he was returning. “The governor sent me down with the keys, and wanted me to say that if everything wasn’t all right, he would do anything necessary.”

“Thank you, Mr. Maxwell,” she said, smiling at him. “Now will you go in with us and see?”

She included Rutherford in the invitation, with a look which begged him to accept as plainly as words could have dona Urged by his curiosity, by the hope that something would transpire to give him a chance to believe her what she so attractively looked to be, Craig followed her.

“I hate to go alone into an unoccupied house,” she said, half in apology.

Craig entered the high-ceilinged, quaintly elaborate parlor with a set of thoughts and feelings curiously confused. To every little appeal on her part, he instantly responded with a thrill. He loved her; and he doubted her. He believed that she was playing with him; and he could not disguise the keen happiness he felt at her dependence upon him, real or simulated.

Her next words, when they were scarcely inside the house, gave Rutherford a slight shock.

“Mr. Maxwell—the pistol, please!”

“Oh, of course!” said that young man, producing a box from his pocket, and taking from it a hammerless revolver. “You are accustomed to firearms, Miss—Mrs.—?”

“Oh, yes!” she interrupted quickly, with a glance at him.

Maxwell explained the mechanism of the gun, and she followed him with a ready grasp which indicated that she was, indeed, familiar with weapons. Rutherford wondered what it all meant Laying the gun on the table, she took three rectangular boxes from the small pigskin bag, which she had carried constantly in her hand.

“You know what these are, Mr. Maxwell?” she asked.

“Of course!” replied Maxwell, with his usual enthusiasm; “they are the—”

The girl again interrupted him.

“Will you kindly adjust them according to the* instructions you have received?”

Without another word, Maxwell took the three boxes, and left the room. Rutherford heard him ascend to the next floor, where he was occupied for about five minutes; then he rejoined them.

“Now if there’s anything more I can do, just call on me,” he announced heartily. And he pro- -duced a card and handed it with a flourish to Rutherford.

Craig saw. the blush which mantled the girl’s cheeks, as the significance of the action struck her. Maxwell had taken him for her husband. He glanced at the card, finding some sly amusement in the situation.

“Sprawlins’ American Sporting Goods House! You represent them, Mr. Maxwell?”

“You bet I do! But I do side jobs for the governor, when he’s rushed. He’s real estate, you know. I guess I must move on now.”

Mrs. Talcott thanked him again, and dismissed him.

“I think that will he all at present. Mr. Rutherford will look about —”

“Rutherford!” exclaimed Maxwell, looking at the other man with the frank admiration given by all sport-enthusiasts to their heroes. “I thought your face looked familiar. You’re old Craig Rutherford!”

“I am that!” Craig assented.

Maxwell seized his hand and wrung it with unbounded and slightly-painful delight.

“By George, sir, I’m glad to see you looking so fit! So that’s why you’ve been so long on the other side—getting over the effects of that last spill! I thought, after your horse landed you on top of that cobble-fence and then fell on top of you, out there on Long Island—why, I thought you were done for! We all did. Sprawlins nearly wept! I’ll tell him you look fit as a fiddle. It’s great!”

Craig smiled at his boyish enthusiasm, and promised to call in to see Sprawlins soon.

“Going in for polo again this year, sir, or do you intend to recapture that golf trophy?” Maxwell persisted.

Rutherford said he really didn’t know; and the boy turned with this parting shot: “Well, any- thing I can do for you here, command me at any time—you, or Mrs. Rutherford!”

The girl crimsoned at this appellation.

“This is Mrs. Talcott,” said Rutherford, quietly.

“Beg pardon! I know that was the name the governor said—hut!—well, you see, I just did a little hit of original thinking and got mixed, that’s all!”

Then he made a hasty adieu, and disappeared. Rutherford knew that he was alone in the house with this girl. He stepped to the window, pulled back the shade which was drawn down, saw that the cab piled with his possessions was still waiting, and then turned to make his excuses.

“I’ll say good-by now, Mrs. Talcott —” he began, somewhat awkwardly.

“Don’t go—yet,” she said.

“There is something I can do?”

“Lots of things!” she affirmed, smiling shyly at him; “and I’ve just been learning about others!” “From my admirer?” laughed Craig. “Well, it’s good to have one friend at court, anyway! And perhaps he will take a personal interest in making things habitable for you over here.”

“Thank you. And now, if you don’t mind, could you take time to look over the house with me? ” Craig readily assented. The spirit of this adventure had long since taken complete possession of him. As they reached the empty hall of the big, gloomy house, he quite appreciated how she might find much cause for anxiety in this echoing lone* liness.

“Do you mean to live here—alone?” he ventured to inquire.

“Why not?” she parried; and it seemed to him that she waited a trifle anxiously for his reply.

“I fancied you might be afraid,” he replied.

“Oh, is that all!” she exclaimed, in apparent relief. “I—I fancied it did not seem quite the proper thing to you.”

For a second he felt tempted to tell her that he had dispensed with all the conventional points of view, in regard to her. He did not consider smuggling the “proper thing”—but he had not let it overcome the magnetism with which she attracted him. Indeed, he might have said, if he had taken to frankness, that he was unable to oppose her charm with any of the well-regulated and entirely proper ideas he had always entertained. It overcame them all.

“Then you will be alone—entirely alone?” he asked again, wondering if she had resigned her husband to the care of the Government for a protracted period.

“Quite alone,” she answered frankly; “unless my former maid comes back to me. That is the reason I am so grateful to you for coming in. If you will be good enough to go over the house with me, so that I shall be quite sure I am entirely alone, I shall be twice grateful”

She spoke with studied ease. Rutherford, however, noticed that now as they approached the third floor, where the shades at the windows were so jealously lowered, she seemed pale and fatigued, and there were slight circles of worry visible below her eyes.

“It will be a considerable nervous strain for you to live here without company,” he remarked.

“I’m afraid it will,” she surprised him by acknowledging; “but I must! It is the only way I can help him! It is the only way that we can prove—”

She stopped suddenly, and bit her lip. Rutherford respected her secret, and asked no more questions. He could feel only admiration for the resolute young spirit who could dare any danger and the peril of loneliness, for the sake of aiding one she loved.

Already regretting her outburst, the girl hurried from one room to another. When they returned to the lower floor, Rutherford noticed that there were niches in the wall, from whence statues had once overlooked the stairs. They were curtained, but he had reached the front room on the second floor before it occurred to him to explore them. He turned back.

“I meant to glance into those niches,” he said.

“I was a better detective than you; I did so,” she replied hastily.

“I didn’t notice the fact,” said Craig, inwardly sure that no action of hers had escaped him.

“You aren’t very observant, are you?” she asked, smilingly.

Craig noticed that her lips did not straighten; they curved softly into the Cupid’s bow, of which he had read, but which he had doubted until now. He marveled inwardly at this new charm which had escaped him hitherto; and marveling he forgot that his eyes had not left her for an instant, on their journey up and down the stairway, and the curtained niches could not have been examined without his observing it.

The room to which she now led him occupied the width of the house, on the second floor, and was designed evidently as a study. A flat-topped desk stood in the middle of the floor, a graceless though perhaps convenient piece of furniture with two tiers of drawers. Its only ornament was the finely-mounted head of a Rocky Mountain goat.

“George, what a bully specimen!” exclaimed Craig, his hunting instinct aroused. “Who got him ? Where did he come from?”

“Mr. Talcott shot him—in the Rockies, I believe.”

“A beauty—but look at this—it’s a downright shame! He’s such an unusually fine fellow, it’s a pily he isn’t perfect!”

Rutherford was looking with lively regret at the tip end of one of the long, curved horns. It was broken off. He reached out and touched the blem- ish. Mrs. Talcott, who had been standing beside him, moved away uneasily.

“It was probably broken in some wicked fight he had with another mountain beast,” she said hastily.

Then, as if unwilling to continue the subject, she sat down at the desk, opened a drawer, and laid the pistol in it. Rutherford realized for the first time that she had carried the weapon with her during the exploring tour. The knowledge piqued him.

“Did you carry that with you to protect us both, in case there should be anyone in the house ?” he asked, with a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

She glanced at him before replying. She had a trick of reading all his moods by the tone of his voice, and her own mood seemed instantly to respond.

“No—I—perhaps I am becoming too much a victim of my own fears,” she said hesitatingly.

“Do you not trust me?” he demanded bluntly.

“Oh, how can you ask that, when I am trusting you here—when I have trusted you all along!” she breathed.

Hardly knowing what he did, Craig reached out and took both of her hands in his. He was not an anchorite; he was only human; and the lure of her drooping lips, the nearness of her hands, the perfume of her hair, the tired look in her eyes, were too much for him. He only knew that he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her—this lonely, brave, helpless, misguided little ‘woman! She flushed, and struggled to free her hands.

“Let me try the telephone’ she pleaded breathlessly.

Will yon listen to me, then?” he asked.

She nodded, -without raising her eyes to his. He released her hands. He had made np his mind to tell her that he cared for her so much he would guard her from all the rest of the world, and he would also guard her from—himself. He would make it perfectly clear to her that, although he could no longer conceal his lore, it would be devoted to silent service for her, and would ask nothing in return. His love was something of which he was not ashamed—something which she need not fear—something she could lean upon at any time of stress.

She reached for the receiver of the desk-telephone; then, instead of taking it, her free hand shot out and pressed one of the three buttons that were imbedded in the desk.

Again Craig experienced a quick revulsion of feeling. This girl, while pretending to trust him, was letting him make a fool of himself. He had meant to reassure her, and she would not listen to him—she was summoning aid!

“By heaven, I will speak!” he cried, seizing her hand again.

She did not seem to hear him, and for the moment did not try to disengage her hand. She sat listening, poised, expectant At the same instant a voice, angry, exultant, was heard in the lower hall:

“Trapped! Caught like a rat in a trap!”

CHAPTER VII
NECKLACE OR BUCKLE —WHICH?

Rutherford started guiltily, then straightened up and faced the door. He had recognized the voice of Mr. Henry Talcott, and momentarily waited for him to enter and create a scene. Craig had a well-bred objection to scenes of this character, and had never expected to be a party to one; but the interpretation which the husband of this girl would put upon the present situation was painfully clear to him.

Mr. Henry Talcott, however, did not choose to appear.

Craig glanced down at his companion. She was leaning back in her chair, actually looking relieved and easy.

“You are not alone in the house, then?” he half-asked, half-asserted.

“I shall not be alone, now,” she answered smiling.

In that extraordinary moment, Rutherford could only look at her in silent wonder. What was she trying to do, and why had she brought him into the house at all? Was all their elaborate search of the house merely a part of some new scheme she was trying to work out? And why, since Mr. Talcott evidently resented his intrusion, didn’t that gentleman walk in and demand explanation or apology? The situation was beyond even guessing; it absolutely baffled Rutherford’s powers of deduction.

As if in answer to his unspoken questions, the girl continued:

“Mr. Rutherford, it is only fair to you, to tell you why I came with you to-day, and why I asked you to enter this house.”

Rutherford held his peace, wondering what new phase of the inexplicable situation was to develop.

“Will you be good enough to give me the buckle?”

“What buckle?” he asked in amazement.

“The blue buckle,” she answered: “the one you saw me wear on board ship.”

Her hand was extended confidently. She was asking him to restore something he had never laid hands upon, something he had not thought about, all that day.

“Give you the buckle, Mrs. Talcott! How can I? You know I haven’t had it!”

“I think you will find it in your pocket, if you try,” she insisted.

He thrust his hands into the pockets of the light top-coat he wora “Hot there!” she said; “ in your other coat, please.”

He reached skeptically into the left pocket of his coat, and an expression of complete bewilderment crept over his face. The girl smiled at his dismay. “Out with it!” she said, jestingly.

Slowly he drew forth his hand and offered her its contents.

It was a diamond necklace—a gorgeous strand of stones, worth at least fifty thousand dollars.

The girl made no effort to take it, bnt instead drew back with a little exclamation. He himself looked at her gravely, his worst fears realized—and again a wave of anger swept over him, that he should have been lugged bodily, as it were, into a wretched smuggling schema As she made no move to take the gems, he laid than upon the desk.

“No, no! I don’t want that! I want the buckle, please, quick!” she begged.

“This is your property,” he persisted, obstinately.

“I don’t understand you—but, please, the buckle! Look in your other pocket!”

Obedient to the whims of this astonishing person, he felt in his other pocket. The sharp comers of the bine buckle pricked his fingers. He drew it out; and with a rapturous joy which would seemingly have welcomed the necklace, she extended both hands for this simple trinket.

“May I examine it?” he asked quietly, retaining possession of the buckle.

She clasped and unclasped her fingers nervously, and watched him with manifest concern, while he leisurely scrutinized the object.

It proved to be more interesting than he had thought. It was ancient and battered and scarred. Its workmanship, by hand, was that of a day when metal-smiths were less accomplished. Its chief distinction, however, and one that added to the mystery which seemed to surround this girl, lay in an inscription scratched deeply into the steel and running across the upper and lower edge of the oblong buckle. Craig traced the puzzling letters with an effort:

OXB IVI ESAF IPSE

“What does it mean?” he asked.

“Ah, if I only knew!” she exclaimed. “How often have I puzzled over it! It may mean something— a great deal to both of us. It may mean nothing at all. And if it means nothing—I—I don’t think I can bear it!”

The tears stood in her eyes as she reached again for the buckle. He released it, standing for the fiftieth time at a loss for words. There lay the glittering diamonds, utterly unnoticed by her, while she pressed this plain little steel buckle to her breast. He knew now that she was not acting a part—that her trouble was very real and vital—and her genuine distress drew him to her far more strongly than any of her previous moods had done.

Suddenly she stood alert, looking wildly about.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“I heard nothing,” he replied in low but reassuring tones.

“A vehicle has stopped in front of the door. Do you think we could have been followed from the pier?”

“I do not think so. I saw no one,” he replied.

“But your cab—you left it outside!”

“ So I did! I had forgotten all about the taxi!”

“We should not have been so confident,” she said, including herself in any blame. “Listen! Someone is at the door.”

The bell jangled insistently. Rutherford wondered why this girl had betrayed so little concern awhile ago, at the entrance of Mr. Talcott, when she was now palpably frightened at the coming of strangers.

“Look out and see who it is,” she whispered, drawing insensibly closer to him. “Don’t let them see you!”

Craig went to the window, pulled aside the hangings a trifle, and peeped out. He was curiously assisted in his spying by one of those convenient, but old-fashioned devices, a mirror set at an angle, projecting from the house, which enable the hostess to decide whether or not she is at home.

“ It’s a woman with a big leather bag,” he announced. “She’s young, and she looks harmless. Come and see.”

She came, and their heads almost touched, as she peered out. One glance, and she gave a little cry of delight; the next moment, she was speeding across the room and down the stairs.

“Sophie! Sophie! I am so glad! I thought
you were not coming!” her voice was heard exclaiming, in the lower hall.

Rutherford guessed, from the humbly-delighted manner of the young woman who now entered, that she was the maid to whom Mrs. Talcott had previously alluded.

“Mademoiselle, when they fight your dear —’

“Yes, yes, Sophie, you may tell me later! It is enough that I have you again!” her mistress interrupted, evidently not desiring any further disclosures at this time.

Sophie, however, was irrepressible.

“Ah, Mademoiselle! I come on the ship to you. I follow you here. You are my heart To escape, to get to you, I have made myself like a mouse!”

Without having as yet seen the girl, Craig found her effusiveness unpleasant. It aroused a spirit of suspicion and uneasiness within him. She seemed to protest too muck But her mistress was almost childlike in her delight at having a companion for the loneliness she must endure in the ancient house.

“Come, Sophie, we must get settled. It will seem a great deal more like home, when I see you in cap and apron.”

The maid followed her mistress up to the second floor, and as she passed Rutherford she gave a quick, sidewise glance at him. Rutherford knew that it was one of those keen, inquiring looks, by which a clever observer gains much information.

Presently Mrs. Talcott returned to the study.

“You cannot imagine how relieved I feel, to have my maid with me again!” she said.

Her excitement and fright seemed all to have gone. She was again the self-possessed woman, and now seemed imbued with an added dignity—that of hostess. Rutherford would not have been at all surprised if she had asked him courteously to stay to lunch, or form a fourth at a game of auction!

Yet, there lay the diamond necklace in plain sight, gathering most of the light rays which seeped in through the window, and brilliantly giving the lie to any appearance of the commonplace that Mrs. Tal-cott might assume.

Rutherford picked up hat and gloves, and turned to say good-by.

“Mr. Rutherford, I wish I could tell you how much I have appreciated your kindness. I wish I <could say—I wish I could explain—”

“Mrs. Talcott, I do not wish you to explain—until the proper time. But please remember, I have tried to help you because it was you, and not because I approve of—well, of this!”

He had meant to say, “of what you have done,” bat looking into her serene, trustful eyes he couldn’t possibly say it. Instead, he mutely indicated the diamonds.

“Why, I do not understand you!” she said, eyes wide and troubled. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“I am afraid it is Uncle Sam you have offended.”

He picked up the gems and handed them to her.

“The spoils of war,” he said with a bow.

She looked up at him, surprised and half-indignant “I don’t understand you.”

“Aren’t these diamonds yours?” he asked pointedly.

“I never saw them before! How can you be so absurd? You produced them from your own pocket! ”

“Also the blue buckle. You do not deny ownership of that, I suppose?”

“No, I put that there, myself! It was the only way I felt it would be safe, after that attack. I was afraid that the persons who seemed to know about it might try to get it again. But we are at crosspurposes about the gems. Please state plainly what you mean!”

She was confused, hurt, angry. Rutherford knew that the best way out of the tangle was in plain speech.

“Mrs. Talcott, didn’t you place those diamonds in my pocket?”

“How could I? I never owned such a necklace.”

Innocence never looked more confidently from two flashing eyes.

“You know nothing whatever about this necklace?” he exclaimed again, amazed and at the same time overjoyed at the prospect of clearing her skirts of smuggling.

“Nothing,” she answered. “Please do anything you like with it—except leave it here!”

Rutherford looked at the flashing stones, as though they were unreal or he were in a trance. Evidently she knew nothing of the smuggling that had agitated the ship. It was, indeed, quite easy to see that the persons most suspected had heard least—in fact, nothing at all—about the gossip and accusation which had buzzed all about them.

Rutherford crumpled the stones together and was dropping them in his pocket, when a peremptory voice halted him.

“Stop!”

He whirled around. A man sprang into the room and seized his arm in an attempt to secure the jewels.

“We’ll trouble you for that,” a second man asserted, also approaching Rutherford.

But the latter, with the trained instincts and muscles of an athlete, had not waited to parley. With one swift wrench he escaped the grasp of the first intruder and retreated until he stood with his back against the desk.

Mrs. Talcott ran swiftly toward him, but her first object was apparently to secure the blue buckle, which she pressed tightly against her breast. This movement attracted the attention of the two men—her convulsive clutch upon the buckle. That they saw the buckle was quite evident. Their eyes traveled quickly toward it and for a moment they deserted Rutherford and made a concerted motion toward the woman and the buckle. This movement startled her exceedingly and she darted swiftly out of reach.

For the present they abandoned her. But Craig noted during the ensuing interview—and in fact during the entire fracas that ensued—that not for one instant did the two interlopers lose sight of that blue buckle clutched tightly as it was in Mrs. Talcott’s hand. Now, however, they gave attention to this necklace still dangling from Rutherford’s fingers.

“How did you get in?” he demanded.

“Like anybody else would: rang the bell,” said one of the men insolently, as though assured that the situation was entirely in their own hands.

“You let them in!” cried Mrs. Talcott reproachfully, to Sophie, who now thrust a scared face in the doorway.

“Oui, Mademoiselle, how should I know?” the girl exclaimed, wringing her hands.

Even in the stress of the present moment, Craig remarked that the maid addressed her mistress again as “Mademoiselle.”

“I did not hear the bell ring,” he said, looking sharply at the maid.

Mrs. Talcott caught the meaning of his words, and was quick to take the girl’s part.

“Mr. Rutherford, Sophie would never have al lowed anyone to come in, who could annoy me, if she had suspected.”

Sophie cast a grateful glance toward her mistress; but Craig thought that he observed a look of understanding flash from her to the two men, as she turned and left the room.

Rutherford himself had recognized both the men at once. They were the secret-service men from the ship. Plainly, he was in a tight comer, with the smuggled booty visible in his possession. Nevertheless, he endeavored to gain time by dissembling.

“What brought you here?” he demanded. _

“You know very well what we want,” said one.

“ I do not. But even if I did, the Secret Service has nothing to do with me,” answered Rutherford calmly.

“We’ll see about that. The Government wants you and that diamond necklace you smuggled in.”

“Here’s the necklace, but I did not smuggle it in! I’m perfectly willing to go to your superior, and explain how the thing came into my possession—”

He stopped suddenly, realizing that this was precisely what he could not explain. As he half-extended the gems, the first man paid no attention to his hesitation, but reached for them eagerly.

“Oh, that’s all right!” he said. “Just give up the necklace quietly now, and we can fix it up at the office later. That’s the best way to keep out of trouble. Give it up!”

But the fellow had over-reached himself. Ruther ford had noted the look of cupidity which came into his eyes; and also realized that it was a decidedly unofficial proceeding to allow a suspect to go, merely upon release of property. With a swift motion of his wrist he slipped the jewels into his pocket.

“None of that!” cried the man, lunging at him.

But he reckoned without his host. Rutherford met him half-way, with a firm set of his muscles which halted the man with a jolt. The other sprang to his side, and tried to glower Rutherford out of countenance.

“You’re getting in bad!” he said; “resisting an officer! Better give up the diamonds without any fuss!”

Rutherford wavered. After all, why should he care what became of the necklace? He was tired of the very sound of the word. He would give them up now, and make his peace with the customs office later. But an objection came from another quarter. Mrs. Talcott stood by his side, facing the men undaunted.

“Mr. Rutherford, don’t do it! I warn you! If these men are not what they claim to be, you will have to reimburse the Government for the diamonds. Please be sure before you act!”

“Right—Oh!” he said, smiling at her. “It will be easy enough to make sure. I will just call up the customs office and see—”

While he spoke, he had reached for the telephone, but he never clasped the receiver.

“I guess not!” interrupted one of the men. “We’re in charge of this case—see?” And he blocked the way, while his partner took the instrument away from Rutherford.

The latter looked from one man to the other in surprise, and Mrs. Talcott’s warning took on a deeper import. If these men were what they pretended to be, what he had all along believed them to be, why should they object to such a simple proof?

“You’re just trying to gain time!” blustered one. “But it won’t work! You needn’t think that we are going to fool around here any longer. Give up that necklace quick, or I’ll know the reason why!”

Craig raged at the insult in the words. He realized with a start that he was not in some foreign land, but at home, in old New York, where he was a respected and well-known citizen, with friends and influence at his command. The folly of standing here and letting a common ruffian, even if he were an officer of the law, insult him, was more than he could stand.

“Give me that ’phone!” he commanded. “If you are what you claim to be, a simple question won’t hurt you. I demand the right!”

He shoved the intruding man aside, and stretched out his hand once more for the instrument. The next instant, both of the fellows were upon him.

He struck out vigorously with his right and left; but the men were too close, and quickly pinioned his arms.

“None of that, I tell you! Resisting an officer!” shouted one, drawing an ugly-looking club from his pocket.

Rutherford saw the weapon brandished above his head and about to descend. He knew in the instant that these men were desperate and would stop at nothing. But the expected blow did not fall.

“Stop! Don’t strike! Don’t you dare!”

It was Mrs. Talcott who spoke, and although she scarcely raised her voice, the two men relaxed their hold and sprang back. Craig turned to see the cause of their sudden accession of respect, and found it in the muzzle of the revolver, firmly held and well aimed.

“If you take another step in this direction—I shall shoot!” she said in even tones to the men.

They looked into her steady eyes, and knew that she meant it, and could probably shoot straight. Nevertheless, they shifted uneasily, loath to fail in what they had undertaken.

“Don’t shoot!” exclaimed Craig. “It would make trouble; and that is what you are trying to avoid. These men were admitted into your house by your maid—”

“They are here to steal!” she asserted calmly.

“Never mind that now—don’t shoot!” replied Craig, stepping between her and the men. The courageous look in her face had made him as fearful as the two assailants, that she would fire at a moment’s notice “That’s right! You’ll get into all sorts of trouble if you fire!” said the stocky man, stepping quickly to Rutherford’s side, in order to be still more out of range. “The necklace, sir, and we’ll go!”

Mrs. Talcott evidently thought that he meant to give it up, for she again tried to interpose.

“No, no! I won’t let you! I know they are impostors! Something tells me!” she cried.

Her back was turned to the second man, as she spoke, and with a bound he had sprung forward and wrested the weapon from her grasp.

“Now take the diamonds away from him, Sam!” he announced triumphantly. “I’ve got the gun! ”

The stocky man gave one look at Mrs. Talcott, and the baffled expression upon her face showed him that he had nothing to fear from her. He leaped at Rutherford, and the two went down. Had he not been so eager, the revolver in the other’s hands would have compelled an easy victory. Now, Craig fought on even terms; while over them hovered a white-faced, helpless woman and a man who dared not shoot. Back and forth they twisted and writhed, the efforts of the stocky man being directed toward securing the necklace.

Mrs. Talcott tried to run to the desk.

“Stay where you are!” the holder of the weapon commanded.

She halted, gazing despairingly at her goal but two short feet away.

“I’ll get it! Don’t shoot!” panted the stocky fellow, evidently not wanting to make a disturbance that might be heard outside.

By a lucky twist he reached Rutherford’s pocket. Craig writhed about until he had forced the man’s hand out; then he plunged his own in, and grasped the necklace.. Across the floor he sent it spinning, in the hope that his assailant would dart after it, and give him a chance to attack at better advantage.

The necklace slid across to a spot near where Mrs. Talcott stood. She made a feint of seizing it. The other man darted toward her, and pushed her violently upon the desk; but as she fell she managed to push the jewels with her foot back under the rear part of the desk. The man tried vainly to reach them, and swore savagely under his breath.

The girl lay so inertly across the desk, that Craig was afraid she was hurt. She made no movement to seize the telephone, but turned her head slightly toward the stairs, as if she were listening intently.

Suddenly, a voice that fairly roared its vigorous shout came to the man under the desk, and the two struggling on the floor.

“Coming! Coming!” the great voice shouted. “Hands up, you cowards! We’ve got you this time!”

“Trapped! Trapped like rats! Caught like rats in a trap!” another voice shouted in triumph.

It was Mr. Henry Talcott and some companion, in the nick of time. Rutherford, suddenly released, looked toward the door, expecting to see that strange man who had kept himself in the background once before, now come rushing in with this welcome aid.

His stocky assailant had sprung up like a creature at bay, and also gazed at the door. The other fellow had crawled so hastily out from under the desk, that the revolver slipped out of his hands. This Mrs. Talcott promptly seized, and fired twice, just above their heads. The two men fled wildly, fairly falling down the stairs in their eagerness to escape. A moment later, the front door slammed after them.

Rutherford had followed them to the head of the stairs, but saw no need of further action, now that they were gone. He looked around the hall for the rescuing party; but neither sight nor sound of human being met his gaze, after the front door slammed.

“Why, where are they?” he asked, returning to the study.

“Gone, as you saw,” she answered.

“I mean Mr. Talcott and the others?”

“Since they have frightened the thieves away, what does it matter?” she asked.

He looked at her pale, determined face, and knew that he had all the explanation she intended to give. It was a strange game she was playing, a mystery that was deeper and more extensive in its ramifications, than he had dreamed.

“No, it doesn’t matter!” he replied bitterly. “I am to be used as a pawn, it seems—but never trusted!”

She fell upon her knees suddenly; and Craig won dered what this extraordinary action might signify. Another moment and he was enlightened, as she drew the glittering strand from its nook under the desk. Her slender fingers had easily reached what the detective had failed to gel “Here,” she said simply, rising and giving him the jewels; “and this.”

She had drawn forth the blue buckle, and laid it in his open hand beside the necklace.

“Will you take care of it for me?” she said wistfully. “It may mean more to me than my own life. You see how I trust you!”

He held the warm metal close in his hand; and now it seemed to him far more valuable than the cold gleaming stones by its side.

“No one in the world knows you have it—no one but you—and me!” she almost whispered.

“I shall care for it and guard it—with my life, if necessary 1” he said, pressing the bit of blue steel to his lips.

“And, Mr. Butherford—I—I think I ought to tell you one more thing. My name is not Talcott, really.”

She paused, as if silently pondering whether or not she had said too much. A light flamed up in Eutherford’s face.

“You are not Mrs. Talcott?” he cried.

“No, my name is Ballantyne.”

“And Mr. Talcott?”

“His name is Ballantyne, too—but be is—just my father!”

“Miss Ballantyne!” he repeated the name softly, as though trying to get used to it. “Miss Ballantyne! I like that name. How much better it sounds than Mrs. Talcott!”

CHAPTER VIII
MADEMOISELLE ARANY CALLS

Three hours later, Rutherford was seated comfortably in one of the big leather arm-chairs, at the Barristers’ Club, on Forty-fourth Street. He was chatting with an old-time friend and schoolmate, a man with round, clean-shaven face, ruddy cheeks, and shrewd, bright eyes, who seemed immensely interested in his conversation.

Monty Brookfield was an assistant district attorney, just now in the exact storm-center of one of those police investigations which seem to stir up New York periodically. But, busy or not, he always presented an appearance of unruffled calm, and always had time to serve a friend — especially when that friend was Craig Rutherford.

The latter came to the point of his interview in simple but astounding fashion. Thrusting one hand into a side pocket, he drew forth and exposed its contents on the table in front of Brookfield.

“Great Moses!” exclaimed the attorney, starting back as though he saw a live snake, instead of a strand of flashing diamonds. “Where did you steal that?”

Then, his surprise giving way to caution, he dropped his plump hand over the gems, and cast a quick glance around the room to see if they were observed.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Craig.

“Place is full of lawyers!” Monty whispered hoarsely.

Rutherford laughed. It was great to be at home again and get real American humor served up solemnly by the irrepressible Monty Brookfield.

“It’s no joke, all the same!” he assured his companion, who was now fingering the necklace with inquisitive appreciation.

“I should say not—if it has come to this!” agreed Monty. “What did you say her name was? ”

It took Craig a second or two to comprehend that he was being suspected of matrimonial intentions; then, in spite of himself, he blushed—which made Monty more delighted than ever.

“Can’t we get into a quieter place where we can talk without possibility of interruption?” Craig asked.

“Surely!” agreed Monty. “Come down to the grill and confide. I just dote on romances!”

“You are away off!” chided Craig. “For a budding district attorney, I never saw one so obtuse! Nevertheless, it will be a relief to confide in some one—even you!”

And with this parting shot, they sought the grillroom. On their way, Craig pondered over the change that had taken place in his plans. When he had left the ship, he had intended a three-mile dash to the Harvard Club and a series of handshakes with the fellows whom he knew would be glad to see him. Then a week or so of getting his affairs adjusted, and lastly a plunge into banking life, where he proposed to learn the business from the bottom up. Anything to be busy and to forget—a certain person. And now, one little message from that person —“No one in the world knows you have it—no one but you—and me!”— had made him forget all his plans and resolutions. He was a knight-errant, devoted to a single cause—her service! That was why Monty’s jibe had struck home. But first of all, he must rid himself of these troublesome diamonds, which seemed to weigh a ton in his pocket. Every person he had met upon the street, especially the policemen, had seemed to know about his booty, and to look at him accusingly. Then he had thought of Monty Brookfield.

“Monty, I need you—but not for best man,” he said, as they lighted cigars in a secluded corner. “This necklace doesn’t belong to me.”

Monty grinned at him amiably.

“I believe I asked you awhile ago where you stole it!” he observed.

“It was wished on me!” Craig retorted, unable to resist the whimsical humor of his friend.

“Tou always were lucky!” said Brookfield enviously. “Well, what’s the story?”

Rutherford told him briefly, but with careful avoidance of the two chief suspects on board ship. Brookfield listened without comment, while stroking an imaginary beard of patriarchal length, and scanning his friend with his keen eyes.

“Umph humph!” he commented, when Craig had ended. “A very clever little game! The real smugglers have taken advantage of your honest face, and used you to get their stuff into port. Those men who came after you and called themselves secret-service officials were really agents of the smugglers. The genuine kind don’t go around beating up American citizens as if they were bags or carpets. You’ve been away so long that you’ve forgotten how we act over here!”

“Granted—but I still have the necklaca I don’t want it; at the same time, I’m not crazy about turning it in and being suspected as a smuggler who has lost his nerve. What do you suggest ?”

“I’ll fix it,” replied Monty, once more the prompt man of action. He rose and hurried over to a telephone booth.

In less than half an hour after he rejoined his friend, a quiet, business-like man presented himself. Seeing Brookfield engaged in a conference, he was about to draw back discreetly, when the attorney motioned him forward.

“Hello, Crowder!” he said genially; “you are just the man I need to settle a bet. My friend here thinks he knows what a secret-service man looks like—and I have assured him that he doesn’t! Mr. Rutherford, I want you to shake hands with Mr. Crowder, one of the real ones!”

Rutherford arose and extended his hand. The officer was about to grasp it, when at the moment his eye caught sight of the necklace left exposed upon the table. His jaw half dropped, and he entirely forgot the greeting palm.

“Scares you just about like it did me!” chaffed Brookfield, who had noticed his start of surprise.

“Whose property is that?” demanded Crowder.

“Why? Do you know anything about it?” parried Rutherford.

“Where did you get it?” persisted the officer.

“I don’t know,” replied Craig. “But I happen to have brought it off the Gothic with me — rather by mistake.”

Crowder reached for the necklace, hut Craig coolly placed his hand upon it, as though in defiance of the officer.

“ I must seize those jewels,” said the officer, with quiet authority.

“Why?” asked Craig, in apparent innocence. He was trying to draw the man out.

“Why? According to your own story, the diamonds have been smuggled in—and I happen to have been given this particular case this morning!”

“Then you know where they came from—whose they are?” asked Rutherford eagerly.

The officer glanced quickly at Brookfield, who half nodded,

“I simply know that they were purchased at Kirschwasser’s, in Berlin; and I have a description of the persons who bought them.”

“How did you learn that?” asked Craig, unguardedly.

“How do you know it?” the secret-service man instantly retorted, fixing his searching eyes upon Rutherford.

“Why—everybody on the Gothic knew it. There was a message sent to some secret-service men on board to watch for it.”

“Just say that again!” Crowder exclaimed, his face stiffening like a dog’s pointing at some suddenly-discovered quarry.

Craig repeated his statement. Crowder turned to Brookfield with a look of perplexity.

“Mr. Brookfield, you know this gentleman personally?”

“The friend of a long and ill-spent life, Crowder,” replied Monty, with a mock-grimace, as if he were making a serious confession.

“His having this necklace is—strange; and his knowing about the secret-service message is — stranger,” Crowder observed, half to himself and evidently divided between his natural caution and an inclination to take Rutherford for what Brookfield thought him, rather than what he might easily be suspected of being.

“I have already heard his story,” replied Brookfield, “and I sent for you because I think there is a big case behind it. Mr. Rutherford has been made the means of getting this necklace through the customs; that much is evident. Now if you can find the real culprit, I believe you will unearth a plot so big that the present bit of clever work will pale into insignificance.”

Monty Brookfield’s opinions were entitled to respect, and the secret-service man was evidently following the same line of thought. He now turned to Rutherford in a manner almost friendly, as if inviting further confidences.

“That report circulating on the Gothic must have been pure imagination on somebody’s part! ”

“Not a bit of it! It was too circumstantial to be a product of the imagination,” protested Rutherford. “Why, I heard the message, myself.”

“You? Can you read wireless? ’’ asked Crowder quickly.

“No; but I happened to be in the wireless room when it came in. The operator told me nothing, but the man who was with me read it—and the next day it was all over the ship.”

“Who was the man with you?” the officer fairly snapped.

“Helderman, of Wall Street.”

Crowder’s lips shut tight; but he made no observation.

“There were two secret-service men on board—at least, I thought they were,” continued Craig; “and they made life miserable for all the rest of the passengers by overhauling things—”

“Mr. Rutherford, the whole thing is absurd. There were no secret-service men on board that ship—and if there had been, those are not their methods. No message such as you describe was ever received on board the Gothic. I know, because the very first intelligence of it came direct to headquarters only last night!”

Rutherford whistled.

“Are—you—sure?” he asked slowly, as the amazing situation began to dawn upon him.

“Positive. That’s what makes your own story so surprising.”

Rutherford’s mind was leaping wildly from one thing to another. The men who had hounded Miss Ballantyne so persistently were not secret-service men. She had been right. When one of them had tried to wrest the blue buckle from her, on shipboard, and the other had joined him in the West Tenth Street house, they were clearly employed in some private affair of the smuggling gang. The buckle had nothing to do with it, and had been used in the first instance merely as a blind.

“Mr. Crowder, it will be easy enough for you to substantiate the wireless story; and as for this thing”—here Craig pushed the strand of jewels across the table to the detective —“I wish you’d take charge of it! It stirs up too much trouble!”

If Crowder had continued to entertain a suspicion that this frank-spoken man was concerned in the smuggling, it died now in the face of his honest desire to get rid of the diamonds.

“Certainly, I’ll take the necklace and give you a receipt I may need you in this matter, later; in fact, Fm sure you can be of service to us.”

“You’ll find me— there,” rejoined Craig, handing his card to the officer, and receiving in turn a receipt for the necklace, which he turned over to Monty.

Crowder was eager to get away. Both Rutherford and Brookfield knew that he was already intently pursuing in thought a course of action he was anxious to put to the test.

“Mr. Rutherford,” he paused to say as he was leaving, with the gems in his inner pocket; “if anybody comes to you about this will you let me know?”

Craig gave instant consent, and carefully pocketed the card which the secret-service man handed him,

“Well, we’re in the thick of it!” Monty observed, delightedly. “Put me next to whatever turns up.”

Crowder drew Rutherford for an instant to one side. Craig felt that he was under scrutiny.

“Mr. Rutherford,” said Crowder, “I wish you would tell me one thing more—it may throw some light upon a series of events. You say it was Helder-man that took this message.”

“Yes,” said Craig. “I was there when he received it.”

“You say,” went on Crowder, “that it was Helderman who was a fellow passenger upon the Gothic”

“Of course,” said Craig.

Crowder smiled with assurance. “Mr. Rutherford,” he went on, “tell me one thing. How do you know this man was Helderman?”

“Know it,” answered Craig. “How does anybody know anything. Everybody knew him to be Helderman. I recognized him in a flash the instant that he named his name.”

“You’ve seen him before?” asked Crowder.

“No,” said Craig, “but he answers the description. He has the characteristics—the character —of Helderman, the upstart.”

“You’d stake your life that it was Helderman, then?” queried Crowder.

“I would,” said Graig. “I’m as sure of it as that.”

Crowder smiled in a superior sort of way. “Would it change your views if I told you something rather startling, Mr. Rutherford. What would you say if I told you that Helderman was not a passenger on board the Gothic?”

“But he was,” said Craig.

“He was not,” returned Crowder, positively. “He was not on board the Gothic. He was here present in New York.”

“What,” cried Rutherford. “Here, in New York—for the past week Are you sure?”

“Positive,” repeated Crowder.

“How can you be sure?” asked Craig.

“Because,” said Crowder, “I have seen him every night—every night, mind you—for the past ten days, and so have half a dozen other men.”

“Who are they?” queried Craig.

“Night watchmen,” said Crowder, “patrolling the Drive. Every night we have seen Helderman — the real Helderman—through the windows of his house. I know the real Helderman when I see him. You can’t fool me about that. And for ten days at least—for I’ve been reckoning him up for at least that time—he has been home every night.”

“Reckoning him up,” repeated Craig.

“Shadowing him,” said Crowder, “if it will suit you better.”

“What for?” asked Craig.

Crowder shrugged his shoulders. “To tell you the whole truth, Mr. Rutherford,” he said, “I don’t know why. I’m acting under orders. There’s a big mystery connected with this man Helderman, and I’m told to keep him more or less in sight. That’s how I know that he’s been here in New York. That’s how I know he was not on the Gothic”

“You think then,” queried Craig, “that there are two Heldermans—twin brothers possibly — doubles?”

Again Crowder shrugged his shoulders. “If there are, you’re the first man that ever saw the other Helderman, Mr. Rutherford. I never saw but one and I know of nobody that ever saw but one. But of one thing I am mighty sure—the man aboard the Gothic was not Helderman.”

Craig smiled incredulously. “ We’ll put that to the test,” he said.

“Good,” returned Crowder. “I wish you would, and if it isn’t too much trouble, Mr. Rutherford, I’d be glad to know anything you see or hear.”

Rutherford felt himself free at last to go home. His apartments were just around the comer, at the Sandringham, and thither he turned, making mental reservations as he nodded to Monty.

What actually did turn up was so utterly unexpected that he completely forgot Brookfield’s craving for a share in the mystery.

At the Sandringham he was welcomed as a wellpaying and uncomplaining guest should be. Porters had already carried up his luggage; his rooms had been carefully put to rights; and the clerk now gave him his keys. He entered the place he called home after an absence of over two years, and found it gratifyingly like it was when he had left it. With a sigh of content, he sank into his favorite lounging chair, and began to glance through the pile of accumulated mail laid ready for him on the table.

Henri had not materialized, and a letter told the reason why. Henri had married a widow and her restaurant, and his new duties precluded him from being any longer a man’s man. It was rather a blow. Henri had been efficient and had come to understand his master’s moods—when to be in evidence and when to be out of sight. This thing of breaking in a new man was a nuisance.

Well, after all he was at home again, and these things would adjust themselves in time. Just at present it was luxurious to recline at ease, with his own things, his books, his papers, his letters, his pipe, within easy reach. Now that he had that pestiferous string of diamonds safely off his hands, he could breathe easier; he was safe from bother and interruption —

The telephone bell rang.

“A lady to see you, sir,” the operator downstairs called.

Rutherford’s face flushed. Only one woman in New York could know that he was at home again. She had come to seek him; she must need his help.

“It must be a matter of importance,” he answered, with a quick instinct to make this somewhat unconventional visit as easy and unembarrassing as possible. “Ask her if she will be so kind as to come to my apartments.”

As he hung up the receiver he was uncomfortably unconscious that his words had not been particularly effective; and much as he desired to see Miss Ballantyne, he regretted that she had found it necessary to seek him. He wanted to shield her in every pos bible way and had refrained from asking for her name from the operator.

The moment a sound came from the door, he opened it.

Dusk was softening the rich colors of his rooms; and she glided in like another of the shadows. She wore a more elaborate gown than he had ever seen on her. Black and clinging, it revealed flashes of vivid yet beautiful pink where the edges of the fabric fell back. A large “ picture” hat, covered with ostrich plumes and lined under the brim with a similar pink, completed a strikingly handsome costume.

Without a word, eager to feast his eyes upon her, he closed the door and flashed on the light. The girl who stood before him was not Miss Ballantyne.

“You are surprised, Monsieur,” she said, smiling at his apparent discomfiture.

“I am pleased,” he replied gallantly.

“Even though you must have expected—someone else!” she chided, with the intuition of a woman.

“That should not make your welcome any the less genuine,” he insisted, with the natural instinct of mankind to flatter a pretty woman.

“You see, I have not forgotten your kindness,” she said, beaming upon him in the conscious power of her beauty.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“You are wrong,” she contradicted; “it was much—it was a Paquin gown!”

The lady was his passing acquaintance on ship- board, whom he had rescued from the clutches of the steamer chair. She laughed exquisitely, eyes and teeth flashing, as she leaned back at ease in the chair she had taken upon his gesture of invitation. The edges of her long, filmy wrap — one of those charming affairs which Paris alone knows how to create, enhancing the beauty of the lines with a pretense of concealment—fell back; and the sinuous grace of her figure was displayed as unconsciously and picturesquely as if an artist had posed her.

“Then I am glad to have saved it,” he observed, admiring the picture she made, but wondering what could possibly bring her to him, and how she knew where to locate him.

“Monsieur, you have forgotten something!” she exclaimed.

“Indeed?” he puzzled.

“Yes—my name! I can tell!” she cried, clapping her hands with the pretty abandon of a child who has discovered a flaw in the fancied perfection of a grown-up person.

“I am afraid I have,” he acknowledged; “though I should scarcely forget the lady herself.”

“Now you are trying to—what do you Americans call it?—make good!” she said gayly. “ Well, it is Arany—Irene Arany.”

A more impressionable man than was Rutherford just at this time might have fallen a willing victim to the indubitable charm of this girl. He knew that her self-possession under circumstances that would have made a more conventional woman uncomfortable. argued a broader freedom than the women of his own circle were inclined to take. He felt that, despite her seeming artlessness, she was not so frank and genuine as she pretended. It would be best for him to come to the point of this interview.

“Mademoiselle Arany, if there is any way in which I can be of service—”

She interrupted him, the look of bright interest in her eyes changing to one of shy entreaty.

“ Indeed, it is because I do wish your assistance that I am here, Monsieur. I have sought you ever since you left the ship. You are generous and kind—I am sure that it is so. And I have said, Monsieur Rutherford will help me!”

Rutherford bowed for her to proceed.

“Monsieur, I have reason to believe that you have in your possession —”

“A diamond necklace?” Rutherford interrupted in turn. At her words, and also because his mind was saturated with the subject, he had jumped to the conclusion that here was the woman concerned in the smuggling game. He would surprise her, and thus perhaps learn something of advantage. But the surprise retroacted upon him, when she replied simply and with evident candor:

“No, Monsieur, I know of no necklace.”

