I endeavoured to set her mind at rest by politely reminding her that I couldn't have slept in the bed any way, having been out all night, and she smilingly assured me that it was a relief to find a literary man who wasn't forever saying flat stupid things.

I took them over the castle—that is, a part of the castle. Mrs. Titus wouldn't climb stairs. She confessed to banting, but drew the line at anything more exhausting. I fear I was too palpably relieved when she declined to go higher than the second story.

"It isn't necessary, Mr. Smart," she said sweetly, "to go into the history of the wretched Rothhoefens, as a Cook's interpreter might do. You see, I know the castle quite well—and I have had all the late news from my daughter."

"Of course!" I agreed. "Stupid of me not to remember that you are descended from—"

"Mother isn't half as stuck up about it as you might think, Mr. Smart," interrupted Jasper, Jr., glibly. "She prefers to let people think her ancestors were Dutch instead of merely German. Dutch ancestors are the proper thing in Jew York."

"Jappie," said his mother severely, "how often must I caution you not to speak of New York as Jew York? Some day you will say it to a Jew. One can't be too careful. Heaven alone knows when one is in the presence of a Jew in these days."

"Oh, I'm not Hebraic," said I quickly. "My ancestors were Dutch. They came over with the original skin grafters."

She looked puzzled for a moment. The Countess laughed. Then Jasper saw the point. Colingraft was the last to see it, and then it was too late for him to smile.

We had tea in the loggia and I dined with the family in the Countess's apartment at eight that night. I think Mrs. Titus was rather favourably impressed when she beheld me in my own raiment. Britton had smoothed out my evening clothes until they almost shone, and I managed to carry myself with unusual buoyancy.

Everything went very well that evening. We were all in fine humour and the dinner was an excellent one. I perpetrated but one unhappy blunder. I asked Mrs. Titus if she knew the Riley-Werkheimers and the Rocks-worths in New York.

"Visually," she said succinctly, and I made haste to change the subject. The Countess looked amused, and Colingraft said something about it being more than likely that we did not have any mutual acquaintances in New York. His sister came to my rescue with a very amusing and exaggerated account of my experience with the Riley-Werkheimers and Rocksworths. Jasper was enthusiastic. Something told me that I was going to like him.

My real troubles began the next day—and at the rather unseemly hour of eight o'clock in the morning. Colingraft came down the hall in a bath-gown and slippers, banged on my bedroom door, and wanted to know why the devil he couldn't have hot water for his bath. He was too full-blooded, and all that sort of thing, he said, to take a cold plunge. Moreover, he wasn't used to taking his tub in a tin-cup. (That was his sarcastic way of referring to my portable, handy bath-tub.) I asked him why he didn't ring for Britton, and he said he did but that Britton was assisting Jasper in a wild chase for a bat which had got into the lad's room during the night.

"Thank your lucky stars it didn't get into Mother's room," he said surlily. I silently thanked them.

He made such a row about his tub that I had to give him the pail of hot water Britton had placed in my bedroom, preparatory to my own bath.

At breakfast Jasper complained about the bats. He couldn't for the life of him see why I didn't have screens in the windows.

Later on Mrs. Titus, who had coffee and toast in her room, joined us in the loggia and announced that the coffee was stone cold. Moreover, she did not like the guest-chamber into which she had been moved by order of the Countess. It was too huge for a bed-chamber, and the iron window shutters creaked all night long.

"But don't you love the view you have of the Danube?" I queried, rather mournfully.

"I don't sit in the window all night, Mr. Smart," she said tartly.

I at once insisted on her resuming possession of my bedroom, and promptly had all of my things moved into the one she had occupied during the night. When the Countess heard of this arrangement she was most indignant. She got me off in a corner and cruelly informed me that I hadn't the vestige of a backbone. She must have said something to her mother, too, for when evening came around I had to move back into my own room, Mrs. Titus sweetly assuring me that under no consideration would she consent to impose upon my good nature and hospitality to such an extent, etc., etc.

During the day, at odd times, Colingraft made lofty suggestions in regard to what could be done with the place to make it more or less inhabitable, and Jasper,—who, by the way, I was beginning to fear I should not like after all,—said he'd just like to have a whack at the thing himself. First thing he'd do would be to turn some of those old, unused rooms into squash and racquet courts, and he'd also put in a swimming-pool and a hot-water plant.

Late in the afternoon, I stole far up into the eastern tower to visit my adorable friend Rosemary. We played house together on the nursery floor and I soon got over my feeling of depression. But even in play I was made to realise that I was not the master of the house. She ruled me with the utmost despotism, but I didn't mind. She permitted me to sip honey from that cunning place in her little neck and managed to call me Unko. My heart grew warm and soft again under the spell of her.