She paused, with the first trace of embarrassment she had shown during the interview. As he said nothing, she continued slowly:

“I have reason to believe that you have in your possession—a blue buckle.”

Rutherford started in spite of himself. The woman’s keen eyes told her that her chance shot had struck home. Dissemble as he might, Craig knew that he could not recover his lost ground. But, the blue buckle again! Who under the blue canopy of heaven could have suspected this!

“A blue buckle —” he repeated meditatively, gaining time to fathom her reason for inquiring about the ornament “Ah, Monsieur, if you only knew how much it means to me!” she exclaimed, with no effort to conceal her eagerness.

She laid her hand impulsively upon his coat sleeve, look and gesture plainly telling him of her desire to obtain the buckle, and her readiness to employ all her feminine wiles for this purpose. But again he steeled himself to her charms.

“Mademoiselle, there are blue bucklep, and blue buckles,” he parried. “Granted that I had one in my possession, which would not be the most surprising thing in the worlds how should I know it to be the one you seek?”

“Will you not just let me see it?” she pleaded, her face drawing closer to his, as she looked up into his eyes.

“Can you not give me some description of it, so that I may know what you have in mind?” he replied cautiously.

An envelope from which he had lately extracted a letter lay upon the table near her. She seized it and began, with a gold pencil, to sketch an outline rapidly upon the white reverse side. Rutherford followed her with absorbed attention. The buckle—their buckle—began to appear under the deft strokes of the artist, and finally stood complete, with one important omission, before his eyes.

“There—is that it?” she asked, watching him.

He knit his brows, but gave no sign of recognition.

She placed a slender, gloved finger along the upper and lower edge of the sketch.

“Was there anything—a pattern, or letters, along here?” she persisted.

The woman must be a wizard to divine so much! How she could know, in the first place, that he had the buckle at all, amazed him.

“If there is—:I shall see,” he replied slowly.

Mademoiselle Arany took her pencil again, and carefully sketched in the letters —

OXB IVI ESAF IPSE

“That’s a queer jargon!” he commented, as though it were quite new to him.

Following a plan he had conceived, he arose and went into a smaller room adjoining his sitting-room—a sort of den, in which stood a small desk and a safe just beside it. He could see, without appearing to turn, that she had stepped silently in line with the door, and was gazing curiously into this room. The light shone through the door, revealing the safe plainly.

Craig opened its heavy door, and seemed to examine something within it, uncertainly. He picked up a small object and returned to the front room with it in his closed hand.

Mademoiselle Arany had retreated to her former place, and now looked up with an appearance of languid interest; but the quick dilation of her nostrils showed him how keenly she was interested in his next mova “Pardon me—do you smoke, Mademoiselle?” he asked, opening his hand.

It contained a package of cigarettes.

The woman sprang up. “You are trifling with me!” she exclaimed indignantly.

“Not at all,” he answered with an appearance of candor. “But I did not find just exactly the buckle you seek.”

“Then you have the other buckle!” she exclaimed.

It was again his turn to be surprised, but he masked it. under a show of indifference.

“There are two buckles?” he asked.

“I believe so,” she answered, biting her lip. “If I might see yours and compare —”

“What is the inscription on the other one?”

She saw that she was beaten; and as she swept out of the room, eyes flashing scorn and vexation, she snapped out —

“If I knew that, I shouldn’t have called!’

Craig stood, pondering, after she had gone. Something in her tones stirred memories within him. Where had he heard just that tone of voice before . . . and when?

Suddenly it came to him—a woman’s voice, wafted down the wind—at midnight, on the Gothic.

… Nowhere are they safe . . . nowhere, do you understand? . . .”

Who were “they”— why were “they” not “safe”?

Craig sighed and gave it up. It was just a mystery along with other mysteries.

CHAPTER IX
THE HOUSE ON RIVERSIDE DRIVE

Rutherford was amused at the angry exit of his visitor. She was too warmly beautiful in her rage to be regarded with sternness.

“She wants that buckle,” he reflected; “now I wonder why! And the fact that there are two of them makes it rather interesting. Two women—two buckles! The women of the same general type, to outward appearance—the buckles evidently identical, save for a bit of jargon scrawled upon them!”

Rutherford shrugged his shoulders, and gave over trying to unravel this double tangle which had sprung up to take the place of the complicated single ona He had other affairs to concern him, and one was—dinner.

“If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, I might have asked her to dine!” he said to himself, whimsically; “she doesn’t seem to care about smoking.”

He put on his hat and went out and enjoyed a good dinner, as if he hadn’t another interest in the world. Then he came hack to his room, lighted a cigar, and prepared to finish his letters. Again this task was doomed to interruption. The telephone called him again.

“A gentleman has called you up, two or three times, in the last hour,” the operator’s voice said.

“Did you get his number?”

“Yes, sir, it was 99603, Riverside Drive, and he asked you kindly to call him up.

“Hum,” pondered Rutherford. “I don’t remember any such number. I guess, if he wants me badly, he’ll ring again.”

Which he did. In less than ten minutes, Craig was summoned to the wire by a voice that made him start slightly. It was that of Helderman. Could Mr. Rutherford be so good as to call, this evening! Rutherford’s first impulse was to decline, but a second thought showed him the wisdom of accepting.

“Glad to come. I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said.

Rutherford was already dressed for the evening, and it was the work of only a few minutes to get coat, hat and gloves. At the door of the Sandringham he found a waiting taxicab.

“Comer of Riverside Drive and West—Street!” he called to the chauffeur, as he climbed into the cab.

“Helderman’s, sir?” asked the man.

“You know the place?” Craig held the door open to ask.

“I point it out to the rubber-necks,” was the response.

Rutherford was not surprised to learn that Hel derman’s home was one of the sights of the town. It was only natural that he should build something showy and ostentatious. But Craig was not quite prepared for the kind of house that he presently drew up before.

There, on one of the most commanding knolls of the stately Drive, stood a great cube of white marble, simple and stately, in a wide expanse of lawn that spoke with simple eloquence of the wealth which could annex so much valuable real estate. Helderman was indeed a pastmaster in the art of making himself noticeable. Here he had gone to the other extreme of ostentation, by the paradox of a simplicity and severity which must impress every passer-by.

The house had its intended effect now; and Rutherford felt his interest and appreciation of Helderman’s cleverness increased tenfold.

“There’s Helderman! That’s him, sure!” exclaimed the chauffeur, as he held the door open for his passenger to alight. He was evidently keenly interested in the upstart and all that he did, for this great palace helped to make the ride entertaining to his fares.

There, indeed, was Helderman, plainly visible from the curb. Rutherford smiled as he saw him move across the room, with his peculiar, jerky stride. His smile changed to wonder as he watched.

Helderman stood still. He was as distinctly visible to the two watchers on the sidewalk as if he were standing in the lawn, in broad daylight, instead of in an artificially lighted room. The effect was startling. The next moment, Craig realized that almost the whole front side of the room in which the banker moved about must be a huge, plate-glass window!

This was certainly an extraordinary freak on the owner’s part! Who but Helderman would have conceived the idea of living in a show-window! So clear was the plate glass barrier between him and the outside world that it actually seemed not to exist at all.

Back and forth Helderman paced, as if in deep thought. He seemed utterly oblivious of the fact that a large audience might have been occupying advantageous places along the sidewalk. Yet Rutherford knew that he could not be forgetful of the espionage that his carefully-arranged window made possible. It seemed as if he wanted to be seen.

As he watched, Rutherford recalled sharply to mind the queer mannerisms which he had noted on that wild-goose chase through the lower decks of the ship for a mystery that was finally located, where Helderman knew all the time that it was, on the upper deck. The chase and this window were equally baffling to Rutherford. He could only assign them to one and the same cause—that Helderman delighted in doing the unexplainable.

Another of the financier’s extraordinary whims was the fence. If the window invited the idle gazer the massive barrier of white marble, surmounted by sharp pickets, discouraged intrusion. Certainly, it was a queer and contradictory arrangement.

Rutherford moved toward the gate, half gambling in his own mind on the chances of finding it some fragile little affair that would give the lie to the formidable fence, just as the latter was at outs with the generous window.

A slight sound behind him caused him to stop and turn suddenly. A man about fifteen paces back of him also stopped. Craig glanced around for the taxi, thinking the driver might be taking this opportunity to stretch his legs. But the taxi was going off deliberately around the comer.

The sudden stop of the other man seemed odd, although he immediately resumed his pace, as if to pass Rutherford like any casual pedestrian. Instead, however, the night panorama on the Hudson seemed to catch his eye, and he crossed the street to stand and gaze out over the river.

The view certainly justified the inspection, but Craig suspected that it was being used to cloak the man’s real intentions. Rutherford tried a little ruse. Gathering himself together for one of the head-on rushes for which he had a record, he flung himself toward the beauty-appreciator.

Nothing could have been more unexpected than to see a well set-up young man in evening togs suddenly dart across the dignified Drive, with the energy and direction of a sprinter. The other man wavered as if he considered flight, but there was no time. His pursuer was upon him. He turned quickly.

“Gee, Mr. Rutherford! You scared me!”

It was Crowder, the secret-service man.

“What are you doing here?” Rutherford asked, sharply.

“Oh, just out for a little exercise! And isn’t that view up and down the water at night perfectly great, with the lights dancing along the shore!”

“Do you generally take your airings in the evening?” asked Rutherford.

“Have to, or get my neck broken, tripping over the leading strings of the ladies’ dogs!” said Crowder, querulously.

Rutherford knew that the officer had some object in view which he was not willing to disclose. It came disagreeably to his mind that he himself might be under surveillance. Men like Crowder never neglected a clew. With his usual bluntness of speech, Craig turned upon him.

“Look here, Crowder, are you following me?”

“Not just now. I was surprised to see you, in fact,” replied the officer.

“But you have followed me, or may do so? Do I get you?”

“You do, Mr. Rutherford,” was the brief response.

“Thanks, I’m glad to know,” Rutherford observed quietly. He was thinking that he would exercise due caution in case he should have time to see Miss Ballantyne. Suddenly his previous con versation with Crowder came to his mind. He tapped Crowder on the shoulder and gestured toward the window in front of which Helderman was pacing up and down.

“Crowder,” he said, “who is that man in there?” “That’s Helderman,” said Crowder. “Now you see the difference, don’t you?”

“As how?” queried Craig.

“The difference,” went on Crowder, “between the real Helderman in there and the fake Helderman that you saw on the Gothic .”

Craig laughed. “That’s the man, Crowder, that I saw upon the Gothic. Every move he makes, every twitch of his shoulders, every tilt of his chin—every little nervous trick he has. All those belong to the man upon the Gothic. There’s no man living could copy all those tricks. It is the study of a lifetime and those tricks don’t run in families. No brother—no twin brother — could be so like this man. He’s like a finger print, Crowder. There’s only one Helderman in the whole wide world—and Helderman was on the Gothic.”

“Helderman was right there in that room for the last ten nights,” said Crowder.

“Weren’t you mistaken possibly?” asked Craig. “Not I,” said Crowder, “nor half a dozen other men. Call me by any name you like. That is the man there in the window that has been there in that room for the last ten nights.”

“And that,” said Craig, determined to have the last word on the subject, “is the man upon the Gothic”

Craig did not get the last word, however. Crowder had it. “Either we are both crazy, Mr. Rutherford,” he said, “or else one of us is a most infernal liar.” He changed the subject “What do you think of Helderman’s palace, Mr. Rutherford?” he asked.

“It’s a palace, all right,” said Craig. “How did he get it? He must be made of money.”

“Til tell you how he got it, Mr. Rutherford, if you’ll tell me how much of it is mortgage and how little of it is equity. Helderman gets things in any way he can. He gets money any way he can. You and the rest of New York may believe in Helderman. The Sunday supplements can paint him as big and as white as they please. But I don’t believe in him. He may be a big man in some ways, but he is small enough to stoop to any means, and with Helderman the end that he is after always justifies the means.”

“What have you got against him?” asked Craig, seriously.

Crowder’s tone was crestfallen. “Nothing,” he conceded. “I have had my hands on him at least a dozen times and he always gets away. I know he has turned a dozen tricks, Mr. Rutherford, and I can’t prove a single one of them. The tricks were turned all right—I can prove that—but I can’t lay ’em at Helderman’s door. I’ll get him some time, never fear.”

They had moved forward until they stood before the gate of Helderman’s place. It was a real one, as strong in its way as the fence, hut beautifully made of wrought iron, twisted in a Venetian pattern. An electric light glared fiercely through the eyes of a bronze lion, casting an illumination down upon the pushbutton embedded in the gate-post.

“Good-night, Crowder,” said Rutherford.

“You’re going in?”

“Yes, Mr. Helderman asked me to call, this evening.”

“That accounts for it!” the officer exclaimed.

“For what?”

“Dogs are not loose, to-night. Good-evening, Mr. Rutherford.”

Crowder glanced ahead into the shadows, and moved off quickly as if he saw someone. Butherford pushed the button under the lion’s head. Almost at once the gate swung open.

Butherford entered this strange place with the liveliest curiosity. A wide, straight pavement mounted by several flights of broad steps to landings, on the way to the house. At each of these landings, a skilful landscape gardener had created the effect of seclusion for little nooks with marble benches, by a grouping of dwarfed cedars.

There was not a shrub or . flower that rose more than three feet above the velvety smoothness of the lawn. The effect of simplicity had been well attained by the terraces and little trees, while, as Craig turned and looked down toward the gate and fence, he could see that all the baldness and severity had been concealed from any observer who might look from the windows of the mansion.

He looked again toward the remarkable glass window. Helderman still paced the chamber; and a rosy light, as if a grate fire leaped and danced, gave an air of cosy comfort to the interior.

The door-bell had hardly sounded faintly to his touch, when a man in livery opened the door.

“Mr. Rutherford,” announced Craig.

“Mr. Helderman expects you, sir. Will you please be seated.”

As he spoke, a deep growl punctuated the man’s formal request—so did the rattling of chains.

“You needn’t be uneasy, sir,” said the butler. “They are securely fastened.”

The man moved away to announce him to his host. Rutherford was ill at ease. It was a strange welcome indeed, to be asked to sit in a room with some beasts which needed confining with chains. He silently resented such a situation; it reminded him too much of some fantastic tale of adventure in the Ear East.

He peered in the shadowy spaces of the great hall, but saw nothing. He rose and moved forward a few steps, and stopped short. The hoarse, rumbling protest which greeted him was too positive to be disregarded. He saw something moving, and gradually by the dim light filtering down from a dozen beauti ful but unilluminating lamps of Japanese bronze, he made out the sprawling figures of two huge beasts, lying with stretched necks upon a dais covered with tiger-skins. They were tugging at their chains; and he approached them with some feeling of security.

Massive Great Danes they were. An animal-lover, he knew the gentle nature of such dogs, when not on guard. He neared them, believing they were stretching their necks out for a caress.

He had extended a hand to touch one, when both animals leaped up viciously, and the nearest all but seized his hand. With great, gaunt, slavering jaws wide open, they tugged and writhed in unmistakably vicious rage. Craig sprang back just in time, and at a safe distance heard the rattle of the heavy chains with considerable satisfaction. Up and down leaped the beasts, howling, and seeming to focus in their evil eyes all the light that fell faintly from the lamps of bronze.

Every detail of this scene photographed itself upon the beholder’s mind. He saw the dull gold embroidery on the ancient banners drooping from the walls. He noticed the rich tapestry which hung behind the dais where the dogs were chained. Even the flickering light from a deep-set fire-place beyond the richly carved banister of the staircase made a certain definite impression upon him. Then the stairway itself suddenly superseded all the other curious details in interest. He noticed a landing, half-way up, on which stood a tall lamp, like some Buddhist altar light, and from this lamp came a soft, ruddy glow which, as it encountered a velvet curtain, seemed to turn its mellow, reddish purple into the color of wine.

The Great Danes had ceased their uproar and sunk down; but they still regarded him with bloodshot eyes. He knew that their savageness had only one explanation. The brutes were underfed —it must be with intent, in this house of opulent, even barbaric, luxury.

Rutherford shrugged his shoulders in silent disapproval of the sort of welcome that Helderman extended to invited guests—and turned to find his host at his elbow. He had a disagreeable impression that the man had been there several minutes, a stealthy observer of the effect produced upon his guest by this remarkable reception hall.

“Ah, this is kind!” the financier exclaimed, with voluble hospitality, as if anxious to disabuse Craig of the idea that he had not tarried a moment in welcoming him. “I am more than glad to see you! Come in. I shall take you to my sanctum where I admit few. I cannot have my thoughts disturbed, my mental house-keeping put out of order, by the presence or the memory of the presence of those who are—well, not to the manner bom. Have you ever noticed that the entire atmosphere of a room, its tone, you might say, can be spoiled for a day, for a week, for all time, by the admission of some foreign element? Rooms are as sensitive as persons!”

Rutherford perceived that Helderman was flattering him. Nevertheless, he felt the charm of this strange man, in his momentary’ graciousness. He could not help feeling pleased to be received without question into the financier’s inner circle.

Craig scrutinized him most carefully. At this dose range he watched the man for every one of those tricks and mannerisms that had become so familiar to him on hoard the Gothic.

Yes, he—Rutherford—was right, and Crowder must he wrong. This man was the man who had paced with him the decks of the steamer—the man who had received that secret service message in the wireless room. This man must be Helderman—he was occupying Helderman’s house—therefore the man upon the Gothic had been Helderman. Then Crowder and his six other witnesses—the wondering night watchmen—had been dreaming, Or else they had been fooled. Crowder possibly was crazy—and yet he could not he.

As Craig recalled his conversation with the secret service man he remembered that it was Crowder who was cool as well as positive; that it was he—Butherford—that had been a bit uncertain.

Crowder must be right—and Butherford was right. What then was the reason for this mystery and what was its solution? Was there another Helderman? Helderman’s very personality made this thing impossible.

There was only one Helderman and that Helderman now stood before him.

“You are welcome!” Helderman continued, with a broad sweep of the hand, as they entered the adjoining room.

Craig glanced around this room which he had already seen from the outside, and was silent.

“Simple, isn’t it?” the banker observed, noticing his lack of response.

“Very,” Rutherford acquiesced.

“Simplicity is a hobby of mine. Straight lines, sharp corners! This is where I do my real work. I want no disturbing ornament, nothing that can woo the senses and befuddle the wits. I can make fortunes here!”

He tapped his white forehead, and again waved his hand about the room. Certainly, the room should have satisfied his most exacting demands; it was simplicity simplified. There were by actual count only five pieces of furniture—a table and four chairs. They were Sheraton, or some one of the severe and light styles of which Rutherford knew little. And the walls were white and bare. The place’ was like a tomb with its wide mouth, that great front window gaping.

The leaping radiance of the fire did its best to redeem the austerity of the place, but only seemed to accentuate the hard’ coldness of the lines. There seemed to be no warmth in it. The fireplace was so situated that the passer-by, looking through the window, would see only the dancing glow from the fire, but not the fire itself; while in lieu of a mantel, as if further evidence of his host’s eccentricities, Butherford noticed a queer balcony hanging upon the wall, apparently without door to enter it, or stair to reach it.

Perhaps Helderman guessed that he had over-stimulated his taciturn guest’s curiosity, for he diverted Craig’s attention to the window.

“Look!”

His long, white hand stretched out like that of a conjurer toward the Hudson. Rutherford followed his gesture, and gave a little exclamation of delight. It was a fairyland scene. The trees and shrubs across the Drive, bordering the river, formed a foreground without interrupting the view. Here, yonder, everywhere, tiny lights danced and flickered. These were man-made lights, while far above them answered back the lights of other worlds. Down in the broad channel, a floating palace moved, as if enchanted, amid a blaze of light which shone far out in a circle of surrounding water. Only the nighttime can weave such a spell upon a thing as prosaic as a ferry-boat!

“You understand! I knew you would. Yet many shallow souls remark about my window, and wonder why I allow people to gaze in at me! What do I care for the idle looks of insignificant men, when I can gaze out upon a picture that no artist’s hand could ever hope to duplicate! Would it be sane to shut one’s self from a view like that!”

It struck Rutherford as odd that Helderman should harp so on this subject—should seek to render commonplace something that was really unusual—when he took such pains to render himself conspicuous by less extraordinary means.

“You’ve been in the Adirondacks?” he asked, then continued, as Craig assented: “The mountains are treated with proper respect. Every house is literally full of windows. There dwellers go to feast upon the scenery. Yet here in New York! You’d think it was the proper thing to lose your eyesight and taste for beauty while you are in town. Why, I would build a glass house, if I could!”

“It would limit your stone-throwing privileges,” observed Rutherford.

“Not at all. It would be like fighting in the open, where I would have just as good chance to aim as the other fellow. I fancy in a give-and-take fight I can hold my own!”

It was the old Helderman, purposeful, self-confident. Craig had begun to wonder what all this grandiloquence was leading up to, when his host indulged in another of his eccentricities.

“Sit here,” he said abruptly, “and don’t move. I want to show you the power of mind over matter!” Without waiting for his guest to reply, Helderman rose and walked into the hall. The clank of chains was heard, and the sullen growls of the dogs.

Then Helderman backed rapidly into the room, shouting in a warning tone:

“Do not move, as you value your life!”

Into the bare white chamber, their gaunt, powerful bodies hurled forward like catapults, leaped the Great Danes. Straight at Craig they charged, as though he were quarry thrown to their mercy. Craig sat still and scarcely breathed. Was Helderman going to let them spring upon him? It was unbelievable.

Craig sat as if fascinated. It was only for a moment, but the mental agony was unspeakable. Another leap, and the huge beasts would be upon him, would pin him to the floor.

Helderman lifted his bare hand as though he brandished a whip. He spoke one word.

Craig had witnessed animals, even wild ones, made fearful by the power of a single will; but never before had he beheld such an exhibition of abject terror as now struck these two dogs. Down they sank, shivering and whining to the floor. They crawled upon their bellies up to their master, and licked his feet. Then, under a gesture that seemed to hurt them like a lash, they crawled through the open door.

Helderman immediately closed it, and turned to Rutherford.

“ Wonderful, isn’t it—the influence of mind over matter!”

Rutherford wet dry lips.

“It depends upon the point of view,” he observed.

Inwardly, he was angry—a seething, white-hot anger, that he should have been made the puppet of any such bestial exhibition. But intuition told him to conceal his anger, just as he had concealed his fear, from this domineering man. He recalled the unexpectedly strong grip of the other’s hand upon his shoulder, on shipboard; his power over the wireless operator, the power that his money gave; and he mentally resolved to be always master of himself, when in this man’s presence. There, and there only, lay safety.

Helderman dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. He felt evidently that he had made his point He was content “My dear young friend,” he said—Craig could have kicked him for calling him his dear young friend—“you remember once upon the Gothic telling me I had hitched my wagon to a star.”

“Very likely,” said Craig, a bit contemptuously.

“Do you remember the occasion,” went on Helder-man. “Do you recall what provoked that brilliant remark of yours?”

“That remark,” said Craig, “was first made by a man far more brilliant than myself. There are no such things as verbal quotation marks or I would have used them.”

“I am talking now,” said Helderman, “not of what you said, but of what I said that went before it. I told you then that some day I hoped to own all the trust companies in the city of .New York—I only needed money, a little money, to buy one —”

“The endless chain,” said Craig. “I recall it now.”

“I told you then,” said Helderman, “that I needed something more—a young man upon whose face was stamped sincerity of purpose—frankness—honesty.”

Craig smiled grimly. “You answer that description yourself, Mr. Helderman,” he said, ironically.

“Ah,” returned Helderman, “but, unfortunately, while they admire me, they do not trust me. I am honest, yes—but they consider me too smart—much too clever for them. I need a man like you. Come, my friend, let us buy trust companies together. I will do the thinking—I shall be the brains. I shall get.the money—somehow I shall get it—and you shall do the talking—you shall make the bargains.”

(“I,” thought Craig to himself, “shall be the oatspaw.”)

“But I know nothing about business,” protested Craig aloud.

“So much the better,” said Helderman. “When they see you know nothing about business they think they can pull the wool over your eyes. That is just exactly what I want them to think. But behind you stands my brain.”

Craig shook his head. “I don’t see it, Mr. Holder- man,” he said. “The whole thing would be distasteful to me.”

“Distasteful,” echoed Helderman. “Is it distasteful to a young man to have money?”

Craig almost laughed aloud. It was evident Helderman knew nothing of Rutherford’s comfortable finances.

“Is it distasteful,” went on Helderman, “to be a power in the financial world, to be able to command large sums? Is it distasteful to take in the deposits of all New York—to pay New York one per cent interest on its money—and to make—not for New York, but for oneself—thirty, forty, fifty per cent on those deposits?”

“It would be distasteful,” said Craig, “for the thing to go to smash.”

“Think,” went on Helderman. “You, a young man, could build a house like this, here on the Drive—how could you do it? I shall tell you how. You build your house. It costs you, say a million—I am wrong, it costs you not a cent to own this house—you borrow from your trust company—your own trust company—a million and a half. You have your house for nothing and you have a cool half million to spend upon your friends.”

“That is high finance,” said Craig, laughing. He shook his head with finality that could not be mistaken. “I can’t go in with you, Mr. Helderman,” he said. “It would take me ten years to understand this thing and I am not the man to tackle anything unless I understand it. I am sorry, but I can’t go in.”

Craig told himself inwardly that he wouldn’t have touched the thing with a ten-foot pole. He also told himself that he understood it well—and further that he knew Helderman now much better than he had ever known him. Helderman had laid his cards face upwards on the table. He had made his methods clear as day.

Helderman regarded his guest quizzically, trying to penetrate his reserve, and learn just how much of an impression he had made. Then he reseated himself on one of the slim-legged chairs in front of the fire.

“Smoke?” he asked.

Butherford accepted the proffered cigar, with a bow, lighted it, and rose to toss the match into the grate. His continued silence nettled his host.

I hope you didn’t mind my dogs,” said Helderman. “I have had them so long, I know all their ways.”

“Oh, not at all!” replied Craig. “I had forgotten all about them. To tell you the truth, my wits are wool-gathering to-night. Seeing you again has brought freshly to mind that little episode with the wireless, in which you and I figured.”

Craig had deliberately introduced the subject, to test how much or how little the banker knew about it Crowder had shaken his confidence in his own senses.

“Yes, yes I I recall it now. It was about a message the little red-cheek would not sell for good money. I read it though 1”

“Are you—sure?” Craig asked quietly.

“Perfectly!” the banker responded, looking at him quickly. “It was about a smuggled necklace.”

“Then it may surprise you to know that I left the ship with that necklace in my outside pocket.”

Helderman leaned forward in his chair. His face wore an expression of blended surprise and admiration.

“By Jove! This is great! You the smuggler! You, with your clean, up-standing look of innocence! Clever boy!”

“It depends upon the point of view—as I said before!” said Craig. “You see, I never know when I’m lucky—and I gave it up!”

“Ah, to some lady-love!” Helderman laughed with veiled suggestiveness. “It is those charming creatures who get us into trouble! I hope the fair one is pleased with your ill-gotten gains!”

“You misunderstand me. I gave it up to the Government”

“What!” Helderman half sprang from his chair, and then as suddenly quieted down again. “ What possessed you to do that, my dear fellow?” he asked in a conversational tona “Why not? It’s perfectly safe with them, isn’t it?”

“Yes—but how about your friend, the smuggler?” rejoined Helderman facetiously.

“My friend the smuggler should have consulted me beforehand, about wishing to lease my pocket!” “Then you don’t know —?”

“I haven’t the remotest notion who that person is.” “Not even a suspicion, I suppose,” said Helderman sourly. “Well, I’m older and less beauty-blinded than you, and I can guess.”

Again, as on shipboard, the financier seemed determined to cast suspicion on the Ballantynes. Rutherford was more than ever determined to get at the bottom of his relations with them. He recalled how Helderman had studiously denied knowing the girl, and avoided an open interview with her. That last little tableau in his cabin, however, had burned itself too deeply into Craig’s memory to be thrust aside. Craig’s working theory now was that the girl was the innocent tool of her unscrupulous father, and that Helderman was using his knowledge of the affair for his own ends. Her manifest sincerity in returning the jewels to him could be explained in no other way.

“Well, as I had no interest in the matter,” said Craig, “I took the diamonds direct to the customs people, and told them all I knew. Now I’m going to let them—and the smugglers—do the worrying. I’m through!”

“And what did you tell the customs people?” asked Helderman.

“Why—about our receipt of the wireless message, that night—and the curious part about it is, that they insist no such message was received! ”

“Humph!” grunted Helderman. “Did you mention any names?”

“Naturally. Why not f”

“ The Talcotts, I presume!”

“No, I think I overlooked them,” replied Craig, unconcernedly. “But I spoke of you as having received the message.”

“You spoke of me!” repeated Helderman, glaring in spite of himself—then more facetiously,

“Why, my dear young man! Let me commend your r discretion! You take particular pains to mention J. Baron Helderman, to whom the necklace would be nothing, while you as carefully refrain from mentioning an unscrupulous man and a pretty and probably vain woman who probably could use the money or enjoy the bauble. It was clever of you, Mr. Rutherford! Nothing could more successfully have kept your inamorata out of difficulties!”

Rutherford turned red; the blood mounted slowly. Eor the first time he was in danger of forgetting himself. His eyes shone under frowning brows.

“Please do not make the mistake of supposing that I regard it as a compliment to be mixed up in an affair of this sort,” he said deliberately. “I probably know Mrs. Talcott a good deal less than you do.” “That cannot be, my friend,” Helderman replied, with a sudden return of his geniality. “I do not know her beyond the barest speaking acquaintance aboard ship. That, unfortunately, is nothing. I wish it were more. However, believe me, my young friend, you served your country a bad turn when you gave up the necklace.” Plainly his host was disappointed.

“I cannot see it,” Craig disagreed.

“I will show you. If you had kept it, sooner or later the smuggler would have made an effort to secure it. You would have been on your guard. You would have caught the criminal red-handed and could have made your terms with him—or her; or—I know your patriotic spirit—you could have turned your criminal over to Uncle Sam—and got a Carnegie hero medal!”

“The smuggler did make an effort to secure it,” replied Craig.

“Was she successful?—But no, else you would not have flown to the arms of the Government I” observed Helderman, an irritating laugh following his words, and the set eye behind his monocle gleaming spitefully. “I’m afraid, Mr. Rutherford, that you have cooked your goose with the lady. Now, with our young and handsome hero out of the running, an older—and perhaps wiser—man might —”

Rutherford arose. He was utterly at loss to fit any kind of theory to the facts he knew; but he was not in a shade of doubt as to his feeling for his host. He cordially hated him.

“We must meet again, Mr. Rutherford,” said Hel derman, with suave courtesy when he saw his guest inclined to end the interview. “In business, perhaps— I am not without influence in that world, even if the ladies find me less interesting than others we might mention—in business I may be of service to you. Command me, please.”

“Thank you; we probably shall meet—in the business world,” replied Rutherford.

As he reached the door, he glanced toward the useless little balcony on the wall over the fireplace.

“Does that unique place serve as a kennel for your dogs?” he asked.

Helderman laughed.

“That is my one mistake in this house. I proposed to have a desk up there out of the way, but I was abroad at the time, and the architects hung the thing there without arranging a way to reach it. I have left it because of its quaint railing. It’s a treasure of carving from an old church in Italy. The railing is now an excuse for the balcony!”

Craig entered the dimly-lighted hall—then stopped short.

Against the gorgeous curtain on the landing, under the soft glow of the Oriental lamp, a slender figure in a white evening gown stood out as though framed. A light scarf shrouded the hair, and a dark cloak had slipped half off and was trailing down from one shoulder. The features were indistinct, but Craig’s eyes were caught and held by the crystal fringes on
the hem that shimmered and glistened in the light. He had seen the moonlight gleaming upon them, on a certain memorable night at sea.

He whirled about quickly, in time to see that Helderman was also regarding the statuesque figure, with a frown.

“I thought you said you did not know —”

His voice rang through the hall like a bell. The girl, who had stopped with bent head to loosen the trailing cloak, started, and without a backward glance ran up the stairs.

“An elderly cousin presides over my household,” replied Helderman. “She evidently has a caller, this evening.”

Rutherford shot one look at his host. The excuse sounded stumbling and futile. Scarcely able to articulate, he bowed, took his coat and hat from the butler, and hurried out of the marble mansion.

Down the broad landings he stumbled, almost blindly, eager to put all possible distance between himself and this hateful place. At the gate he gave one backward glance. There in the great bare room paced Helderman, with his eccentric stride.

Craig walked mechanically along the Drive, his brain in a whirl. “Deceived again! Deceived again!” a dozen spiteful little imps seemed to be saying to him. Here was the girl, whom to know was to trust) calling as a favored guest at the home of an utterly unscrupulous man. The thought galled him.

Suddenly he stopped and faced about He might wait and see when the girl came away—whether she was coming or not.

His abrupt stop seemed to act like a barrier to two men who had been walking quietly behind him. One of them involuntarily edged into the shadow of the fence; the other moved on with a show of unconcern. They were following him.

Just then a cab came along. Craig hailed it and leaped in.

CHAPTER X
THE NEW VALET

The next morning Craig slept rather late, then after a lazy, luxurious bath he donned dressing-robe and slippers, ordered some toast and coffee sent to his room, and set himself to the task of completing the going through of his mail.

The bell at the hall door sounded.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, admitting the caller.

A stout, smooth-faced man with considerably more upper lip than lower handed him a card and bowed respectfully.

“M. Goulet. Gentleman’s gentleman,” Rutherford read aloud and remembered. “Oh, I see, you’re a valet.”

“Oui, m’sieu. M’sieu Kelley of the Kelley Employment Agency sent me around here, M’sieu Rutherford.”

Craig looked keenly and amusedly at his visitor. The canopied lip and the French went queerly together.

“ What’s the M for?” he asked.

“Michele.”

“You are looking for a job—Michele?”

“Oui, M’sieu.”

“Say that again!” said Craig, smiling.

The man obeyed uneasily.

“Why don’t you say it in French?” asked Craig.

“I have said it in FrEnch, M’sieu.”

“It’s a beautiful brand of Irish!” Rutherford asserted. “But I’m glad of it. I’m tired of Frenchmen, and I don’t want a gentleman’s gentleman. Now if you only knew where I could find a man’s man—even if he were Irish —”

M. Goulet’s face grew radiant “Yis, sor! Ye wouldn’t mind an Irishman, sor?” “I certainly would—if his name was Michele Goulet.”

Craig liked the look of red-blooded manhood and blue-eyed intelligence that now took the place of the badly-assumed French composure and elegance.

“Me mither named me Mike Gooley, sor!”

“Do you drink, Mike?” asked Craig, a good deal more entertained than he showed on the surface.

“I do that, sor.”

“Do you smoke, Mike?”

“When it’s to me liking, sor.”

“Pipe or cigar, Mike?”

“Whichever ye have, sor,” Mike answered with a twinkle.

“I guess you’ll do,” said Craig, glad to find a man whose honesty actually enjoyed itself in the exertion.

“Thank ye, sor.”

“Just remember, Mike, to keep your hands off of me, and keep out of my way. I’m just able to get up and go to bed alone. I have mind enough to decide which shirt to wear; and I usually prefer to put in my own .buttons. The less you do for me, the better we’ll get along. Do you follow me?”

“I do, sor,” said Mike heartily.

Craig crossed the room and opened up a cellarette built into the wall.

“My liquors and cigars are here.”

“Thank ye for showing me, sor.”

“I did it so that you may know what particular place—to avoid. These are for me, Mike,” announced his new master with a definiteness that must make its impression on the new man.

“And where will I find me own, sor?” asked that worthy imperturbably.

From another this seeming impertinence would have deserved rebuke; but from Mike it came as naturally as his brogue. And the look of the man was of such adoring loyalty that he was reminded of a similar expression which had lit up young Maxwell’s face.

“Have we met somewhere before, Mike?” he asked.

“I caddied for ye once on the links, sor,” he answered; “and I can name the hunts ye’ve been in. I’ve read ivery line —”

“That’s all right, Mike. I guess we’re doomed to agree.”

He was right. Mike was not a ladies’ man, nor yet a gentleman’s gentleman, but a man’s man from start to finish. He was installed at once; and Rutherford prevented possible temptation by providing a bottle or so of the best Irish ever distilled, and a box of good cigars.

The new valet assisted at his toilet, and Craig left him as much at home as if he had always lived there, and set off downtown to enter on his new career in banking circles.

Craig was eager to get to work; but the caution that had always prompted him to get good and ready before he entered into any project, now led him to stop in at the specialist’s office. It was the same doctor who had sent him abroad after his accident upon the field; and he now firmly opposed the idea of Craig’s entering anything so confining as business for another six months, at least.

Rutherford was disappointed, but went on down to see how things were getting along in the bank, anyway. It made him feel somewhat reconciled to find that Ferguson, the cashier, was sorry not to have him at once.

“We are all itching to show you how easy jumping hurdles is, compared to what we are up against,” he said, looking with somewhat envious admiration at the athletic figure and healthy, cleareyed counte nance. “We want you to see how easy it is to come croppers in high financiering.”

“I’ve already met one high financier,” replied Craig.

“Who was he?”

“J. Baron Helderman.”

“Helderman!” exclaimed Ferguson. “You met him, eh? You’re making a fine start.”

“Is he then so wonderful?” asked Craig, interested to know just how his singular acquaintance stood with business mem “He’s one of the seven wonders.” Ferguson smiled. “Nobody knows what he’ll be doing next” “ In what way?”

“Rutherford, he’s a wizard! He’s going to be a giant down here on Wall Street!” said the cashier, “or else—he’ll go to smash.”

Craig made no reference to the house on Riverside Drive Instead, he set himself to make Ferguson tell more of its owner. This was easy to accomplish, as Ferguson shared with many others the wonder which Helderman’s amazing and freakish operations had inspired.

“Everything he touches turns to gold or seems to, at any rata He has unlimited nerve to carry through enterprises that we cautious fellows would not dare to swing. There’s something that inspires respect just in the bold look of the man. I saw him last Fall; and with that foreign walk of his, and the full beard, he looked like a Russian Grand Duke.”

“Full beard?” Rutherford repeated. “Why, he has a goatee,— a small one—now. Makes him look more like Mephistopheles.”

“Yes, I heard he had changed the style of wearing his beard. Everything about him is of interest, so the Street learns even that.”

Rutherford left the bank, and started home. He stopped at his club for lunch, but ate in abstracted mood. He kept wondering when and why Helderman had changed his full beard to a goatee.

At his apartment he found Mike in full charge, with the place looking ship-shape.

“How goes it, Mike?” he nodded to the man.

“Very well, sor. There was two men here today.”

“To see me?”

“No sor, to see me.”

“You?” Rutherford turned to his man with some severity. Mike must not be allowed to take too many things for granted.

“They wanted me to do them a bit of a favor, sor,” explained the man.

“That will do, Mike,” cautioned his master, starting toward his dressing-room.

“Excuse me, sor, I don’t think so. They wanted a peep at the insides of your safe, sor.”

“What?” Rutherford whirled about to exclaim.

“Yis, sor; and they offered me a fiver for the look.”

“Did they get it?”

“Not for a fiver, sor. They see me indignation, and they made it fifty.”

“Did they get it for that?”

“It still wasn’t enough, sor,” Gooley replied; and between master and man flashed a look of understanding.

“Tell me about it, Mike,” said Craig, sitting down.

The man did so, describing his visitors with a wealth of humorous and telling detail which left no doubt in Craig’s mind of the identity of the men.

“Did they tell you why they wanted to see the inside of the safe?” asked Craig.

“No, sor,” Mike answered, shaking his head.

“Look here, M’sieu Michele,” said his master suddenly, “do you think you could be bribed — with a big roll?”

“Is there a man living that can’t be, sor?” asked the man, his blue eyes opening wide.

Rutherford smiled at the candor. The two seemed to understand each other, in spite of speech.

“All right, Mike. The next time they come around—for they will be around!—you just make them come down handsomely.”

“And what’s that for?” asked the man in surprise.

“Never mind. You take the bribe—get all you can—and you’ll be doing your duty by me too.”

“Put it that way, sor, and it’s easy money!” replied Mike with alacrity.

The two men did not return, that day, however.

In the evening, Craig returned from a dinner with two or three of his friends, to find Gooley standing guard on the outside of the door, with his finger on his lips.

“Did they come, Mike?” he asked.

“No, sor. But there’s a gentleman and a lady in there, sor. I said you was expected back soon, and they said they would wait.”

Rutherford guessed from his man’s attitude that he was considerably impressed with the new callers. He could not guess who they might be, himself, so without any comment he handed his topcoat and hat to Mike, and entered the room.

A single light glowing in the center of the room indicated, without clearly revealing, its occupants. He saw a man standing tall and straight, awaiting him; while by his side, in the lounging chair, sat a girlish figure gracefully clad, her head crowned by the sweeping brim and plumes of a large hat. Rutherford was reminded of the lady who had called so unceremoniously, the day before, and imagined that Miss Arany was back again, in quest of the blue buckle.

“We’ll have more light,” he observed quickly, and stepped over to the switch which controlled the side lights.

The illumination brought his two callers into sharp relief. They were the Ballantynes.

CHAPTER XI
FATHER AND DAUGHTER

“Will you be seated, sir?” asked Rutherford, indicating a chair, and at the same time acknowledging the girl’s presence. He was plainly surprised at the identity of his visitors, and could not conceal the fact.

“Mr. Rutherford, I wish to apologize, first of all, for this informal visit,” said Ballantyne, with the quiet self-possession of a man of the world.

Rutherford bowed. He was at a complete loss to place this man, who gave every appearance of being a gentleman, but one whose actions left him open to suspicion at every turn. If he had nothing to conceal, why had he behaved so mysteriously in the Tenth Street house, shouting out his warnings, but never putting in an appearance to make his threats good? And if he were not the diamond smuggler, why was he calling to-day, unless it were to reclaim the gems which the girl had insisted upon restoring to Rutherford himself? As he thought it over, he had been more and more convinced that the girl was being made the innocent tool of a wide-reaching plot. How else could he explain those clandestine visits to Helderman?

Miss Ballantyne was plainly embarrassed.

“Are we quite alone?” she asked, glancing toward the door.

“Only my man out there,” replied Craig, determined to put all the explanations upon their shoulders.

“Would you—would you mind closing the door?” the girl faltered. “It’s—it’s very important that we should not be overheard.”

“Oh, I’m callous now,” replied Craig, with a glance toward the elder man. “ Mike wouldn’t understand—and I’m used to being overheard!”

The blood rushed up Miss Ballantyne’s throat and into her cheeks. The pearls above the edge of her low-cut gown gleamed white against the rosy flesh. She seemed almost ready to cry, but after a second her trembling lips suddenly curved into a smile. She also had recalled that first voice of warning sounding up from the lower hall.

Mr. Ballantyne glanced from one to the other, ill at ease and evidently understanding nothing of this contretemps.

Rutherford had already repented of his brusqueness. Somehow, it required only a look from this charming young woman to make him obedient to her every whim. He crossed the room, closed the door, and came back to a chair facing his guests.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Ballantyne?” he asked, purposely using the man’s right name.

It appeared to pass unnoted by the man addressed.

“Mr. Rutherford,” he began hesitatingly, “it may seem strange to you that 1 should seek a favor from a comparative stranger —”

He paused, as if at loss how to proceed, and Craig could not forbear a home thrust “Im always glad to be of service, I hope, even to strangers—but I do object to being made a party to crooked schemes!”

“Crooked schemes!” exclaimed both visitors in a breath. ‘

“I call smuggling about the crookedest business in which a man can engage!” asserted Rutherford. “And I want to say, once for all, that I am tired of being used in any such way!”

“Mr. Rutherford!” protested Ballantyne, with the controlled ire of an astonished gentleman.

“I tell you, I’m tired of this subterfuge! Your whole scheme is exposed. You over-reached yourself when you put that thing in my pocket!”

A moment of strained silence ensued, in which the two men glared at each other, each without wavering. Miss Ballantyne sprang from her chair, as if to prevent them from assailing each other bodily.

“Why, you don’t think we were smuggling that old steel buckle, do you?” she cried.

“Your father knows what I’m talking about,” answered Craig, continuing to glare. “I mean the diamond necklace.”

“Diamond necklace?” repeated Ballantyne, with every appearance of surprise. “I know nothing of a diamond necklace.”

“I forgot to tell him about it,” said the girl.

. “I guess he didn’t need to be reminded!” asserted Craig. “A man who has the reputation that he has—”

The girl pressed one impulsive hand upon his lips, while tears filled her eyes.

“Don’t! Don’t!” she pleaded. “Oh, you don’t know how your words hurt—what you say!”

Almost before Craig had inhaled the warmth and sweetness of her touch, she was across the room, bending over her father. He sat as if dazed, both hands gripping hard upon the arms of the chair, as if fighting for self-control. The girl’s hands, her lips, her anxious eyes, began coaxing, soothing, wooing. Gradually the face of the man relaxed its stem, hunted look. He seemed determined, for the girl’s sake if not for his own, to play the man; but to Craig’s amazement, not once did he wear the look of an exposed culprit. It was more the dejection and humiliation of a man misunderstood.

“Let me tell him; it will be easier. He does not know how his words hurt. Let me explain,” said the girl in a low voice.

Ballantyne must have assented, for she turned toward Rutherford.

“It’s a long story to thrust upon—a stranger,” she began, haltingly. “But we came because I urged it. I felt sure we could trust you. I—it’s like putting our lives in your hands!”

Rutherford faced her, startled. Did she propose to force him to aid her in their desperate schemes? The girl paid no heed to Craig’s strained attitude, but hurried on with her recital.

“You said—you intimated—that my father was a dishonorable man! Why you had reason to say it I do not know; but he is innocent of any crime. Yet he has been a marked man, without reputation, for many years—and has been powerless to right himself in the eyes of the world.”

Rutherford glanced at the man she was defending. His finely-shaped head was lifted, and an expression of proud resentment had taken the place of his dejection. Craig was forced to admit inwardly that he did not look like an ordinary crook or smuggler.

“For all these years—as long as I have lived,” continued the daughter, “my father has not been able to defend himself. But now that the man who wronged him is dead, we hope that he can again take his rightful place in the world.”

“Who was this other man?” prompted Craig, as the girl hesitated.

“It was his own brother. They had been in business together—and my father had—done something to displease my uncle. In revenge, my uncle—the man who is dead—robbed him of his money and—worse still—his reputation. He made it appear that my father had absconded.”

“What had your father done to anger his brother?” again prompted Craig, not unkindly, but determined to get at the facts.

“He had won the love of a woman his brother also loved,” she replied in a low voice. “While they were traveling abroad, my uncle Gregory falsified the accounts in their business, and wove such a chain of circumstantial evidence, that my father could not return for fear of arrest. He had to assume another name—that of Talcott Oh, he didn’t intend to live that way always—” she hurried on, noting Craig’s look of incredulity— “he has been working and hoping some day to clear his name. But he could not, while his brother lived.”

“You mean that Gregory Ballantyne swindled your father out of everything?”

“Everything—but the blue buckle.”

Rutherford almost doubted her sanity. She spoke of this worthless bit of steel as though it were a compensation for the loss of both property and honor.

“What can you mean?” he exclaimed. “The buckle has no value!”

“It is worth a million dollars, we believe,” she answered quietly. “Better still, it is worth my father’s good name—if we can find its mate.”

“There were two buckles, then?” asked Craig, too incredulous to trust himself with further comment.

“Mr. Rutherford, sentiment is responsible for a good many things in this world. Yes, there are two. The pair of old steel buckles has been an heirloom in our family; they originally acquired a sort of fictitious value because of sentiment. They were on the slippers of the first American Ballantyne grandma, when Captain Ballantyne of the Virginia colony met and courted her. They have been passed down from generation to generation, until my own grandmother wore them, as her most cherished possession. They would have been worn by my mother—had she lived.”

Miss Ballantyne paused a moment, and her father gently stroked her hand.

“When my father and his brother quarreled, my grandfather was still living; but my father’s disgrace shortened his days. My grandfather was a very rich man, who had a horror of family quarrels, and he could not bear that anyone should injure the family name. Why, years ago our family were dose friends and neighbors with Washington’s!” She drew herself up proudly. “And so my grandfather left his fortune in trust—my father being unable to obtain his portion until he had cleared his name. The only clew to the place where he had deposited this fortune lay in the pair of steel buckles, one of which he willed to my father, and the other to my unde Gregory. So you see that the buckles have a value quite apart from mere sentiment!”

“You got your buckle, then?” asked Rutherford, addressing Mr. Ballantyne.

“Yes. It was in trust in a bank in Paris, while my brother’s was in a New York bank. I claimed it a month after I had been driven from home by Gregory. I went for it, with the highest hope that it might be accompanied by something more tangible—something that would aid me in establishing my innocence. But there was nothing except the buckle.”

“How could that possibly aid you?”

“There is an inscription—we think it indicates the whereabouts of the money—but each buckle contains only half of it. One is useless without the other,” Miss Ballantyne explained.

“Sentiment again,” smiled Mr. Ballantyne. “My father probably supposed that my brother and I would make up our differences, if for no other reason than to secure the fortune. His intention was thwarted. It was a part of Gregory’s revenge that he should get his own buckle and keep it, so that I might never know the other half of the inscription. Even if he had been poor, the thought- of my exile, of the disgrace and poverty he had heaped upon me, would probably have been food and warmth to him!”

Rutherford sensed the bitterness with which Ballantyne spoke; he saw the tender sympathy in the eyes of the girl looking down upon him.

“It is only since Gregory’s death, a few months ago, that the way has been opened,” continued Ballantyne.

“The other buckle—” Craig began.

“We have come to America to find it!” exclaimed the girL

“Some one else seems to be looking for it, also,” said Craig casually.

Father and daughter sprang up in consternation.

“Who?”

“A Mademoiselle Arany, who crossed over with ns on the Gothic, came to see me about it.”

Ballantyne and the girl turned slowly and regarded each other with frightened, questioning eyes.

“Could she by any chance have—the other one?” Miss Ballantyne asked in a tense voice.

“I scarcely think so. She seemed to be in doubt as to the one I had, and wanted to see it — but had to depart unsatisfied. How do you suppose she could have known about the other one? ”

“I do not know,” said Ballantyne, knitting his brows. “Gregory must have regretted his deed — and wished to make amends to—the woman he had loved. Word came that if my wife or her daughter would place a certain advertisement in the Canadian papers, she would receive news to her advantage. It is evidently news of the other buckle. This Miss Arany might be Gregory’s agent.”

“I do not think so,” said Craig decidedly. “Have you any reason to suppose that others know about these buckles?”

“We did not think so, at first,” answered the girl; “but shortly after father received the buckle, he was set upon in the streets of Paris. We didn’t understand why, at the time, but they must have been after the buckle.”

“Did they search him?” asked Craig.

“Yes, but they failed to find it before my cries had attracted others to our assistance. It was after that that I began to keep it in my possession. Sophie —”

“Your maid? She was with you?”

“Yes, my good Sophie was with me, and she has been a treasure ever since. But I still did not realize the peril attaching to the blue buckle, until after that attack on shipboard —”

“What attack?” questioned Mr. Ballantyne, sharply.

“It was nothing—” rejoined his daughter, in confusion. She had evidently concealed this little adventure.

“What attack?” persisted her father.

“A man tried to snatch the buckle away from me, in the corridor,” said the girl, biting her lip; “but fortunately Mr. Rutherford came to my assistance—”

“My God! Am I exposing you to such things as this?” groaned Mr. Ballantyne, taking her hands tenderly within his own. “Mr. Rutherford, I want to thank you. I owe it to this brave girl that I am back here to fight for my name and fortune. Forgive me for my attitude awhile ago. I have grown super-sensitive—fearing that some one on this side would recognize me—would call me — just what you did! I have been despairing, rather than rebellious. My daughter, however, has nerved me to undertake for her sake what I would never have dared do, for my own. You understand that I am in danger of arrest. You realize how we are trusting you?”

Rutherford nodded. He had no answer ready. He was not certain whether Ballantyne referred to the arrest which might come, on account of the former alleged misappropriation of funds, or to the more recent affair of the diamond necklace.

“You see I am trusting you with—my father’s honor!” Miss Ballantyne exclaimed; and had she been a sovereign, she could not have conferred a title with greater pride.

Rutherford flushed at their confidence, but grew still more uncomfortable. Were they asking him to keep still about the necklace, after he had already turned it over to the Customs officers? He must make his position clear.

“Mr. Ballantyne,” he said, “I have listened to a strange and an interesting story, to-night. I have no reason to doubt it, and if true, you must have been a much-abused man. But still I cannot bring myself to justify you for securing money to carry out your plan by smuggling—and that was why I called you names, awhile ago!” ‘

Mr. Ballantyne looked at him in surprise.

“What is all this talk about smuggling?” he demanded of his daughter.

“It was—in his pocket,” Miss Ballantyne said, half-reluctantly.

“ What was?”

“Why, the diamond necklace everybody has been, making such a fuss about!”

“You told me you had perfect confidence in this man,” said her father sternly, still disregarding Craig.

“1—have!” she replied, with an exquisite blush that made Craig’s heart give a sudden leap.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this necklace, when you asked me to come and enlist him further in our behalf?”

“I—well, I knew you would look at it like a man, and not see—how it really was!”

Two bright spots burned in her cheeks, but she took up the cudgels for Craig bravely.

“You knew that I would put the only possible interpretation upon it,” Mr. Ballantyne replied, instantly.

This was turning the tables with a vengeance, and Craig listened more amused than vexed; and through it all he felt riotously happy to be thus championed.

“Why, how absurd, father!” persisted the girl. “You don’t think that Mr. Rutherford smuggled the necklace, do you?”

Nevertheless, the startled widening of her eyes showed how much she was accustomed to trust her father’s judgment. Craig saw that he must vindicate himself, as much to the father as to the daughter who stood regarding him with such intentness.

“Mr. Ballantyne, some one—some smuggler—used me as an unconscious agent. You can guess how much I had to do with it, when I tell you that I turned the necklace over to the custom’s house authorities, and received their receipt for it. I tell you frankly that I believed you to be the smuggler. I thought that you were using the lady I thought was your wife, to further your designs. And I was not alone in this suspicion. It was generally believed by every one on shipboard.”

“Every one thought that?” exclaimed Ballantyne. “Why, we heard nothing about it!”

“Naturally, because you were most suspected. But a message came to the effect that a bearded man and a young woman had bought a diamond necklace at Kirschwasser’s in Berlin. You two answered the description. Personally, I had nothing to disprove the suspicion—much that favored it.”

“What?” demanded Miss Ballantyne quickly.

“Why, your aloofness from the rest of the company; your seeming desire to escape observation; even that attack by the man whom I took to be the secret-service officer. You were constantly shadowed by him and another man. Besides—” Craig avoided her troubled, frightened eyes, and blundered on—“besides, Helderman had first spread the report about the smugglers—and — afterwards I saw you in Helderman’s room!”

Neither father nor daughter could have known of the desperation with which he spoke. He instinctively distrusted Helderman, just as he had blindly trusted her.’ But having seen her, not once but twice, in the company of that unscrupulous man, he felt that he must demand an explanation.

The look that came, for an instant, over Mr. Ballantyne’s face told how ignorant he was of this association. It was followed by a flaming look of wrath. The blood of his Southern ancestry was aroused. He held himself in check, but his eyes blazed ominously. The girl shrank as if from a blow, and drew near to her father’s side.

“You mean the Mr. Helderman who had such strange manners?” she asked coldly, repressing every other emotion in order to make sure of his meaning.

“Of course, I could imagine then that you—you had gone there to secure his assistance—that is, it seemed that way when I supposed you to be the wife of a smuggler!” Rutherford explained miserably.

“I had gone there! I—to his rooms? Is that what you are saying?” she cried.

“Why—I saw you there! Just as I saw you up at his home on Riverside Drive! You remember that dress—the one with the trailing fringe—?”

“Oh, how could you, how could you!” she stormed. “Father, he believes it! He believes it is true! He thinks I —”

Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her father’s shoulder. The white-haired man pushed her gently aside. He turned upon Craig like a lion fighting for its young.

“You scoundre!” he cried. “You must answer to me for this!”

He struck out blindly. But the weakness of his recent illness and his present rage were too much for him. Down upon the floor he dropped, in a crumpled heap.

CHAPTER XII
A “SETTING-UP” EXERCISE,

All the next morning, Rutherford was out of sorts with the world. He felt himself in the wrong; and yet every time he mentally rehearsed the events of the night before, he did not see how he could have done differently. Every circumstance —even the testimony of his own eyes—had seemed to make necessary the charges he had preferred; but the girl’s reproachful words, “How could you! How could you!” still rang in his ears. The memory of her white, drawn face still haunted him. He felt like a man condemned.

Events at the close of that stormy interview had been commonplace enough. Mr. Ballantyne had merely succumbed to one of the fainting spells, to which he had been subject since his illness. His daughter had seemingly forgot her own grief in anxiety for him; and Craig had been prompt and efficient with restoratives. His experience on the training fields stood him in good stead, in such simple cases as this. The invalid had rallied in a short time, but still seemed somewhat dazed. A call to Mike in the hall brought a cab to the door, and Craig saw his guests depart with mingled regret and relief.

Miss Ballantyne had never once looked in his direction through it all; and now thanked him hurriedly but constrainedly for his assistance. She was evidently too deeply hurt or offended to trust herself to speak.

“Heigho!” sighed Craig, pausing for the twentieth time that day to look out of the window, and muse silently. “That’s what comes of trying to play all the cards on the table! I’m tired of being dummy, though, in this little bridge game. It’s better to play your hand sometimes, even though you fail to win the odd trick.”

Which shows that Craig was somewhat of a philosopher, howsoever one might question his skill at auction—or at a deeper game.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt himself in the wrong. His explanation hadn’t explained; he must, try to make another, or at any rate apologize. Perhaps his heart was prompting him to take a course which, at any other time, he would have characterized as weak-kneed. But seek Miss Ballantyne he must—and would—that very day.

Another little adventure, however, interposed before he was able to put his pious resolution into effect.

He went down to the bank again, in the middle of the day, in order to distract his mind, and also to get another view of banking business. He wandered from one department to another, asking questions, and finding the maze of notes, checks, bonds, stocks, and certificates wonderfully fascinating. He in wardly resolved to cut the doctor’s time limit very short, and plunge into this busy vortex. He would willingly begin at the bottom, if some day he could master it all.

When he returned to his apartment, about four, he met a very excited individual, by name, Michael Gooley.

“Whist, yer honor!” said that worthy, detaining him at the door by a touch on the arm. “ Whist!”

“I’m whisting,” Craig responded. “What’s the excitement, Mike?”

“Excitement enough, sor,” replied Mike, reveling in the sensation he was about to spring.

He thrust his hands into both pockets, and drew out two fat rolls of one-dollar bills.

“I touched ’em for a hundred!” he boasted.

“Whom do you mean?”

“Them bribers, them corrupters, d’ye mind! The fellers who were snoopin’ around here the other day, tryin’ for to make me betray you. Well, you’re betrayed, by this token!” And he patted the rolls affectionately. “Say, Mr. Rutherford,” he continued, his eyes shining, “ suppose we divide up even. You take twenty-five, and I’ll take what’s left.”

Rutherford had no time to comment upon the mathematics, for at this moment a strange sound came from the rear room.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“Whist, yer honor! It’s them! I got their money—and I got them, too!”

“Where?” asked Craig in a breath, the spirit of the adventure seizing him.

His man was no less eager.

“In the room with your private safe, like ye told me to, sor!”

Craig looked at him with undisguised approval “Lead on, Monsieur Goulet!” he ordered.

But Rutherford followed only a few steps. He changed his course suddenly, and went to a cabinet whence he armed himself with a hammerless revolver. Then he knocked over a couple of heavy chairs violently, and with a swift tug tore the collar clear off the shirt of the astonished Mike.

“You would, would you!” he shouted. “Unlock that door and be quick about it!”

Mike gave him a second look, this time of understanding, .then fumbled clumsily with the lock on the inner door. He was a crestfallen, cowering creature to behold, when he stuck his head into the room beyond, and muttered:

“We’re caught, fellers! It’s the boss, and he’s got the drop on us!”

The boss promptly strode into the inner room, his weapon very much in evidence.

“Hands up!” he commanded crisply.

Two men who had been kneeling by the safe leaped to their feet, with hands raised obediently. They looked into the barrel of a business-like revolver, and past that into the steady eyes of the man who held it.

Rutherford gave a quick glance at the litter in front of the safe. Piles of canceled checks, account books, wallets, and safe-deposit boxes were scattered about. The formidable-looking safe bad held little of value, during bis two years’ absence abroad, and only be himself knew bow unimportant were the papers and objects through which the two men had been laboriously looking.

“You rascal!” shouted Craig at his squirming gentlemen’s gentleman. “Get their guns, or Fll shoot you!”

Mike sidled fearfully toward the two men, always with one eye on that steady revolver, and thrust a hand into each hip pocket. Then he backed away, in possession of the opposing weapons.

“Put them here at my feet!” directed Craig.

Gooley meekly obeyed.

“Now, what are you doing here?” Craig asked, looking at his captives.

Diffidently, as if afraid to breathe for their lives, the two men silently folded back the lapels of their coats, and brought to view two shining shields.

“Ah!” said Craig with studied surprise. “I think I have seen those decorations before. They are supposed to be—um—secret-service badges, I believe. Right?”

The men nodded, somewhat reassured that he had not already blown their heads off. Indeed, now that their authority seemed recognized, they began to take on more self-assertion.

“I suppose you have been searching my safe for smuggled jewels,” said Craig, dryly.

“Sorry, sir,” the stocky man spoke up; “hut duty is duty!”

He made a slight move as though he would recover his weapon.

“Stop!” ordered Craig; “or I won’t be responsible for the consequences. These hammerless guns are mighty quick on the trigger, at times. How, your notions of duty and mine don’t agree. They haven’t, for some time, as I believe I remarked the other day, over in Tenth Street. Still, I think I may be able to render the Government a service.”

With two swift thrusts of his feet he sent the two weapons lying on the floor spinning into the adjoining room.

“Gooley, lock that door!” he commanded.

Mike again obeyed, tremblingly.

“Gentlemen,”’ continued Craig, “the first duty of a secret-service man is to keep himself in perfect physical condition. You agree with me?”

They assured him that they did.

Rutherford put his revolver back into his pocket. With his eyes still fastened upon the men, he stepped backward and took down from the wall a long, slim, and exceedingly pointed rapier. This he swished through the air a few times with the ease of an accomplished fencer.

Still testing the blade he turned his attention to the stocky man; it was the same fellow who had tried to wrest the buckle away from its wearer on shipboard.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“John Meyer,” the man answered sullenly.

“It does as well as any,” Rutherford observed. “Mr. Meyer, I can tell by the whites of your eyes—which are yellow—and by your complexion—which is bad—that your liver is in no condition to do duty as the liver of a real, live secret-service man! Unless you take a little wholesome exercise, other than pawing over private papers which don’t concern you, I give you only six months to live; then you’ll die of fatty degeneration of the heart.”

The man smiled feebly and shifted from one foot to the other. Evidently he didn’t know what to make of this self-possessed young man who delivered medical advice, with a rapier and a revolver used by way of emphasis.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Oh, you needn’t thank me for that! That’s only a prelude. I mean to give you something really worthwhile!”

Craig sought Gooley with his eye. That Irishman could scarcely mask the wildly appreciative glow of satisfaction behind his assumed look of cowardice. He was fairly reveling in the situation.

“Mike, you rascal, open up the windows! Exercise always demands plenty of fresh air.”

Mike promptly did as he was told,

“Now, gentlemen, off with your coats!” Craig instructed.

The men looked scared, but they made no move to obey.

“Very well, then, I shall not insist. But I am afraid you will find your coats cumbersome before we are through. Have either of you gentlemen ever heard of what is called the ‘ setting-up’ exercise?”

The men darted swift, worried glances at each other.

“It’s great for the liver, and good for the heart,” Craig continued. “But before we begin, I’d like to know the name of the man who employs you to bother defenseless women, and enter cabins and apartments in their owners’ absence?”

There was a low grumble from the men, but nothing that sounded intelligible.

Like a flash, Craig was at them. His rapier swished dangerously close to their ears. The point of it touched one of them upon the knee.

“Down on your haunches!” he commanded.

They minded with surprising swiftness.

“Now up!” he ordered. “I tell you, it’s the finest exercise ever invented. Now down! Now up, now down, now up, now down again—”

They were hard at it by this time. Without mercy he made them bob up and down, the perspiration streaming from their faces the while.

“Told you you ought to have taken off your coats 1

But never mind: a free perspiration is good for one. It opens the pores. Great, isn’t it? Now, who is your employer?”

Howbeit, with all their sweating and puffing, they would not answer.

“Ah, a little more of the setting-up, eh?”

After that, for a few minutes Craig did not speak. His commands were the vicious motions of that villainous-looking blade. As it sang about them, they bobbed up and down like clockwork, until their unaccustomed muscles seemed ready to burst.

At the end of five minutes, Mr. Meyer rolled panting back against the safe.

“I—I can’t go on, governor!” he said.

Still Craig didn’t waste words. He simply touched the recumbent figure with the rapier point. Mr. Meyer resumed the wholesome torture.

“Lord!” he gasped, two minutes later. “I’m done. I’ll tell.”

“No!” the slimmer thief objected.

“Yes!” Meyer groaned.

“Your mind is made up, Mr. Meyer?” asked Craig.

“You bet!” was the heartfelt response.

“Then stay where you are, and rest. We’ll take another ounce or two of fat from the left ventricle of our firm young friend.”

The younger man stayed at it with a pluck that made Rutherford respect him. He bobbed until he literally could not force his body to obey his wilL

Hie sank down exhausted but silent. Craig knew, however, that he had Meyer in a communicative mood.

“Now tell me, Mr. Meyer, are you still after that necklace?”

“Nope, that never was our game,” said the man.

“Then what?” asked Craig in some surprise.

“A blue buckle,” was the reply.

In spite of himself, Craig started. Was all the world blue buckle crazy?

“Why did you want that?” he demanded.

“Dunno.” The man shook his head. “Orders is orders!”

“You didn’t find it, did you?”

“Nope, not this time.”

“One thing more, then. I must know the name of the person who sent you after it.”

Meyer pressed his lips tightly together.

“What? Rested already?” asked Craig. “You don’t mean you hanker after more of the settings up! ”

“Lord, no! It was Miss Arany wants it—but I don’t know what for. All I know is, she’s free with money.”

Miss Arany again! Evidently she had set her heart upon obtaining that bit of steel! And the businesslike way in which she had set about it, showed that she was no mean antagonist. The fact, also, that she always sent her men in his absence as sured Craig that his movements were being watched. He must he doubly on his guard.

“Now get out, both of you!” he said to the two men, convinced that he could get no more out of them. And as a finishing touch to his performance, he added: “You too, Gooley! You’re discharged!”

Mike tramped out after the two departing crooks; hut he wore a cheerful grin.

“Heigho!” sighed Craig, stretching himself. “I feel better now. That setting-up exercise is great—when the other fellow does it for you!”

CHAPTER XIII
THE LITTLE ITALIAN RESTAURANT

Feeling much more himself than he had felt all that day, Rutherford sallied forth about dusk for a brisk stroll. He disappointed the waiting cabby, the same man who had driven him to Riverside Drive, by shaking his head negatively, and set his face downtown as he brandished his substantial walking stick.

Across Madison Square he walked, striking Fifth Avenue at the Flatiron Building, and following that brilliantly-lighted thoroughfare down toward the spot where the white curve of Washington Arch marked the end of the old fashionable section.

As he walked on, he pondered over the changes which had taken place in the fine old avenue, even during his own memory of it—changes which had proceeded so rapidly that he was actually startled by the difference shown in the two short years of his recent absence. From Fourteenth Street to Twenty-third a mass of tall, ugly buildings had sprung up, almost obliterating the last of the old brownstone fronts and flaunting signs of “Lofts to Let,” or worse still the sign of some foreign garment-workers’ shop. Craig rubbed his eyes. Could this be Fifth, Avenue. the most famous boulevard of this great city; or had he blundered into some street on the East Side? Only the Arch at the far end, and the few blocks below Fourteenth Street, preserved any semblance of the dignity of old. Craig was to have this fact brought still more forcibly home to him one day later, when he tried to walk down the avenue during the noon hour. The sidewalks were a teeming mass of humanity, straight from the Ghetto, and newsboys hawked papers in a foreign tongue. Craig was forced more than once into the street itself, in order to pass this turgid mass; and was also included in the impatient, raucous command of the officer, to “move on!” Could this be America, he thought; and was this the prized thoroughfare of an American city?

To-night, however, before he reached the Arch, he turned at right angles down a side street. Rambling old West Tenth Street has no particular charms for a pedestrian, but through it he proceeded, impelled by something to which he gave no name, but acknowledged, nevertheless.

Presently he reached the house that he had entered with the supposed Mrs. Talcott. It was dark. He glanced at his watch as he passed the street lamp, and found it was seven o’clock. He wondered just what would be the proper thing to do at this informal hour. Certainly it was too early to call. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He decided to stroll back and forth down the block a bit, and think it over.

Suddenly the door of the house opened, and a girl, wrapped in a gray ulster, and with a little close hat drawn down over her hair, came down the steps. He had seen the cloak too often not to recognize it. The blue buckle had dangled from it, after the attack on board the Gothic.

The girl walked quickly to the street lamp he had just passed. There was a mail-box there, and she was evidently mailing a letter. He followed her quietly until she had stopped at the box.

“May I mail it for you, Miss Ballantyne?” he asked, lifting his hat.

The girl gave a little cry of surprise.

“Why, Mr. Rutherford, how you startled me 1” Then with a touch of hauteur: “Thank you, I’m quite able to manage it.”

But Craig was quietly helping her with the box lift, as though his presence here were the most natural and welcome thing in the world—neither of which seemed true.

“A truce, Miss Ballantyne!” he said, smiling at her frankly. “I don’t blame your being offended after last night, but things are too much upset at present for the commanding general”—he bowed to her —“to be at outs with the high private in the rear ranks!”

“Has anything else happened?” she asked quickly, forgetting her pique in the meaning which might underlie his words.

“Nothing highly important, yet somewhat divert ing. I’ll tell you all about it later, if I may, only please accept my apologies for last night, won’t you?”

She hesitated a second and then extended her hand “Mr. Rutherford,” she said simply, “I—we already owe you too much to hold grudges, and father is very much distressed over it all. He is positively ill to-day.”

“Can I see him?” asked Craig, impulsively. “I could at least offer him a good cigar.”

Miss Ballantyne laughed in spite of herself at his boyishness; but as he turned toward the house she drew back uneasily.

“No, you can’t see him to-night,” she said.

“Why, isn’t he at home?”

“No —that is—”

“It seems to me he is never visible, even when at home,” observed Craig.

The girl smiled in an amused sort of way, as though she were making game of him. But she made no reply.

“I’m going to keep you guessing,” she exclaimed.

“You’re going to keep me what?” he queried.

They had stopped at the foot of her own steps. Still no light gleamed from any window and Craig wondered how the girl could summon courage enough to enter such a place alone. The longer they stood there, the more awkward grew the situation. At last she broke the silence. A smile still twitched about her lips.

“I am not going to ask you in,” she said slyly.

“I am afraid you would find out too much about me if I did.”

“Is that your only reason?” queried Craig.

“You see,” she went on, “it’s Sophie’s evening out and I am still amenable to Mrs. Grundy. I have not the freedom that I could appropriate when you thought I was Mrs. Talcott.”

“But your father is at home,” said Craig. “He is chaperon enough.”

The girl was still smiling. “Do you know,” she said, “I think you liked me better as Mrs. Talcott than as Miss Ballantyne. I know you consider me yet a bit of an adventuress—at least I hope you do.” “Why do you hope I do?” asked Craig.

“I know just enough of men,” she laughed soberly, “to know that they prefer a woman who is a mystery. Beside, I have to pay old scores.”

“Old scores,” returned Craig. “Scores against whom?”

“Against you,” she went on, tantalizingly. “I am sure that mentally at least you have charged me with almost every crime on the calendar. Even now you are thinking to yourself that now and then I’m a pernicious little liar—oh, yes, you are.”

Craig mumbled something by way of protest. She had taken him completely by surprise.

“I am going to punish you,” she said, “by not telling you anything about myself. You are honest and frank-faced and sincere, Mr. Rutherford —” Craig started. Helderman had used almost the same language, only Helderman had been complimentary. This girl was not.

“I am beginning,” said Craig, “to believe I really am sincere.”

“Well, then, tell me honestly,” she said, “am I still a mystery to you?”

“You are,” he answered frankly, “a very bewildering and fascinating mystery.”

“I intend to remain one then,” she said, saucily.

“Bewildering and fascinating?” queried Craig.

“A mystery,” she answered, flushing, “a plain mystery.”

“Impossible,” said Craig, “for you to be a plain mystery.”

“I will be a complicated one then,” she returned, “so far as you are concerned. You have seen all there is to see, Mr. Rutherford, and I think that many people, especially a man like Helderman, could have unraveled all the mystery about me by this time at least. But I am going to let you guess. You have all the facts, but you have not arrived at the solution. Until you guess right you will think me a merry little prevaricator to the end. That is just to punish you. And so that you can’t guess right—and so that you can’t see any more I am not going to let you in. Now, am I more of a mystery than ever?”

“You are,” said Craig.

“You are sure you like adventuresses?”

“I like you,” said Craig.

“I hope you never solve the mystery that is me,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Oh, just because,” she answered.

Craig laughed aloud. “You’re just a woman after all,” he said.

“Do you know,” she said, impulsively, “it is impossible to be angry with you when you laugh like that.”

“Then prove it I” he said, heartily.

“How?”

“I have a bully plan I was just about to propose. Do you accept it?”

“No pigs in a poke, please. What is it?”

“I know a quaint little Italian restaurant, not far from here—one of the few landmarks left. As it is Sophie’s night out—also father’s—won’t you do me the honor to dine with me? ”

“You are going there?” she asked hesitatingly.

Rutherford nodded a lie.

“I—I believe I should like to see that little restaurant,” she admitted, looking up at him. “It is a little lonely at home, to-night!”

She spoke the words almost like a tired child would have done, and Rutherford felt a lump rise in his throat, as he drew her arm within his own. Poor, brave, lonely little girl!

“It is not, far away, and I believe you’ll like the cuisine,” he said in commonplace tones. And he chattered on everyday topics until they had found seats in a remote comer of the little cafe.

Only a few people happened to be here this evening. They had their comer quite to themselves, and the impassioned love-songs of the fat Italian baritone at the piano, were softened to them by the distance.

“I am going to lay a disagreeable ghost, once for all,” the girl announced suddenly. “What led you to believe that I—that you saw me with Mr. Helderman?”

“I—Oh, let’s not talk about it!”

“Please I”

“Miss Ballantyne, do I look like a person of sane and sober mind? Would you imagine that there was anything the matter with my eyesight?”

“Why, no—”

“Then I can only repeat that I saw you—or thought I saw you, as plainly almost as I see you now—as plainly as I saw you that moonlight night I first talked to you, out on the steamer deck, and as I saw you when you came back out and passed us, while Mr. Helderman and I were promenading.”

“I?—when do you mean?”

Nothing could be more genuine than the look of bewilderment that spread over Miss Ballantyne’s. face. She had ceased to be angry. She knew that Craig was honestly trying to tell her of occurrences about which she knew nothing.

He recalled the circumstances of that evening.

“Why, I did not return to the deck I could not find my veil, and father was not very well that night.”

“Sure?” asked Craig, bewildered in his turn.

“Positive!

“Then there’s some deep-dyed mystery still unsolved,” asserted Craig, with an attempt at lightness. “Let’s order dinner! They roast chicken delightfully here; and do you like red wine or white wine? They’ll insist upon giving you one kind or the other!”

Craig was right. The chicken was delicious, the romaine salad was a fitting accompaniment, and the wine wasn’t so bad.

“By the bye,” he continued presently. “I can solve one mystery for you.”

“What is it? Tell me!”

“You never found that veil, did you?”

“Why, no, I think not.”

“Ever lie awake of nights, wondering where that piece of chiffon had vanished?”

“Often and often!” she mimicked his mock-heroic style. “It haunts me in my dreams!”

He drew a small parcel from an inside pocket, and unfolded it carefully.

“When I thought it belonged to Mrs. Talcott,” he announced, “I hid it carefully. But now it is my proudest possession!”

“Silly boy!” she chided, blushing in spite of herself. “Come, I need a veil —”

“Not this one!” And he hastily restored it to his pocket.

There came a gap in the conversation. In the effort to bridge it, Miss Ballantyne fell in. Apropos of nothing she said:

“Is the Miss Arany, who called on you about the buckle, pretty?”

“Why, yes,” Rutherford affirmed, with studied calmness.

“Would you call her beautiful?”

“One of the most beautiful women I ever saw!”

“You—you admired her?” Miss Ballantyne was twisting her napkin with her fingers. She did not look at him.

“In some ways—yes,” he replied frankly.

“But she’s not the type of beauty you admire—most in a girl?” Miss Ballantyne continued.

“See here, young lady!” Craig said with assumed severity, “I refuse to answer by advice of counsel”

“You absurd man!” said the girl, laughing and flushing at the same time. “Don’t let her break your heart! But I—just wanted to know what she looked like.”

“Why, once or twice,— when I liked her most,— she reminded me of—you!”

“Ah!” The girl drew in her breath, with the sharp little exclamation.

Manlike, Craig took it that she was pleased with his compliment; and she did not enlighten him.

“By the way,” he observed, after a pause, “I may as well tell you that Miss Arany has taken quite ft fancy to me. When she isn’t calling in person, she is sending her agents, just to see if I am at home!”

“What do you mean?”

Rutherford related, with much drollery, the incidents of that afternoon, which had culminated with the setting-up exercise.

Miss Ballanlyne laughed delightedly at the story—then suddenly grew thoughtful.

“Did they get the necklace?” she asked.

“They did not want the necklace—at least, that’s what they said. They’re after—the blue buckle.”

“Oh!” She reached across the table and clutched his arm. “They didn’t get that, did they? ”

“Hardly,” he replied, reassuringly.

“Oh, I am so worried about the buckle! Please, please keep it safe! And yet I feel that I ought not leave it with you!”

“Why—have you ceased to trust me?”

“No, you know it’s not that—but I am afraid you will be watched now. Something might happen to you. They know it’s not in your safe, and will reason that you have it with you. Oh, if anything should happen, I would never forgive myself!”

“You mean, anything happen to the buckle?”

“Yes—and to you, too!”

Her vehemence had led her to say more than she had intended. Rutherford softly imprisoned the pleading fingers which had rested upon his arm.

“Would you really care?” he whispered.

“Don’t—you mustn’t!” she said, trying to release her hand.

“Would you?” he pleaded.

“Mr. Rutherford, we are out in a public place,” she protested. “Besides you know you could not —like—a girl you have not been able to trust!”

She said it brightly, but there was a little quiver of her lip. Craig winced in spite of himself. She was quick to note it, and rose from the table.

“Come, we must be going,” she said.

“Do not accuse me of not trusting,” he protested, as he helped her into her cloak “I have trusted you—in spite of many things I could not understand!”

“I know you have,” she answered, hurriedly. “But I cannot explain all—yet.”

Craig was forced to take comfort in that last word, as they emerged out upon the sidewalk After they had gone a little way, a short, stout man, who had sat patiently on a flight of steps opposite the cafe all the time they were within, rose from his cramped position behind the stone newel-post that had screened him from sight, and walked leisurely after them. He was careful, however, to keep on the opposite side of the street.

Rutherford mounted the steps of her home, with Miss Ballantyne.

“You must have wondered,” she said, “why we came to see you last night, and told you so much about ourselves.”

“I was too much pleased to be curious,” he replied promptly.

The comers of her lips trembled; then they curved into that satisfactory smile.

“You never miss much in life by failing to express yourself—frankly!” she said quizzically.

“I let you know how much I cared for you, when I thought you were married. Why should I hesitate when I know you are not?”

“You shouldn’t have done it either then or now,” she reproved.

“So that’s settled,” he said ambiguously.

“You are like nobody else but yourself!” she said quaintly. “ That’s why it seems possible to trust you, and to ask you to—do hard things. Father, of course, couldn’t understand, but I knew you would!”

“Something else?” he asked, happy in the personal tone the conversation was taking.

“Yes. That was what we wanted to talk with you about—if you didn’t mind.”

If he didn’t mind! They were in the little vestibule by now, and under pretense of helping her with the key he was holding her fingers longer than absolutely necessary.

“You will understand that there is nobody—that is, nobody with intelligence,. in this country, out side of my father, whom I could trust. I do not count Sophie—she is a servant. There is no one else but you. You will understand that father is continually ill He is nervous — always confused. He was a strong man once, my father, physically and mentally, and he will be a strong man again when all this is over with. But he has so much to think about that he can hardly think at all, and beside it is I and not my father who must be prominent in this affair. This strange legacy is for me. This will not only ignores my father—it prohibits him from sharing in it; it prohibits me even from living underneath his roof. By the terms of this will the relation of father and daughter must be actually severed. We have severed them technically. We are living up to the letter of the will. Outwardly we are estranged. We live apart.”

Craig started. But the girl held him with her glance. As she watched his face she could not help smiling.

“Your face is just an open book, Mr. Rutherford,” she said. “You have a speaking countenance and it spoke then—with eloquence.”

“What did it say?” asked Craig.

“It said,” she returned, laughing, “what miserable falsehoods this young female tells.”

“Oh, well,” said Craig, trying to smile, for she had read him truthfully, “there are times when every female has to lie, I guess.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, drawing away from him, “it is something more than your countenance that speaks. Let me go on.”

“Do,” said Craig, uneasily.

She changed her tone. “I want you to help me. I have got to get that other buckle. I’ve got to do things. I’ve got to put a personal in a Canadian paper. I’ve got to meet the person who replies. Father is out of the question. Sophie is a servant. I would feel easier if I had some one with me—”

“And it might as well be me.” He hummed softly the old Floradora tune.

“You seem to take your various responsibilities easily,” she said, as she carefully twisted her fingers loose from his detaining grasp. He could not see the expression of her face, in the half light, and did not know whether she was smiling or frowning at his levity.

Across the street, a man ensconced in a convenient shadow grinned to himself at their protracted leave-taking.

“Some responsibilities are so easy,” said Craig, “that it’s a shame even to stand up and be thanked for them.”

“I haven’t thanked you—yet,” she replied half saucily.

“Then don’t—yet—and let me choose the brand!”

He reached for her hand again, and encountered the key.

“I think I would better go in now,” she said hurriedly. “Could you be good enough to attend to the advertisement for me?”

“I certainly could—if you will allow me to accompany you, when you meet the person advertised for.”

“Oh, that duly has already been wished upon you!”

“Indeed? I had it confused with my rewards.”

“Mr. Rutherford, do street lamps shining through vestibule doors have the same effect upon you as moonlight?”

“How so?”

“Why—make you—sentimental?”

“You are the most tantalizing young person I have ever met!” he cried, reaching out for her, in the dark “And you are—obstreperous!” she retorted, eluding him.

She was inside the inner door, before he realized her intention.

“Just like a girl!” Rutherford grumbled to himself.

He heard a tiny laugh, and the door shut tightly. She had held it open a crack.

“Good night!” he called; and he fancied he heard a faint “good night!” from the opposite side of the panel.

Rutherford walked down the old stone steps, feeling as though he were treading on air. What cared he for, mysteries and buckles and necklaces and smugglers? This elusive and yet alluring girl was nearer to him to-night than she had ever been. He was gloating riotously in the knowledge that she really cared a little for what he thought about her. He was as happy in this small triumph—for a few blissful moments—as if she had been the usual kind of person whom he would meet in his own exclusive circle, instead of one he had never been able to classify, much less understand.

Then the absurdity of being headoverheels in love with a girl whose first name he didn’t even know, came pleasantly home to him. He actually blushed, walking along the street, as he reached into an inner pocket to stroke the little package containing her veil. He gloried in his possession of the blue buckle, as another evidence of her presence, albeit a dangerous one, as he had learned only that afternoon. He reached into another pocket, to satisfy himself that he still had it safe.

Suddenly the world flew sidewise into space. A million lights danced before his eyes, as Rutherford sank with a slight moan down on the pavement. Over his unconscious body a man bent searching carefully but rapidly. He seized a parcel and thrust it into his own pocket; then glanced stealthily around.

Down the street bowled a taxicab, which drew up to the curb, in response to his excited gesticulations.

“Hi there, stop! Here’s a man hurt. Drive us to the Sandringham! Be quick about it!”

The cabby helped the other man lift the limp, sprawling figure into the vehicle.

“It’s Mr. Craig Rutherford—address, the Sandringham. He’s hurt bad! Drive like the devil!” The chauffeur leaped to his seat and threw in the clutches the moment he saw the speaker enter the cab with its unconscious occupant. A few minutes run brought them in front of the Sandringham, and the driver jumped down again to help.

He jerked open the door. The wounded man was his only passenger.

CHAPTER XIV
“ OXB IVI ESAF IPSE”

The blow which felled Rutherford was delivered by the hand of an adept. It was neither too hard, nor yet too light. He awoke the next morning little the worse for it, except a dizzy, aching head.

Gooley was moving softly about the room, looking over at him with anxious eye. When he saw his master look uncertainly around, he was by the bedside in an instant smoothing the covers as lightly as a trained nurse would have done.

“Have a good strong cup of coffee, sor?” he suggested.

Ideal man that he was, he did not comment upon the injury, but came straight to the point of service.

“I—believe I will—thank you, Mike. I’m at home?”

“Sure, sor.”

“Somebody—get under my guard?”

“They did—the dirty blackguards! But the doctor said you’d be all right. I’ll fetch you the coffee, sor.”

As Rutherford’s head began to clear, he reasoned painfully over the events of the day before. Who 214 could be his assailant, and what was he after? His first answer was that it was one or both of the men whom he had caught in his. room, after the blue buckle. That seemed the most obvious clew. They had not found the buckle in his safe, hence had reasoned that he must have it on his person. With a groan and a sinking heart, he reached for his pocket, to see if they had rifled it—but encountered only the pocket of his pajamas. His street clothes were carefully hung up, and Mike was out of the room.

If it were not the blue buckle, what else could his enemy be after? The necklace, of course. He hadn’t thought of that before. He smiled sourly when he realized how completely he had forgotten it. He was coming to Miss Ballantyne’s apparent attitude, and not wasting time over things as trivial as strands of diamonds! But the smugglers weren’t likely to forget; and Craig called freshly to mind what Helderman had said about holding on to the necklace and thus catching the smugglers.

Who else besides Helderman, the smugglers, Miss Arany, her agents, and the Ballantynes, knew or could possibly have any interest in his actions? Why, the secret-service men—the real ones—of course! Craig gave a start, when it occurred to him that he might be watched, perhaps followed, by three different sets of people—the men after the buckle, the smugglers after the necklace, and the Customs men after dews. He was entirely too popular, he decided!

Granted that his first premise were correct, why should Miss Arany be so determined to secure the blue buckle? Why, indeed—his head was just sufficiently sore to make his wits active and his emotions dull—why, indeed, unless she were the person to whom it rightfully belonged? How could its possession do her any good, unless she were able to prove her claim to the property? If she were the true owner—then the Ballantynes, father and daughter, must be impostors, and this was the desperate game they were playing.

Ballantyne’s own appearance, not to mention the attractiveness of his daughter, seemed positive evidence against such an assumption; but Craig was, this morning, just sufficiently ill and out of sorts to resent his constant inclination to shield the Ballantynes. He made himself acknowledge that he knew nothing positive about them. Mr. Ballantyne had offered no proof that he was the rightful claimant of this estate. Rutherford relinquished the notion that the blue buckle was only a subterfuge to cover up the necklace affair, for Miss Arany would scarcely have attached so much importance to it, if it were. Neither she nor the Ballantynes had exhibited the slightest interest in the necklace. They had not concealed their interest in the buckle, but none of them had shown the slightest proof that they were entitled to it. It was impossible for him to know, too, how many assistants each of the fair claimants had enlisted in her cause. Craig thought uncomfortably of his unenviable position, if both sides got confused and came to regard him as an ally of the other. More unexpected punches in the head seemed to be the natural order of events for him! He would better have a placard printed for street wear—like the blind beggars—only his would read: “Hands off!

I am without buckles or necklaces!”

“Which will you have, sor?” asked Mike, tendering cream and sugar for his coffee.

“Neither!” asserted his master promptly. “I shall henceforth do without either necklaces or buckles, for personal wear!”

Mike felt his own head in silent sympathy, and then shook it gloomily. “It must have been an awful crack!” he said.

Rutherford shook off his dizziness with an effort, and reached for the welcome coffee. On the tray by its side lay a large white envelope, somewhat similar to one he had mailed, the night before. Calmly disregarding all his doubts and censures of a few moments before, he reached for the envelope eagerly.

Yes, it was from her, and he looked first to see how the name was signed at the bottom. Wilhelmina Ballantyne! An old-fashioned and somewhat cumbersome name, he thought, although it stood before him in a gracefully strong handwriting which did it credit Miss Ballantyne wrote to say that she was inclosing copy for the advertisement which he would please insert for her, in the accompanying list of newspapers. They were all Canadian papers, as she had said. She begged him also, as a favor, to keep a memorandum of any and all items of expense.

“Quite business-like,” said Craig, approvingly. “I shall send them off to-day, if this old head will let up.”

Nevertheless, in spite of the strong coffee, he presently fell into an uneasy slumber, and attended to no business of any sort, that day. The next one, he was nearly himself again, and the advertisements were duly sent off.

More than a week passed by, and during that time, which seemed unconscionably long to Rutherford, he neither heard from his client nor her advertisement. He was on the point of going around to see her anyway, just to “report progress,” when at last a letter arrived from Montreal, bearing the address of a legal firm.

Rutherford seized the telephone and called Miss Ballantyne up—but the operator gave him the wrong number. He tried again, and was informed sweetly that the line was busy. He went into the other room, that of the setting-up exercise, and swung a pair of Indian clubs vigorously while he counted one hundred. Then he came back and tried the telephone again, but could get no response from the other end of the line, although the operator assured him he had the right number. In desperation he called Gooley.

“Mike, can you find yourself around this town, without a guide?” he asked savagely.

“I’ll thry, sor,” said that oldest inhabitant with a grin.

“Then here, and be quick about it! Take this note for me to the address marked, on West Tenth Street. If the young lady is at home—the same one who was here with her father, a few evenings ago—ask to see her personally, and then request her to call me up, when no other person is present. Get me? If she isn’t there, leave this note.”

And Craig hastily scribbled a few lines to Miss Ballantyne.

Mike returned inside the hour, reporting that the young lady wasn’t at home, but her maid would give her the message just as soon as she returned.

“The verbal message or the note?” queried Craig sharply.

“The note, sor.”

Rutherford remained in all morning, chafing at the delay, but it was not until after twelve o’clock that the sharp tinkle of the telephone bell brought him to instant attention.

“Miss Ballantyne?” he asked, while his heart pounded.

The first clear tones of the answering voice reassured him.

“I’m so sorry to have given you any inconvenience,” it said; “but I was detained over town on an errand.”

“I understand,” replied Craig. “It was very important that I communicate with you this morning. I have just received a letter from Canada, which has been delayed a day or two in transmission. It informs me that I am to bring my client—that’s you—to the Ritz-Carlton, on Wednesday, the third—that’s to-day. We are to sit down at the third table from the second window, on the left side of the room, as you enter. The time is four-thirty. Can you be there? ”

“Certainly,” came back the girl’s voice. And she repeated the time and the place to make sure.

“It’s a queer appointment for a business meeting,” commented Craig. “At that time in the afternoon, the place is liable to be packed with a lot of fashionable women drinking tea.”

“Oh! Then I must be very smart!” die called back, her voice vibrant with excitement and delight. “I’m so glad I got my new hat this morning! That was what was detaining me over town.”

Rutherford grinned into the mouth-piece; but he liked the femininity .of the observation. Here was a girl going to an important meeting to claim a large fortune—if Miss Arany were not there to dispute her right—and the thought uppermost in her mind was the costume she should wear!

“By the bye,” observed Craig, before banging up tbe receiver, “has any one at your end of the line by any chance overheard our conversation?”

“Why no,” replied the girl quickly. “There’s no one else here, except Sophie.”

Butherford wondered if Miss Arany knew also of the method by which the property was to be claimed, and had likewise been invited to the Ritz-Carlton to prove her right It would be an exciting state of affairs if these two young women confronted each other, in a fashionable and crowded dining-room. Stranger things had happened. He found himself anticipating the interview with the eagerness of the small boy who has his first circus ticket in his pocket He was waiting in the hotel lobby when her cab drove up. She had made good her word; she was smart! He saw other men and more than one woman second his decision by turning for another glance at the slight, erect young person in her close, velvet street gown and the big velour hat flaunting a single white plume which swept around the crown and ducked queerly but attractively under the brim.

They turned together and walked toward the tearoom. Their images, young with the springtime of life and smart attire, moved beside them in the long mirrors.

“I’m glad you waited for the hat,” he said daringly.

“Then I couldn’t have passed muster otherwise,” she parried, shaking her head in mock sadness.

“Now you are fishing!” he challenged; “and my proper response should be—yon are perfect in anything—but I refuse to say it!”

“Too late now to mend your fences,” she reproved. “Besides you know that perfection cannot be improved upon.”

Thus chaffing they found themselves at the table agreed upon. Miss Ballantyne lifted the lapel of her coat and looked at a tiny watch in the buttonhole.

“It’s just four-thirty now,” she said. “Oh, I do wish the person—whoever it is—would come!”

Rutherford realized for the first time that she was terribly excited, and was controlling it only by great mental effort, Her cheeks were flushed, and she was darting swift glances in every direction.

“What if the person doesn’t recognize me?” she asked, suddenly, with a widening of the eyes.

“No trouble about that,” reassured Craig. “You are at the right table, so conditions are ideal —the time, the place, and the girl!”

He purposely spoke somewhat flippantly, in order to get her out of her tense mood; but she only knitted her brows.

“But how should he know me? You said that Miss Arany knew about the buckle, and she might come, too.”

Ah! She also had thought about her rival! Craig wondered if she dreaded meeting this other claimant, from any fear as to her own proofs.

“I think he would know you in a thousand,” Craig answered.

“But how?”

“From my description of you.”

“I don’t see how you could have given him any description of me, in this short time,” she protested, in a low voice.

“I think he has had time to get it. He must have been in New York when the advertisement was seen, and probably was informed about it by wire; for I was asked to send an adequate description of you to him, at the General Delivery. I sent it down by my man, this morning.”

“Isn’t it all mysterious!” she exclaimed.

“Very!” agreed Craig heartily. He was thinking how little of the mystery she really suspected —or that he was suspecting her of suspecting! He had a small scar on the back of his head as a sign of one phase of it.

“I—I wonder if your description was a good one?” she asked, feminine curiosity too strong to be suppressed.

For answer, Craig took from his pocket a piece of paper—a carbon copy of a typewritten description of her. She read it, and a soft flush crept slowly from chin to cheek, from cheek to the tips of her ears, until at last, in spite of herself she was blushing furiously.

“Don’t you think it rather —”

“Inadequate?” he interrupted. “Yes, I noticed that—but I’m not a trained writer, you know! Besides, I was afraid to be quite honest. It might mislead the searching party.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you tell me that, by the terms of the will, you must apply personally? Well, I was afraid if I laid it on too thick he might think I was an interested party; in short, that I was making love tq you!”

“I’m afraid anybody would think so—after that!” she said half-defiantly, with a return of the beautiful rosy color.

“Only ignorance could ever so mislead one!” he said flatly.

She glanced at his imperturbable expression, unable to make herself believe that she didn’t know the signs of love-making, when they had been so brazenly displayed.

“I don’t understand,” she faltered.

“Of course you don’t,” he replied, promptly; “else you would know I could never be accused of sentiment—yet! Why, this isn’t a circumstance to what I could do, if I really got started! ”

She looked at her watch again, quite unable for the moment to reply to this audacious person.

“I wish he would come!” she whispered, nervously.

As if in answer to her entreaty, a man stood at her elbow, bowing and smiling as confidently as if he were the one person in the world they both expected and wanted to see.

“Ah! so you are here!” he said; “that is good!”

It was J. Baron Helderman.

Rutherford was so astounded by the advent of this man that he did not move.

“Perhaps you expected someone else, Mr. Rutherford; and you, my dear Mrs. Talcott,” said the franker, suavely.

Craig thought that he had never detested the man more than he did at this moment, as he stood sweeping the girl with admiring and omnivorous eyes. Why should this man thrust himself into the girl’s life at every opportunity? And why, if he had a secret understanding with her, did he use this mysterious method to bring about a public rendezvous? Yet it was just like the man who had twisted and doubled all over the ship! Craig looked sharply at the girl, who to every appearance was merely greeting again the casual acquaintance of a voyage.

“It is Mr. Helderman, I believe,” she said in surprise. “Why, you cannot be —”

“The person who was to meet you here at four-thirty?” he finished. “Why not? You see me here at the appointed time, do you not?”

“Why, yes, but —”

“Of course you would wish to satisfy yourself,” continued Helderman quickly. “That is right. It is up to me to satisfy you—to identify myself with the transaction. To set your mind at rest let me suggest that you are here in the interest of a certain blue buckle. Am I not right?”

“Yes,” assented the girl, eagerly. “Have you the identifying papers or the other buckle, Mr. Helderman?”

“Not with me,” said the financier, guardedly. “The matter is in fact in the hands of a legal firm’ at present, but it is necessary for me perhaps to be personally satisfied. It is I who must know as well as you. I wish to assure myself personally as to the proof. If you care to let me examine your own buckle for a moment —”

Miss Ballantyne glanced over at Rutherford and Helderman followed her glance confidently. But Rutherford shook his head. He had reasons of his own for not trusting this man.

“We will have to make a further appointment with you, Mr. Helderman,” he said, outwardly courteous. “This is such a public place that we did not come prepared with all the proofs.”

The two men regarded each other steadily, each seeking to read the other. And then there came an interruption.

“Mr. Helderman—Mr. Helderman—”

A page slipped about calling the name. The financier rose while women on every side who had heard of Helderman craned their necks to get a glimpse of this strange Wall Street character. He excused himself regretfully, promised himself the pleasure of another interview with “Mrs. Talcott,” calmly ignored Rutherford in the invitation, and sauntered out of the room with his eccentric stride.

“How strange. Will he come again?” Miss Bal-lantyne asked, excited and worried by his abrupt entrance and exit, which left her knowing no more about her quest than she had known before.

“I imagine so,” said Rutherford, also left at a loss to explain this turn of the situation.

“Is it not strange if he should be the one to bring me into my fortune, and there he was on the boat with us all the time. He naturally didn’t associate me with the Ballantyne estate when he heard me spoken of as Mrs. Talcott. I wonder just what he has to do with Geoffrey Ballantyne’s property.”

She was talking as much to relieve her nervousness as in expectation of an answer. But her question was one that Craig had been asking himself.

“Helderman is a mystery to me, but he is known—well known as a financier —and he may have money. He may have influence. There is an air of something international about him. He knows many people. He may have known your uncle personally. He may know more about this matter than we think, and he may—since his knowledge seems clear and definite—be the man you are looking for.”

“Why did you refuse to let him see it?” she asked, quickly.

He did not tell her that he distrusted the man, but fell back upon a sufficient excuse.

“Because I didn’t have it with me,” he replied.

“Why not?”

He saw that the best way out of the situation was to tell her the last adventures of the buckle, which he did as quietly as possible. When the two men had searched his rooms, that afternoon, the buckle was, in fact, in his inner pocket. By the merest chance it had not been transferred to another coat which he wore in the evening, when he called upon her. At the time of his attack, it was resting quietly in the pocket of the coat at home.

“So you see I realized it might be lifted,” he concluded; “and I deposited it in a safer place down-down.”

The girl’s eyes had opened wider and wider during his story. Her lips trembled.

“Do you mean to say that you were attacked that evening after you left me?” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, it was nothing,” he said, vexed that it had seemed necessary to tell of this adventure.

“You were hurt!” she breathed. “Do not tell me ever that there is nothing in telepathy.”

“Why, what do you mean?” he asked.

It was her turn to be vexed at saying too much. But she explained bravely.

“After you had gone, that evening, I was so disturbed I couldn’t sleep. You may remember, I warned you in the little cafe to be careful, as those men were employing desperate measures. It was very far into the night before I could close my eyes, and then I had a troubled and ridiculous dream. I dreamed that I saw you shipwrecked out in the ocean; and the raft to which you clung was—the blue buckle!”

Rutherford laughed.

“Well, my life-raft is moored in safe anchorage now,” he said, lightly. “So please do not be uneasy about it.”

‘ “Please do not believe I was uneasy about the buckle alone,” she said slowly. “I should be worse than ungrateful if I allowed you to run into such danger —”

“For my sake” was on the tip of her tongue, but she ended abruptly, her lips still trembling, her eyes shining.

Rutherford felt uncomfortable, as though he had deliberately told of his adventure, in order to arouse sympathy. He detested sympathy in any shape or form. On that day two years ago when he had all but broken his neck in the fall from his horse, he had muttered to the crowd of sympathizers: “Leave me alone! Go on with the game!” They regarded it as an expression of iron nerve, but with him it was only a natural desire, like a wounded animal, to be let alone.

Wishing to change the subject, he asked: “By the way, did you ever try to read the inscription on the buckle?”

“Yes, but as it is only one-half and all mixed up, I can’t make any sense out of it,” she answered.

“Do you remember the exact letters?”

“I could not forget them, if I tried,” she answered; and she wrote on the edge of the menu card:

OXB IVI ESAF IPSE

They bent their heads over it, close to each other.

“I suppose it’s either very simple or very difficult,” she said, ponderingly.

“Let’s try the simple theory first,” he suggested. “That first word looks like BOX, turned around.”

“So it does!” she exclaimed. “And esaf—why that would be SAFE, wouldn’t it?”

“Right-oh!” he agreed. “I think we are getting along famously.

“Ivi,” she puzzled, “ivi—I wonder what that could mean?”

“That doesn’t sound like an English word, hut more like a numeral,” he replied.

“Of course!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “It means VII, or the number 7. How stupid I was not to guess this before. Ipse—ipse—do you know of any word like that?”

Craig was forced to acknowledge that he did not. Then he had a bright idea.

“Why, it’s Latin,” he said. “Ipse—in itself, by itself. ‘ Safe box number 7 by itself. Box safe number 7 in itself.’ That must be what it means. But it doesn’t tell where.”

“No,” he cried, discouraged, “it doesn’t tell us where—and that is what must he on the other buckle. Oh, I do wish Mr. Helderman hadn’t gone away so abruptly I”

“Perhaps he doesn’t know as much as we do. Perhaps he was only trying to find out what we know,” remarked Craig, wisely.

“Why, you can’t mean—that you distrust him!” she said, looking at him in a startled way.

Rutherford’s heart gave a leap at this further evidence of her freedom from culpability.

“We must distrust everybody until this mystery is cleared up,” he replied evasively.

“But Mr. Helderman with all his millions!” she protested. “As well suspect him of picking a pocket—or smuggling in that famous necklace!”

“Just as well,” agreed Craig cheerfully.

Miss Ballantyne was puzzled by his manner, and then as if suddenly remembering his former doubts, she flushed painfully.

“I wonder if he intended to come bade again, this afternoon. He might have that other buckle in his pocket now. Wasn’t it exasperating!”

“It was, indeed,” again agreed Craig.

How long they would have continued to talk at cross purposes neither of them knew; but a welcome interruption took place. A man had approached them quietly, and was now peering eagerly into the face of the girl, who had faced him with a start. The man wore glasses with disfiguringly-thick lenses. He was plainly near-sighted.

“This is Miss Ballantyne?” he asked; “and you, sir, are Mr. Rutherford?”

Craig assured him of their identity.

“I am sorry that we could not have had our conference at four-thirty,” said the stranger, “ but I received your message in the lobby.”

“Message?” repeated Craig, in surprise.

“Yes—to the effect that you would be detained until five.”

The newcomer, did not notice Craig’s astonishment, so intent was he in comparing Miss Ballantyne’s appearance with the description he had evidently memorized. He was as impersonal in his professional manner as if she had been some rare butterfly.

“Your description was quite adequate, Mr. Rutherford,” he said. “I should easily recognize our client from it.”

“But you, sir—who are you?” Craig exclaimed.

“I am Jerome Leclerc, agent for the firm in charge of the Ballantyne estate,” said the man composedly.

CHAPTER XV
TRUTH OR FALSEHOOD?

Miss Ballantynb’s face was a study. Astonishment, hope, and fear struggled for expression. Rutherford, however, after the first instant’s amazement, was keen to investigate the claim of this newcomer to being the accredited agent. There were altogether too many unexpected things taking place in the involved tangle of necklace and buckle for him to allow this meeting to go uninvestigated. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Helderman were returning, but without result. He looked this newcomer over gravely, and the man returned his gaze in an even more searching manner, thanks to the thick glasses.

“Have you something to prove that you are Jerome Leclerc?” Craig asked with his usual directness of speech.

“These.”

The stranger laid five newspaper clippings on the table. They were the notices that Rutherford had inserted in the Canadian papers. By their side he placed the original of Craig’s typewritten description of the girl. And other papers of identification.

“I might mention that I am fully empowered to carry out the provisions of the late Geoffrey Ballantyne’s will, in the matter of—the blue buckle,” he said briskly.

“Oh!” Miss Ballantyne merely breathed the exclamation; but it showed that she was vainly trying to reconcile this man’s claim to credence with the financier’s pretensions.

Rutherford could follow her thought, as he was going over in his own mind the whole of Helderman’s conversation. He could see how ambiguous it was—how by suggestion he had led Miss Ballantyne into admitting the object of their meeting. It was entirely probable that Helderman had only made use of his wits—the shrewd, keen wits seemingly endowed with a woman’s intuition and a business man’s trained logic—to say the very things which would draw his hearers out. How well he had succeeded, Rutherford was only too ready to admit, with a rueful shake of the head. He had certainly found out why they were there!

“You say you were told that we could not see you at once?” Craig asked.

“Yes, that you were engaged with some one, but would be at leisure in a few minutes. The boy came and told me, only just now, that you could see me.” There was a faint suggestion of impatience in Leclerc’s voice. He still remained standing, papers in hand.

The two seated at the table looked at each other askance.

“It was a clever scheme I” exclaimed Craig.

“Do you believe that—he arranged it—to find out about the buckle?” she gasped.

“Precisely.”

“But how did he know that we were to be here?” she questioned as much to herself as to him. “No one could possibly have known about it, except your man and my maid.”

“Gooley is trustworthy,” said Craig, shortly.

“And you know how I trust Sophie,” she said.

“It’s more that I do”— Rutherford thought, but did not say.

“If it is convenient we will get to business,” announced the agent in his crispest tones.

“Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Leclerc 1” Miss Ballan-tyne cried, rising to her feet “Please do sit down!”

Rutherford reddened, as he sprang up and helped the man draw a chair dose to the table.

“I beg your pardon, sir! The truth is, we have just had a somewhat disquieting adventure, and it has made me forget my manners.”

The lawyer accepted the apologies and the proffered seat.

“You have come prepared with your proofs, Miss Ballantyne?” he said, coming to the point with a promptness which seemed habitual.

“Yes, sir, they are all here: the marriage certificate of my father and mother, some family portraits, the certificate of my birth, my baptismal record; I have even brought some merit-records from my early school days, so that you might be quite sure.”

Miss Ballantyne had opened a Russia-leather bag which looked like a music case before the lawyer, or agent, as he had called himself in his correspondence. She had carried it herself, refusing the offer of both Craig and the waiter to relieve her of it, when they entered the dining-room.

The lawyer ran through the documents with a quick and practiced eye.

“Very good, I think,” he said approvingly. “I must make a few notes to compare with records in our office. And, Miss Ballantyne, it is necessary—I am acting exactly according to the instructions set down in the will of a deceased client, you understand— it is necessary for you to furnish affidavit that you live—alone.”

Miss Ballantyne seemed entirely undisturbed by this strange condition, but Rutherford heard it with dismay.

“So I have understood, Mr. Leclerc,” she replied. “You may not know the reason for such a provision; but my uncle, Geoffrey Ballantyne, did my father an irreparable wrong in life, and now seeks this means to prevent him from regaining his property and, what is dearer, his reputation.”

The girl’s face glowed in her enthusiastic defense of her father; but the lawyer was impassive and attended strictly to the business in hand.

“You can furnish me with the required proofs?” he said.

“Certainly,” she replied, with an assurance to which Craig listened with growing perplexity.

“Are they with these papers?” the lawyer asked, indicating the leather bag.

“They are,” she answered, turning deftly to the desired document.

“I see,” nodded the lawyer. “Affidavits to the effect that you live alone—that is, that you do not live with your father, or he with you.”

“Yes. I do not suppose such affidavit excludes my maid.”

Rutherford stared at Miss Ballantyne. Surely she must know that she was uttering deliberate falsehood— yet her face was the very mirror of innocence. She must have forgotton that he had heard her father’s voice in the West Tenth Street house not once but twice. He had been denied an invitation to the house on the night of their visit to the little cafe, because of her father — and because of something else—a mystery that he could not fathom.

The lawyer was examining this paper more closely than the others.

“You understand, Miss Ballantyne, that I am concerned only with your fulfilment of the conditions of this remarkable will to the very letter. I must be convinced that you are practically separated—actually estranged—physically separated from your father.”

“I will leave that paper or any others with you, Mr. Leclerc. You will find also in the packet an affidavit from my father in which he swears that we have never lived under the same roof since coming to this country —”

“Miss Ballantyne!”

Rutherford could not repress the exclamation. It hurt him like a sharp wound to hear her make such an astounding statement to this man without raising her voice or so much as the flutter of an eyelid. How could she expect him to believe her after this? Still without the flutter of an eyelid she glanced saucily at Craig—and there was a challenge in her glance. It was as though she said —“I am doing this, Mr. Rutherford, not you.” She turned back to Leclerc.

“You will find also,” she said slowly, “an affidavit from me covering specifically all persons who have entered my home. You will find the affidavits of the manager and the clerk of the Hotel Monolith. They will prove to you that my father registered there exactly twenty-five minutes after he was through with the customs officers at the dock where the Gothic landed, and that he has lived there ever since, spending each night and most of every day at that hotel.” Rutherford said no more and withdrew his eyes from the girl—though she did not withdraw her eyes from him. He would have been uneasy had he known that those eyes were laughing at him. He leaned back in his chair, busying himself in studying the menu card. He remembered distinctly the events of that first crowded day. He had heard her father in the West Tenth Street house not later than an hour after he himself had left the dock. Knowing the suspicion attached to the smuggled necklace, he was certain that Mr. Ballantyne would have had a longer seance with the customs officers than he himself. Of course, the presence of the necklace in his own pocket had doubtless resulted in an earlier escape for Mr. Ballantyne; but certainly he could not have finished with them, gone across town and registered at the Monolith, and then gotten downtown to West Tenth Street again in less than an hour!

Craig sought refuge from this staggering weight of evidence by puzzling again over the unexpected appearance of Helderman, that afternoon. Then he suddenly remembered that the banker had deliberately brought up the subject of the blue buckle, on that first meeting on shipboard.

Like a flash, it occurred to Craig that Helderman’s interest in it and that of Miss Arany might be identical! He did not recall having seen them together, on the Gothic; but the banker might have met and mingled with many passengers, unknown to him. It would be quite natural that Miss Arany, evidently a foreigner, should have rested her claim to the buckle in the hands of this blatant financier, whose queer connections abroad had brought him to her attention. Helderman might well have heard of the meeting this afternoon through the sly Sophie, and have come in person to see what the Ballantyne fac tion were doing to outwit his client. It was a clever little ruse, and had worked admirably.

Whichever way Craig turned his mental vision, the prospect was displeasing, and he resolved to wash his hands of the whole matter—a resolution which became fixed, now that he heard this girl with the innocence and grace of an angel telling a tale absolutely at variance from his own observation.

“I must examine and verify these,” observed the lawyer. “It will take the better part of a week.”

“And then —?” the girl questioned eagerly, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“On Friday of this week—if I can manage it by that time,” said Leclerc, looking through his thick glasses, as though he had only now discovered a humanness and charm in this new client. “ Meet me at three o’clock in the afternoon —”

“Here?” she finished, too impatient to await the slow speech of the man at law.

“No—at the offices of my correspondents, Cowen, Covington and Brown, Number 32 Nassau Street Will you undertake to pilot Miss Ballantyne downtown?” he asked, turning to Butherford.

The latter took a memorandum book from his pocket and consulted its pages.

“I’m sorry, but I shall be unable to be there,” he said, quietly. “However, I shall make note of the address, and will send a car around for Miss Ballantyne.”

As he scribbled, Miss Ballantyne looked quickly at him. He could feel her glance, but did not meet it.

“Your address, Miss Ballantyne,” the lawyer requested; “in case I should find it necessary to change the hour or place of the meeting. And one thing more—do not fail to bring the blue buckle with you. Is it in your possession?”

“It is in safe hands. I shall bring it,” she replied.

As he wrote down her address with careful precision, she said, timidly:

“You have asked me several questions, Mr. Leclerc. Now may I ask you one?”

He peered down into the eager, upturned face with a calmness that was little short of amazing to Rutherford.

“Certainly—though I may not be at liberty to answer it.”

“You have the other blue buckle?”

“Not with me,” was the lawyer-like reply.

“You have seen it? You remember how it looks?” Miss Ballantyne leaned forward, clasping and unclasping her hands, in the effort to subdue her excitement.

“Possibly,” rejoined Leclerc.

“Tell me the inscription on it, please!”

It was a command rather than an entreaty, made with all the bewildering appeal that womankind has known how to use since the world was young; but the present man of business and caution was unshaken.

“Is there an inscription on it?” he parried.

Miss Ballantyne leaned back in her chair with a little sigh of disappointment. She had read the lawyer’s determination to give her no information. Leclerc took advantage of the ensuing silence to gather up his papers and say good-by.

After he had departed, Craig waited a moment for her to speak—perhaps to offer some explanation—but she only passed her hand across her eyes, as if in weariness.

“You are tired, Miss Ballantyne,” he said. “Come, it has been a taxing afternoon for you. Let me call a cab.”

“Thank you,” she said, rising and walking toward the dbor, in obvious preoccupation of thought.

He assisted her into the cab, and was on the point of closing the door upon her, and giving her address to the driver.

“Why—aren’t you coming?” she asked, startled out of her brown study.

“Thank you, no,” he answered, turning the door.

Her small gloved hand was suddenly laid upon his, as it rested on the sill.

“ I wish you would!”

“I’m sorry, but —”

“I shall think—you are not pleased with me—that you have been thinking unkind things about me!” And there was the sheen of tears in her eyes.

Rutherford was not pleased with her, but was still less pleased with himself. Without another word he entered the cab.

The girl glanced timidly at him, once or twice, and seeing that he was not disposed to speak, she made a brave effort to begin the conversation. Her lips parted uncertainly with a forced little laugh; and her voice was not quite steady, as she said:

“Do you know, Mr. Rutherford, what this reminds me of?—why, of that first ride we took together from the ship—when I—I forced myself upon you, and you were very glum—oh, much glummer than you are to-day!”

Craig glanced swiftly at her, and saw that her mock-banter was employed to relieve the tenseness of the situation—that she was fighting hard for self-control. He felt again a great, over-mastering sympathy for this slender girl fighting a man’s battle against such heavy odds. She was pitted against clever, unprincipled men and resourceful women; and he, her one mainstay, had been on the point of deserting her!

“Child, child!” he whispered; “how can you expect me to understand—when you do not tell me all!”

“You’ve been so good tome—to us, Mr. Rutherford! It hurts me to feel that you—you think ill of me—and I cannot prevent it—yet!”

“Yet! What do you mean by that?”

“I cannot tell you,” she replied.

“Then I shall suspend judgment until you can.”

“You have judged me already!” she said.

“Then I shall reverse the decision until—shall we say to-morrow?”

“Oh, that is too soon!”

“Until you explain then,” he announced.

“What is the—first thing—you want me to explain?” she asked, very low.

“How your father can have a dual personality—can be two places at once!”

He did not want to accuse her, in so many words, of falsehood; and now instead of cringing under his implied accusation, she merely laughed. Looking at her he felt all desire to cross-examine die away within him, and instead a manlike eagerness to make the most of his opportunity with this provoking bit of femininity.

“Miss -, what other name have you besides Wilhelmina?” he asked, laying his hand upon the little gloved one, by his side.

“Father calls me Billie,” she answered.

“Billie, Billie, Billie!” he whispered; and with every utterance of the saucy little name he drew nearer to her.

At this moment the cab stopped.

“Look, we’re home, and there’s Sophie out in front. I’m glad she returned before I did.”

They had, in fact, drawn up in front of the West Tenth Street house. The maid was just going up the steps, evidently from an afternoon out. Rutherford, provoked, assisted his companion to alight, and she ran up the stairs to give some instructions to her maid. The latter glanced around furtively at Rutherford, before unlocking the door and going in.

“Miss Billie, I’m coming in,” announced Rutherford in a voice which indicated that he meant to carry out his intention. “I have something important to say.”

Miss Ballantyne made no protest, for she seemed to see that it would be useless. Rutherford came in.

“Oh, Mademoiselle, the telephone has been ringing— long!” said the maid, coming back to meet them. “Shall I answer it, yes?”

“No, I will answer, Sophie,” said her mistress.

She went upstairs, and Craig followed. The bell was, indeed, ringing with a long-drawn insistency that suggested it had been doing so for a long while.

Miss Ballantyne took the receiver, and at the first words she turned pale.

“Wait a moment,” she said to the other person; “Mr. Rutherford is here. Tell him, please! ”

Rutherford was by her side. Her voice told him that something unusual had happened. She held out the receiver to him.

“Wait!” he whispered, and he tiptoed quietly back and closed the door. “Who is it?” he said, returning.

“Father,” she answered.

“Hello, Mr. Rutherford!” the voice called. “I disliked to alarm my daughter unnecessarily, but I have reason to believe that some persons, one of them a man, visited the rooms there, this afternoon.”

“Where—here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“I heard a man’s voice and a woman’s voice. I didn’t recognize the latter, but the man was Helderman.”

“What! Helderman!”

“Yes, I couldn’t possibly be mistaken in his voice. I heard him plainly.”

“The woman couldn’t have been the maid here?” Rutherford spoke low into the transmitter. “Perhaps she was explaining her mistress’s absence to a caller.”

“Nonsense!” retorted Mr. Ballantyne, impatiently. “I know Sophie’s voice, of course. It was another woman.”

“Weren’t you here?” Craig inquired, bluntly.

“They were talking about—the blue buckle,” the answer came, evading his question, apparently.

“About what time?”

“Between a quarter after five .and half-past.”

Rutherford glanced at his watch. It was six-fifteen.

“Your daughter was not here then. She was with me at the Ritz-Carlton. We saw Helderman there. Are you sure?”

There was no reply. Evidently the connection was cut off, or Ballantyne had no more to say. Rutherford hung up the receiver and turned to the girl. She had followed the details from his half of the conversation.

“If Mr. Helderman was here,” she whispered, “he must have come directly here after leaving us.”

“And he must have known that your maid would he out, too,” observed Craig. “Look here, Miss Billie Ballantyne, your father must have been here, here, this afternoon, in this house, under the very self-same roof with you!” And he pointed an accusing finger at her.

“Oh, no! He —he—”

“Don’t story to me!” stormed Craig.

Miss Ballantyne gave him one long, straight, very angry glance, and swept out of the room with the air of an offended princess.

CHAPTER XVI
THE GRIP IN THE DARK

Rutherford found the taxi still waiting in front of the house, and departed therein, in high dudgeon to his club and to dinner. After that function, partaken of in austere silence, he allowed three of the fellows, one being Monty, to inveigle him into a game of bridge. He and Monty were triumphant by some twelve hundred points, and he departed for home with a rising barometer.

A few minutes’ vigorous exercise of the same sort that he had given his unwelcome visitors, a few afternoons before, made him feel quite fit and ready to retire; and he turned in to begin a sound and refreshing sleep unbroken by any of the mental perplexities of the day. His conscience, at any rate, was proved to be clear, even though his brain had been muddled.

How long he slept he did not know—nor why it was that he awoke with an uneasy start. He had heard nothing, at least with his waking mind, but now he lay motionless but with every sense alert—his eyes wide open, striving to pierce the darkness.

He was sure that something or some one was moving about in his room.

The figure was not erect; he would have seen it as a blurred shadow. It was crouching or crawling in the darkness along the floor.

Mike never came into his room after he had retired, and he would have had no cause to prowl around like a beast on all fours. No, this was some foreign presence or person. But how silent it was! He knew that he sensed rather than heard the intruder. He scarcely breathed, so intent was he upon locating and identifying some sound.

Presently he was sure he detected a stealthy movement, as though the writhing object were crossing the room. It was coming in his direction, but he did not move. He felt no fear. Instead, he was busy speculating in a detached sort of way just what would be the best way to counter an attack. He had the trained sportsman’s caution. He had hunted big game too often not to know that in his own coolness lay his greatest safety.

Holding himself in motionless alertness, he made his ears do double duty. They assured him of one stray fact after another, as to the visitor’s actions. Gradually he discovered that in all likelihood he had to deal with a burglar, but not an ordinary second-story man. This was a pastmaster in the profession—a very prince of thieves! His motions were as silent and yet as certain as though he were a nocturnal creature gifted with the power of seeing in the dark.

Ah! a quick, tiny flash of light that vanished almost as soon as seen! His prowling friend had an electric pocket-lantern, and had used it for reconnoitering purposes. One glimpse, however, seemed sufficient, for the flash did not reappear. This man took no needless chances; he made his wits do his work; he must indeed be the arch-burglar of the tribe.

Rutherford lay upon his side, in the exact position he had found himself when awakened. He could see very little, strain his eyes as he might. A chair, on which hung his coat and waistcoat, interposed itself dimly between his vision and the window. Could his eyes be deceiving him? The chair was no longer rigid, but had begun to move—oh, so slightly! Still, by sighting it against the sharp line of the window-sill, he was sure it moved.

The chair certainly was not moving of itself. He knew that, extended along the carpet, the sinuous figure had reached forth a long, white hand to grasp it, and was slowly pulling it further back into the obscurity of the comer.

Rutherford waited for that moment, the time of his opportunity, of which his instinct would inform him. He watched the chair move barely half an inch at a time, until it was a little way from the bed. Then he heard faint sounds which told him that the hand had reached up and was searching through one pocket after another. He made no outward protest to this careful search; on the contrary, he suddenly devoted himself to giving a perfect imitation of a man sound asleep. The tiny searchlight had swept across his face inquiringly. He breathed deeply and reg ularly, and soon his art was rewarded by a slight motion of his pillow. The determined and curious hand had slid underneath it.

His time for action had come. With the swiftness and agility of the sprinter leaping away at the tape, Craig flung himself clear of the covers and with a flying stride was upon the burglar, throttling him.

Surprised and stunned the man went down. Craig’s hand went out instantly to the burglar’s right. He tore the pistol from the clenched fist, and flung it across the room.

“Now I’ve got you!” he breathed between set teeth.

The thief offered no resistance or disagreement to this view; he simply lay supine under Craig’s clutch. Craig had released his hold upon the man’s throat, and this lack of effort to escape was unnatural. Ninety-nine out of a hundred burglars would have put up a fight. This was evidently the hundredth, and his very acquiescence might show his superiority to the average breed. Rutherford knew too much of human nature, united to a general working knowledge of burglars, to believe that the man would submit to being taken without a protest. Likewise he had discovered, as he clung tenaciously to his quarry, that the person underneath him was no less an athlete than he himself, with bone and sinew and muscle quite as hard as his own.

He must be cautious, therefore. A human mechanism like the one he gripped was not to be caught and hauled to justice without a contest. Craig was sure that the man only awaited his chance, just as he himself had done, as he lay there in the bed, a few moments before. It was to be a struggle of wits, as well as of muscles.

Under his pillow which the burglar had not had time to explore lay a revolver. If the man knew of its presence, his first move would be to secure it. This would again give him control of a very delicate situation. Determined to remove him from this dangerous proximity, Rutherford gave a mighty wrench that lifted both himself and his captive clear of the floor. Again he was warned by the ease with which the man abandoned himself to his rough handling. Pulling him away from the bed and into the middle of the room, Craig stood holding his man, with arms pinioned to his side, in a bear-like embrace.

In the tenseness of the moment, two things came forcibly to his notice. One was that while he himself was breathing fast and hard from his exertion, the breath of his captive was as even and regular as if he were asleep. The other was that neither of them had made a sound in their quiet encounter.

In the silence he heard the chimes from the clock in the stately tower on .Madison Square complete their quatrain, indicating the close of an hour; and after a moment the bell boomed out the hour of two.

Realizing that his antagonist was playing with him, allowing him to use up all his energy, Rutherford gathered himself together for a mighty effort. The push-button on the opposite side of the room would summon Mike. He must reach it, if he had to drag this inert weight all the way across with him. He turned in that direction.

Whether the man suspected his intention, or decided that the time was now ripe for an effort in his own behalf, Rutherford could not guess. He only knew of the swift change of attitude, as a grip like the snapping shut of a steel spring closed down upon his arm. He knew that hold. He had never felt it but once. He had never in all his experience in the world of sport met such another. In his amazement he uttered a single word —

“Helderman!”

That second of surprise with its accompanying relaxation was his undoing. The man who had submitted to being dragged about like a sick kitten became a thing of iron and steel. He seized Rutherford in the adept clasp of the trained wrestler.

The two would have been pretty evenly matched, but for the fact that Craig had been taken by surprise, and also was not as fresh as his antagonist. Despite these handicaps, however, he met the onslaught with a skill and wariness which soon showed the assailant he had no mean antagonist.

The man was seemingly avoiding coming to blows, or doing anything which would attract attention on the outside; and for some occult reason it went against Craig’s grain to call for help. No, he would fight his own battles, win or lose!

Suddenly, the man wrenched himself clear of Rutherford, and darted toward the door, as if he had but one object in view, to make his escape. Rutherford darted after him. The next instant, the retreating figure reversed its motion and met the oncoming man with terrific momentum. Rutherford was hurled to the floor by the impact. He felt himself seized in the grasp of two long, lean, powerful arms, which seemed to him more like those of a gorilla than a human being.

Slowly but surely he was bent back across the knee of this cunning opponent He struggled vainly, feeling ribs and muscles which had not yet fully recovered from his hunting accident twist and strain. He thought he must burst asunder. A groan was forced from his tense lips, and the merciless agony was ended by unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XVII
AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE

When Miss Billie Ballantyne flung out of the room, in scornful protest of Rutherford’s suspicions, she did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Certainly things were at cross-purposes, and she was as yet powerless to straighten them. But he might trust her anyway, she told herself, and not be perpetually wanting explanations! Just like a man! With which piece of feminine logic she comforted herself, as she listened ruefully to the sound of his departing footsteps down the stairs.

She was tempted to call him back and try to explain, but she feared only a further tangle. It seemed a perversity of fate that the moment one situation was cleared up or explained, another even more exasperating should interpose. She did not see, or would not see, that her own enforced silence had been responsible for most of these misunderstandings. She only tossed her head and repeated, “But he might trust me anyway!—And if he doesn’t, why should I care?”

But for all that, her eyes were suspiciously red the next morning when Sophie entered her room. Her reason to the observant maid was truthful enough.

“I slept badly last night, Sophie, and my head aches a little this morning. I wish you would do over my hair, please; that hat tumbles it frightfully.”

And with a deft sweep of her fingers, she loosened the few remaining pins and let the long thick tresses come tumbling about her face.

“I have a letter for you, Mademoiselle—a, what you call it?—a special deliver,” remarked Sophie, as she rearranged the hair with practiced hand. “Do you wish it now?”

“By all means,” said her mistress, quickly. “I wonder whom it could be from?”

But although she took the missive from the maid, she made no move toward opening it until she was alone. In her heart she hoped it was from a certain obstreperous young man, extending the olive-branch of peace; but the strange handwriting which confronted her was a disappointment. It ran as follows:

“My Dear Miss Ballmtyne:

“The message which called me from your charming society, yesterday, so suddenly was, curiously enough, concerning you. It was a letter sent up from my office by one of my clerks who knew I had gone up to the Ritz-Carlton. Its contents were so disturbing, that I could not trust myself to return and talk the affair over with a third party present—even though he might be as trustworthy as our mutual friend, Mr. Rutherford. I am therefore taking the liberty of asking you if you will be at home, this evening, and can grant me a brief interview. I assure you it is a matter of importance to you; while as for myself, while I regret its necessity, I am more than pleased personally to have this opportunity to cultivate an acquaintance 1 have long regarded as highly desirable.

“If you have other duties, will you be good enough to telephone my residence, before noon? Otherwise, pray expect me at eight o’clock sharp.

“With all good wishes for the safe conclusion of your present business matters, and every desire to serve you,

“Very sincerely yours,

“J. Bason Heldekman.”

Mr. Helderman again! She sat and stared at the communication as if in a trance. True he had promised himself another interview, but since then they had been fully persuaded that he was trying to trick them. Besides, her father was sure that he had entered their house surreptitiously, in her absence. If that were true, why this sudden bold move in the open?

More important still, should she see him? Her first impulse was to telephone, not her father, but Craig—because he knew more of the circumstances, she told herself. But pride held her back. He had accused her of fibbing, the night before, and she must wait for him to apologize! So she held a short conversation with her father, and he saw no objection to the interview; on the contrary, pointed out that it might be very advantageous to her. It was not every day that influential bankers concerned themselves with the personal concerns of possible clients.

The message, therefore, was not sent, and at the appointed hour a smart limousine rolled up to the old-fashioned house on West Tenth Street.

Helderman felt elated to be received so graciously by the self-possessed young hostess, although he may have felt surprise at being ushered into the somewhat bare study. The sole ornament to relieve its business-like aspect was the splendid homed head mounted upon the table.

“Please pardon my use of this room, rather than the drawing-room,” she said, cordially. “To tell the truth, the latter is a trifle upset to-day, over some necessary renovating, and your appointment was at short notice.”

“Say no more, Miss Ballantyne,” replied the banker. “If I might be allowed to speak the truth also—the bareness of even a prison wall would be atoned for by the presence of a charming woman.”

He said this in a tone void of offense, but his eyes spoke volumes of admiration, as they swept over the winsome picture before him. Miss Ballantyne, always a connoisseur of color effects and harmonies, had never appeared to better advantage. Her dress, while of inexpensive material, was of an indescribable hue of blue-white pearl. It was just scanty enough to give an air of old-fashioned quaintness to her appearance. Her young, warm-hued shoulders peeped from a bodice, the upper edge of which was outlined by a dully-lustrous trimming. The buckles on her slippers were of the same dull pearl. The colorful loveliness of the girl herself contrasted with the severely colorless costume. Around her shoulders was loosely thrown a pale blue scarf, its folds secured by a blue buckle.

“I see that you have a penchant for buckles, Miss Ballantyne,” said Helderman. “A pleasing idea!”

“There is a great deal of romance connected with buckles, in our family, Mr. Helderman,” she replied; “and as for myself, I confess I love them.”

“A unique fancy, and charmingly carried out! But, if I might make so bold—this is not the famous blue buckle, is it?”

“You mean the one I wore on shipboard? No, this is a more modem invention.”

“You still have the other?” Nothing could have been more careless than his tone.

“I do not always wear it,” she parried.

Outwardly she smiled, as though they were talking about the latest opera or something equally remote from her own interests; while inwardly she marveled at the assurance of this man. If he only knew what she suspected of him, she wondered what would be his attitude.

Suddenly, Helderman forsook his careless indifference, and drew his chair close to where she sat by the square desk. His eyes gleamed brightly, although his voice was still schooled to courteous calm.

“Miss Ballantyne, you may wonder why I left you so unceremoniously, yesterday, and why I am calling this evening. It is because I feel a deep concern for your interests, and would render you a service—any service in my power! Oh, if you would only be lieve this—how much your happiness means to me!”

She looked at him a trifle startled, and he continued in a more formal way.

“We spoke of your blue buckle just now—the blue buckle. I would warn you to guard it carefully—to trust it to no one! You may not know it, but others seek it and its meaning, as well as yourself!”

In spite of herself she started slightly. He was telling her nothing new—and yet coming from him who had been suspected of being the arch-conspirator, it was odd, to say the least!

Helderman saw her gesture and placed his own interpretation upon it. He continued in even tones:

“I may tell you, as I informed you yesterday, that I am indirectly interested in this affair, but only in so far as it concerns the relinquishment of the estate to the right party. I knew Geoffrey Ballantyne in life —”

“You knew my uncle!”

“Yes—and I have reason to believe that he regretted the injustice he had done, and wished to make reparation. But he has involved his will in so many curious safeguards, that his purpose may be defeated by impostors!”

“Mr. Helderman, if you knew all this, why have you not sought me before?” The girl was looking him frankly in the eye, and speaking with an ingenuousness which forbade concealment.

“You forget, Miss Ballantyne, that while on ship board you were under an assumed name. How should I know that, even if you were interested in the Ballantyne estate, you were not—an impostor i” She flushed, but her glance did not waver.

“But you remarked upon the buckle!”

“True; it was the first thing that attracted me to you—and then I did not care what name you bore—whether you were an impostor or not!”

Again his eyes gleamed, as he leaned toward her. Could it be possible that this man was really paying court to her? In order to fend a dangerous situation, she said lightly:

“A dubious compliment, Mr. Helderman, when one is classed with impostors, willy-nilly!”

“ I have long since ceased classing you thus, Miss Ballantyne. I know that you are the rightful owner of the buckle, and the one to whom my old friend Geoffrey Ballantyne would have his property go. But ahead of you loom deep pitfalls, and I have come to warn you of them.”

“Will you please explain yourself?”

“If the buckle is not in your personal possession, that is bad. It is in danger.”

“Why?”

She would not commit herself on this point, for she felt the man’s keen eyes regard her searchingly. The leads must come from him. His next was even more unexpected.

“If you are to prove your claim—this week—it would be well to go alone, and avoid confidantes.”

Was he endeavoring to cast any slur upon Mr. Rutherford? Did he by any chance know of the appointment at the attorney’s office? She instantly divined that he did not know, but was seeking information. Yet why should he, whom she supposed to be an enormously wealthy banker, have any underhanded interest in the matter? She would employ his tactics. She would temporize, and seek to draw him into some admission.

“Why should I be so mysterious?” she asked artr lessly. “Even though some one else knew about the buckle—obtained possession of it—they could not show my proofs; they would not dare to — impersonate me!”

She was looking straight at him as she spoke, and she fancied that he gave a slight start, as her last words came out with emphasis. But he met her look with look.

“Stranger things have happened, Miss Ballantyne. One may easily be impersonated—and personal proofs are of value only so long as they remain in one’s own possession.”

She realized the truth of his words. It came as a sharp mental shock to her, that all her proofs were now out of her hands, and in the lawyer’s possession. Supposing in any event he gave them up—what possible chance would she have to recover! As if perceiving his advantage, Helderman proceeded.

“The message that called me away from you, yesterday, was to the effect that there were two claimants for the Ballantyne estate—both women—both young—both beautiful! It will resolve itself into a question of personal identity. You must be on your guard!”

Miss Ballantyne did not sense the compliment embedded in his warning, so amazed was she at hearing him tell of a possible double. She recalled that Rutherford had been fully persuaded he had seen her with Helderman—and who else could he have seen but this impersonator? But he had seen her with Helderman!—and here sat the man himself, warning her against the other woman! It was inexplicable. The man must have some ulterior purpose in exposing his cards in this manner; or he must rest secure in the belief that she had no witnesses for anything he might utter. She smiled a trifle scornfully, when this idea occurred to her.

Helderman saw her smile, and it goaded him on even more than her non-committal attitude.

“You may think it singular that I have taken all this trouble to warn you of things, many of which you may already know. But what you do not know is the inexhaustible resourcefulness of — your enemy. That enemy is constantly active—constantly at work, in channels you know not; and aiding her is a large supply of funds, against which you would be helpless. I am telling you this frankly, through a selfish motive, for there is only one way in which you can controvert such agencies.”

“And how is that?” asked the girl, breathlessly.

In spite of herself, the magnetism of this man, his boundless energy and enthusiasm, were reflecting upon her, just as Craig had felt them on their first meeting.

“You must marry me!”

The words were uttered almost in the tone of quiet command. Miss Ballantyne sprang to her feet, her hands clasped against her breast.

“Pardon me, sit down please, and hear me out.” He had not risen; and the girl, almost against her will, sat down again.

“I am a man, as you know, of wide influence and some success in the world of business. I have made my success by never deviating from the path I have laid out. While others have hesitated, I have gone straight ahead, turning neither to the right nor to the left, until I have obtained what I sought. I tell this not to boast, but in order that you may know with what sort of man you have to deal.”

He paused a moment, and she found time to say, somewhat ironically:

“You seem to regard this as merely another business matter, sir!”

“Yes, and no,” he answered, quietly. “But I want you to see how essential is my influence to your cause. I can command unlimited financial support, which will assure you of success. My knowledge of this matter, no less than my standing, will be absolutely invaluable to you. Think what it means, my dear Miss Ballantyne. J. Baron Helderman is not accustomed to making such offers as this; nor is he accustomed to being refused!”

“Nor is Wilhelmina Ballantyne accustomed to being bargained for, like so much bank stock!” retorted the girl.

As she confronted him with scornful, flashing eyes, Helderman far from being repelled seemed to be attracted all the more. It is the charm of the unattainable which makes the prized object all the dearer.

“I crave your pardon for speaking of the—practical side, first,” he said, in low earnest tones, bending toward her. “We men of affairs are too apt to forget that ’tis love that makes the world go round. Will you give me credit for sincerity when I say that ever since I first saw you, on the Gothic, I have hoped and worked and longed for the moment when I could pour out my heart to you! My desire to serve you is but a part of this expression. I love you, as I never loved gold, or power—as I never believed it possible to love any woman!”

“Stop, Mr. Helderman! Do you think it is quite honorable to make a business engagement the pretext for any such avowal as this?”

“Can you not believe me?” he pleaded.

Looking at his fervent, adoring eyes, the girl felt with the swift instinct of womanhood that he was telling the truth about his passion, however she might doubt his other pretensions. And granted this premise, he was a man quite desperate enough to go to any extremes—even to the betraying of the other woman, if she were his accomplice—to the furthering of his desires. She resolved once more to be cautious, to temporize. “You—you would not expect me to give you a definite answer to-night, Mr. Helderman—unless it were a negative one —”

“At any other time, I should not be so urgent,” he replied, almost fiercely. “But a great many things hang upon your decision.”

“Do you mean to—threaten me, Mr. Helderman?”

“By no means, child—but you need protection right now—this week!”

“Why, I am not so alone, so helpless as’you would infer!” she blazed up. “There is my father — and—and —”

“The precious Mr. Butherford!” he sneered. “Your father does not dare appear in this matter. He is suspected of a serious crime —”

“What do you mean, sir!”

The young woman had drawn herself to her full height, and was looking at him in a blaze of indignation.

“Why I mean—if you must know—a serious smuggling plot. And Mr. Craig Butherford is also being trailed by Government detectives —”

“False! As false in the one case as in the other!” she stormed.

“Ah! You are quite a champion of his, I see!

But the young man—does he—ah, return your trust?”

It was a chance thrust, but a home thrust. The girl could only reply by tapping a little bell. Sophie appeared at the door.

“Mr. Helderman cannot be detained longer, this evening, Sophie. Will you kindly let him have his hat and coat?”

CHAPTER XVIII
SHOWING THE USEFULNESS OF AN ALIBI

When Rutherford again opened his eyes to a dull, insistent sense of suffering, it was broad daylight. Someone was still kneading his tortured frame persistently.

“Helderman, you devil, stop!” he commanded, hoarsely.

“Keep still!” said a voice of authority.

Craig tried to turn, to see who it was that spoke; and a tearing pain like the twisting of a three-cornered knife in the middle of his back nearly threw him again into unconsciousness. In spite of it, he vainly tried to rise, to leap at this man’s throat and end it all. Anything was better than to submit to being played with, like a mouse in the clutches of a hungry cat.

“Keep still, I tell you, or I shan’t be answerable for the consequences! “

Rutherford peered up through the daze of pain. The man who bent over him had a dark beard.

“Helderman—you scoundrel!’’ he gasped.

“No, Pritchard—the surgeon,” retorted the other man. “Now, listen to me! If you don’t stop tossing about until I find out what’s the matter with you, it will be all up with you about ever walking again.”

Rutherford subsided with a feeling of utter misery that even dominated his agony. He could stand a certain amount of pain: but the possibility of being a helpless cripple was too much for his present endurance. It was the same alternative he had faced, that dark day after the accident on the field; and the pain that now tore and shot through him was frightfully like the other.

“You’re pretty well done up,” the surgeon observed, as much to himself as to his patient, after a series of investigations which seemed to the victim like* an inquisition.

“It’s in the old place,” muttered Craig—then he added savagely, “but I will get well!—I will walk!”

“Good for you! I like your spunk!” said the doctor.

Craig breathed heavily, then he inhaled again and turned his eyes toward the practitioner.

“ You using chloroform on me?”

“No—some one beat me to it, and has spilt all the bottle on your man here.”

“Gooley?” exclaimed the sufferer anxiously. “Hello, Mike!”

For answer, Mike lifted up a sick-looking countenance, then struggled to his feet, saluted, and collapsed back into his chair.

“Whoever it was, he made a thorough job of it,” observed Pritchard.

Craig nodded weakly.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d like you to call my regular physician to help you on my case. He pulled me through before, and knows all about my kinks.”

“Good idea,” said the surgeon. And seeing that Mike was in no immediate condition to be of service, he paused from his labors long enough to telephone as Craig directed. This done, he proceeded with a treatment which Craig realized was skilful and intelligent, if painful. It was a severe but scientific massage; and as he continued the strenuous work, his patient felt in his bones—literally speaking—that the harm he had suffered was not so serious as he had feared.

The physician, too, grew cheerful as he worked. Finally he ceased his mauling long enough for Craig to ask a question that had long been in his mind, but he had not breath enough to articulate.

“The clerk sent you up, I suppose?”

“Oh, no!” the doctor replied, going after the left wrist of his patient. “He didn’t know anything about it.”

“Then who?” Craig was sparing of his breath.

“Some one ’phoned for me to come at once*”

“Who?”

“It was a woman’s voice.”

“A woman!”

“Ok, you bachelors! You always have at least one woman keenly concerned about your welfare! ”

“But no woman could have known—that I was hurt!” puzzled Craig. “Look here, doctor, when did you get the message?”

“At a quarter of three—but I didn’t go back to bed, as she insisted that I come at once.”

A quarter of three! Craig seemed to hear again the dull boom of the big clock, as it chimed out the hour of two. That was just three-quarters of an hour later!

“Didn’t the lady give you her name?” he persisted.

“Yes, but I didn’t get it clearly. I have the impression that it was Valentine.”

“Val —?”

Craig’s jaw dropped, leaving the name unfinished. He groaned, suffering in mind and body. Now he knew why he had been attacked. Helderman had come to search his rooms and his person, for the necklace or the buckle—or both—and, worst of all, with the connivance of a woman who, he had felt more than once, was deceiving him! And moreover, she was so closely advised of all Helderman’s movements, that she was actually able to summon a doctor for his victim, inside the hour! The fact that she took the trouble to summon aid was mighty poor comfort!

The physician must have seen his anguish of body and soul, for he mixed a sleeping draught and gave it to Craig. Under its influence lie sank into a troubled but restful slumber.

It was mid-afternoon when he awoke. Mike was sitting by his bed, and now grinned broadly.

“Hello, Mike, yourself again?”

“Sure, sor, and hoping you are enjoying the same blessing!”

“Oh, I’ll be better, after I’ve had something hot to drink. Anything else happened?”

“Not just like the last, thanks be,— but two men called this morning, who were anxious to see you, and when they found out how banged up you were, they said they’d come back later, sor.”

“The secret-service men again, Mike. I wish I weren’t so popular!”

It was, in truth, the secret-service men who called, the next morning, but not thp imitation ones whom Craig had in mind. Gooley ushered them in about ten o’clock, and lined them up in the bedroom, where his master could see them without turning his head. Although Craig was much better than he had believed he could be, so soon after that terrible twist to his spine, he was still not inclined to exertion. But he was pleased with his visitors.

“Hello, Crowder!” he greeted one of the two men. “I’m jolly glad you’ve come.”

“I’m glad to be here, sir, but sorry you are laid up,” the detective responded. “This is Mr. Sims. He knows you, although you don’t know him.”

Craig nodded and looked more closely at the other man. He acknowledged that he did not remember to have seen him before.

“He’s one of us,” commented Crowder.

“Another one!” groaned Craig. “Another fellow to trail you around and hide behind lamp-posts, and hit you on the back of the head! Oh, Lord!” He was just ill enough to be garrulous.

“Come, come!” laughed Crowder. “ You are confusing us with the phony kind again! This is a genuine, simon-pure article! But, if it’s any satisfaction to you, we’ve about quit trailing you. We’re on a much hotter scent Now we’d like to ask you a few questions about —”

“About night before last? About Helderman?” Craig interrupted, trying to sit up, and sinking back again.

“Keep quiet, Mr. Butherford, and don’t hurt yourself again. We would not trouble you to-day, but we have to. Yes, we have come to talk to you—about Helderman.”

Crowder was regarding him with a shrewd look which masked considerable surprise.

Rutherford relaxed on his pillow. He had said more than Crowder seemed willing to recognize. He would wait and let the detective reveal the purpose of his visit.

“Fire away!” he said.

“What about night before last?” asked Crowder.

“What do you want to know about Helderman?” Craig evaded.

“Mr. Rutherford, you once told me, in the presence of Mr. Brookfield, at the Barristers’ Club, that Mr. Helderman was the man who read you a wireless message right off the reel.”

Rutherford nodded. He noticed the other man hitch his chair nearer the bed. Crowder evidently was keen upon the scent.

“The banker told you that this message was for the secret-service man on board?” Crowder continued.

“That’s what he said.”

“Well Sims here was a special detail, on board the Gothic though I didn’t know it at the time.”

Sims shook his head.

“I never got the message or any message like it—and if there was one there ought to have been more about this necklace—and never heard about such a message until I got to headquarters.”

“You sure of that?” Rutherford demanded.

“Positive,” was the reply.

Rutherford looked at Crowder. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

“Why it’s easy,” affirmed Crowder. “Helderman invented that message out of the whole cloth; that’s what I told you at the time. And Sims is right. So long as Sims didn’t answer, Berlin would have sent another message to be sure. Helderman invented it.”

“What for?” exclaimed Craig.

“Wasn’t suspicion directed pretty pointedly at a couple of passengers on that ship?”

Rutherford was silent. He seemed to sense a danger that was creeping up on Miss Ballantyne. The very fact that he distrusted her made him the more wary of letting any chance word escape that would incriminate her. Mistaking his silence for a natural bewilderment, Crowder continued:

“I have since learned that a Mr. and Mrs. Talcott were generally believed to be the smugglers. As it turned out, they had nothing about them that suggested an evasion of the customs.”

Rutherford was secretly rejoiced that their skirts were at last clear of any lingering doubt in this respect; but a new cause for wonder presented itself.

“But why should such a report have been circulated at all—and who could have been interested in it?” he questioned.

“It was all part of a shrewd scheme by your friend Helderman. He was afraid the secret-service men might have just such a message, and he started it on his own account—to divert suspicion — from himself!”

“Then Helderman’s a smuggler?” queried Craig. “I believe you,” was the only reply the secret-service man vouchsafed. Then he turned and asked, unexpectedly, “Who did you up, Mr. Rutherford?”

“Helderman.”

It was Crowder’s turn to jump. He looked at Rutherford quickly, to see if this undue excitement were going to his head. But the sick man looked sane enough, and very much in earnest.

“You don’t mean that,” said Crowder, quietly.

“I just do!” Craig affirmed.

“You fly off, one minute, because we suspect Helderman of a big smuggling game—and in the next breath you accuse him of common, low-down burglary—for that’s what the clerk downstairs said it was. How do you make that out, Mr. Rutherford?”

“It does seem queer and inconsistent, but I don’t accuse Helderman of burglary in the common sense of the term. I think he’s after something he thinks I have—but he didn’t get it!”

“He entered secretly?”

“Yes. He chloroformed my man, and probably took his key.”

“Your man?” Crowder leaned over to whisper his question.

“Mike’s as true as steel,” Rutherford asserted.

“What time was this?”

“At two o’clock in the morning,” answered Craig.

“At two o’clock, night before last?” repeated the secret-service man, in undisguised astonishment.

“Yes, two o’clock exactly.”

“You’re crazy!” exclaimed Crowder, losing his customary calm.

“I guess I ought to know! I have reason enough to remember!”

“Why, man alive, it was pitch dark. You couldn’t have seen a clock —”

“No, but I heard one. The Tower clock struck two while I held him.”

Crowder looked again, to see if Craig could be flighty in his head; but his eyes were clear, and his tone was positive.

“Then it wasn’t Helderman!” announced the detective, with equal conviction.

“But it was! There’s just one man I’ve ever known that had such a grip,” Craig persisted, vexed at the detective’s doubts.

The other was smiling. “Ah! That’s what you are going by, is it?—a man’s grip in the dark! ”

“You seem to think that such evidence would be thrown out of court,” retorted Craig. “But let me tell you, I have made a study of the subject, and I know the characteristic grips of men in wrestling, just as you would know their walk or the tones of their voice. Once before this I encountered Helderman’s grip, and I know positively that it was his this time also.”

Nothing could have been more convincing than the manner in which Rutherford stated this; but both the secret-service men looked incredulous.

“At two o’clock, night before last,” said Sims, “I saw Helderman pacing back and forth before his window, up on Riverside Drive. He did not leave the house.”

“And he was there last night, too,” added Crowder.

Rutherford looked at the two detectives and they returned his glance. Neither doubted the sincerity of the other, and yet Craig was unshaken in his conviction, while he knew that the two men were absolutely set in theirs.

It was the testimony of a pair of hands against two pairs of trained eyes; and Craig had the sense to know that the average and physically-untrained man would give credence to the eye.

“What were you doing up there?” he asked.

“We’re camping on the job, dry nights and wet, just now—I one night, and Sims the next,” replied Crowder.

“Phew!” Craig whistled. “Must be getting pretty warm!”

“Yes, and we’re not the only ones, either. There’s a bull, a plain-clothes man, too. He wants to know my lay, and I’d like to know his—but we don’t find out. I’ve got my suspicions that the state of New York is keeping an eye on him, as well as the United States.”

“Look here, Crowder, if Helderman is under suspicion, I’m going to make a complaint about this affair of mine —”

“Don’t do it, Mr. Rutherford! It’ll spoil everything!”

“Do you think I’m going to let a man come here and beat me up, and then go scot-free?” demanded Craig, indignantly. “What’s ‘ everything,’ anyhow?”

“Our case. We haven’t got it quite where we want it, yet Besides, you couldn’t prove that he attacked you. I know you think so; but Sims here saw him up at the house at the exact time you are so positive about The other man saw him, too. There was a woman came up to the house soon after two—young and pretty. We have seen her there before. She would testify that he was up there, for he left the room with the big plate-glass window just as she entered the house. So you see you would only make a mess of things! “

Rutherford listened and heeded. He knew that his own testimony would promptly be thrown out of any court, yet he remained unconvinced.

“Then the man has a double, worse luck!” he complained. “For I know that the real Helderman did me the honor to pay me a visit, at that particular time.”

Crowder drew his chair up close, and glanced around at the doorways. Then he said, in a low voice:

“Mr. Rutherford, it wouldn’t surprise me if what you say is true. Two or three times, of late, I have had conflicting stories about this man’s actions, but we haven’t been able to prove anything on him as yet. For several months he has been suspected of being at the head of the biggest syndicate of diamond smugglers in the world. Your necklace gave us a valuable clew. Now, how do you figure you came by it?”

Craig listened with increasing amazement to the detective. He was almost breathless, as his mind went rapidly back to the few encounters he had had with the banker, before landing.

“I have it!” he exclaimed. “I felt him touch me on the shoulder, just as I was going to the gangplank. He slipped the necklace into my pocket—and the two fellows who later attacked me and also tried to get into my safe were his henchmen!”

What part the blue buckle could play in this performance, Craig did not stop to figure out; and he religiously refrained from mentioning it, for fear of diverting suspicion to the Ballantynes.

“About his double, Mr. Sims? Where were you when you saw Helderman—how near, I mean?” asked Craig.

“On the sidewalk.”

“Way out in front, you mean?”

“Fm not climbing the fence when those dogs are loose; but still I am sure it was Helderman.”

“The dogs are chained in the front hall,” affirmed Craig. “I saw them there.”

“That’s the way it is sometimes. Other times they are loose, and it would take more courage than I’ve got to go into the yard. They are always out when Helderman’s in; and the gates are locked then. You’d think he was afraid of the public. Then, other times, the gates are unlocked; the dogs are fastened up; and the whole world could run over the lawn, unchallenged. But that is never when he’s at home. It’s mighty strange, I tell you! ”

“It sure is!” seconded Crowder.

“It is,” assented Craig, more than ever convinced that Helderman was a past-master in the art of keeping himself secluded and prominent at the same time. “All the same, fellows, I won’t give in that Helder-man was not here, night before last.”

“He couldn’t have been here any night this week,” asserted Crowder, positively. “I know all his queer twitches and odd steps; so does Sims; and there isn’t a man living who could imitate them.”

Rutherford gave over trying to shake the men’s conviction, and they rose to go, expressing the hope that he would soon be about again.

“Oh, by the bye, Mr. Rutherford,” said Crowder, stopping, hat in hand, “you remember my mentioning a Mr. and Mrs. Talcott as the ones on whom —” “Yes, yes, I remember!” Craig interrupted, with a clutch in his throat “Well, I’ve got a hunch that they are just blinds, just being used to divert suspicion from the real smugglers.”

“What makes you think so, Crowder?” Craig managed to ask.

“Sims here saw a young lady enter the house up there, a little after two. We’ve often seen her going in and out. She seems to be a relative, or an accomplice, or something. She is Mrs. Talcott —”

“Why, you don’t know Mrs. Talcott, Crowder!” Craig protested, trying vainly to keep his voice steady.

“Don’t I, though! Sims has known her ever since they came across on the Gothic”

Sims nodded.

“Slender woman,” he said. “Graceful, and carries herself well. Has a long gray cloak, and another of blue. Fond of wearing buckles. I’ve often seen her. She came up to the house in a cab, a few minutes after you heard the clock strike two, downtown, and Helderman met her at the door. I saw them.” The detectives departed, and Craig sank back upon his bed, as though some one had struck him a deadly blow. So that was how she had known that he was injured, and had been able to summon aid so quickly! She had learned it from Helderman himself, to whose house she had gone at a quarter after two.

Rutherford gave over wondering how Helderman could have known about it, unless there were really a double of his abroad, in the agony of this new train of thought. Had he been systematically deceived by a woman whose heart and soul were as dark and deceitful as her exterior was fair and innocent? The excuse he had made for her when he believed her to be the tool of an unprincipled husband no longer held. He knew her better now, and the knowledge destroyed all power to imagine her the blind instrument of others. She was too sane, too well-balanced, too positive in her nature, v If she were implicated in criminal things, it was because she chose to be.

He felt that he never wanted to see her again—never so much as hear the sound of her voice.

The telephone bell rang—welcome interruption to his painful meditations. Gooley had placed the receiver in easy reach of the invalid. Craig answered the call, and at the first words, he turned even whiter, if it were possible, than his weakness had made him.

It was Miss Ballantyne’s voice, greeting him a trifle uncertainly. She had waited for him to make some overtures of peace, but for two days he had been silent Now she had swallowed her pride to ask him about a matter of business.

“I called you up to—to make a request,” the clear voice said.

“Don’t hesitate, if I can serve you.” He endeavored to say the words easily, but they sounded cold and format “Could you—could you find it convenient to call this afternoon? I don’t want to put you to too much trouble, but I wanted to arrange to get a certain piece of property, before I called at the lawyer’s —”

“I’m very sorry,” he replied, “but I am still unable to navigate, very well. Even I cannot recuperate from treatment such as I have received, at short notice.”

“Oh, please don’t—make me more ashamed than I am!” she cried, her voice trembling.

“I don’t intend to,” he answered dryly, unable in spite of himself to keep his heart from responding to the pleading tone.

“I—I—thought that if you could call, I would tell you in—how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to be rude, the other evening, after all you have done for me and my father—but your words hurt! I know circumstances seem against me; and I should not blame you that you cannot keep your faith, in spite of them. Oh, if you only knew how gladly I would tell you all!”

Rutherford marveled at her. She seemed most concerned about their little tiff of two evenings ago, which he had all but forgotten, while she utterly overlooked the terrible physical treatment he had since received at the hands of her accomplice!

“It was very good of you to send the surgeon!” he said.

“To—what?” she asked.

He repeated his words.

“Send the surgeon! Do you need a surgeon?” There was no mistaking the almost breathless anxiety of her tones.

“Why, you certainly must have known that I was pretty badly done up, or you would not have telephoned to Dr. Pritchard!” he insisted, vexed at her posing.

“Dr. Richard? I know no Dr. Richard. Tell me what is the matter—please!”

“I said Dr. Pritchard. Didn’t you telephone him, about three o’clock, night before last, to come and look after me?”

“I did not, Mr. Rutherford. How could I know that you needed a physician? If you would only tell me what is the matter! You talk so strangely!” Rutherford listened in amazement to the anxiety, the uncertainty, the pleading in the mellow voice, and fought hard to keep from yielding to its seduction. Truly, this girl was the most consummate actress he had ever known! What a fortune she could make upon the stage!

“I am laid up for several days,” he answered. “Some one entered my room, night before last. In the tussle I got the worst of it —”

He paused, disgusted with himself, that he had let her lead him on into telling facts which she must already know.

“Oh, Fm so sorry! So sorry!” came back the distressed voice. “And I feel again as if I have been to blame! Was it a burglar?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get anything?”

“No, Miss Ballantyne, you needn’t worry on that account. The blue buckle is safe.”

He was tempted to hang up the receiver, but waited to fire one parting shot “By the bye, Miss Ballantyne, what did Mr. Helderman tell you?”

“Last night?” she asked, wonderingly.

“No, the night before—when I was hurt.”

“I did not see him, the night before. I saw him last night, and it was partly about this that I wanted to see you.”

“There seems to be some confusion about dates—but you did see him?” persisted Craig.

“Why, yes—but bow queerly you talk 1”

“Good-by,” be said, putting the receiver back in place.

She admitted, then, having seen Helderman; it was the first time be bad cornered her! But why dispute that she bad seen him at the time the secret-service man had seen her—and after she bad been able to telephone for him? Why, on the other hand, maintain that it was last night, when the banker had not been away either night, and she had not been seen then?

He rang the bell for Gooley.

“Mike—for the love of—your patron saint—mix me something hot—and stiff I My brain’s all addled! I wish to sleep!”

CHAPTER XIX
A VELOUR HAT AND A VELVET GOWN

Miss Billie Ballantyne had fought a long time with her pride, before she had reached a point where she could telephone Craig Rutherford; and nothing but the exigencies of the situation had finally persuaded her to do so. She sank back in her chair and stared at the receiver, when her words brought no response. It was unbelievable that he had rung off.

Then the curiously ironic way in which he had advised her not to worry came back to her. She had considered trying to get Central again, and ask if she had not been mistakenly disconnected: but the ring in his words held her back. He had said “Good-by,” and without waiting for response had ended the conversation—and it was she who had rung him up in the first place!

And what had he meant by alluding to her meeting with Helderman? How had he learned about it? He spoke of it as if it were a clandestine affair. Surely Mr. Rutherford could not take it upon himself to criticise her actions constantly—to have an espionage upon her house!

Suddenly she looked down at something which had fallen and lay there glittering before her, on the edge of the big, square desk. It was a tear. She sprang up from the chair and ran upstairs to her room. Never had the empty, old house seemed so desolate, so devoid of human comfort. It had brought nothing but sorrow and misunderstanding to her, ever since she had entered it. She was deeply hurt, and intensely angry with herself for being so. Oh, for the luxury of a good cry!

“Father, dear,” she whispered tremulously to herself, “I wonder if you will ever realize—not being a woman—just what I am enduring—for your sake! I do not begrudge the service—but, oh! if I had mother here—she would understand!”

No answer came from the silent house, but if the spirit of this lonely, self-sacrificing girl’s mother still walked abroad, she must have been present to sympathize and comfort; for Billie did not give way to moping. Instead, she shook her head defiantly, as if in challenge to the whole world—obstreperous young men included.

In her haste to leave the telephone, she had not picked up her hand-bag. It was lying in plain sight on top of the desk, where Sophie presently discovered it. The erstwhile faithful maid ran through its contents with swift and practiced eye, but found nothing of especial interest except a small, folded bit of paper on which was written:

“Cowen, Covington and Brown—32- Nassau—Friday at three.”

To-day was Friday, The maid quickly restored the paper to its receptacle, and hastened upstairs to her mistress.

“Mademoiselle, will you tell me what costume I shall prepare for you to-day?”

The evidence of the girl’s constant faithfulness touched Miss Ballantyne, in her present mood.

“Sophie, you are always thinking of me!” she exclaimed. “But why should it make any particular difference what I wear to-day? This is only a business engagement.”

“Ah, Mademoiselle, I always like to see you smart -—even at a business engagement! I look out the window after you, as you go down the street, and I say with the great pride —‘ That is my mistress—yes! ’ And I am not the only one who looks out of the windows. There are the young men, and the old—”

“Nonsense, Sophie, how you talk!” said Billie, flushing. “I have a notion to wear a gingham dress—just to spite you!”

“Ah! I know how Mademoiselle hates the gingham— even for negligee! Now if Mademoiselle would only let me suggest —”

“What is it, Sophie?”

Ordinarily she would not have encouraged garrulity in the maid, but this lonely morning the chatter about dress was amusing to her.

“Why not again the velvet gown, and the velour hat, Mademoiselle? The combination is ever suit able for the Avenue, or for the stuffy, old business office. Why do persons have to talk so much business, anyway?”

Billie glanced at the maid, but her guileless face expressed nothing but a natural interest and desire to be useful.

“Then, just to please you, Sophie—and not because I don’t want the gingham—you can lay out the velvet gown. Beside,” she added to herself, “Mr. Leclerc will know me easier by that.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle,” returned the maid, smiling.

She withdrew from the room, and could be heard downstairs singing a French love-song softly to herself, as she put the house to rights. A few minutes later, she returned to say:

“If Mademoiselle will permit, I will hasten down to the corner drug-store for some little things I forgot yesterday.”

“Very well, Sophie.”

The front door softly closed, as the maid sped down the block on her errand; and her mistress, left alone, wondered what she would have done in this out-of-the-way corner of the city without some one she knew and could depend upon, like Sophie.

An hour later, Miss Ballantyne was summoned downstairs by the telephone. The first jangling of the bell set her in a flutter; her nerves were on edge this morning. It might be her father, calling her up, as he did frequently, to counsel and encourage. It might be Craig, explaining his strange conduct.

A strange voice disappointed her hopes,

“Hello!” called a man’s crisp, business-like tones. “This is Mr. Cowen talking. I wish to speak with Miss Ballantyne, please.”

“This is Miss Ballantyne—but I do not recognize the name.”

“Cowen, of Cowen, Covington and Brown.”

“Oh, yesl” replied Billie, her heart beating more rapidly than ever. “Did Mr. Leclerc tell you —”

“Everything is satisfactory, Miss Ballantyne.”

“Oh, I’m so glad—so very glad!”

“Mr. Leclerc is not here just now. He is detained on another matter. He asked me to call you up and postpone the meeting slightly. It was to be at three, I understand?”

“Yes, at three, this afternoon.”

“I believe he agreed to deliver to you a certain—sentimental article—in which you are interested?” “Yes—have you it ready?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Certainly. I am merely rehearsing these details, in order that there may be no misunderstanding. How, Miss Ballantyne, if you will be good enough to postpone your visit until four, Mr. Leclerc will be able to see you.”

“Until four? Certainly,” Billie agreed; and the business-like person at the other end of the line thanked her, and rang off.

That day, ever after, seemed the longest in the girl’s memory. The minutes dragged by like so many hours. She tried busying herself with one duty after another—but always she found her fingers stopping, and her eyes gazing away abstractedly, while her mind went over the phrase, “ Postpone your visit until four; postpone your visit until four!”

Could it really be true? She was going to get the other blue buckle! She would see the rest of that strange inscription, and if she could not make it out, Craig would help her—and they together—pshaw! what nonsense! She would be able to read it herself. She would never ask another favor, never, of a man who could not let her get out of his sight without misjudging her!

She bit her lip, and her wandering thoughts took another course. She pictured the two buckles at last in her possession, and herself presenting them triumphantly at the office of some trust company. A mysterious-looking box would be turned over to her, after she had signed her name, oh! loads of times! She would open the box and gloat over its contents. Yes, here were bonds and, maybe, gold or jewels—the family treasures of the Ballantynes—but, best of all, here were papers, formidable appearing legal documents which would restore her father’s good name; would make it no longer necessary for him to keep hidden away from the sight of men!

And some day—thus continued her unruly thoughts—she and her father would drive up openly to the Sandringham. They would request Mr. Craig Rutherford please to step down to the reception room. Her father would thank him for them both, and explain the few things he had so persistently misunderstood. The enlightened young man would, perhaps, beg her pardon, and she would interrupt him with, “That is unnecessary, Mr. Rutherford! I understand, even though you did not. I join my father in thanking you for all you’ve done. We shall always be grateful to you for your kindness. Good-by!” And they would depart from the room and out of Mr. Rutherford’s life.

Oh, these thoughts, these thoughts! How we love to dwell on those that leave the bitter taste! Billie rehearsed this little parting scene, over and over, and each time thought of something more clever, more cutting to say. Then, by a sudden revulsion of memory, she pictured Craig at this moment lying ill, wounded, she did not know how seriously—and more than likely because she had enlisted him in her service!

Four o’clock came at last; and punctual to the stroke she presented herself at the spacious suite of offices where Mr. Leclerc was to await her. The office-boy smiled at her, and without waiting for her to give her name or errand started toward the inner office.

“I’ll tell Mr. Cowen,” he said. “He was just going, but I don’t think he has left the office yet.”

Miss Ballantyne wondered how the boy could know who she was so quickly; and if it were customary in large offices like this to tell an office-boy so accurately of expected clients. In a moment he was back, asking her to follow.

“Mr. Cowen is glad he waited a moment longer, he says,”

The boy seemed disposed to treat her like an old friend, although she could not remember having seen him before. Perhaps all Hew York office-boys were free and easy!

There were two men seated in the room, into which she was ushered. One she recognized as Mr. Leclerc, peering at her from behind his heavy glasses. The other was evidently Mr. Cowen, as he sat behind a desk piled high with papers. Mr. Leclerc arose. She approached him with hand extended.

“You are here on time, Mr. Leclerc,” she said, pleasantly.

“You are back, Miss Ballantyne?” he remarked, not noticing her hand at first, then taking it as if her greeting rather surprised him.

“Back?” she repeated. “Why, I haven’t been away.”

“Ho?” said Leclerc, seemingly puzzled at her presence.

Mr. Cowen had risen from his place behind the desk.

“Is there something further we can do for you, Miss Ballantyne?” he inquired, courteously.

“Further?” she questioned, smilingly. “This is Mr. Cowen, I believe?”

“Certainly,” he replied, looking keenly at her. “I thought we agreed that everything was properly adjusted.”

“So I understood you to say,” she answered, her mind reverting to the telephone conversation, “and I have come for—the blue buckle.”

“The blue buckle?” Leclerc repeated, while Cowen appeared to listen to this strange conversation without comprehending it.

“I came for it, as you suggested,” the girl said.

“ And you got it, as I promised,” Leclerc replied.

“I—got it!” Billie exclaimed, in astonishment.

“The buckle,” Cowen interjected. “We gave it to you half an hour ago.”

“Why, Mr. Cowen, I have only just come!” she protested.

“You have only just come back, of course. But you were here half an hour ago.”

The girl’s eyes opened wide, and she gazed from one man to the other.

“Am I dreaming—or are you? You told me at first to come at three —”

“Which you did, Miss Ballantyne,” observed Cowen, with lawyer-like precision.

“Indeed, I did not. I obeyed your telephoned instructions to come at four instead,” she answered, with gentle insistence.

Mr. Cowen stood silent a moment; then he said: “ Miss Ballantyne, I did not telephone you.”

“Not this morning?”

“Not this morning—or any other time.”

Billie listened to his calm tones, as if in a trance. While he spoke it came to her that his voice was not at all like the one she had heard over the telephone.

“But you came at three, just the same, and we turned over the buckle to you,” Leclerc interposed. The conversation seemed to him meaningless and futile.

“You mean that you have delivered the buckle to somebody!” she cried, starting forward.

“We delivered it to you—don’t you remember? Why, here is your own receipt for it!”

Mr. Cowen advanced from behind the desk, holding a slip of paper in his hand. She came to meet him, and the bright light of the desk lamp, the only artificial light in the room, made necessary to overcome the shadows from the neighboring sky-scrapers cast by the declining sun, outlined the graceful gray figure and the winsome face clearly.

He paused, startled, then hurried forward and looked at her intently.

“Why, you are not the woman to whom we gave the buckle!” he cried, aghast* You are not Miss Ballantyne!”

Realizing that she stood upon the threshold of some terrible mistake, the girl stood silent, with quivering lips, while the lawyer continued to survey her, as though she were an apparition. His keen eyes went over every detail of her costume, from the broad, black hat with its quaint plume running over and then under the brim, to the velvet gown; and thence to the trim slippers ornamented by their old-fashioned silver buckles. Every detail was the exact duplicate of a costume worn by an earlier caller; yet he knew this was not the same woman.

Leclerc, excited, worried by this new complication, came close to the girl and peered impersonally into her face, through his thick glasses.

“Good heavens, Mr. Cowen!” he exclaimed, “this is the real Miss Ballantyne—the one I met up at the hotel!”

“And the other woman has the buckle!” Cowen almost groaned.

In their excitement they had given no thought to the mental anguish of the girl. Cowen’s last words seemed to exhaust the last bit of her fortitude, already severely tried, that day. With a stifled “Oh!” she collapsed into a pathetic heap upon the floor.

The two men lifted her clumsily to the nearest chair, and brought her a glass of water. They laved her temples, and she opened her eyes wearily, but at first uttered no word, either of complaint or thanks. She was -thinking, in dumb misery, of her father awaiting her. return with the buckle, the clew to their property and his unredeemed honor. Now the buckle was spirited away —by that double of whom Helderman had warned her, and whom Craig had repeatedly seen! It was gone forever!

Leclerc and Cowen looked at each other in undis guised alarm. Beads of perspiration stood on the Canadian’s forehead, as he thought of what he had inadvertently done.

“It was my near-sightedness,” he protested. “In height and general bearing, the woman was like you. And in dress exactly as you were the other day—as you are now. She seemed so fully informed about the buckle and the Ballantyne estate —”

Mr. Cowen interrupted his colleague’s miserable monologue by seizing the telephone and ringing up a detective agency, requesting them to detail to him the best man on their force.

“Come, come! We mustn’t lose any more time!” he said, energetically. “We’ll see if we cannot get hold of this woman and the buckle!”

“If you cannot—I’ll never know what was on it —r the inscription, I mean,” said Billie, in a pathetic little voice. They were her first words after her collapse.

“It isn’t quite as bad as that!” Leclerc exclaimed with some relief.

He picked up a piece of paper, and rapidly printed in capital letters the following strange words —

DOT ULAPSINNE KB AN LMMIA

“There, Miss Ballantyne, are the symbols on the second blue buckle,” he said. “And take heart again! One buckle is valueless without the other, at the place where they are to be presented. You still have the other?”

Billie nodded, and took the proffered paper eagerly, clasping it in her gloved hand as though it were the most precious object in the world.

“My letters and affidavits—all the proofs of my identity—” she asked, fixing imploring eyes upon Leclerc.

He was obliged to tell her the truth.

“I turned them over to the other woman, believing my part in this strange transaction ended, and knowing they would be needed in claiming the fortune.”

Her features trembled pitifully; but in all her own misery she divined something of the wretchedness of spirit which Leclerc was enduring, and she tried to cover her grief.

“Let me know—if you hear—anything else—please!” she managed to whisper, and then fled to the waiting cab.

Sophie gave a little cry as she opened the door at home. So drawn and haggard was the girl’s face, in contrast to the buoyant look of hope with which she had started on her mission downtown, that the French woman was frightened. Without a word she hurried her mistress upstairs, and undressed her and put her to bed, as though she were a tired child.

“You are so good to me, Sophie,” her mistress said, gratefully, “and the rest of the world is —so hard!”

CHAPTER XX
THE FORGED NOTE

The slow days of convalescence were naturally tedious ones to Craig Rutherford, active in body and mind as he normally was. However, he schooled his soul to patience, being aided thereto by the repeated warnings of his physician, that every care must be exercised at present to prevent a recurrence of his old attack.

One of his few diversions was the reading of the newspapers, and the managing editor of one of them could not have glanced through the current files more assiduously than he did. A lot of amusement was derived from taking an ordinary story, and comparing the different versions in various papers. It was astounding how widely these versions differed. Even the portraits used to illustrate them often failed to bear the remotest resemblance one to another. Craig was accustomed, like all other good American citizens, to treat the newspapers with lenient tolerance just before election, or any such time of national stress. He knew beforehand that they could not be expected to give unbiased versions of any political movement either for or against their par ticular creed. But this lack of agreement in the ordinary run of news—this printing of stories with a wealth of detail, one day, only to have them denied in toto the next, was disturbing even more than diverting. If Craig had been familiar with newspaper offices, or had even visited one during the busy hours of make-up, witnessing the stress and strain of collecting and sifting items from all over the world, he would have understood how easy it was for errors to creep in, and would have made more allowance for features which to the layman seem absurd.

Every newspaper every day was brought up to him by the devoted Mike. Consequently, he was in a position to notice what otherwise might have escaped him.

In one issue a small item almost hidden in the closely-printed column brought his wandering attention sharply back to his own affairs.

Helderman the Financier Off For a Needed Rest

J. Baron Helderman, that enterprising New York financier, goes to Florida this week to spend considerable time. He says he is driven to it by fatigue. “I’m dog-tired,” he said yesterday, when the reporter found him in a Fifth Avenue store buying a new white yachting cap. “I’m the kind of man who can do twelve month’s work in eight; but I can’t do twelve months’ work in twelve. That’s my style!” The last sentence was addressed to the salesman in reference to the cap; but it fit the eccentric financier’s way of doing things. As for the cap—he bought it; and unquestionably it was his style—and fit.

Before Rutherford had ceased to ponder over this item, he picked up another paper, the columns of which were more financial in character, and giving importance only to news that affected business, directly or indirectly. Here he again encountered the name of Helderman.

J. Baron Helderman to Pay a Flying Visit to the South Financial circles were interested to-day to learn that J. Baron Helderman had suddenly decided to pay a flying visit to the South, perhaps going as far as Florida. At his office no importance was attached to this trip; but it can hardly be taken for his health, as he is the picture of energy at present, having recently returned from a sojourn abroad. It is known, also, that he is immersed in several important deals now pending, which will necessitate his presence in the city within a very few days. The hasty trip South, therefore, has set the Street to wondering as to what new venture, perhaps in the Southern field, he may have in mind.

Rutherford worried over these two contradictory stories, with the unreasoning concern of an invalid denied his usual employments. Ordinarily, he would have paid little attention to the goings and comings of Helderman, whether for business or for pleasure, but these items struck him as peculiar. In the same day’s news, a financial paper was attaching importance to a flying trip South, in the face of detaining engagements in New York; while the banker himself was anxious to create the impression that he was going away for a needed rest, and would be absent for some time.

Long before this, Craig had realized that he him-self had become involved in a curiously complicated series of events. Whether he wished to or not, he must play the game to the end; and these two innocent-looking newspaper items came to him like a challenge—a call to arms. He owed it to himself, even though the girl he had championed had proven unworthy, to learn more about Helderman’s contemplated move. Yet what could he do? For some days yet—no telling how long—he would be confined to his bed. He shook his fist savagely at an imaginary Heldermah, before him. If Helderman were only there!

“Did you do this to me on purpose f” he said aloud.

Mike stuck his head in at the door.

“Beg pardon, sor, did you call me?” he asked.

“No, Mike, I was just paying my respects aloud to—a friend of mine!” he said.

“Well, if he’s the same chap I’m thinking of—asking your pardon—just tell him I’d like to see him, too!”

Seldom did master and man understand each other better than these two. Few words were necessary with them to convey thought.

“What I was just coming in to say, sor,” continued Mike, “was that a young lady was waiting downstairs to see you.”

“A lady? I can’t see her here!”

“She says it’s very important, and she’s sorry to disturb you, but asks that you see her, anyway. She has been here before, sor.”

Craig defied the doctors. He struggled up from his bed, and made the protesting Mike help him into a bedroom robe and draw a big rattan chair with him in it into the living-room. He confidently and won-deringly expected to see Miss Ballantyne.

Mike wiped the perspiration from his brow, and went back to the reception-room where the visitor waited. A few moments later, she appeared in the door, a slender, distinguished-looking figure in a gray gown and big, black hat, with a bunch of violets at her waist. Then the light brought the oval face into relief, and Craig, who had half risen, sank back again.

“You, Miss Arany!” he exclaimed, not being able in his first moment of surprise to conceal his disappointment.

“You expected some one else?” Miss Arany asked, in her turn.

“You will excuse my not rising,” Rutherford said courteously, but without noticing her inquiry. “You see I am rather incapacitated.”

“Oh, I am so sorry!” she exclaimed, with such a pretty show of real concern, that he felt pleased by her sympathy, in spite of a vague distrust her presence always inspired in him. But what ordinary man is proof against the interest displayed in him by a young and attractive woman!

“I believe you said that you had business of importance —” he suggested.

“Indeed, I cannot consult my own interests, until you tell me what has happened to you!” she protested. “Is it an accident, or an illness?”

“Not exactly either—and I believe that I owe the fact I am not worse off to your good offices.”

As he fired this chance shot he watched her expressive face intently; but she only replied, as if in pleased surprise:

“To me! How have I unintentionally been of some real use to you?”

“You telephoned the doctor in the nick of time—which was about three a. m.,” he answered.

“I, Mr. Rutherford?” she raised large and really beautiful eyes to his, meeting his gaze with the frankness of a child. “I? Oh, if I only could be of service to you, I should be glad!—But you will not see this—you formal American! And this time you give me credit for kindness I do not deserve. Who told you that I telephoned in your behalf?”

“No one,” he answered, frankly. “I was informed at first that it was another person —”

“Miss Ballantyne?” she interrupted, quickly. “That might well apply to me, for I am indeed Miss Ballanlyne. But the one of whom you speak is the pretended Miss Ballantyne—or, rather, Miss Ballantyne, the pretender.”

“Just what do you mean, Miss Arany?” asked Rutherford, coolly. “Of course you are not Miss Ballantyne.”

“Of course I am Miss Ballantyne,” she retorted defiantly. “I am Miss Ballantyne, the daughter of the woman with whom Geoffrey Ballantyne was in love. I am the rightful heir to his fortune; and this Miss Ballantyne, alias Talcott, who is trying to rob me, has not the least claim. She is an impostor!”

The lovely eyes sparkled and flashed, as the woman spoke with intense feeling. It was clear that she fought back an emotion that almost overcame her.

“Look!” she said, holding out to him a mass of papers. “Surely you will trust your own eyes I These will establish my claim and forever quiet the false pretensions of the girl who poses as Miss Ballantyne—even duplicates my costumes!”

Craig looked at the documents which she spread out before him. There was a birth record, and there the marriage certificate of Arthur Elwood Ballantyne and Margaret Horton, the mother and father. He recognized the papers. They were the ones he had seen on the tea-table, at the Ritz-Carlton.

“Miss Arany,” he said quietly, “I saw some of these papers in the possession of another person. I believe they apply to her, and belong to her.”

“I know you do. You have faith in the pretended Miss Ballantyne—such faith that you have more than once overlooked the testimony of your own eyes!”

Craig winced in spite of himself, but Miss Arany vehemently hurried on:

“I admit that you saw these papers in the possession of the pretended Miss Ballantyne; but they have at last been secured and returned to me, the rightful Miss Ballantyne, from whom they were stolen. You remember that they ^vere placed in the attorney’s hands to investigate? The result is—as you see! He has returned them to their rightful owner!”

Rutherford was startled and puzzled by this conflicting chain of evidence. It came, also, at a psychological moment when he was disposed to distrust, not merely Billie Ballantyne, but the whole tribe of womankind in general. This woman told her story glibly; but was not she the person who, he had been informed, had sent the men to search his apartments?

Seeing that he still looked doubtful, Miss Arany hastened to produce her crowning bit of evidence.

“Have you ever received any written communications from Wilhelmina Ballantyne?” she asked.

“Why do you wish to know?”

“Because if you have, you must recognize her handwriting. Here is a note from her to you, which explains itself. It is the cause of my visit.”

She produced a large, square envelope which Craig recognized at a glance was precisely like one he had in his desk, from Billie, relating to the Canadian advertisements. And the writing in appear ance, was the same. He took the letter and opened it, with the best show of unconcern that he could muster. Yes, there was the same monogrammed device, in embossed characters, and below he read the following communication:

“My Dear Mr. Rutherford:

“I know you will consider this a strange request, but when I see you—if I ever do again—I will try to explain more fully. The lawyers who investigated my claims say that there is an error —some dreadful mistake somewhere—and that I am not entitled to the Ballantyne estate. So I am writing you to ask you please to turn over the blue buckle in your possession to the lady you have known as Miss Arany. She will show you the papers and you will know that she is the right one. I am terribly sorry to have given you all this trouble, and will be always grateful for your kindness. Believe me,

“Sincerely,

“Wllhelmina Ballantyne.”

He read this amazing communication over a second time, to make sure that he understood its meaning. His worst fears were realized, then! The girl had played her desperate game as far as she dared, and was now trying to undo some of the harm, possibly in order to avoid arrest. And yet, despite this damning evidence, Craig caught himself inventing excuses—still wishing to shield her! How willingly would he have seen the positions reversed, and this woman standing with eager, expectant look before him, proved the impostor! If it had demonstrated nothing else, it would have proved that his ability to read human nature was not wholly at fault.

“So you have come for—the blue buckle, Miss Arany?”

“Yes, as the note indicates,” she replied.

“Miss Arany—”

“Miss Ballantyne, if you can accustom yourself to it,” she suggested, smiling.

“I am used to the other,” he responded, coldly. “In a matter of this importance, I must proceed cautiously.”

She flushed angrily.

“Isn’t there enough before you to satisfy even your caution? There are the papers. I have told you before about the inscription on the buckle. And now I bring you a written request from the rival claimant. Surely, that is enough!”

“Possibly, Miss Arany, but I realize, as well as you do, that this buckle involves a large property. I am taking only the precautions that you would take, in a like situation.”

“And what are those?” she asked quickly.

“I have not myself determined them. However, if you will call to-morrow, I will—”

She suddenly forsook her half-defiant attitude, and drew close to him with a gesture half confidential, half appealing.

“But I can’t wait until to-morrow,” she said. “You don’t know how important it is that I get pos session of it to-day! Now you won’t be horrid and stubborn, will you!”

“Why?” asked Craig, smiling at her sudden coquetry, and willing to lead her on.

“A woman’s reason—because. I can’t tell you all about it, to-day. But if you will help me now—by just not being stubborn—there is nothing I wouldn’t do—almost!”

“Why the ‛almost ’?” he parried quizzically.

She laid her warm hand eagerly, almost fiercely, upon his somewhat pale one. Her soft breath fanned his cheek.

“Yes!—Why say almost?” she repeated. “You cold American men know not how the heart beats in our sunnier clime! The whole, wide world beckons us, saying, ‘ Come, my children! ’ We have the key to a great fortune which will bring us—happiness! And yet you refuse me the key—until ‛to-morrow ’— and you sit here and say, ‛Why almost ’!”

Rutherford suddenly awoke to the fact that she was making love to him—and he wondered, manlike, how much the blue buckle had to do with it.

He seized her hand in his own. “Do you mean it?” he whispered.

“Can you not—see?” she answered, with meaning glance.

“But why this haste, to-day?” he asked, still caressing the hand left willingly in his own. “ Why not wait until I can help you claim this fortune?”

“There are other and powerful forces at work, dear,” she said, lingering on the last word with a coaxing purr. “They do not wait, and neither must we. I must get the buckle before they can plan against us. I must act at once.”

“Then will you let me see you to-morrow?” he asked softly.

“Not to-morrow, Craig, as I shall have to go away to obtain my property. I shall have to go South—then I will hurry back—to you!”

She must go South! Craig’s mind leaped instantly to the contradictory news items of the morning’s paper. Helderman was going South, on a hasty mission. What more natural than that this woman, his accomplice, should also be going, and that she should be desperately in need of the buckle to complete her chain of proofs!

Rutherford was Undergoing a complete change of heart. He now realized, beyond the shadow of doubt, how infinitely superior was Billie Ballan-tyne to the woman who now contested her claim, and seemingly so convincingly. He believed it quite possible that this adventuress would play him against Helderman, or Helderman against him, with no compunction beyond her own immediate desires.

He gently released her hand, and reached for the telephone receiver.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, again placing her hand on his wrist.

“Why, telephone downtown,” he replied, cas ually. “You see, I don’t keep the buckle here in my rooms. Too many people have evinced an interest in it! I have it stowed away safe in a vault downtown, and I thought I could telephone—”

“Why give yourself that trouble, Craig dear?” She was slowly pushing the receiver out of hia reach, although she never took her eyes off his face.

“Why give yourself that trouble? Just let me have an order on the trust company; or send your key down by your man, with me to accompany him.”

Rutherford half smiled. Her fear of the telephone had removed the last lingering doubt in his mind. His voice took on a more business-like tone.

“No, Miss Arany, that is impossible. Assuming that you are the rightful owner of the blue buckle, there is another claimant. These rival claims constitute me merely a stake-holder. Until they are decided, I can deliver the blue buckle to—neither claimant.”

Miss Arany stood up. Her eyes shot fire.

“You have been playing with me—when I offered you—my heart!” she stormed.

“No, Miss Arany, it is you that have been playing with me. You do not love me half as much as —the blue buckle!”

“Is this final?” she asked.

“It is,” he replied.

“You force me then, Mr. Rutherford, to demand what is mine. I demand the blue buckle.”

“I cannot accede to your demand, at any rate, to-day.”

“I must tell you that you refuse at your peril!” she exclaimed; and Craig knew that for once she spoke the truth.

“Nevertheless, I am compelled to refuse,” he replied, with studied politeness.

She reached quickly for the note he had laid beside him on the table; thrust it swiftly into the bag with the other papers; and with a celerity that was surprising she darted out of the room without a word of farewell.

Craig tried to rise and intercept her, but at the first motion a sharp twinge in his back made him realize his helplessness. He sank back and tried to reach the bell. It had been placed just out of his reach, with the telephone.

“Gooley!” he called sharply, not once but several times.

Mike heard the note of excitement in his master’s voice, and came into the room, on a run.

“Here, get into your coat!” shouted Craig. “Run after that lady! Don’t let her escape you! See if she goes to this address!”

He scribbled off the number of the house on the Drive, while Mike wriggled into his coat and grabbed his hat, delighted with the prospect of a chase. The next moment, the Irishman had seized the piece of paper, and was going down the stairs three at a time, not waiting for the elevator.

CHAPTER XXI
A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

Gooley had scarcely departed, leaving his master alone in the apartment, when the telephone bell rang. Rutherford leaned back in his chair and surveyed the instrument just out of reach.

“Humph! Seems to be my busy day!” he muttered.

Nevertheless, he made no effort to get hold of the receiver. He was not in form, either as to costume or physically, to receive visitors, especially some of the visitors who had taken to coming in unawares, of late. With Mike gone, discretion was certainly the better part of valor.

The bell rang, and then rang again. The operator seemed possessed of limitless energy. Rutherford glowered but let it ring. After several minutes* disturbance, its user grew tired and desisted. Rutherford heaved a sigh of relief, rose with an effort, and prepared to make a painful return to his bed.

Some one knocked. He glowered at the door, hut the knocking continued. It was gentle and uncertain, as though the other person were in two minds, whether to continue or to run away. Craig hesitated, then reached for his pistol and went to investigate. With the weapon in his pocket, and much descriptive language ready at his tongue’s end to launch at the intruder, he opened the door.

Physical weakness induced by overpowering amazement was all that prevented him shutting it again. The gray gown, the black hat, and the cluster of violets told him that his recent, disquieting visitor had returned. While he struggled with himself for speech or action, the lady spoke.

“Mr. Rutherford?”

The voice was low and anxious—almost frightened— but he recognized it, with a fresh wave of astonishment. He opened the door to Billie Ballantyne.

“Am I seeing double, to-day?” he said weakly, and collapsed into a straight chair near the door.

“Oh! You are ill! I have been so alarmed—please let me do something!” she begged, coming toward him, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously, while her anxious eyes studied his face intently. She seemed to have grown suddenly pale.

“It’s a kind of a crick in my back,” he said lightly. “Nothing to worry over.”

He endeavored to rise easily, but made a wry face in spite of himself. She was instantly at his side, helping him.

“Please let me help you over to your big chair,” she said. “Oh, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you!”

Rutherford laid his hand as easily as possible on her shoulder. With her strong young hands supporting him, he let her lead him back to his chair. He saw the rich red blood rush to her cheeks, but she never faltered in her self-imposed task.

“There!” she said, with a little sigh. “There!”

The second, satisfied, little exclamation came when she tucked a cushion behind him, and watched him lean against it. Craig was in the seventh heaven. There is nothing a man loves so much as to be coddled and made much of—especially if it is by some attractive and elusive young woman in whom he is interested. And Billie Ballantyne had that sweet womanliness which, by a sort of intuition, knows at once the right one of the dozens of delightfully feminine means to make men happy.

“I shouldn’t have come up—I shouldn’t have come up at all—you see, but the clerk said he had just seen your man go out, and probably you couldn’t answer the telephone. And father —”

“He is here?”

“He is waiting in the reception room. Indeed, I am so sorry that we have had to disturb you again—that you are hurt this way I—but the matter is very urgent—”

Her hesitating explanation came to a sudden stop. Craig drifted out of his selfish state of bliss to the realization that she was fighting hard with her emo tions. It had cost her pride a good deal to pay this visit; and now she was battling with that, a real concern for his condition, and the urgency of their own need.

“My dear Miss Ballantyne!” he exclaimed, all kindness and courtesy. “Why apologize for a visit which, I assure you, gives me the greatest pleasure in the world! Please sit down—or, if you wish to call your father —”

“Let me talk things over just with you first, please,” she replied, with a little embarrassment, but taking the proffered chair. Then her pent-up feelings could not be restrained, and she burst out with:

“Oh, Mr. Rutherford! The worst has happened! My papers and the second blue buckle are stolen! ”

Rutherford was genuinely touched by her distress, knowing what the loss meant to her. He nodded and said quietly, in order not to play upon her feelings:

“Yes, I know about it—I have even seen your papers again.”

“Seen them again! Where? Oh, tell me, please!”

“Miss Arany showed them to me here, this afternoon.”

“Miss Arany!” she breathed. “I knew it was she!”

The girl withdrew her eyes from his face, and a puzzled, disquieted look flitted across her features. Could Craig by any possibility be in league with these others? Everyone else seemed to be against her, and why not he? But she instantly dismissed the thought as unworthy, and once more lifted frank eyes to his.

Craig must have divined something of her thought, for he made haste to explain.

“Your expression convinces me,” he said, “of a fact that I had already settled pretty well in my own mind.”

“And what is that?” she asked, in a constrained voice.

“That you did not write me a letter to-day.”

“Why no! If I had written you a letter, why call?”

“Exactly! And I prefer the call, anyway! However that may be—in comes this young lady—and she is a charming young lady—and she produces the papers, your papers, mind you, to prove that she and not you is the rightful claimant, the only Miss Ballantyne worth considering; and she produces such convincing proofs that she is the real owner of blue buckle number one, and —”

“Oh,” gasped his startled auditor, laying a trembling hand upon his sleeve, “you didn’t give her my buckle, did you?”

“Bless your heart, child—no. But what is a chap to do when he is shown an order for the buckle signed by Miss Ballantyne herself.”

“You mean a letter from me?”

“Yes, signed by you apparently; sealed and de livered by the other person; on your own stationery, too.”

The girl was too surprised and alarmed to comment for a moment. Then she said.

“It is useless for me to tell you I never wrote any such letter—I never did, of course. Will you let me see it?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot. She gathered it up with the other papers and departed hastily. In my present fix I couldn’t stop her.”

Craig stopped. He looked intently at his visitor. “And when you came to the door a little later—dressed in the same identical clothes—the same kind, I mean—I was tempted to shut the door in your face. It is not every day that one receives callers whose costumes seem cut off the same piece —”

“She—she was gowned like me?” asked Billie.

Craig did not answer. He was revolving something in his mind. “This girl is personating you —” he said at length.

“But tell me,” asked Billie Ballantyne, “does she look like me?”

Rutherford shook his head. “Save as to complexion and the color of her hair—no. But she has adopted her own scheme—a clever scheme at that. She realizes that with women identity rests largely with apparel. If you see one woman in a gray cloak, close at hand, another woman in a gray cloak at a distance seems the same. She has copied your gowns, your coats, your hats. She must have done more—she must have had them made where you had them made. She has built up her recent career upon you. When you wear one gown, she wears its counterpart. Why has she done it? To fool me?”

Billie’s tone was bantering in answer. “Nobody could fool you, Mr. Rutherford,” she said.

“Don’t rub it in,” he cried. “Give me time—let me reason this thing out. She did fool me at any rate. She fooled me once on the Gothic —”

“Oh,” exclaimed Billie, her eyes dancing, “then you really have come to the conclusion that it was she and not myself who was hugging Mr. Helder-man in the royal suite that night.”

“I decline to respond to your levity,” said Craig, going on. “She fooled me twice—the second time at the big house on the Drive.”

“I am losing ground,” wailed Billie. “Surely you thought me capable of visiting Mr. Helderman clandestinely. I believe you admire me for it. Remember I am still a bit of an adventuress—”

“Every time,” went on Craig, “she has appeared, in your gowns—in your get-up. What is the answer? Somewhere in Europe—somewhere with Helderman like enough—she has picked up the tangled skeins—the tangled ends of your father’s romance. She has shadowed you—she has made herself acquainted with every move you made—she was always ready—she never knew when her op portunity might come—and there is somebody that she has tried to fool.”

Billie clicked her teeth. “She succeeded when she fooled you,” she responded exultingly. “ You know, Mr. Rutherford, I did not believe for a moment that I made love to Mr. Helderman in the royal suite, or up in his house on Riverside Drive. But you did, didn’t you?”

“Don’t rub it in,” he pleaded.

He meant it and she relented. She became serious at once.

“You are right about her cleverness,” she admitted. “A woman is known by her gowns. She fooled you and she fooled Mr. Leclerc—who else will she try to fool? I wonder?”

Billie pondered a moment, then came back to the original subject.

“But you still have the blue buckle?” she said.

“Yes—it is locked up in a bank downtown; but if you wish me to relinquish it, why —”

“Oh, no!” she interrupted him, and then paused to say, more slowly: “But perhaps you may want to do so—now.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“It has brought you nothing but trouble. I am sure that you would not have been hurt, but for it. Besides—” she hesitated then went on, almost defiantly,—“after your conversation over the telephone, the other day, I am convinced that you are displeased with me about something—”

“Billie! Are you angry?”

The warm blood rushed to her cheeks at his familiar use of her pet name; but in spite of herself she felt pleased.

“No, Mr. Rutherford, but I had reason to believe that you were—and I still do not understand.”

“Nor I, fully. Now for the sake of my own peace of mind, did you, or did you not, telephone for a physician for me, the night I was hurt?”

“I did not. How could I, when I didn’t know you were hurt?”

“Did you see Helderman that evening?”

“No, it was the next evening.”

“Good God! then you did go!”

Rutherford struggled to his feet, then his face went white, and he relaxed again with a groan. It seemed to him that something essential, something that had held him upright and made a man of him, had been suddenly withdrawn.

The girl, divided between her own pique and concern for him, hastened to bring him a glass of water.

“You are not yourself, to-day,” she said, softly. “Another time, perhaps —”

“No—now! This is torturing me, killing me! Oh, I don’t mean my back!” he added with a wry smile, as she tried to rearrange his cushions. “ A broken back is not half so bad as a broken heart!”

A smile struggled for expression, through the intermingled feelings pictured on her face. Craig was jealous!

“I see no reason, Mr. Rutherford,” she said, evenly, “why I should explain to you about Mr. Helderman’s call, or why you should misunderstand it.”

“His call? I thought you went up to see him!”

“Mr. Rutherford, have you been in a fever? I never heard you talk so wildly! Call upon him? Certainly not I”

A single look at the girl standing before him with shining eyes and flushed cheeks, should have convinced Craig that he was treading upon dangerous ground. But he blundered on.

“Tell me honestly, what is Helderman to you?” he asked, hoarsely.

Billie looked as straight back into his eyes as she could; but her own eyes were wide with wonder at his question.

“Answer me!” he cried.

“He has been nothing more to me than the merest speaking acquaintance,” she began slowly; then with a touch of malice she couldn’t resist, she added, “until the other night, when he did me the honor to propose to me!”

Craig writhed in anguish, mental and physical. At sight of his distress the girl laughed a scared little laugh, patted him lightly on the head, and then danced across the room, to evade his wide clutching arms.

“Oh, you Man! you Man!” she teased. “I should just hate to be so vindictive, so suspicious!

“Yes, I could use lots of other horrid names—and you would deserve them all! Here we are wasting valuable time in quarreling, and yet you won’t see how they have been pulling the wool over your eyes!” Craig had the grace to feel ashamed of himself.

“Forgive me, Billie!” he pleaded.

“Very well,” she replied briskly. “All I ask now is that you keep the rest of your doubts to yourself, until we have ended the present trouble—then you can ask me all the questions you want to —” “And will you answer them right, Billie?” he said. He would have given a good deal, just then, to have had the use of his two good legs to carry him over in the direction of this provoking young person.

“That depends upon how well you behave,” she replied demurely. “But, as I have already remarked, we are losing some valuable time. Wait a minute, please, until I call father.”

Before Craig had been given many moments in which to wonder what attitude he should assume toward the older man, the Ballantynes, father and daughter, entered the room. Mr. Ballantyne was evidently recovered from his illness, and looked much better in flesh and color than Craig had formerly seen him. He walked straight up to the invalid and extended his hand.

“Mr. Rutherford, will you accept my profound thanks for all you have done for us?” he said; “and believe how sincerely distressed I am over your mishap?”

Rutherford received his proffered courtesy in the spirit in which it was intended—a desire to forget past misunderstandings.

“We must all stand together,” he said, “so I will ask you both to be seated! Unfortunately, my man is out just now, and I must let my guests wait upon themselves.”

“Mr. Rutherford, my daughter has told you of the loss of the papers and the other buckle. But we must not sit still and repine our loss. We must decide upon some course of action, and act quickly; for the enemy seems possessed of limitless energies and resourcefulness. Will it be too great an imposition upon your kindness to-day, if we talk the matter over?”

“Certainly not,” replied Craig, with alacrity. “I’m right, so long as I sit still. I think it would be the wisest possible thing for us to go over the ground and plan a campaign. I will be only too glad to assist in any way I can.”

“It will mean a great deal to us,” replied Mr. Ballantyne warmly; “and I like the sound of a plan of campaign. To carry out the military figure, we will take orders from you as our general — our commander-in-chief.”

“Oh, no!” protested Craig, “I’ll be high private in the rear ranks.”

“You are already elected to the other position; isn’t that right, daughter?”

She bowed and smiled with a little blush. Craig looked at her quizzically.

“Then, if I am general, my orders must be obeyed?”

“Certainly.”

“The first order, then, to be issued from headquarters, is that we talk this thing over freely, for the further enlightenment of all concerned. Am I not right?”

They agreed; and Rutherford began by narrating the facts connected with the nocturnal attack upon him, and ending with the visit of Miss Arany, and her pretensions of being the rightful Miss Ballan-tyne. Then he told of her admission that she must go South at once; and he showed the two conflicting newspaper items about Helderman.

Ballantyne listened intently, and looked grave, but made no comment and asked no questions, beyond requesting Billie to tell of her visit to the lawyer’s office and its later results. She told, also, of Helderman’s call upon her and his efforts to secure her buckle. Rutherford fancied that she still looked at him somewhat defiantly, as she told this necessary information.

“These two visits,” began Craig, thoughtfully, “that of Helderman to you and Miss Arany to me, prove how desperately eager they are to get the first buckle, and get it quickly. The fact also proves to me, what I am even now engaged in running down in another way, that Helderman and Miss Arany are in league. Whether they will remain so is yet to he seen. Another thing it proves, is that they are taking immediate steps to seize this property. We must find out what steps, and prevent them.”

They sat there silent for awhile. Billie looked pale and troubled, but seemed more appealing to the ranking general than he had ever seen her. The confused sense of loss for which she seemed to blame herself, and the lively concern for her father which she always showed, gave her an indescribable but very evident air of dependence usually lacking in her self-reliance.

“Anyway, Miss Ballantyne,” said Craig, as if in answer to her hopeless mental questions; “ they cannot claim the property, as I still have the first buckle. Now, if we only knew the rest of that inscription —”

“ Oh!” she exclaimed, and her face brightened “I have the inscription from the second buckle.”

She drew out the precious bit of paper Leclerc had handed her and brought it over to Craig. He spread it out upon the table, with excited fingers, and the three bent their heads together over it and scanned it intently. Craig rapidly wrote down the strange words of the first buckle, that he knew by heart, and laid that portion down by the second and still more baffling inscription:

OXB IVI ESAF IPSE—DOT ULAPSINNE KBAN DOHA

“There’s the whole of it, at last!” he exclaimed.

“But what can it mean?” Billie pondered aloud.

“That ipse was the sticker on the first buckle. It’s not a Latin word at all; it’s plain English. It’s part of a word, and dot is the rest dot-ipse— ipse-dot—dipse—DEPOSIT! That’s our word!”

“Oh, it is, it is! How perfectly splendid!” exclaimed the girl, her eyes shining.

Rutherford felt under such encouragement that he could read the riddle of the Sphinx.

“Now we have —BOX 7 SAFE DEPOSIT.”

Craig wrote down the words in triumph. The girl gazed at them, as if this half-solution were the greatest of wonders.

“How clever of you!” she exclaimed.

Billie Ballantyne was in that wonderful league with Mother Nature, of which all daughters of Eve are a part. She was Cause to the Effect the man was achieving; and even though this particular man knew he was not displaying abnormal brilliancy, he was not sorry to have her think so. It inspired him to new heights.

“It’s not really such a remarkable cipher. It’s just the clever way in which your uncle managed to keep the two buckles apart.”

While they talked, Mr. Ballantyne had been quietly studying the remainder of the inscription.

“Here’s one word that won’t give you any diffi culty,” he said, pointing out the Oriental-looking Kban.

“Oh, I see—bank!” exclaimed the girl.

“So it is,” agreed Craig. “Now we have Box 7, in some bank somewhere. But where could it be? Ulapsinne—Ulapsinne —”

“I have been puzzling over that,” said Ballantyne; “ and I believe it is ‘ peninsula/”

It was. They added it to the other words, and had —

BOX 7 SAFE DEPOSIT PENINSULA BANK

“That’s the actual name of the bank, I’m sure,” said Craig; “now the next question is, where is the bank?”

“There can’t be so many Peninsula Banks, because there aren’t so many peninsulas,” observed Billie, shrewdly.

“Right—oh!” agreed Rutherford. “‘Immia’ may be the name of the exact place. It ought to be easy enough to go over all our peninsulas, if we haven’t forgotten all our geographies—By Jove!”

His sudden exclamation was caused by the sight of the two newspaper clippings at his elbow.

“Helderman’s going to Florida. Florida is a peninsula!” he cried.

Billie did not make a sound; she looked from one man to the other, waiting for them to add the final word—too much excited, herself, even to try.

Mr, Ballantyne quietly drew over the paper to him, and added the final word—MIAMI.

“There it is, my child!” he said with pathetic dignity. “Your gold and diamonds—perhaps your old daddy’s good name—are locked up in Safe Deposit Box Number 7, in the Peninsula Bank, Miami, Florida!”

The girl drew his head to her shoulder, while the quick tears filled her eyes.

“And Helderman is on his way to Florida now—and it’s all my fault!” she whispered.

Rutherford struggled up from his chair, and pulled the telephone to him.

“What are you going to do?” asked Billie.

“I’m going to call up Crowder and send him, or have him send a police official —”

“Police!” she cried, springing between him and the receiver. “ What can you be thinking of! Do you think, after my father has lived all these years away from his own country because he was suspected of a crime he never committed, that I am going to let you spoil it all, by giving him into the hands of the police?”

The slender figure was drawn up to its full height. She spoke with positive fierceness. She faced Rutherford like a lioness trying to protect its young. She had shared years of her father’s exile, and she realized the utter hopelessness of establishing his innocence, unless time and consideration were secured for the proofs which might or might not be locked up in the bank in Florida, Rutherford’s suggestion, therefore, had filled her with a lively fear.

Her father did not try to stop her outburst, but took her hands in his, and gently stroked them. Rutherford secretly admired the picture they made, and paid no further attention to the telephone.

“Forgive me,” she presently said, in a gentler tone; “but anything that affects father always stirs me deeply. If the police were to suspect that Arthur Ballantyne is here in New York, he would be arrested and then be unable to clear himself. We both feel sure that Geoffrey Ballantyne would never have left a fortune to me, never have cared to make amends to my mother’s child, without also leaving some written record of his guilt and his repentance, to clear the name of that child’s father!”

“You think that the confession is locked up in the same box with the fortune?” asked Craig, touched by her devotion and seeing the inadvisability of giving, this case to the police, however greatly he might desire their help.

“Yes, I do think so. We both think so. But when Mr. Leclerc and Mr. Cowen were wishing to put a detective at work, I never said a word to give them a clew, although I thought of Miss Arany. I was afraid! You don’t think it necessary to tell the police—do you?”

The young lioness of a moment ago had become a tenderly-beseeching woman.

“Miss Ballantyne!” Craig protested, as if her question, with its implied doubt of his devotion to her interests hurt him; “don’t you know—yet—that I wouldn’t do one thing to harm you or yours for anything in this world!”

Billie put out a trembling hand* He took it and, with sudden appreciation of what we modems have lost in abolishing the dignified, confidence-inspiring salute, he kissed it. The act was like a silent compact. He felt as though he had taken an oath, like knight of old, to serve her always.

There came a little tap at the door.

“What is it?” asked Craig.

“It’s me, sor,” said the voice of Gooley, apologetically.

“Enter, and give the countersign,” said Craig, in military tones in keeping with the council of war. “Watch his expression, Miss Ballantyne,” he added in a quick aside, “when he catches sight of you!”

Mike came briskly into the room, but halted when he caught sight of the visitors; and his expression changed to one of blank amazement as he noted the graceful figure in the gray gown and black hat. Hadn’t he been busy trailing just such a person clear across the city?

“The saints preserve us!” he ejaculated; “asking your pardon!”

“Didn’t you find where the lady went, Gooley?” asked Craig.

“I thought I did, sor, but I reckon I was mistaken!”

Rutherford laughed heartily, and willing to relieve the man’s embarrassment, he said:

“It’s impolite to stare at visitors, Mike, but take one good look at this young lady, so you will know her the next time. It is not the same one you have in mind.”

At a gesture, Mike turned on the light, for the day was drawing to a close; and his expression when he saw his mistake was still more comical. But any comments he discreetly kept to himself.

“Gooley was sent by me to find out where Miss Arany went, after she left here,” explained Craig to his smiling visitors. “What did you discover, Mike?”

“I followed her, sor, she in one cab and I in the next—and she went straight as an arrow to the very place. It’s on the comer of Riverside Drive and —th Street, sor.”

“Yes, the big, white marble house.”

“No, sor, that’s just across the street, the side street. The place where this lady went was to the swell apartment that faces the south side of the marble mansion.”

“She lives there?” asked Craig, a note of disappointment in his voice.

“That’s what I don’t know, sor. I lost her there, though.”

“ You lost her there!”

“Yes, sor. It’s one of them bran spang new kinds of places, sor. Each apartment has its own elevator, and the tenants operates them themselves. I seen her take out her key to unlock the front door, and I gets up near without her seeing me. When she steps it, I reach out and catch hold of the door; it’s the kind that’s expected to swing shut and lock itself. I holds it, quiet like, and after I thought she might have gone on up, I sticks my head in the elevator to see how high she goes—and it wasn’t no elevator, at all!”

Mike paused to take breath, and a smile went over the faces of his auditors. His dramatic recital and its anti-climax were inexpressibly droll.

“Explain yourself, Mike,” said Craig.

“Why, it’s just as I’m telling you, sor. It wasn’t nothing but a little room the size of an elevator. Just a closet, you might say.”

“Didn’t you see anything of her?”

“Not a sign nor hide nor hair of her!” affirmed Mike solemnly.

“Come now, Gooley, you’re wandering!” Craig warned.

“Sure I’m telling the Gospel truth, sor. She wasn’t there—and there was nothing but white walls and never a chip to hide under.”

“There must have been some sliding panel —”

“Not a bit of it, sor. I stepped in and felt every inch of wall and floor with my two hands, I did. She went into the closet—and evaporated, sor!” “All right, Mike. I may want you again, presently. Are those some evening papers?”

“Yes, sor, all the latest extras.” And Mike deposited a large bundle of them upon the table and left the room.

“Wait a few moments longer,” said Craig to his visitors, seeing them about to rise. “As commander-in-chief, I have a few more orders to issue, and the first one is that you help me glance through these papers and see if you can discover the name of Helderman.”

They needed no second urging, but fell to the task with a will. In a few moments Miss Ballantyne gave a little cry.

“Here it is,” she cried.

There it was on the fourth page of the paper—a mere item among a mass of items.

HELDERMAN POSTPONES HIS TRIP

Mr. J. Baron Helderman—at the present time perhaps the most spectacular figure on the Street —said he was not going South as reported.

“Too many irons in the fire up here” he said, pointing to the pile of documents on his desk, “to think of going away from New York for sometime yet. When I do go I go to catch tarpon. Ever catch tarpon?” he asked of the reporter. And for half an hour he entertained this paper’s representative with the habits of this huge gamy fish of Southern waters.

For further particulars of this interesting interview see the Sunday supplement next Sunday. Whether Helderman knows Wall Street or not he certainly knows tarpon.

“That’s just like Helderman,” commented Craig, “trying to pull the wool over the eyes of the reporter.”

“You think he is going at once then?” asked Ballantyne.

“Undoubtedly. He is simply shamming, because of the other report that crept into the financial sheet.”

“What is our best move?”

“I am coming to that,” said Craig. It thrilled him to realize that these people were actually putting this completely in his hands. For the first time he felt that Miss Ballantyne was paying tribute to such intelligence as he possessed.

“In due time we’ll go South,” he said. “That is our best move. But our first move is something else. It is a move for you to make, Miss Ballantyne.”

“What move is that?” she asked, expectantly.

“Dismiss your servant Sophie.”

“Dismiss Sophie?”

“Precisely.”

“But why? She is all I have.”

“She is a bit too much for you, Miss Ballantyne,” said Craig. “Somebody at some time gave away your secret of your Paris dressmaker and your Paris gowns. Somebody knows too much about your movements. That somebody is Sophie. Out she goes. We can’t take any chances now. As for your comfort, Miss Ballantyne, I’m going to send you an old maid cousin of mine—a good old soul — who will be a second mother to you, and we’ll get a colored maid of all work, black as the ace of spades, who never saw Helderman and never saw Mademoiselle Arany—but no more French maids, if you please.”

CHAPTER XXII
THE INACCESSIBLE BOX SEVEN

The president of the Peninsula Bank in Miami was receiving two distinguished looking visitors in his private office. They were a tall man of ungainly walk but impressive demeanor and a young lady of singularly pleasing face and figure. The banker was all courtesy and attention, as soon as he had read his visitors cards and placed chairs and a table at their disposal. The tall man, without wasting words, seated himself and opened a black bag from which he began to draw documents with business-like precision. A blue buckle, a photograph and the sketch of another buckle were exposed to view, side by side with a pile of papers, which lay conveniently within reach of his long, powerful white hands.

“We are here, sir,” he said to the president, with the quiet, positive authority of a big financier who addresses a little one, already impressed with his importance, “in the matter of Box Seven in your safe deposit vaults.”

His glance had rested for a moment on the graceful and modish young lady seated in an easy chair near the door. The bank president bowed as his at tention was directed toward her. It was a rare experience for him to be closeted with a man of such striking personality, and—as the Sunday papers had frequently remarked—of such wonderful attainments, and rare also to be confronted with a woman of such unquestionable beauty.

They were certainly persons of prominence, these people, and plainly had come from the world where those of wealth and culture acquire the quietly dominant air that mark them as leaders in a world less prominent.

The president smiled reminiscently. “I understand/’ he said. “You refer to the Ballantyne estate—the freak will of an odd character/’

His masculine visitor smiled in turn. “No man, Mr. President,” he said, “is odd, if he happens to be rich.”

“Was the testator rich?” queried the president, interestedly.

“Don’t you know, sir?” asked the other. It almost seemed as though he were actually asking for information. The president shook his head.

“How could I know,” he answered. “ The Ballantyne estate is locked up in Box Seven.”

The woman smiled archly, but a trifle anxiously. “Haven’t you ever peeked inside?” she asked.

The president was almost shocked. “How could I, Miss,” he returned.

“You have both the keys,” she smiled, seductively.

“Ah,” he returned, “but this box—and its keys—are in our vaults—a confidential trust. We have no right to—peek.”

The masculine visitor darted a glance at the woman. She became silent on the instant. Then he turned back to the president. He pointed to the papers on the table.

“Allow me,” he said, “to present credentials.”

The president examined them—carefully, with the leisure of an old-fashioned man. The credentials consisted of letters of introduction, indentified photographs and signatures, and many other testimonials, proving beyond peradventure that Helderman, that Napoleon of the Street, was present in the flesh.

“The buyer of banks,” mused the president, with a complimentary smile.

“Right,” said Helderman, as though seeking other worlds to conquer. “I have just turned my attention to it … to the buying of New York banks. It is difficult to get them cheap. They know now that I am in the market and —pouf—the price soars up sky high!”

The president nodded. “When I read about you in the New York press,” he said, “it was my opinion, Mr. Helderman—if you don’t mind the advice of an old man—that you were making a mistake. Why not buy country banks—you can get them cheap enough—”

Helderman cast a secret but exultant glance toward the young woman at his side, and then leaned over carelessly.

“Some time,” he drawled, “we shall discuss it, you and I, Mr. President. For the present —”

The president again fumbled with his papers. “Your credentials are entirely satisfactory to me,” he said. “There is no doubt that you are Mr. Helderman.”

“You may not understand why I am so particular in this case,” said his visitor, “but it is said—it is whispered in the Street—though I know nothing actually of it—that there are two Helder-mans.”

“Brothers?”

“No—I have no brother. But another man who makes up to resemble me—who mimics me.”

“You surprise me,” said the president, again scrutinizing the papers—an unconscious act, which caused Helderman to smile. “What is his motive?”

“Evidently to do me at every turn,” said Helderman, “but so far he has succeeded only in one thing—he has repeatedly gotten me into embarrassing situations. Unquestionably a swindler—he has swindled others but not myself. Fd like to get my hands on him—that’s all.”

“The police?” queried the president.

“They are baffled,” said Helderman, “so baffled that they keep it quiet. But I’ll get this fellow yet, if they do not. I’ll get him, never fear.”

Helderman drew forth a wallet. “There’s one thing that my ubiquitous double so far hasn’t been able to do—he can’t produce real money—that is to any considerable amount.”

Without ostentation, and as though the matter were of every day occurrence, Helderman drew from his wallet and tossed before the president a neat packet containing fifty one thousand dollar bills. The woman started—glanced doubtfully at Helderman. She seemed surprised. The president picked up the bills. He shook his head.

“You traveled from New York with these upon your person,” he exclaimed.

“I sure did,” laughed Helderman.

“You’re foolish,” said the president severely. “You deserve to be robbed.”

“Exactly, but I wasn’t.”

“You may be—yet.”

Helderman in turn shook his head. “I’ll make safety doubly certain,” he exclaimed. “I’ll deposit that amount in the Peninsula Bank of Miami. Will you do the honors, Mr. President?”

The president did the honors. Inside of five minutes— even less—this large deposit in good hard cash was entered on the ledgers of the bank, and Helderman was stowing away in his inside pocket the pass book showing that he had that much to his credit.

“Now,” said Helderman, “let’s get back to the Ballantyne estate. This is Miss Ballantyne—the Miss Ballantyne. At the outset I may say that it is true that her identity in New York is disguised under the name of Miss Arany. But she is Miss Ballantyne, and I am here to vouch for it. She is my ward.”

“She has come here,” said the president, “to obtain access to Box Seven.”

“Exactly. Here are her credentials—birth—relationship—identity—everything.”

The president examined them. He consulted a memorandum. “Now,” he exclaimed, “to comply with this crazy man’s desires—I beg pardon of the dead—have you the two blue buckles? They complete the chain of evidence.”

The woman uttered an exclamation of impatience. “Is there never any end to this?” she cried.

“There,” said Helderman, candidly, “is where you’ve got us, Mr. President. We have one buckle. We have the inscription on the other buckle—but the other buckle is missing—not by accident, but by design—”

“Your design?” queried the president.

“I am afraid,” returned Helderman, “it is by design of my old friend, the duplicate Helderman. But Miss Ballantyne is the claimant—the rightful claimant—and we make the claim.”

The president pushed a button. A clerk appeared. “Bring me,” said the president, “everything you find in connection with the Ballantyne estate.”

The clerk nodded and returned. He placed a pile of papers before the president, and pointed significantly to a letter that seemed to be of recent date.

“Read that, sir,” he said, before he left.

The president read it. Then he nodded. “I find, Mr. Helderman,” he said, “that you are quite right. This is a letter from Messrs. Cowen, Covington & Brown, of New York—countersigned by Jerome Leclerc, the agent on whose management this whole thing depends. We received this letter recently by registered mail—”

Irene Arany glanced anxiously at Helderman’s face. His face gave no sign.

“I asked them to write you,” said Helderman, without the flicker of an eyelid, “but they would have written anyway.”

“They say,” said the banker, “practically what you claim—that some one claiming to be Miss Bal-lantyne secured one of the buckles through fraud—in their haste they don’t say which. They wired and then they wrote.”

“That is the reason,” said Helderman, “why we can’t produce the other buckle. And yet this lady is the rightful claimant. The contents of the box belong to her—whether those contents consist merely of a button hook, or of a million dollars—they are hers. She stands here demanding her rights of you.”

Helderman spoke in measured tones. “I don’t want to embarrass you,” he went on, “but —”

The president, worried, shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mr. Helderman,” he returned, fumbling with his written instructions and the correspondence fastened to them, “sorry, but we’re bound by these. This absurd business was thrust upon us—thrust upon this bank when its president was out of town. The bank took it—accepted the conditions. We rented Box Seven to a live man—later we were embarrassed by the instructions left by a dead man—instructions that must be literally followed, else where do we stand? We don’t pay checks without a proper signature. How can we deliver up these keys without the open sesame—the two buckles, which are the one essential thing. Here are their photographs—even counterfeit buckles would be detected. Around this box has been thrown all these safeguards. Now you ask us to give up when the one important thing is missing—the presence of the two blue buckles at once.”

“If a man,” answered Helderman, “lost his right hand and couldn’t sign checks, you’d have to pay his checks signed with his left hand, wouldn’t you?”

“When he properly identified himself, true,” conceded the banker, “but in this case, that man —that is, the buckle—has completely disappeared. The buckles are our voucher. Produce the buckles—satisfy us of Miss Ballantyne’s identity—this you have already done—the key is hers. But—you must produce the other buckle. You know that as well as I do.”

“Of course,” mused Helderman, “we could establish our claim.”

“Through the courts, exactly,” said the president, “and I advise that course. The box belongs to the rightful claimant. If through fraud she is prevented from enjoying her property, we believe the courts would relieve her.”

Miss Arany shook her head rebelliously. “Is there no other way?” she demanded, piteously, and yet angrily. “If you only knew what I’ve been through.”

“Miss Ballantyne,” said Helderman, firmly, “I am conducting this matter for you. The president is right. He has said what I knew he would say—what I told you he would say. We have made our demand—he has noted it on the papers. He has our credentials. He will protect us, at any rate. You may be sure of that”

“You are exactly right, Mr. Helderman,” said the banker.

“Now,” said Helderman, “can you tell us one thing—do you know what Box Seven may contain?”

“No one knows—in my opinion,” said the president, “save the dead man who hired it in his life-time It may contain a button hook, as you said—it may contain securities to the tune of a million dollars. No one knows.”

“You never peeked,” persisted the woman artlessly. But both she and Helderman hung upon the president’s answer.

“No one ever peeked,” returned the president.

“I can vouch for that. And now, what do you intend to do?”

“Now,” said Helderman, “we’ll bring suit—at once—here in your courts. Can you recommend a lawyer?”

The president smiled. “Since you’re going to sue the bank I can hardly send you to the bank’s lawyer, hut there are other good ones here in town.”

He jotted down the names of two and handed them to Helderman.

“Now,” said Helderman, “if you don’t mind. I’m always interested—can you show me through your bank.”

The president could and did. Helderman was charmed, it seemed, with the solidity, the quiet financial dignity of the institution. He met all the officers, the cashier and the tellers. As he talked to them, there seemed something mystic, mysterious about his remarks, his questions. What was he driving at? What did it mean? What did he intend to do?

When he left, he left the entire bank wondering—on the qui vive. Every man felt as he felt on the day before a raise in salary.

The president called the cashier into his private office.

“I wonder,” whispered the president, significantly, “if he means —” He didn’t finish.

“I wonder, too,” answered the cashier, sniffing the air.

Helderman saw both the lawyers casually, and picked the latter of the two. To this lawyer he said nothing about the blue buckle or the Ballantyne estate.

“How much do you think,” he queried confidentially, “I can get the Peninsula Bank for —? ”

“Stick ’em for?” smiled the lawyer, sizing up Helderman a bit. He shook his head. “It’s like pulling teeth to get ’em to lend money,” he added. “They haven’t got an ounce of sporting blood, I tell you.”

Helderman apparently resented the easy familiarity of the man. “I am not a borrower,” he said, stiffly. “I want to buy the bank.”

The lawyer stared at him. “You—want—to—buy—the—bank,” he gasped.

“I do,” said Helderman.

“Do you want some good advice?” went on the lawyer.

“I do,” said Helderman.

The lawyer nodded. “I’m the boy to give it to you, Mr. Helderman,” he said. Then there was a long significant silence. Helderman broke it.

“Well, go ahead,” he demanded. Then he understood. He drew forth a check book and filled out a check for a hundred dollars.

“My mistake,” he commented, as he passed it over. “ Now, go ahead.”

The lawyer pocketed the check. “My advice,” he said slowly, chuckling as he said it, “is just this i— don’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’ve been trying to sell that bank for the last five years—nobody wants it, understand.”

“What’ll I have to pay for it? “

“You can buy it figuratively, for a song—a dollar down and a dollar a week—that kind of thing, you know.”

“You’re sure of what you say?”

“Positive.”

“You’re my man,” said Helderman. “Come with me.”

The two went to the bank. They were closeted for hours with the president and the cashier. For hours Helderman—posing as a very astute financier— examined ledger after ledger, fingered securities, added up columns, scrutinized certificates of stock. At last he sank back, satisfied.

“If we can agree on terms, I’m with you,” he said.

They agreed on terms. Helderman saw to that. He left the bank half an hour later, walking on air.

He left two men behind him—more than two—who danced on air. They had good reason to.

For Helderman had bought the bank.

“You offered ‘em too much,” said Helderman’s lawyer.

“Yes,” drawled Helderman, as he drew his coun sel another check, “two dollars down and two dollars a week or so.” He yawned. “It was too much,” he said.

On that same afternoon—almost at that very hour—Crowder, of the secret service, burst into Craig’s apartment “My man in Florida says Helderman is there,” he smiled. He shook his head. “I’ll begin to love Helderman after awhile. . . . He was here in New York last night—now he’s in Florida. Impossible, eh? Oh, no—not to Helderman. He travels fast. He’s down in Florida and he’s up here in New York. Now you see him, now you don’t”

“I believe,” said Craig slowly, “that he is in Florida.”

“If he is,” returned Crowder, “one thing is sure. He can’t get back to New York in three hours, can he?”

“I should say not,” said Craig.

Crowder nodded. “I don’t know where Helderman is at the present moment,” he went on, “I haven’t seen him all day. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll wager you a new hat—”

“One like this,” said Craig, picking up a fifteen dollar specimen of his own buying.

“One like that,” said Crowder, with assurance. “I’ll wager you a hat like that, that we see Helderman in New York to-night.”

“I’ll go you,” returned Craig.

A few hours later he solemnly delivered to Crowder a written order for a fifteen dollar hat. There was a reason. For he and the secret service man had visited the Drive, and through the big window of the big house they had seen the man they looked for, busy in his big white room.

“It’s Helderman,” admitted Craig. “He’s in New York for sure and not. in Florida.”

CHAPTER XXIII
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

Craig was no fool. The grass had not grown under his feet. He knew enough of his own trust company to know that the last thing a bank would do with regard to other people’s property was to take risks.

“A bank’ll take anything you give it,” he told Billie Ballantyne, “but when it comes to letting go its hold—well, it’s more blessed to receive than it is to give. That’s its motto. And the bank at Miami won’t give up what it’s got—not until we say the word.”

He had already seen to it that Cowen, Covington & Brown—and Leclerc also—had served notice on the Peninsula Bank of the fiasco in the delivery of the other buckle. He also took the precaution to write his own registered letter to the southern bank, notifying them of the claim of Miss Ballantyne. He understood well what would happen—the bank would merely decline to deliver to either party. Craig in his letter had not mentioned Helderman, for a very good reason —he had no positive assurance that Helderman was mixed up in the affair.

“I gave this Arany woman hail Columbia in my letter to the bank,” he told Billie. “They’ll understand there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s an adventuress.”

“Don’t forget that I’m still an adventuress,” said Billie, with a laugh.

Craig declined to notice the remark. “As for Helderman—he’s still in New York—I’m satisfied of that. So, for the present, we’ll wait until we hear from the bank.”

It was that day that he heard from the bank. The letter was the letter of the president. It was addressed to Craig at the latter’s apartments.

Dear Sir:—(it said) Your communication of recent date, in re the Ballantyne estate and Box Number Seven in our safe deposit vaults, received. You are hereby notified that Miss Wil-helmina Ballantyne—for we believe her to be such—has called on us, has exhibited to us her credentials, and has notified us of her claim to the key for Box Seven. If the lady whom you represent can comply with the conditions under which we hold the key, she will be entitled to it —but we have reason to believe that she cannot. We have filed your claim and will decline to pay to either party except pursuant to the decree of a court.

The letter failed to mention Helderman. But it gave Craig a distinct jolt.

“This Arany girl is working alone,” he exclaimed, “and the bank believes in her. The time has come, Miss Ballantyne. Now we must go South.”

They went South, Billie and her father—and Craig went, too. His hurts were healing rapidly — he longed for action. This venture was vastly more interesting to Craig than remaining in New York. And his physician couldn’t hold him hack. They went to Miami.

In their turn they saw the president The president expected them—Craig had notified him. But there was one thing Craig was unprepared for. As they entered the bank, two or three suspicious looking individuals lounged about the entrance. As Craig and his fair charge were ushered into the president’s room, these suspicious looking individuals followed them inside. The president was seated at his desk. Craig introduced himself.

The president nodded curtly. He had hardly looked at his visitors.

“We hoped,” said Craig, “to see you alone.” He glanced at the suspicious characters. The president shook his head.

“These gentlemen,” said the president, “are merely local detectives from the county prosecutor’s office. I desired to have them hear your story.”

For the first time the president looked Billie Bal-lantyne full in the face. Clearly he was startled. Then he looked Craig squarely in the face. Once more he started.

He rose and bowed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Butherford,” he said. “I was not prepared—I was prepared for—”

Craig smiled. “You were prepared,” he said, “for the advent of an adventurer and an adventuress. Don’t we answer the description?”

“I had hoped I did, at least,” smiled Billie Ballantyne.

The president nodded to the detectives. “Gentlemen,” he said, “for the present, suppose you step outside.”

Craig had understood the situation at a glance. The detectives had been present, not so much to hear the story, as to intimidate them—the presence of these men might kill a fraud in its inception. The president had expected them to wilt—to relinquish any claim they might have had, then and there, on the spot.

One glance at their faces told him that he was confronted with a lady and a gentleman.

“Let me introduce,” said Craig, “Miss Ballantyne.”

The president smiled—but he was confused by the frankness of their demeanor.

“The other Miss Ballantyne,” he returned.

“The Miss Ballantyne,” said Craig.

Craig produced Billie’s credentials in her turn. He produced the first buckle. He told the whole story.

“To say the least,” the president exclaimed, “this is all very confusing. One Miss Ballantyne was here, with iron-clad credentials and one buckle. Here are you with iron-clad credentials and another buckle —”

“Where is Miss Arany now?” queried Craig.

“You are right,” admitted the banker, “that is the name she assumed to escape the very trouble that has arisen. But she has gone back—to New York—or elsewhere. I don’t know where. She has brought suit against the bank.”

“Just what we’ll have to do,” said Craig.

The president shrugged his shoulders. “As the present representative of the bank,” he said, “ all I can say is, that is the advisable course for all concerned. You can have an early trial — Mr. Leclere can come down here—you can fight it out together, and the bank will just look on — to the victor will belong the spoils, you see.”

“Jerome Leclerc,” mused Craig. “He wrote you, didn’t he? I asked him to.”

“Dear me,” said the president, “Mr.—er—that is, Miss Arany, asked him to—the real Miss Ballan-tyne—”

“I didn’t ask him to,” said Billie, belligerently, “and I am the real Miss Ballantyne.”

“Did he write?” demanded Craig.

“Cowen, Covington & Brown wrote for him and he advised it,” said the banker.

“May I see the letter?” queried Craig.

“You may,” said the banker, and he passed it over.

Craig studied it for a moment. “It doesn’t say which buckle the wrong woman got,” he said.

Again the banker shrugged his shoulders. His manner was a far-away manner—he was thinking apparently of something else. At times he was inter rupted by the cashier who entered and whispered to him.

“Will you wire to Cowen’s firm,” asked Craig, “and ask which buckle, number one or number two, the wrong woman succeeded in obtaining!”

“No,” said the president curtly, “the bank will obey instructions, nothing else. We are not even to be paid for this service, Mr. Rutherford —”

“We’ll pay you,” ventured Craig.

“That the bank cannot allow,” returned the other. “I can show you we’re right,” went on Craig, “if you will wire —”

“I shall not wire,” said the president, “it’s useless. Your course is clear. You must stand suit.” “Will you let me have a telegraph blank?” asked Craig.

The president sent for a telegraph pad. Craig wrote two telegrams, one to Cowen’s firm and one to Leclerc.

“Now,” he said to the president, taking a five-dollar bill from his pocket, “will you have these sent, and will you receive the answers? To say the least, that will assure you of our good faith.”

“I’ll do that for you, Mr. Rutherford,” replied the president. “How long are you to be in town?” “For two days at least,” said Craig. He left with the banker the name of his hotel.

“Now,” he said to the president, “can you give me the name of a good lawyer here in town.”

The president gave him a name. The lawyer was not the bank’s lawyer. It was not Helderman’a lawyer. All during this interview the banker had been careful of one thing—he had not mentioned Helderman’s name. There was no particular reason for this save that Helderman had come to Miami incog. And the president was invariably cautious and non-committal.

So Craig and Billie went to consult their lawyer —and retained him on the spot. This lawyer was an old fogy, but he was honest—Craig made sure of that. What is more he believed their story.

“I heard something about this,” said the lawyer. “There’s been a man and a woman—strangers, about town. I caught a glimpse of them myself.”

“Can you describe them?” queried Craig.

The old lawyer described them. As he did so, Craig glanced significantly at Miss Ballantyne.

“It looks,” he said, as they left the office, “as though Helderman—or his counterfeit presentment—were mixed up in this thing. We’ll wait and see.”

They went back to their respective hotels. When Craig reached his, he found two telegrams which had been sent him by the president of the bank. One was from Cowen, Covington & Brown.

Craig Rutherford, Esq., c/o Peninsula Bank, Miami, Fla.

We made no memo of it. We think it was the first buckle. We acted as mere agents for Leclerc. Ask him.

Cowen, Covington & Brown.

Craig,disgusted; read the other telegram. It was short and to the point.

The buckle I delivered was buckle number two. The wrong woman got it.

Jerome Leclebc.

Craig showed the telegrams later in the evening to Billie Ballantyne.

“Cowen’s firm has mixed it up more than ever,” he commented. “The bank probably knows Cowen’s firm by reputation—ten chances to one it knows nothing of Leclerc save his correspondence. We’ve got to wait Let’s forget the claim to-night. Look at the moon. Let’s stroll through Miami hand in hand.”

“Hand in hand,” echoed Billie Ballantyne, faintly.

“Figuratively speaking,” apologized Rutherford.

“Figuratively speaking,” she echoed—Craig hoped he detected a bit of disappointment in her voice.

“Figuratively speaking—except when we reach the dark spots,” he returned.

“I’ll see to it,” she answered, “that we don’t reach dark spots. The moon shall be my chaperon. Come on.”

They reached a dark spot, nevertheless—but Craig’s figurative speech still stood good. For there was something that happened in that dark spot that made them forget, for the instant, even the moon.

They strolled past the Peninsula Bank—but on, the opposite side of the way.

The Peninsula Bank was surrounded by trees—it was hidden from the moon—it was shrouded in shadow. It seemed like a sleeping mystery. But it was not altogether mystery. For a bright light shone in one of its windows.

As they watched, this light went out. Another faint light was still discernible, evidently the all night light in front of the safe.

“Let’s wait and see,” said Craig, hoping for courage, in the shadow, to shuffle off that figurative speech.

“ This is a terribly dark spot,” whispered Billie Ballantyn.

Then she stopped whispering. The door of the bank opened.’ Two men came out upon the steps. One turned and locked the door. Together they descended the stone steps, and sauntered along the sidewalk.

“In a moment,” said Craig, “they’ll be out of the shadow and in the moonlight. Let’s wait and see.”

They waited—and suddenly Craig caught Billie’s hand in his—an act due to his excitement.

“It’s Helderman,” he exclaimed, whispering, “Helderman and the president of the bank. By George.”

Billie nodded. Then she released her hand.

“You’re not so very figurative after all,” she exclaimed.

“Did you see him?” demanded Craig, excitedly.

She had and she had recognized him. They were sure.

Craig drew her into the moonlight and looked at his watch.

“Nine five,” he said. “Let’s go back. I want to telegraph.”

He telegraphed that night—by cipher prearranged—to Crowder in New York: —

Saw Helderman at nine five in Miami to-night. Bet you a pair of boots—the twenty dollar kind.

Rutherford.

He smoked in his hotel till midnight. Then they brought him his answer. It was also in cipher —from Crowder. Translated, it said: —

You lose. He’s here. I’ll take the cash. Don’t like fifteen dollar hats nor twenty dollar boots.

Crowder.

The next day Craig returned to the president of the bank. Just as he expected, the telegrams from Cowen and Leclerc had failed to clear up the matter—had in fact, hopelessly involved it.

Craig, hopeless, threw discretion to the winds.

“Even Mr. Helderman,” he said, “could tell you that I’m right—at least I think he could,” he ventured.

The banker merely stared at him. “Mr. Helder-man?” echoed the banker, as though puzzled —“ Mr. Helderman?”

“Come,” said Craig, “I saw you with him last night—don’t say I didn’t, Mr. President”

The president stared again. “Mr. Rutherford,” he said, “if I had the time to indulge your vagaries, I would not have the inclination. Your questions assume that I have some kind of acquaintance, business or otherwise, with some other man. This often happens in banks. But, whether I have or not, and who the man may be, is certainly none of your affair.”

“If it’s connected with the Ballantyne affair, I have a right to know,” said Craig.

The banker rose, dismissing him with a curt nod. “Mr. Rutherford,” he said, “you have no right to know anything—it is this bank who wants to know. We do not tell you—you must tell us, about the Ballantyne affair. Have you arranged for the bringing of your suit? Well, then, this interview is at an end. Good day.”

Craig and his charge had made full arrangements with the old-fashioned lawyer. They had done all they could. They went back to New York.

No sooner had Craig reached his apartment than he was called up insistently upon the telephone. He answered. The voice was Billie Ballantyne’s.

“Mr. Rutherford,” she cried, exultantly—her tone was all triumph, victory —“come—come to me quick—I have good news.”

He went to the West Tenth Street house and Billie was waiting for him in the little reception room down stairs.

“Glad to get in now and then,” smiled Craig.

She hardly heard him. She was a-quiver with excitement.

“Think,” she exclaimed, “think what I’ve got.”

Craig shook his head. “I can’t think well when you’re around,” he said. “What have you got? ”

She held out her hand and placed her hand in his. She withdrew it as quickly as she had extended it, but in Craig’s grasp she had left something harsh, metallic.

He looked at it.

“The blue buckle,” he exclaimed.

“The blue buckle—blue buckle number two” she cried.

He stared at it. She was right. This was the genuine article—the open sesame that they’d sought for.

“How did you get it?” he demanded.

“Just came, by mail,” she answered. She was exultant.

“Plain sailing now,” she said. Craig was puzzled, but he said nothing about his doubts. But — it all looked too easy to him. This good fortune seemed too ominous.

“You know what this means,” he exclaimed. “It means another trip to Florida. Come on.”

They went back to Miami by the first express. They walked, side by side, into the Miami bank.

“I’d like to see the president,” said Craig. They were ushered into the president’s room. A strange man was sitting there.

“I wish to see the president,” said Craig.

“I am the president,” returned the strange man.

“But—the other man,” said Craig.

“The other man has resigned,” explained the stranger. “I have been president for two days now.”

“At any rate,” said Craig, “I’ll state our business.”

He stated it, laying the two buckles side by side.

“I’m familiar with the matter,” said the new man. “My predecessor put me in possession of the facts. Let me go over the papers, if you please.”

He went over the papers, scrutinized the blue buckles with a magnifying glass and laid them down. Then he nodded.

“Follow me,” he said. They followed him. He stepped to a huge safe and unlocked an inside drawer. He took therefrom a key.

“Follow me,” he repeated. They followed him, down a winding staircase, into a stuffy little vault.

“Box seven,” he repeated. He handed a key to Billie Ballantyne.

“Insert that key there,” he said. He, in his turn, inserted another. The lock yielded. He withdrew the box.

“Perhaps,” he commented, “it is more comfortable upstairs in my room.”

Billie, clutching the box firmly to her, preceded them. They clustered about it as she laid it upon the table of the new president.

“Open it,” said Craig.

She opened it.

It contained nothing—accept many strips of paper cut the size of folded stocks and bonds.

Billie fell back with an exclamation of alarm.

“I thought so,” said Craig to himself. He turned to the new president.

“Mr. President,” he said, “may I ask if this bank has recently changed hands?”

The president eyed him coldly.

“Are you a stockholder in this bank, Mr. Rutherford?” he queried.

“I am not, sir.”

“Under the circumstances then, sir, no information can be vouchsafed. I can tell you nothing, sir.”

He told them nothing. Craig and Billie—the latter weeping hot tears of mortification—went back to New York.

At a glance Craig understood what had happened. Helderman had bought the bank, had exercised dominion over it, had unlocked drawers, procured keys, rifled box number seven, and then, in his exultation, had sent blue buckle number two to Billie Ballantyne. Rutherford could have killed the man with pleasure. But he contained himself.

Craig rang up Crowder immediately on his arrival in New York—and again was both astounded and annoyed to receive assurance that the New York financier was at home—and had been there right along.

“Look here, Crowder, have you seen him with your own eyes?”

“Not to-night. Sims is on the job to-night; and he reported to me, not half an hour ago, that he had seen him in the big room.”

“Can you go up there right away?”

“Yes, if it’s urgent. What do you know?”

“I don’t know what I know yet—but it’s important. I’ll meet you up there on the comer, inside the hour. I’m able to navigate pretty well, now. Florida and excitement have done me good.”

“All right—see you there,” was the response. Craig hung up the receiver and ventured forth.

A block away from the desired comer, he looked out of his cab and gave a low whistle of astonishment. Then he stuck his head out of the window to get a better view. Was that Helderman walking yonder, or wasn’t it?

The man caught sight of his astonished face, and made him a signal to stop. Craig did so, alighted and walked back, wondering in his mind what he should say to this extraordinary man. He went as rapidly as possible toward the man, who stood idly upon the street comer, seemingly indifferent to his approach.

“Who are you?” Craig demanded, as he reached him.

“I’m Helderman,” the man replied, coolly, at the same time giving an odd little hitch to his shoulders.

“You’re his double, you mean,” retorted Craig, thinking that at last he had come upon the mysterious person who took the place of the banker when the latter was upon some nocturnal adventure, or was paying a flying visit to the South. “You’re his double, you rascal, and your little shoulder twitches are not much good at close range. All the same, I’d like to talk to you! ”

Suddenly, the man took hold of his arm. It was not the grip of Helderman’s iron hand. He pulled Craig along the road toward the shadow of a cluster of trees.

“I can’t fool you, Mr. Rutherford,” he said in a different voice from the one in which he had previously spoken.

“Who are you?” Craig insisted, recognizing but unable for the moment to place the voice.

The man paused and glanced warily about; then he put his hand to his face, covering his goatee, and looked directly into Rutherford’s eyes.

“Crowder!” he exclaimed. “By the great horn spoon!”

“Sure thing!” said the detective, grinning.

“Why this disguise?” asked Craig.

“Just trying a little experiment—but I didn’t fool you much.”

“No, not after the second good look.”

“So you think you would know Helderman anywhere?” asked Crowder, casually.

“Among a million men.”

“You believe that there’s only one Helderman?” continued Crowder.

Rutherford saw the drift of his remarks. The detective was following exactly the same lines that he had come up to investigate.

“There’s only one Helderman like the one I know,” he insisted.

“But you suspected me of being his double, awhile ago,” Crowder said, shrewdly.

“Not for long. Helderman cannot be imitated successfully. You are not such a bad actor, as he is an impossible man to copy. I can’t see why you are masquerading. Anyone who knew him at all would be sure to find you out.”

“I’ve done it in order to fool Helderman’s servants. I’ve tried it on all the people in his house,” replied Crowder.

“Unsuccessfully, I’ll wager,” returned Craig; “if you couldn’t fool me, you couldn’t fool them.”

“Yes, I could—under one set of conditions.”

“Never! They’ll never believe you or anybody else to be the real Helderman.”

“Maybe not; but if there was a double—if they believed there was a double—they would take me for him.”

“Well, do they think there is one?” asked Craig, mentally admitting the cleverness of the detective’s reasoning.

“Not on your life! I’ve had half a dozen doubles trying to get into the house; and they always get turned down cold, and informed that the police will be summoned if they don’t vamoose. So I’m dead sure there is no double!”

“And you have never succeeded in getting into the house,” Craig concluded.

“I have though!—but without a disguise!” Crowder contradicted. As he said it, his face wore a bewildered expression which seemed at variance with his words.

“What did you find out?” Craig urged, as the secret service man appeared disposed to sink into a deep study.

“I can’t make head or tail of it, Mr. Rutherford, and that’s a fact! It’s a great detective game to look wise and pretend to know more than you do; but this job has had my goat ever since I tackled it—and I’ve run down some very pretty cases in my time! The other night, I passed Helderman going away from the house. He was carrying a black traveling bag. It was my chance, I thought. I hurried back to put Sims wise—and there he was—Helderman, still in the house! ”

“Oh, you did let him get away from you then!” Craig groaned.

“What do you mean?” asked the detective, sharply. “Is that what you had on your mind, when you wanted to meet me, to-night?”

Rutherford nodded.

“I’ve had reliable advice, to-night, Crowder, that Helderman is still in Florida.”

The detective stared again.

“Now see here, Mr. Rutherford, we’ll investigate that story later. But let me tell you what I did that night after I saw him starting off with the hag. I dashed up to the comer in front of his house—and there was that big room all lighted up, as usual, and Helderman—the real Helderman, I’d swear to it!—marching back and forth in front of the window. I pelted up to the door and rang the bell, before the dogs knew I was about I was surprised that they let me in; but the butler did do so. I asked for Mr. Helderman, and he said he had just gone out While we were talking, I heard noises in that big room, and pretty soon the butler opened the door. I went in and—just get the situation in your mind, Mr. Rutherford. Not more than two minutes before, I had been on the outside, looking at Helderman inside. I went into that big room—and it was empty. Even the chairs didn’t seem placed the same way.”

“But there’s only one door,” remarked Craig, remembering his own visit to the room.

“Yes, and I was facing it all the time. And as I went in, the noises stopped —”

“What sort of noises?”

“Sounded like the furniture being dragged about —only there was nobody to pull the furniture! Everything was just so; and a bright fire was burning in the grate, giving a flickering, rosy glow to the white walls.”

“Queer!” Craig exclaimed, without comment. He felt doubtful of Crowder’s veracity.

“Queer? Well, I should say! I saw Helderman on the avenue; I saw Helderman in the room. I heard that racket that someone must have made; I get in; and there’s nobody to make any racket, and no sign of any Helderman. Yet it was Helderman in that room—I would take my oath on it! ”

“And it was Helderman on the avenue!” scoffed Craig. “Really, Crowder, you ought to have your own double to track Helderman’s; for the same man cannot be in two places at once.”

“Maybe you’ll think that I am going dippy; but I’d swear they were both Helderman! I’ve already told you the pains I’ve gone to, to prove that he hasn’t any double.”

“How could —?”

“Don’t ask me! I don’t know how—only I know it’s so!” Crowder snapped, evidently at his wit’s end and patience’s end also, with trying to reconcile such conflicting theories.

“Crowder, if Helderman has a double, don’t you see how it fits in with my news that he has been in Florida? I saw him, man!”

“Don’t try to make me see anything, Mr. Rutherford. I’m dead sure that this Helderman can make even the impossible happen. And I’m worrying now for fear-that I’ve been helping him play his game, by disguising myself.”

“You mean—?”

“Yes, the same old thing. I’m still trying to connect him with the biggest smuggling scheme that has been worked in years. But I can’t get it on him—yet”

Suddenly, as they looked, the lights blazed out from the big white house up on the comer of the Drive. Some one was evidently at home.

“You say that Helderman’s still in the South tonight?” asked Crowder. “Come and see for yourself! I’ll gamble that he is up in the big house there!”

They walked up to the comer in front of the house, and stood staring. Yes, it was Helderman who presently entered the big white room. They saw him with his restless movements, his strange mannerisms, all the identifying peculiarities which were so impossible to imitate successfully.

“You see, he’s at home now,” Crowder remarked.

“I don’t know about that,” replied Craig, vaguely.

“What do you mean?” asked Crowder, impatiently.

“I’m going to try your game—and put it to the acid test,” replied Rutherford. And before his companion could stop him, he had clambered over the fence and was dashing across the lawn.

“Look out, the dogs!” yelled Crowder, pulling out his revolver to protect his companion if necessary, and certain that the beasts would leap out at the intruder.

And they did. Before Rutherford had gained the door, the savage creatures hurtled around the comer of the house, scrambling to resecure the foothold they had lost while turning. Rutherford saw his danger; he was unarmed. He sprang to the door and pounded upon the solid panels with his bare fists.

“Let me in! Help!” he shouted.

The door opened and closed. The detective, watching anxiously with hand on the trigger but afraid to shoot for fear of wounding Craig, saw the young man dragged to safety while the beasts snarled and growled, disappointed, at the entrance. Rutherford had played a risky game, but he had won.

The butler recognized Craig, and was very deferential.

“You should have rung, sir,” he said. “I’ll have the dogs tied up before you venture out again.”

“Is Mr. Helderman at home? I would like to see him on a matter of great importance.”

“Just a minute; I’ll see, sir,” the butler said, going to the white room, then turning without opening the door, and going upstairs.

Craig never took his eyes off the door, and listened intently. Just as Crowder had described it, the sound of furniture being pulled about came to his ears. In two or three minutes, the man was back again and threw open the door to the big room, as if looking in there.

“I can’t understand it, sir,” he said. “I thought that Mr. Helderman was at home this evening, but I do not find him. He must have just stepped out. If you will leave any word, sir, I’ll ask him to telephone you.”

Craig knew that the man was lying, and had gone upstairs only to gain time. Nevertheless, he made the most of his present opportunities, and looked around with close scrutiny.

There was, indeed, only one door, the one by which he had entered. The firelight flirted rosily with itself. The chairs looked as if they had never been disturbed. The little balcony again challenged his curiosity.

“He must have gotten out that way,” he thought.

He backed across the room to a point where he could command a good view of the wall back of it, but could see no trace of door or opening giving access to it. Even if it had been used for purposes of exit, one would have had to do some hard climbing to get up to it. Then it occurred to him that the noise he had heard might have been made by some one dragging a chair or ladder up to the balcony, after using it to reach there, and that a concealed door must be somewhere about it» He reflected, however, that Crowder was outside, watching, and would thus know the secret of the sudden disappearance. He tried to peer out of the big window, but could see nothing; the contrasting darkness was impenetrable to his eyes, used to the light.

The servant had given no evidence of impatience while he made this investigation, and Craig afterwards thought it odd that the man should accept it thus as a matter of course. Just now he was willing to depart, confident in the belief that the man on the watch outside would have news for him. But he was destined to disappointment.

He found Sims with Crowder, when he returned to the street, and both looked at him doubtfully.

“I was in that room! You saw me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then how did Helderman get out?”

“That was what we were going to ask you,” replied Crowder.

“Ask me! Didn’t you see him?” demanded Craig, impatiently.

“Sure! But weren’t you in the house?”

“Now see here, fellows,” said Craig, growing nettled. “Let’s stop all this beating about the bush. I’ll tell you what I saw, and then you tell me what you saw. The door to the room was shut, and I heard the noises, just as you did, Crowder. When I went in—well you saw that it was empty. Now where did Helderman go?”

“Well—he just—why, he just disappeared—that’s all!” Crowder replied, with risible reluctance. And Sims merely nodded.

“He didn’t climb upon the table or anything—?”

He didn’t do anything unusuaL He just walked across the room like he was going through a door— only we couldn’t see any door—and when he got there he jnst—went out!”

Rutherford listened, sick with disgust He was now convinced that Heldennan had been systematically tricking them in some way. Here were two of the best detectives in the country frittering away their time watching a house, and leaving the man himself free to go around at his own sweet wilL It was maddening.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE THIRD BOOKKEEPER

Out of the depths of discouragement, Rutherford evolved an entirely new plan of attack; and it was in pursuance of this plan that he called on Ferguson, the cashier of the Trinity Trust Company, the hank in which he was heavily interested and expected soon to assume active duties.

“Ferguson,” he said, “you know—or ought to know that I am closely studying the financial situation nowadays, with the view of being as much trouble as possible to this concern, later on.”

“The sooner the better,” grinned the cashier.

“Thanks—but you don’t know what you are saying; what an ignoramus I am,” responded Craig. “ Now there are one or two questions I’d like to ask.”

“Fire away,” replied Ferguson. He liked the way in which this straightforward young man was willing to acknowledge ignorance and to be taught; instead of tackling a job as intricate as banking with bumptious self-conceit.

“Well, the first thing I want to know is—How does a bank raise funds quickly? Suppose the Trinity Trust needed a million dollars, this morning, how would you raise it?”

“That’s a good big question for a starter, Mr. Rutherford; it has often caused financiers to lie awake at nights! But if I had some good marketable securities, I could easily turn them into cash.”

“At any other bank?”

“At almost any other bank. But there are certain banks which make a specialty of certain bonds, and would therefore take them more readily than others.”

“Is there any means by which different banks are kept informed of prospective bond sales? ”

“Most assuredly—especially when the transfer involves bonds of any considerable amount. If I were interested in large bond sales, I should simply send out a memorandum to that effect, and the probabilities are that the desired business would come to me.”

“Thanks,” replied Craig. “I guess I will learn all these ins and outs after awhile. Now I wish you would take up a little matter that I am interested in.”

Three days after this conversation, the cashier of the Trinity Trust was informed that J. Baron Hel-derman wished to see him, and would be there in person, within the hour.

It was just thirty-five minutes later, when Helder-man came in, carrying a black bag, which he deposited on a table as he took the seat offered him.

“A little matter of business for you, Mr. Fergu son,” he said, responding to the cashier’s cordial greeting.

“Be glad to do anything for you I can, Mr. Helderman,” replied Ferguson.

“Well, there it is,” answered Helderman, in his brief and arrogant way which was calculated to impress the hearer with the idea that he was too big a man to waste words.

“A special bond issue?”

“Yes—gilt-edged Borderline Fives. You can have them at a bargain. I need the money, and I want to turn these over at once. Next week they would cost you a good deal more; but this week I am closing up two or three big things and can use the money to advantage. At the same time, I want as few people as possible to be advised of my affairs.”

“I understand,” said Ferguson, as he examined the bonds.

Then he pressed a button.

“What’s that for?” demanded the financier, sharply.

“Someone I must consult,” Ferguson answered.

“I told you that I wished to consult as few people as possible,” said Helderman, vehemently.

“Nevertheless, I must get another opinion, as the deal is of some magnitude.”

“That seems unnecessary,” said Helderman. “The bonds are absolutely gilt-edge, and I stand back of them.”

“That isn’t the point,” responded Ferguson quietly. “We must determine whether or not we are in the market for this particular issue. Send the third bookkeeper here/’ he added to the boy who had answered his summons.

“Why in thunder consult the third bookkeeper!” exclaimed Helderman, after the boy had gona “ This is a matter for you and your board.”

“Nevertheless, the third bookkeeper must be consulted,” said Ferguson, with the shadow of a smile.

“Why not a fortune-teller, or the elevator-man?” Helderman snarled. He was in a bad humor, this morning, and he did not propose to be trifled with by any underlings.

The cashier rose as the door opened to admit a tall young man, to whom he bowed deferentially.

“Mr. Helderman,” said Ferguson, “let me introduce to you our third bookkeeper —”

“Rutherford!” exclaimed Helderman. “What are you doing here? Are you connected with this bank?”

It was plain to be seen that for once the extraordinary poise and self-assurance of this man were somewhat disturbed.

“Mr. Rutherford very largely is the bank, Mr. Helderman,” the cashier explained. “He is learning our tricks from the bottom up—and just now the third bookkeeper’s desk is taking most of his time. Mr. Rutherford,” he continued, addressing Craig directly, “here are some bonds which Mr. Helderman offers us at a very tempting figure.”

“What are they?”

The blood was climbing slowly up into Rutherford’s face, as though he were making an unusual effort to restrain it.

“They are Borderline Fives—a million dollars’ worth.”

Craig’s lips pressed tightly together for an instant; the next he faced Helderman, and asked in a matter-of-fact way:

“Are these the bonds from Miami?”

Had a bombshell exploded under Helderman’s feet he could not have started more violently. The question was so entirely unexpected; it implied a knowledge of things which he thought hidden from all the rest of the world. He restrained himself with a quick effort, and faced his questioner with an air of assumed surprise; but both of his companions had noted the temporary betrayal.

“What Miami bonds do you mean, Mr. Rutherford?” he asked, his old arrogance coming to the front to chastise this young man’s presumption.

“Why, the bonds belonging to the Ballantyne estate,” replied Craig in the most casual manner in the world. “I have been informed that they are now in your possession.”

“And who was your informer, pray?”

“That makes no difference, at present. I am simply trying to trace the history of these bonds. Are they the same ones that you brought from Florida —”

“Mr. Rutherford, this is idle! You know—or the public knows—that I have not been out of the city. The Ballantyne bonds are intact; and even if these were they, I would have a perfect right to dispose of them, as representing my client’s interests.”

“You admit that these are the Ballantyne bonds?” persisted Craig, still holding to a quiet tone, void of offense.

“I admit nothing—and—and I deny you the right to cross-examine me! What do you know about the Ballantyne bonds—and the Peninsula Bank?”

“It was the Peninsula Bank, then? Glad to know it!” said Rutherford.

Helderman looked nettled at his slight slip, and took refuge in silence. This self-possessed young man was more than his match, to-day.

“Mr. Ferguson,” said Craig, after the silence had grown perceptible, “I have reason to believe that these bonds have been offered for sale, without the rightful owner’s consent I make no charges against Mr. Helderman here, of course, but I ask you to hold these bonds in our custody, until we can investigate them.”

“You will do nothing of the kind,” retorted Helderman, calmly, “they are negotiable bonds payable to bearer. I am that bearer; I came to negotiate a sale. You will give them back to me, or buy them from me.”

“I may do neither,” Rutherford asserted.

“You will do one or the other,” Helderman said as positively.

Ferguson grew uneasy.

“Mr. Rutherford, I am not sure but that Mr. Helderman is right. The bonds have come to us through him, and he has offered to sell them to us at a very satisfactory figure. Now, we must either buy them at his price, or return them —”

“Correct!” agreed Helderman; while Craig was checked by a warning glance from the cashier.

“Mr. Helderman,” continued Ferguson, “I will give you a receipt for the bonds, and give you an early decision about them say, to-morrow morning.”

“Till to-morrow, then,” agreed Helderman, not altogether pleased with the turn of affairs, though evidently thinking it best not to make any show of distrust. But as he went out the door, he could not resist this parting shot. “Your suppositions are idle, Mr. Rutherford, and you have no proof! If you try any monkey business with me—I’1I break your bank!”

Craig merely smiled at the vain threat and Helderman left abruptly.

“Ferguson, have you heard—any tales—about Helderman, these days?” asked Craig.

“Why, he is all the time involved in risky financial speculations—things that the rest of us would not dare tackle—but he always manages to win out with them. What do you mean, Mr. Rutherford?”

“I mean just this. Helderman will bear watch ing; and, mark my words, he won’t last long, down here. Up like a rocket, down like a stick! As for these bonds—did you notice how he changed color, when I told him where they came from? ”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“I didn’t—not for sure. I merely guessed—and I made him tell me some of it!” replied Craig, with a gleam of triumph. “Before I get through, he is going to tell me some more!”

Ferguson grinned appreciatively, but the look was quickly replaced by one of apprehension.

“You did some good detective work, Mr. Rutherford,” he said, “.but you still haven’t evidence enough to hold these bonds.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going to hold them!” responded Craig, determinedly. “Understand, Ferguson, you are not to deliver them back under any circumstances without my consent. I, personally, will be responsible. Put him off pleasantly—but don’t give them up!”

Ferguson assented, but obviously ill at ease. He picked up the bonds and began to examine them again. Suddenly he gave a little exclamation and, without word of excuse, ran out of the office. In a few moments he was back again with a printed list, and again scanned the bonds.

“By George! I believe you are right about those Borderline Fives!” he shouted. “A big issue of those bonds utterly disappeared, some years ago. No one has ever been able to account for them. Ho coupons, even, were ever presented. These are the missing bonds, and they look as though they had been stuck away in some safe deposit box and forgotten, all this time!”

“You are mighty near right!” exclaimed Craig, sharing his excitement He had made a long shot, in accusing Helderman of having taken these bonds from the Florida bank, but the shot was evidently a bull’s-eye.

“Still we have no proof,” said Ferguson cautiously.

“We’ll get the proof!” Rutherford replied, with a determination as great as though he had not faced the baffling problem of proving Helderman a scoundrel, for a good while.

“You spoke about the bonds having been placed in a safe deposit box,” said Ferguson. “How, who can tell you positively what that box contained?”

“There’s just the rub!” responded Craig dolefully. “As I understand it, only the man who rented the box knew of its contents—and he is dead!”

“Then Helderman has got you!” said the cashier decisively.

“Ho, he hasn’t—not by a long shot!” said Craig. “And I’m going to start out on another track, right now; that is, if you’ll allow your third bookkeeper some time off, now and then!”

“I reckon we’ll have to—so long as his business concerns million dollar issues of bonds!” replied Ferguson facetiously.

Rutherford was already at the telephone.

“Central, please give me 2304 Franklin!” he called.

Ferguson watched him, secretly pleased with the energy and initiative displayed by the future head of his institution. It promised well for the bank, when the young man’s incautious enthusiasm should have been mellowed by experience.

“District Attorney’s office? I wish to speak to Mr. Brookfield. Hello! Is that you, Monty? This is Craig talking.”

Then ensued a rapid-fire conversation which resulted in an appointment for that afternoon, for himself, another man, and a lady.

“I’m not going to drag you or the bank into this,” he said to Ferguson, by way of relieving that cautious person’s apprehension. “There are two or three matters I want to talk over with my friend Brookfield, and the bonds will be touched upon only incidentally.”

“Well, I’ll punch the time-clock for you, and continue to send you your pay envelope—so long as you promise not to get the bank into trouble!” said Ferguson.

CHAPTER XXV
THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE

Rutherford met Miss Ballantyne and her father at the Criminal Court Building. It had required some persuasion on his part to make Billie consent to come to this awe-inspiring place; not that she feared for herself, but her constant thought was of her father and his safety; and it seemed to her that they would be thrusting their necks into a noose to venture thus into the law’s domain. Craig, however, had assured them that their identity would be kept absolutely secret for the present. They were again to be Mr. and Mrs. Talcott. Mr. Talcott, in fact, was the only name by which Ballantyne was known, up at his hotel.

“Mr. Brookfield,” said Craig, after he had introduced his companions to the Assistant District Attorney, “I have come to consult you about a matter of considerable importance. It relates to an estate consisting of a large amount of negotiable bonds, left by will to this lady. She has been defrauded of them by a man high up in financial circles—so you may appreciate the delicacy and importance of our mission.”

“Who is the man accused?” asked Brookfield, promptly.

“Do not be astonished when I reply that he is J. Baron Helderman.”

Billie saw the hands resting on the attorney’s chair suddenly grip the wood.

“What do you suspect—what do you know about Helderman, Craig?” asked Brookfield, suddenly deserting the formality with which he had opened the interview, and revealing himself a friend of Rutherford’s as well as a person who suspected something of J. Baron Helderman, on his own account.

Rutherford recalled to his memory the episode of the diamond necklace, on which case Crowder was still working and striving to connect Helderman, but thus far unsuccessfully. Then he narrated the salient points in regard to the flying visit to the Peninsula Bank, and how successfully Helderman had worked his skill to procure the bonds and other contents of the box, intended for some one else.

“I don’t know how much or how little you may know about Helderman,” he concluded; “but our chief difficulty is to discover the exact contents of that box he rifled; and our next is to overcome the most perfect alibi a mortal man ever invented. I am not sure but that is the biggest difficulty, after all!”

“I quite agree with your last remark—quite!” rejoined Brookfield, slowly. “We have already had some experience with this alibi of Helderman’s. What have you already done, in this last episode?”

Craig rapidly outlined the events of the past few days, beginning his own experiences in the South, and telling of Helderman’s visit to the downtown hank, that morning, in the endeavor to dispose of the bonds. He dwelt also, upon Helderman’s arrogant self-possession.

“But you are not sure that these are the same bonds?” asked Monty.

“Not positive; but I practically made him admit that they were. I haven’t the shadow of a doubt in my mind.”

“Are you sure that Helderman went South, at all?”

“I wish I were!” said Craig ruefully. “But while I am positive I saw him down there—others are as positive—but not quite—that they saw him up here!”

“And there you are!” commented Brookfield. He had evidently heard this sort of thing before.

“Only,” went on Craig, reluctantly, “on that same night Crowder positively saw him—or fancied he saw him—in his home on Riverside Drive.”

“Who?”

“Crowder.”

“Humph!” growled Brookfield.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Craig.

“Only this, that Crowder or some one so near him that he could touch them, is always the one to see Helderman—innocent.”

“Do you mean that you suspect Crowder—of—well, of what?” demanded Rutherford, astounded by; the implied doubt in Brookfield’s words.

“This Helderman always proves his alibi—how? Crowder and his companion or companions always see him somewhere else. Personally, I don’t mind telling you that I believe J. Baron Helderman to be quite capable of all the mischief attributed to him. He is a sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His business methods even are so questionable that he is liable to get into serious trouble on that score one of these days; but I leave that aside. He is apparently capable of petty meannesses that you wouldn’t believe possible in a man of his high pretensions. I’ll give you just one example.

“Not long ago, an old broker, Mr. Braine, was knocked down in the narrow corridor of a building in Broad Street. He was carrying an envelope—a big brown one containing negotiable securities worth-many thousand dollars. The man who knocked him down helped him to get up, handed him his brown envelope, apologized and dashed on. It was rather dark in the corridor, and the man’s face couldn’t be seen. Mr. Braine hurried on to the bank to deposit his securities in the safety vault. The next day, he had occasion to take them out and examine them. His brown envelope contained nothing but blank papers. The man who had knocked him down, the day before, had changed envelopes with him. That man seems to have been—J. Baron Helderman!”

Billie gave a little exclamation of surprise and horror. The other two listeners sat spellbound. Much as they had distrusted Helderman, they had not conceived him guilty of—just this!

“What makes you think so?” finally asked Craig.

“It was late, after dusk. Two men were trailing Helderman, on another matter. They saw him, and him only, enter and leave the corridor. The safety vault had been kept open a few minutes overtime to accommodate Mr. Braine; so these two men knew exactly the time. They are positive that only Helderman went into the place; and no one else either entered or left it, at that tima Braine came staggering by, and explained his mishap, about two minutes after Helderman had disappeared.”

“Then it’s clear that Helderman did it!” cried Rutherford, exultantly. “By George, that’s where he got the cash to buy the bank at Miami.”

“It’s clear to the two men who saw Helderman in Broad Street; but it’s not clear to Crowder and another man who saw Helderman at the same identical time—on Riverside Drive!”

Rutherford almost groaned.

“Brookfield, we aren’t any nearer to catching Heldcrman than you are, if you are always encountering his double.”

Brookfield did not immediately reply.

Billie cast a look of womanly sympathy at Craig, who sat in moody abstraction, and she had a sudden, unbelievable, inexcusable desire to put both her arms around his head and smooth the wrinkles out of his brow. She blushed at the amazing boldness of the thought.

“So you think that Crowder is his accomplice?” asked Craig.

Brookfield nodded. Rutherford looked at his friend with an expression that said as plainly as words, that he thought him mildly demented.

“If you think I’m crazy now, Craig,” said Monty, interpreting the look, “you’ll be sure of it when I explain my theory. Crowder is a hypnotist—that’s my view. He makes the person with him see Helderman—where he isn’t!”

“It’s not impossible,” Rutherford agreed, seriously.

He was mentally reviewing his own last experience up on the Drive, and the lame explanations the two detectives had given of the banker’s sudden disappear^ ance. Against that, however, he was banking his own judgment of people—a pet habit of his—and he could not distrust Crowder, however much this novel theory of Brookfield’s might have to commend it.

“But I’ll bank on Crowder!” he said aloud. “Meanwhile, we will keep each other informed, Brookfield.”

The attorney agreed, as he bade them good-day.

The three callers rode uptown in the same cab; but to Craig’s surprise, Ballantyne refused to go with them to the West Tenth Street house.

“Why keep up this elaborate hide-and-seek, sir?”

Rutherford questioned, carefully disguising his impatience. “I know that you do live with your daughter. I have heard your voice downstairs; and you have reported to me about occurrences there, in her absence. It seems absurd to suppose that I can be deceived now. It’s rather an insult to my intelligence, and somewhat of a—er—well, it would seem to indicate that although you are ready to avail yourself of my services, you are not ready to trust me. I am commander-in-chief only in name! Pardon my bluntness, but —”

“Mr. Rutherford! Mr. Rutherford!” exclaimed Ballantyne, “surely you cannot think so little of us as that!”

“Surely you cannot have so little confidence in me as that!” retorted Craig. “ Really, Mr. Ballantyne, what difference does it make, now? The fortune is yours—if you can get it away from Helder-man. It is no longer necessary for you to carry out the stipulations of that crazy will — even if you ever did it—and I’m sure I’d be the last to blame you.”

The older man’s face paled a trifle, at the younger one’s implied accusation. He had opened his lips as if about to make an explanation; now he compressed them firmly. He was a Southerner and not accustomed to being called a liar.

“Mr. Rutherford,” he said stiffly, “I live now, as I have lived ever since I landed, at the Monolith. Good afternoon. Good-by, little daughter!”

Rutherford climbed back into the cab and shut the door with a bang. He didn’t relish being told that black is white.

“Well, I’ll be—”

“Oh! I shouldn’t want you to!” Billie protested, her eyes laughing, while her lips puckered into a pout.

“Sometimes I feel as if I’d like to shake you—hard—and punch the nonsense out of your father’s handsome head!” Craig fumed.

“It isn’t father who has the nonsense in his—handsome head,” she replied, enigmatically. “ I should have told you long ago, but I have been waiting for you to find out. And father has been overcautious on my account—just as I have been, on his. Until this muddle is entirely settled, he will not cease to live absolutely according to the dictates of the will.”

“But he has been in the Tenth Street house!” Craig asserted.

“He has not! And if you don’t take my word for it, and stop bothering about what is not your affair, I’ll never speak to you again!”

“I realize that I have bothered a good deal about what is not my affair,” said Craig bitterly. “I beg your pardon, I am sure.”

They were both silent for a moment; then the girl, with what Craig inwardly called the perversity of her sex—the bewitching lure of a dozen moods rolled into one and utilized without rhyme or reason to drive a man distracted—began to woo him out of his ill-temper.

“You think I’m unappreciative, don’t you?” she asked, softly.

Craig made no reply.

“But I’m not!” she assured herself. “And I just hope with all my heart —”

“Hope with something you have,” Craig suggested.

“Don’t you think I have a heart?” she reproached, with a subtle little emphasis on the second personal pronoun.

“The selfish interest or motive is usually the strong one. Unless I were to see your heart doing a little work on my behalf, instead of all for your father, I fear I shouldn’t have much faith in its existence. We all have to be shown, you know!”

“How could I show you?” she asked artlessly.

Craig’s heart—his own member—thumped furiously at this, but he resolutely kept his face turned away, and preserved a semblance of his vanished ill-humor. He didn’t want to lose any of this hard-earned advantage!

“If you really had any heart for me, you know, it would suggest ways of revealing itself. The mere asking of the question proves conclusively that—you haven’t!”

“Why, Craig!” she said reproachfully. It was the first time she had ever used his first name, and he had never realized until now how good a name it was!

He turned toward her quickly, a world of yearning in his eyes—and just at that moment the cab drew up in front of her home.

“I would ask you to come in, but—” she began shyly.

“I’m coming in anyway!” he announced determinedly. “Miss Olmstead iB a friend of mine. She’s not like your former friend, Sophie. Perhaps she’ll ask me to tea.”

“If she doesn’t, I shall,” replied Billie, dimpling. “The only reason I hesitated was because you were—so horrid!”

“Why, horrid?” protested Craig. “I only asked a few natural questions!”

“Which you ought just naturally to have guessed for yourself!” she retorted.

“Do you mean about your father, or about your heart?” asked Rutherford.

“Of course, about father and the house!” she said, confused. “But here we stand talking it all over -on the sidewalk. The driver hasn’t been paid his fare; and Miss Olmstead is peeping out of the window. Come in, and I’ll show you all the secrets of this wonderfully mysterious house — then maybe you’ll be satisfied!”

CHAPTER XXVI
THE STRAWBERRY VENDER

“Straw—ber—rees!”

The voice rose shrill and penetrating in the aristocratic air of Riverside Drive. It was not often that itinerant fruit merchants hawked their wares in that neighborhood; but this man seemed more than usually enterprising, and had gotten hold of an early supply of fruit, which he was disposing of direct, at a good price.

“Straw—ber—rees!”

The voice became almost a wail, as the man turned a corner, and tried his wares on the adjoining block. He must have had a good supply of fruit, for he lingered in one neighborhood for nearly half a day. It was the block whose chief ornament was the big Helderman mansion on the comer.

The strawberry vender was a ragged-looking individual, with, a mop of tangled, curly hair, which proclaimed him a former citizen of Italy. His complexion was swarthy, and two large, brassy-looking rings ornamented his ears.

As he continued to hawk his wares, a young woman handsomely dressed passed by him, ignoring the tempting fruit. She was walking somewhat hur riedly, and had presumably come from the subway, after a forenoon’s shopping downtown. The merchant, seeing that his berries were disdained, followed the lady quietly and unobtrusively until she had entered the apartment standing opposite the mansion, on the side street. Then he slipped in behind her, before she could close the door.

So quietly had he come, that she gave a little scream as she turned and saw him. The door leading to a private elevator was half open, and she evidently ran it by automatic push-buttons, for no attendant was in sight.

“What do you want?” she asked, annoyed. “I told you that I didn’t wish any of the fruit! How dare you follow me in!”

“But eet ees such fine fruit, ladee—and so cheap!”

“Don’t bother me!” she snapped, and was just about to enter the elevator, when the man uttered a single word, in a low voice:

“Helderman!”

Miss Arany—for it was she—turned with a start “What do you want? Who are you?’” she exclaimed.

“I will tell you, in a moment. I wish to see you; it concerns Mr. Helderman, and it is important.”

The man had dropped his Italian accent, and stood quietly while Miss Arany sought to penetrate his disguise.

“How do I know your business is worth listening to?” she asked, doubtfully. “You see, I am here alone in the apartment—”

“No, Mademoiselle! We can go through the secret passage, and you will have all your servants — and the dogs—at your command. You see—I know!”

Miss Arany frowned at his allusion to the secret passage, and again looked at him sharply. Then deciding that, since the man already knew of the hidden entrance, it would do no harm to grant him an interview, and might possibly be to her advantage, she entered the car without another word, and the man unbidden followed. He smiled at her, with assurance, as he entered.

It was a small, square car luxuriously upholstered. Heavy, beveled glass on three of its sides gave its occupants abundant opportunity for self-examination. Certainly, the mirrors had never reflected a pair affording such striking contrast, as this exquisite woman of fashion and the tall, unkempt merchant with undeniably dirty face. Nevertheless, the woman showed no symptoms of fear, but calmly pressed a button sunk in the paneling.

The elevator, in violation of its name, descended.

It was the same one whose mysterious disappearance had so puzzled Michael Gooley; and its mechanics were very simple. As it descended, a second chamber or story built just above it came down and occupied its place. It was this little, white closet, into which Mike had stuck his bewildered head.

Meanwhile, the car below gave access to an underground passage which led to the banker’s luxurious home across the street.

The ragged street-merchant had never traveled this route before, and although he betrayed no outward surprise, he metaphorically took off his hat to the genius of the man who had worked it out. He could see how, under the disguise of establishing a plumbing and heating system, the banker had been able to connect his mansion and his apartment-house without exciting suspicion, and had thus managed to secure a means of exit and entrance to his home without fear of detection. For it was now evident that the mansion and the apartment-house had been designed and built by the same hand.

Irene Arany unlocked a second door, and the man following her felt the rich nap of heavy carpet under his feet He was in a dark back hall or lobby of the marble house. Then they ascended some back stairs, apparently unobserved, and the man was ushered into a small den or alcove jutting off the hall.

For the first time since they had started from the apartment, Miss Arany spoke.

“You have a terribly dirty face, Mr. Craig Rutherford!” she observed.

“I don’t doubt it!” the amateur merchant replied with a laugh.

Trene Arany, however, did not laugh.

“Why did you watch me, to-day—and how did you know about the underground passage?” she demanded.

“Which question first?”

“The last one.”

“To tell you the sober truth, I didn’t know about it; I just deduced it!”

“Humph. Adding amateur detective to your other accomplishments, eh? This time, however, I am afraid you have overstepped even your customary rashness. Do you realize that you have placed yourself wholly within my power—and that I am not taking many chances, these days?”

“Exactly so!” replied Craig, unmoved.

“State your business, then!” cried Miss Arany, irritated by his sang-froid. “But I warn you beforehand that, when you get through, I shall have something to say—and perhaps also the man who owns this house!”

“Spare your threats, Miss Arany,” said Craig. “I have come up here to have a quiet, little chat with you—I remember our other interviews with so much pleasure!—and I merely chose this disguise to avoid having to explain to the detectives, the real ones, I mean.”

“Are they as thick as all that?” she asked, seizing upon his last words in the hope of obtaining some information.

“Miss Arany, please do not think that I am borrowing your methods and trying to frighten you; but I believe you do not realize the gravity of tie situation. This house is being watched, night and day, by some of the ablest detectives in the Government service —”

“Yes, and the whole outfit can be fooled!” she sneered.

“Don’t be too sure! You may have thought that you concealed the visit to Florida successfully, but —”

“What do you mean! What visit?” she demanded, with a fine assumption of astonishment “Tut, tut, Miss Arany! Two can play at the hide-and-seek game! You may as well know that your movements were watched from the time you left New York until you returned. And the transactions down at the Peninsula Bank, in Miami, are exceedingly well known to several people.”

“You cannot prove this absurd statement! Fll wager that your fine Government detectives out here on the corner are willing to swear that Mr. Helderman never left the city. His enemies have tried to trump up charges on him, before; but they have only got laughed at, for their pains. Mr. Helderman is the soul of honor; but because he is a very rich and successful man, he is constantly made the subject of idle attack!”

Nothing could have been more impressive than the histrionic manner in which this elegant lady defended her accomplice, but her present audience was unimpressed.

“Fortunately—or, rather, unfortunately for him!—Mr, Heldennan’s perfect alibi is somewhat upset, in the famous trip to Florida!” Rutherford remarked. He seemed so sure of his ground that the woman started. -

“Explain yourself!” she snapped.

“His own admissions —” ventured Craig.

The girl turned white. “Admissions?” she said doubtfully.

“Precisely. Miss Arany, please let me repeat that I am not trying to frighten you into any admissions. I am merely advising you—as a friend r—if you will. Despite your faults, for some of which I have suffered physically, I honestly admire you! You are a woman of wonderful resources —”

“Spare me your compliments!” she retorted.

“I honestly mean it! “ Craig replied. Then assuming a more serious tone, he continued: “ The net is closing in around Helderman. At last three different cases are being rounded up against him. This jaunt to Florida, by which he secured by fraud—”

“How by fraud? The papers and evidence were in our possession—the estate is rightfully mine!” she stormed, but a frightened look had come into her eyes.

“It is too late to try to make me believe that, Miss Arany! Let us try to devise other ways and means.”

“For what purpose?” she demanded.

“To save yourself. I have some influence with the authorities—”

“Mr. Craig Rutherford, I want you to understand, once for all, that I am not that kind of woman! Let them prove what they can—or cannot—I should not be cheap enough to turn State’s evidence against the man —”

Her voice trailed off into silence, as she sat nervously clasping and unclasping her hands.

“I admire you for that!” Craig said, with an unmistakable note of sincerity in his voice. “ Suppose, then, that I offer you easier terms. The contents of Box Number 7, in the Miami bank, I am led to believe, contained not only bonds to a large amount, but also some private papers which are of great importance to Miss Ballantyne and her father.”

“Miss Ballantyne, bah! What do I care for that presumptuous baggage or her father? If I had those papers and they would save his life—I wouldn’t turn my hand over!”

“Now, I think your bitterness is as misplaced as was your loyalty, awhile ago,” Craig said, dryly.

“Oh, of course you think so! Miss Ballantyne has but to simper with those big, babyish, brown eyes of hers, and crook her little finger, and you immediately dance attendance!”

“That may be,” retorted Craig; “but, to speak slangily, I am not the only one!”

“Then I pity his taste!”

“Whose—Helderman’s?”

“What do you mean? J. Baron Helderman wouldn’t look at a girl like that a second time.”

“I’m not so sure,” mused Rutherford.

“1 am!” Miss Arany said emphatically, her eyes flashing.

Rutherford perceived that he had touched a tender spot in her susceptibility. She was not only devoted to Helderman, but she was insanely jealous of him.

“Tell me, Miss Arany,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes; “what is Mr. Helderman to you?”

“For three years he has been—everything!” she answered, defiantly.

“Still, you cannot he married to him. Your husband abroad —”

It was a chance shot, but again it told. She changed color, and retorted angrily:

“He was poor—commonplace! What could he offer me in comparison with Helderman?”

“But suppose now that Helderman—tires?”

“He will not dare—after all I have done for him—after all I know I”

“Yet I am sure that he is making love—to Miss Ballantyne.”

Rutherford said this with a show of bitterness on his own part, which led Miss Arany to believe he was intensely jealous. The girl gave a short, mocking laugh.

“Making love—bah! He makes fun of her to me! I know that he called to see her once, which was for purposes of his own. Now, it is no longer necessary.”

“Then if he called again —?”

“He will not do so!” The woman said it with the positive assurance by which one seeks to allay one’s private fears.

“You are mistaken,” returned Craig. “Helder-man is going again, and he is going as an ardent wooer, even a desperate one.”

“Prove it!” she cried, her eyes blazing.

“I shall do so, Miss Arany—with your assistance.”

“With my assistance—yes! No one shall say that Irene Arany is a dolt and a fool—a mere plaything to be cast aside!”

“I have not said that, Miss Arany,” said Rutherford, the utmost consideration in his tone. “ But I will say this. You are being made a tool of, and you don’t know it! While you sit at home, hqre, looking after that—well, that alibi or double of his—Mr. Helderman is amusing himself elsewhere, and laughing at you for being a dupe!”

“No, NO!” she screamed, in a perfect frenzy of rage. “He would not dare! I’ll give you one chance to prove it, Craig Rutherford; and if you do not make good your words—I’ll hunt you out and kill you!”

While the woman stood there the picture of beautiful rage and jealousy, her eyes dilated, her lips quivering, Rutherford began to unfold his plan of action to her, quietly but rapidly. At first she remonstrated, then as the reasonableness of his request dawned upon her she nodded her head angrily but emphatically, to show that she would do what he said.

Suddenly, the big clock in the hall downstairs began to boom out the hour. She started.

“Quick!” she exclaimed. “He will be here any minute! He must not see you in the house! ”

“Which way shall I go out?”

“The way you came; but be quick!”

Rutherford needed no second urging, for Helder-man was the one person just then he did not wish to see. He darted back down the passage silently; up by the little elevator—this time a real elevator; and out on the street. The free air of heaven felt good to his temples again.

Up the street rolled the banker’s limousine, just as the ragged street vender turned the far comer, crying —

“Straw—ber—rees!”

CHAPTER XXVII
THE SILENT LISTENER

It was nine o’clock in the evening, and Billie Ballantyne had just finished completing a toilet of unusual care. The effect, however, did not altogether satisfy her, and she put two cold, nervous hands into the warm, strong grasp of Miss Olmstead. There was something so sympathetic and motherly about Miss Olmstead that the lonely girl had taken her to her heart at once.

“I wonder why I was such a long time finding you!” she exclaimed impulsively to the older woman.

Miss Olmstead stroked the soft cheek, with a touch that was almost wistful. This was just the sort of girl she would have liked to call “daughter,” if she had had the right.

“I wonder why we were such a long time finding each other,” she answered.

The front door-bell rang; and Billie, already overstrung, grew all of a tremble.

“Oh, I wonder if I can. Will I do? Do I look very nice?” she exclaimed, turning to face her image in the glass, and once more making a little grimace at the reflection.

Miss Olmstead made no immediate reply. She was thinking that if she only had her youth back, and looked half so charming as the radiant girl in the glass, she could ask no more. Nevertheless, Billie’s discriminating gaze went from one detail to another of the elaborate toilet, and at each inspection she was not altogether pleased.

“Oh, dear! I never wear so much jewelry! I never look so fussy! But, you see, I must dress, the part, mustn’t I? Do I look like an adventuress? Do I look bold and wicked, and as if I would betray my friends for money?” she asked, anxiously.

“No, not quite that,” replied the truthful Miss Olmstead. “I should say that you looked like a debutante just on the threshold of some brilliant social success; one whose youth and good looks and ambition might spur her on—to anything!”

Billie clapped her hands like a delighted schoolgirl “That’s better than looking like an adventuress, isn’t it!”

A strange servant-girl, an honest-looking mulatto, appeared at the door. Sophie had decamped in tears and high dudgeon; and Miss Olmstead had secured a maid-of-all-work to supply the need.

“A gentleman, ma’am,” she said, presenting his card.

Billie flashed down the stairs like a creature of light and energy. She swept into the study, as though she had eagerly anticipated the visit of its occupant Helderman, his eyes glowing as they rested upon her, rose and greeted her with old-school courtesy. None could do this with better grace than he.

“I am obedient, Miss Ballantyne, you see,” he said, and bowed again.

A much less observant man than he must have been struck by the elaborate toilet she had made. Helderman read it as an indication that the girl had begun to chafe at her quiet life down in this out-of-ther way comer of town, and wished to try her wings for higher flights.

“Were you surprised to get my message —after—the last time?” she asked, faltering and flushing under his intent scrutiny.

“I was delighted,” he answered gallantly.

“Why?” She looked at him with the frankness of a child.

“Because I wanted to see you again. I wanted to tell you how you hurt me, when you dismissed me—the last time,” he said, with perfect sincerity.

“Will you sit down?” she asked, indicating a chair just opposite the desk. “I must again apologize for utilizing this study as a reception-room; but we have found that the other room needed doing over entirely. You know, when one of these old houses begins to fall to pieces—it goes in chunks. That is just what the ceiling of the room downstairs did!”

He laughed at her naive description and seated himself; while she sat just a few feet away. Then he deliberately drew his chair still closer, so that the horns of the wicked-looking Rocky Mountain goat on top of the desk seemed to threaten him with bodily injury.

Helderman’s attitude was arrogant, like that of a conqueror dictating terms. He had pursued this proud, self-possessed young woman long; and only he knew the secret of her apparent capitulation now. He assumed an indulgent tone, and never once throughout the interview could his voice have been heard in the adjoining room. It was quiet, persuasive, but domineering, like the man himself.

“I am glad you chose this room,” he said. “It is so business-like. And one trait I have always admired in you is that you can talk—business!”

“You think, then, that it is an admirable trait in a woman?” she asked timidly.

“In some women—when not carried to excess,” he replied, enigmatically. “I judge, though, that you have had to cultivate the faculty, in order to safeguard your own interests—and your father’s!”

“I have,” she answered, still with unaffected frankness; “and that is one reason why I wanted to see you alone, to-night.”

“Is that the only reason, little princess?”

“ It is a very great reason, Mr. Helderman; and you have it in your power to grant me a very great favor.”

“Would my reward, then, be—very great?” he responded, his eyes glowing.

“The victor can sometimes afford to be generous,” she fenced. “Just now the question is, will you help me?”

“In what way, little princess?”

“The safe deposit box containing the property and other papers belonging to the Ballantyne estate has been opened, as you know, and I have reason to believe that all its contents are in your possession. Of course I know that possession is nine points of the law, and that there is no way of getting them from you, even—”

Billie paused intentionally and looked directly at Helderman; but his face wore only a look of polite interest.

“— even though they had been secured by fraud. The fraud cannot be proven.”

“Indeed?” Helderman questioned.

Billie realized that she must come nearer the bounds of that exclusive control of herself, which made her at once unapproachable and alluring to this man who loved winning the difficult things of life. Helderman was not to be moved so long as she talked in business-like generalities. She must play the coquette; she must woo from him the information that she sought. For a moment she felt sick at heart; then she steeled herself with the thought of how much it meant to her father.

“Mr. Helderman, I have sometimes fancied that you—cared for me—a little!”

The actress slumbers in every beautiful woman. Billie began to waken her in herself.

“I have risked your displeasure once, to tell you how much I cared for you!” he answered in a voice low but vibrant with passion. “You must believe me, glorious girl! There is none on earth I have ever desired as I desire you—and I mean to have you!”

The girl shuddered slightly at the tempest she had aroused, but did not draw away.

“Then prove your love!” she challenged.

“How?”

“In the Ballantyne papers which you have in your possession are some documents going to clear my father’s name of a crime, for which he was unjustly accused. Give them to me!”

She stretched out her hands, a world of pleading in her voice; but the banker merely laughed, secure in his advantage.

“You are a good guesser, child! Yes, there were some papers in the box, which your father would give a good deal to see; which you would go down upon your pretty knees to ask me for. But why should I calmly give to you the documents that have been secured at so much risk, on my part ?”

“And yet you say you love me!” she retorted, bitterly.

“It is precisely because I do love you that I must keep this slight hold upon you. Marry me, and the papers are yours; your father can hold up his head again; and you I will surround with every luxury, every consideration. Refuse me, and I will destroy these papers—and send your father to a felon’s cell!”

As he spoke, he drew from his pocket an oblong, white envelope and flourished it.

Billie often wondered, afterward, how she could have retained her self-poise in that supreme moment; how die could sit and smile as she looked at this remorseless man!

“Tell me,” she said softly, purposely evading the answer that his last sentence would demand, “when did you first see me? Was it on board the Gothic?”

Helderman looked about him to make sure no one was within earshot, before he answered.

“No, child! It was weeks before that time! Your precious blue buckle, and still more precious Sophie, first led me to your feet. I had picked up clews to the Ballantyne estate in Paris, when Sophie —”

“Then she was not—good to me!” the girl said, with a little cry.

“Sweetheart, all women are tricksters—and most men!”

“You think that I am one?”

“You could not help it, if you tried, child—being a woman! But it was Sophie who first told me that your father had obtained possession of his blue buckle. It was Sophie who planned the attack upon your father in the streets of Paris, hoping to get a reward from me!”

Helderman uttered these confessions as calmly as though he were discussing the weather. He seemed bent upon impressing the girl with his power, his resource. He was not afraid of her. They were alone. If she repeated these confessions to others, he had but to deny.

Billie was completely overwhelmed; and in the midst of her depression she remembered with a little pang that she had resented it when Craig had carried his point and made her dismiss the girl. His intuition had been keener than hers, there; but then he could never have known how apparently devoted the girl was; how much she had meant in those days of anxiety and loneliness.

“Sophie was in your employ, then!”

Helderman laughed.

“One cannot take too many precautions!” he said.

“But you did not come over on the same boat with me, because you wanted to see me; it was because of the blue buckle! And yet you call that love!”

“It was both; I will be honest. But each time I saw you, it was you alone of whom I thought. The buckle only represented so much money. Money?—bah! I make it by the handful, and fling it into the street again! It is only the means to an end—but it shrinks into nothing beside you, you, you!”

It would be impossible to describe the subtle changes of emphasis with which he uttered the last words. The man was speaking in deadly earnest; and the girl looking at him could not dissemble the fact that he loved her. But with all his passion, Heldermaa was still the man of craft, who said everything deliberately—even these apparent confessions— with some definite object in view. Just now, he wished to demonstrate to her how carefully he had- planned to bring her within his power; and how useless it was for her to struggle further.

“You speak of me as though I were the only woman in your life,” she said slowly, almost reproachfully. “Yet I know that there has been another—and is at present—who is constantly being mistaken for me, or I for her.”

“You mean Miss Arany, I suppose,” he said lightly. “Yes, I needed her, just as I needed Sophie; and I took her away from her liege lord, in Vienna.”

“Oh!” Billie cried aghast. “She—she was the wife of another man—and she loved you! You loved her, and took her!”

“That is my way!” Heldennan exulted. “I take all I desire! I go straight ahead, where ordinary men falter! Yes, I loved Irene Arany once, and she has been very useful to me. But—no longer! I have loved no other woman since I first saw yon. You are a white star; you bum clearly with all the purity and beauty of heaven. I love you alone!”

Heldennan’s face was white; his hands were clenched. Billie gave one startled look at him, then turned and let her head sink down upon her bare arms. He terrified her. She did not doubt his assertion for an instant “You—you cannot love! You do not know what the word means!” she cried.

She started up, one desire possessing her, making her forget for the moment the purpose with which she had asked Helderman to call. She wanted to get away from him; out of the reach of his dangerous, overwhelming passion.

“Little princess, you cannot go! You asked me here! I came determined to win you. I mean to have you!”

He uttered the words without noise or hurry, just with that dreadful, inexorable purpose of his, that had made him feared in the world of business.

He had stepped in front of her, and his hands clasped the soft roundness of her arms. She jerked away from him and retreated to the desk, pressing her hands upon it “I’m coming up! I just arrived! Just a minute!” called her father’s voice from the hall.

Helderman laughed.

“Little white dove, do you think that I am to be frightened by your childish tricks? Let your friend—your father—keep on arriving; I am already here. Sophie told me all about him. Phonographs—eh? Concealed in niches—eh! Worked by a button. Now Sophie is gone, and you are alone in the house, but for a superannuated old soul who cannot count for much. Yet I do not want to frighten you. I mean to win you, dearest! You must come with me willingly! And remember, your father’s honor is in your keeping!”

Helderman’s voice had become almost gentle. Even in her fear, Billie wondered at the varied phases of this extraordinary man. He was fairly hypnotic in his power to influence a less powerful mind.

“I—I could not love you! I have no faith in you!” she cried, shuddering.

“You should have—now that I have laid bare my heart, even my villainy to you!” he protested.

“You admit, then, that you took the bonds and papers of the Ballantyne estate, when you had no right to them” she said, her firmness returning.

“I have admitted what you already know; but it was to win you, my princess. Marry me, and it is all yours again!”

“But if I refuse?”

“If you refuse—my clandestine visit to the Peninsula Bank will still not have been in vain. The bonds, Borderline Fives, and for quite a tidy sum—they shall still be mine.”

“And my father?”

“His vindication is—just so many worthless bits of paper in my eyes!”

“Oh, be generous!” she begged, the tears falling from her eyes. “Be generous! Keep the bonds, if you must, but give me my father’s papers! ”

“Not without my reward!” he exclaimed, catching the hands she had extended and holding them fast in his own. “Say that you will marry me 1” “When you have stolen what is mine? When you are threatening my father with imprisonment 1”

“But I love you 1 I want you! I would do more than steal; I would kill, if another man crossed my path to you!”

Nothing could exceed the vehemence of this threat; and the fact that it was uttered in that smouldering, scarcely audible tone he had maintained, made it all the more terrifying.

“How dare you say such things—much less, do them?” she exclaimed.

“Because, no one can prove that it is I who do them! I have told you freely about myself, to-night, yet you cannot use a syllable of it all against me. It would be your word against mine, and you would not be believed; for my alibi is faultless! I can go and come—even to Florida — and no man can say certainly that I have left the city!”

“But how —?” she suggested, not daring to ask. “Ah! That is my secret! Not even you shall know, just now, beloved! But once with me—I can command resources in your behalf of which you never dreamed! Why, I intend to sell those Borderline bonds of yours to—whom do you think?—to Rutherford. He will gnaw his finger-nails off with vexation, but he will have to buy the bonds from me, for you! Ah! That is humorous, for Rutherford loves you—that is, as much as these prosaic Americans can! But I shall brush him aside; I shall take you abroad, where your beauty —”

“I’m tired of hearing about my beauty!” Billie exclaimed. “Tell me about that interesting alibi of yours! I’m just crazy to know about it!”

She had purposely assumed a coquetry and flippancy she was very far from feeling, as she listened eagerly for his reply.

“Not even you must know now, sweetheart!”

The girl suddenly wrested her hands from his detaining grasp, and edged away from him.

“I am more generous with my secrets,” she said. “ I am going to tell you why I asked you here tonight; it was to get you to incriminate yourself!”

“I had a faint suspicion of that, at first,” he answered, sardonically; “but you have not succeeded. Even had there been persons concealed in an adjoining room, they could not have heard what I said to you!”

“That is true,” she said. “But you have incriminated yourself, nevertheless—Almost without any prompting—certainly, without the necessity of placing persons in the other room, to listen.”

She spoke quietly, indeed, so quietly that her words beat ominously into Helderman’s consciousness.

“What do you mean?” he asked, with his old, quick glance over his shoulder.

“You laughed at what you called my little trick, when the phonograph called up its warning voice! It was one of the things that my father arranged for my protection, when the odd conditions of the will forbade our living under the same roof. Sophie may have told you about that; but she did not tell you, evidently, because she did not know, perhaps, that father has always watched over me, although in another part of the city. He always listens to everything that goes on here. To-night, he has heard all that you said!”

“You do not mean —?” began Helderman, with a violent start “Yes, I think you have guessed it. There is a dictaphone installed in this room.”

The banker’s keen eyes traveled searchingly over the room and the desk.

“The broken horn on that Rocky Mountain goat is a receiver,” she continued, interpreting his glance. “The magnifier concealed there catches even the faintest whisper—and most of the evening you have been close to it! My father has listened at the other end of the wire, at the Hotel Monolith; and there has been still another auditor—of a different sex—who has probably been keenly interested in your story.”

Helderman raised his heavy walking-stick, and brought it down sharply upon the prong of broken horn. It severed from the head, and a mass of insulated wire was exposed. For an instant the man stood like a beast at bay; then recovering his amazing composure, he laughed scornfully.

“I guess your father won’t hear anything else, tonight!” he sneered. “He is away over at the Monolith. It will take him half an hour to realize that something is wrong with his machine^ and to get here. Much can be done in half an hour! When he gets here he will find an empty cage; his white bird will have flown. And you, my dear, are going with me! I have sworn it! So come!”

He sprang toward her, pinning her arms to her body with a single powerful sweep of one of his long arms. In his other hand he held a handkerchief which, by a dexterous twist of the top of his cane, had become filled with the penetrating odor of chloroform.

“It will not hurt you, sweetheart!” he said, pressing it gently over her terrified face.

“Helderman!”

The banker whirled around at sound of the familiar voice. Rutherford seized and jerked the handkerchief from his hand. Helderman swiftly thrust his hand into an inner pocket; when another man, who had come up quietly behind him, pinioned the arm with his own. It was Crowder, the secret service man.

“It*s up to you, now, Mr. Helderman, to prove your alibi!” the latter said, with grim satisfaction.

“Release me!” commanded the banker, without making any physical effort in his own behalf.

“I shall,” replied Crowder, suiting the action to the word. But with a swift click he snapped a handcuff on the wrist.

The hanker reddened.

“You shall pay dearly for this insult!” he said.

“Perhaps,” rejoined the detective, “hut just now I’m not taking any chances; and you’re coming with me.”

“Where?” asked the banker.

“Well, first of all, we are going to pay a call on—that alibi of yours, up on Riverside Drive!”

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE SECRET OF THE BIG WHITE ROOM

The three men went down the steps, out of the door, and approached the big limousine of the banker, still standing waiting, about half-way down the block.

“Will you give instructions, or shall I?” asked Crowder, in a low tone.

“I will do so,” replied the banker, quickly. “Home, Adolph!” he ordered; and the three entered the car. The light coat thrown carelessly about the shoulders concealed the handcuffs upon Helderman, and the three men would have given the casual passer-by the impression of being good friends, off for a jaunt. Only, they were very silent for such a party, and all were keenly alert, two with a common object, the man in the middle, and he with a darting gaze for everything great and small within his range of vision.

“You are making a mistake,” said Helderman, as the car rolled smoothly away from the curb; “ a bad mistake!”

“We are willing to take chances on that,” answered Crowder. “But I fancy we have a pretty fair case.”

“Upon what counts?”

“Well, the Peninsula Bank fraud for one. Mr. Rutherford here has worked that up, and I must say that he has done a pretty good job, for an amateur.”

“A pretty poor job!” retorted Helderman, with a scornful laugh. “Why, he cannot even prove that I was out of the city!”

“He thinks he can. And there’s a woman thinks so, too.”

The banker gave a start, and looked around at the silent Rutherford. It was that young man’s time to smile.

“What else, Crowder?” asked Helderman, willing to change the subject for the moment.

“Oh, there are several other counts, Mr. Helderman, without taking into consideration the attempted abduction, to-night. There was the Braine episode—”

“Sheer rot!” commented the banker.

“I’m not sure about that. The evidence is all tabulated, now, and you’ll have a mighty hard time to squirm out of it”

“Humph!” grunted Helderman.

In spite of his detestation of the man, Rutherford watched his amazing self-possession with secret admiration. Helderman was playing his cards to the end; and even the detective seemed to recognize this fact, for he answered his questions with unusual consideration.

“You still do not seem to realize what a tight box you are in, Mr. Helderman,” he said. “But I may add that my own case, the one for the Government, on which I have been at work for several months, is practically complete. I expect to round it up tonight.”

“And what is that?” snapped the hanker.

“The smuggling case. I have traced your operations through several countries and over the past ten years —”

“Piffling!” burst out the man in custody. “Crowder, you seem to forget who I am.”

“I know all about that,” interrupted Crowder, “and all about you.”

“Nevertheless, I have great wealth,” rejoined Helderman, apparently undiscouraged by Crowder’s knowledge of the deception he had practiced in his high financing. “It will be worth your while to consider what I would be able to do for you—if you found it convenient to be—a bit careless. A hundred thousand for you, Crowder, and a clearance of the Ballanlyne estate for you, Rutherford —”

“Not another word!” warned Crowder sharply. “This is what comes of talking to a prisoner! Now you’re trying to add bribery to the list—eh?”

Helderman sank back into his corner, and made no further attempt to argue. But his keen, black eyes were never idle, darting from side to side, on the Way uptown, as if seeking some way of escape. The stem, set faces of the two men, however, gave little encouragement.

It was just half-past ten when the limousine drew up in front of the gateway to the mansion on the Drive. A small knot of idle promenaders had halted upon the sidewalk, and stood intently watching what was going on in the big room with the revealing window. It was just such a group of loiterers as might have been found there almost any evening—interested, watching, as the ostentatious financier himself had planned.

Craig glanced out to see the cause of their interest, and gave a shout of amazement. Helderman started, stretched out his neck to see what the others saw, and swore a succession of good, round German oaths. He sprang up; but Crowder’s hand gripped his arm, and the muzzle of the detective’s revolver insisted upon his getting out more decorously.

“This time the gate is unlocked, and the dogs are not at large!” Rutherford observed.

Helderman’s breath came in a savage snarl.

“Shout—make but one effort to attract attention, and I’ll wound you. I won’t kill you; too many people want you alive!” Crowder warned, in a low tone.

Up the broad steps, along the marble walks, tortured by what he gazed at but had no power to prevent, the master of all this wealth and magnificence marched with his captors.

A liveried servant opened the door. Helderman muttered the oath he dared not speak. The other two hurried him toward the mysterious-looking door of the big, white room. It opened, and the next moment they were inside.

Craig was ahead. For one startled second he stared at the other Helderman, the one he had seen pacing back and forth with characteristic gestures in the room, as he approached the house with the real Helderman beside him.

There on the smooth white wall of the room, opposite the broad window, this other Helderman moved, every detail so like the man who stood chafing under Crowder’s grasp, that Craig’s eyes turned confusedly from the one to the other, as if to assure his puzzled vision that he actually saw two men.

“By all that’s holy!” he burst out at last “It’s a moving picture!”

His words seemed to release Helderman from his thrall of tortured silence.

“Dolt! Idiot! Fool!” he screamed.

Out of the semi-gloom a beautiful face, contorted to a mask of hate, mocked at him from the balcony. It was Irene Arany, taking a cruel revenge for Helderman’s change of heart “An accomplice of yours, I believe, Helderman!” observed Crowder dryly.

“Yes, she has turned the trick on him for some of his duplicity, with a vengeance!” added Craig.

It was true. Irene looked down on the man she had loved, and whose schemes she had shared, with no shadow of uncertainty in her face. The look of hate bore with it a gleam of satisfaction.

“So you were through with me—quite!” she scoffed. “I was merely a useful tool, like Sophie! Well, I wasn’t through with you—and I’m not through with you—yet! I told you once your smuggled diamonds were not safe. I show you now that you were never safe—never safe from me.”

And the cruel show of him upon the wall never ceased, or was interrupted for an instant Steadily she kept the betraying picture at its fiendish task. Now the simulated Helderman walked —apparently— to the window—but actually upon the bare wall—and looked out. Now it lighted a cigar. Now it sat down and crossed its legs. Now it paced up and down the wall, with many a shrug and grimace that its counterpart had assiduously cultivated, for just such a purpose as this!

Helderman, the real, swore until he was out of breath.

“There’s where your picture man falls short,” commented Crowder, quizzically. “You should have had him trained to swear, too! Edison could have fixed you up!”

Enraged and humiliated beyond endurance, Helderman flung his manacled hands wildly around, seeking to do this jeering detective bodily harm. Crowder quickly eluded him, and took advantage of his move to land him in one of the spindle-legged chairs.

He had scarcely touched it, when it began its part in the embarrassing revelations. It began to move, with a sliding noise, toward a comer of the room. Its fellows moved also; and the table in the center of the room, as if not wishing to be left behind, accompanied them on the queer journey. Actuated by concealed panels and levers in the floor, they steadily proceeded until they had all taken inconspicuous places along the wall—leaving the stage cleared for the action of the moving picture.

“That’s what happened when the lights were off. That’s what made the noise!” exclaimed Craig.

“You’re a wonder, Helderman!” said Crowder, with genuine admiration. “But you’ve over-reached yourself. You wanted the Ballantyne money—Heaven only knows when or how you got on the Ballantyne trail—and the Braine money, and the smuggling money, and any money you could lay your hands on, to keep you going; to pull you out of the big hole your last enterprise got you into.”

“What enterprise?” asked Rutherford, when Helderman did not deign to reply.

“A colossal moving picture trust. He’d have made it go, too, if we hadn’t stopped his little game. But it would have been a tight squeeze, for even a real multimillionaire. His company had bought up hundreds of shows, and had been running them at a tremendous loss, so far; but he’d have won out in the end, if —”

Crowder did not think it necessary to complete his sentence. Irene Arany laughed—a horrible, mirthless sound, which caused all three of the men to start “Chromatic films—nature-color process developed to the highest degree—that flickering fire which took up the flicker of the camera; hidden, automatic machinery to move the real furniture out of the way of its counterfeit presentment;—the blank white wall for the moving picture screen—the Great Danes to keep the onlookers from getting too close to the window—to keep them at the theatrical distance—there was another stroke of genius, to keep us all at the dramatic—the theatrical distance, so we couldn’t get too close to tell—it is the mark of true genius, Helderman, but genius turned to crooked ends!” said Craig, as at last the picture faded, leaving the expanse of white wall bare and innocent of shadow.

Again the woman laughed, and the sound seemed to rouse the betrayed man to superhuman effort. As he had sat there in the shadows, his powerful arms had worked silently and irresistibly against their bonds. Now he flung them wide, and the handcuffs fell to the floor with a clang. Before the secret service man could recover his balance from the sudden shove he received, Helderman was at the door.

Craig sprang at him as though he were on the football field, and tackled low. An instant Helderman writhed to break himself loose, then —

“The dogs! Loose the dogs!” he yelled.

Eutherford felt his flesh grow cold. He knew that nothing human could withstand the combined attack of those two half-starved beasts, urged on by their master.

There was a rattling of chains, and the next moment a gaunt, lithe form hurtled over the heads of the two struggling men on the floor. A second followed and landed with heavy impact in the middle of the great white room. The two beasts paused a moment, with drooping heads, growled inquiringly as though seeking a victim; then they saw Craig clinging to their master, and with a roar they charged upon himt

“Shoot! Shoot! They will kill him!” cried Irene Arany, her voice raised to a shrill shriek of horror.

Just as Craig felt the hot breath of the nearest of the brutes, he gave a sudden upward heave of his arms, still tackling Helderman below the waist, and threw his opponent between himself and their attack. The beasts circled, snarling, seeking for an opening.

“Kill them!” besought the girl in the balcony.

Crowder had stood with revolver raised, but still dared not shoot, for fear of hitting Rutherford. He lifted the weapon and fired into the wall.

The dogs whirled at the sound, and started toward the new assailant. Craig. released his hold, and clutched Helderman around the throat “Call off your dogs, or ‘Fll choke you!” he shouted.

His voice distracted one of the brutes. It turned on him again and tore hie coat half off him at the first vicious snap of his jaws. Again he barely saved himself by swinging the banker between himself and the dog.

Crowder also had sprung behind the swaying figures for protection from the other brute. Now he was close to Helderman, and he pointed the revolver, not at the dog, but at the man.

“Speak to them!” he commanded, tersely. “Speak!—or, by Heaven, I shoot to kill!”

Helderman knew the tone, and obeyed.

“Down, Satan! Down, Lucifer!” he cried.

A strange thing happened. The familiar voice stopped them; something in it seemed to hold them still—for a second—then they turned simultaneously and with howls of exultant rage leaped straight at the man they had once cringed before. For now they detected a tone of fear in his words of command. Helderman was no longer their master, and they meant to make him pay dearly for all the hardships they had endured at his hands.

Craig saw them coming and darted to one side. Helderman gave a hoarse cry of despair. The dogs were upon him.

Crowder raised his weapon again. He could do no worse than the beasts would do, if he did not interfere. He fired, and Lucifer rolled over, pierced through the heart. The pistol barked again. Satan turned with a scream of rage and pain, and dashed at his throat A shot caught the dog between the eyes.

Helderman, shaking with a chill of horror, sank hack against the wall. There was no semblance in this cowering figure to the arrogant, triumphant financier. Craig saw his weakness and instantly took advantage of it.

“I’ll trouble you for those papers of Miss Ballantyne’s,” he said, extending his hand authoritatively.

Without a word Helderman drew the envelope from his pocket and handed it over. Craig glanced hurriedly inside it to satisfy himself. He did. not trust Helderman, even now, but his precaution was unnecessary. Helderman was beaten. He could fight no more.

“Come!” said Crowder, touching the man on the arm, and again presenting the handcuffs, “the curtain has been rung down upon the moving picture trust. There will be no more free shows up on the Drive to keep some of us awake of nights!”

CHAPTER XXIX
AND LAST

It was somewhat late in the evening for a call; hut Craig Rutherford went up the steps of the West Tenth Street house with the assurance of a victor. A tiny light gleamed in the window, to tell him that he was awaited.

“I want to see Miss Ballantyne,” he said in a somewhat dictatorial way to Miss Olmstead, who opened the door for him. The colored girl had long since retired.

Without waiting to hear whether he might or not, he walked into the stiff, old parlor. It had probably never before held a young man who paced such mighty strides across its ancient carpet “Mercy gracious!” a voice came from the obscurity of the hall; “are you in training?”

“Not yet!” retorted Craig. “Come here, and let me begin!”

“It’s late for callers, and I’m not dressed for company. I shouldn’t have come down, if Miss Olmstead hadn’t made me, and —”

“Are you coming in here—or shall I have to come out there?”

“Oh, no.”

It was a very meek little capitulation, one of the kind by which a girl gains time. Billie sidled cautiously around the door-frame, and stood just inside the threshold. Something long and faintly blue hung softly all about her. The sleeves were roomy and shorty with lace edgings framing her dimpled elbows and trailing down like misplaced wings.

“Look! I have them! The last will and confession of one Geoffrey Ballantyne!” exclaimed Craig, with strategic skilL

She came dancing toward him, her face lighted up so that it was a joy to behold.

“OH!” she cried, in very large capital letters. “Then father is free!”

He nodded, so delighted in being able to bring her this joy that he was willing to keep his own desires in the background. The girl seized the papers from his extended hands and pressed them to her lips. Her eyes were misty with sudden tears. She gave an inaudible word of excuse and hurried from the room, and Craig made no effort to stop her.

Five minutes she was gone, and then ten. Craig got up slowly and started toward the door. His mission was accomplished, evidently, so far as she was concerned. She had secured the papers for which she had endured so much, and in the sudden rush of joy he was forgotten. He felt no bitterness at the thought; instead, he pictured her as indulging in a good cry. He would go away, now, and perhaps tomorrow she would listen to him.

His air of dictatorial assurance was gone, as he walked slowly through the hall and opened the door. He felt depressed, as though he had lingered too long after the last curtain had been rung down. The ardor of the chase, which had keyed him up to the highest pitch until Helderman had finally surrendered, was over. It would seem petty of him to linger here, as if in hope of reward. He would not demand the girl’s love from a sense of gratitude!

He was half-way out of the door, when a little cry made him pause and turn back again. Billie was flying down the stairs, all excitement, all apology.

“You weren’t—going! “ she said, reproachfully.

“Why, no,’’ he said, with an effort to be jocose; “I thought I would step outside and try a cigar for my nerves.”

“I don’t believe you! “ she contradicted, “and I should never have forgiven myself, after all you have done for us! But I just couldn’t help—crying like a baby. I tried twice to telephone father about it, and I couldn’t keep my voice straight! “

“You poor child! “ Craig said, sympathetically. “You should have had the rest of this strenuous evening to yourself. I wouldn’t have come back at all to-night, only I knew you were anxious to have the papers —”

He half turned again, as if preparing to take his leave, when she laid a gentle detaining hand on his arm.

“How can I ever thank you enough for all you have done?” she asked, timidly.

“Why, don’t try to, little girl!” he said, his eyes shining as he looked down into her sweet, upturned face. “Besides, I don’t want—just thanks!”

His arm crept around her shoulders; but it was the old, elusive Billie who turned quickly toward the parlor, still fencing for time.

“Come,” she said coaxingly; “tell me all about what happened to-night. I shan’t be able to sleep a wink unless you do.”

Mentally she was contrasting these two wooers of the same evening. The first had demanded her hand as the price of her father’s papers; while the second had been on the point of slipping away quietly, unthanked.

Craig obeyed willingly, and related the stirring events of the Riverside Drive mansion, while she listened with bated breath and kindling eyes.

“Oh!” she panted. “Oh! If anything had happened to you —” she paused in some confusion, and added lamely: “So that dreadful Mr. Helderman was the smuggler, after all, was he? What became of that diamond necklace you helped him smuggle in?”

“I don’t intend to have all my work on account of the necklace go for nothing!” he laughed. “I’m going to buy it from Uncle Sam for a bridal present; and I’m going to get Monty Brookfield to act as best man. Your father—or his phonograph!—will be down here to say, ‘ Bless you, my children! ’— while you —”

“Oh!” she said, rosily, “so I am in this they-all-lived-happy-ever-after story, too, am I? ”

“Yes. The first thing you are to do, is to tear up every single living garment in your wardrobe!”

“Why, the very idea!” she protested faintly. “Yes,” he went on, unheeding the natural remonstrance to his startling plan; “out they must all go! They’re too much like another lady’s costumes; and I don’t want to run the risk of confusing persons, after we are married!”

“Then you are going to marry Miss Arany?” “No, silly, I’m going to marry you— and at mighty short notice, too, I can promise you!”

He was over by her big arm-chair now, and she couldn’t escape, even if she had tried.

“Why!” she gasped, in simulated astonishment. “What an amazing proposal!”

“No,” he corrected, calmly possessing himself of both her hands; “it isn’t a proposal—it’s a command. You know I’m commander-in-chief, by your father’s appointment. So present arms!”

There was a happy little silence for a few moments, in which at least two persons in the big city did not note the lapse of time. Then a timid voice said:

“There’s just one of my old things that I would like to keep, Craig, and wear on my—on our wedding-day.”

The last words were a whisper, while she buried her rosy cheeks on his shoulder.

“What it that, dearest?”

“My old blue buckle—the one you have been keeping for me.”

“I believe you think more of that blue buckle than you do of the diamond necklace!” he teased.

“I do,” she confessed; “because it brought me—you!”

“Pshaw!” he scoffed, stroking the adorable head, nevertheless. “I’ve had a hard time proving my claims, buckle or no buckle! You girls all have to be taught how to love—while we men would go through fire and water! Here I’ve been madly in love with you ever since I first saw you coming on board the Gothic, and even when I thought you were another man’s wife—God forgive me! But I couldn’t help loving you, any more than breathing. Tell me, Billie,” he added, man-like, wanting to know, “when was it that you first began to—like me a little?”

“Like you! Like you! Like you, Craig! Why, you obstinate, perverse, misunderstanding Man! I love you—I always have loved you from away back in some other incarnation! Don’t you realize it —yet? There!-Do you, now?”

With all her loving heart trying to find expression through voice and eyes, she lifted herself on tiptoe and met his caress with willing lips……..