The Countess watched us at play from her seat by the window. She was strangely still and pensive. I had the feeling that she was watching me all the time, and that there was a shadow of anxiety in her lovely eyes. She smiled at our pranks, and yet there was something sad in the smile.

I was young again with Rosemary, and full of glee. She took me out of myself. I forgot the three Tituses and with them many of my woes. Here was a cure for the blues: this gay little kiddie of the unspeakable Tarnowsy!

I lay awake for hours that night, but when I finally went to sleep and heaven knows I needed it!—it was with the soporific resolution to put my house rigidly in order the very next day. I would be polite about it, but very firm. The Titus family (omitting the Countess and Rosemary) was to be favoured with an ultimatum from which there could be no appeal. John Bellamy Smart had decided—with Morpheus smoothing out the wrinkles of perplexity—that he would be master in his own house.

My high resolve flattened itself out a little after the sound sleep I had, and I make no doubt I should have wavered sadly in my purpose had not a crisis arisen to shape my courage for me in a rather emphatic way.

Shortly after breakfast Mrs. Titus came downstairs very smartly gowned for the street. She announced that she was going into the town for an hour or two and asked me to have one of the Schmicks ferry her across the river. There was a famous antique shop there—memory of other days—and she wanted to browse a while in search of brasses and bronzes.

I looked at her, aghast. I recognised the crisis, but for a moment was unable to marshal my powers of resistance. Noting my consternation, she calmly assured me that there wouldn't be the least danger of detection, as she was going to be heavily veiled and very cautious.

"My dear Mrs. Titus," I murmured in my dismay, "it isn't to be considered. I am sure you won't persist in this when I tell you that Tarnowsy's agents are sure to see you and—"

She laughed. "Tarnowsy's agents! Why should they be here?"

"They seem to be everywhere."

"I can assure you there is none within fifty miles of Schloss Rothhoefen. Our men are in the city. Four of them preceded me. This morning I had Mr. Bangs telephone to the hotel where the chief operative is staying—in the guise of an American tourist, and he does it very cleverly for an Englishman, too,—and he assures me that there is absolutely no danger. Even Mr. Bangs is satisfied."

"I am forced to say that I am by no means satisfied that it is a safe or wise thing to do, Mrs. Titus," I said, with more firmness than I thought I possessed.

She raised her delicate eyebrows in a most exasperating well-bred, admonitory way.

"I am quite sure, Mr. Smart, that Dillingham is a perfectly trustworthy detective, and—"

"But why take the slightest risk?"

"It is necessary for me to see Dillingham, that is the long and short of it," she said coldly. "One can't discuss things over a telephone, you know. Mr. Bangs understands. And, by the way, Mr. Smart, I have taken the liberty of calling up the central office of the telephone company to ask if they can run an extension wire to my dressing-room. I hope you do not mind."

"Not in the least. I should have thought of it myself."

"You have so much to think of, poor man. And now will you be good enough to have Hawkes order the man to row me across the—"

"I am very sorry, Mrs. Titus," said I firmly, "but I fear I must declare myself. I cannot permit you to go into the town to-day."

She was thunderstruck. "Are you in earnest?" she cried, after searching my face rather intently for a moment.

"Unhappily, yes. Will you let me explain—"

"The idea!" she exclaimed as she drew herself to her full height and withered me with a look of surpassing scorn. "Am I to regard myself as a prisoner, Mr. Smart?"

"Oh, I beg of you, Mrs. Titus—" I began miserably.

"Please answer my question."

Her tone cut me like the lash of a whip. My choler rose.

"I do not choose to regard myself as a jailer. My only object in opposing this—"

"I have never known anything so absurd." Two bright red spots appeared in her cheeks. "Your attitude is most extraordinary. However, I shall go to the city this morning, Mr. Smart. Pray give me the credit of having sense enough to—Ah, Colingraft."

The two sons approached from the breakfast-room, where they had been enjoying a ten o'clock chop. Colingraft, noting his mother's attire, accelerated his speed and was soon beside us.

"Going out, Mother?" he enquired, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

"If Mr. Smart will be good enough to withdraw his opposition," she said icily.

He gave me a sharp look. "What's up?"

"Mrs. Titus doesn't seem to realise the risk she runs in—"

"Risk? Do you suppose, Mr. Smart, I would jeopardise my daughter's—"

"What's up?" repeated Colingraft insistently.

"Mr. Smart calmly informs me that I am not to go into the city."

"I don't see that Mr. Smart has anything to say about it," said her son coolly. "If he—" He paused, glaring.

I looked him squarely in the eye. If he had possessed the acumen of a pollywog he would have seen that my Dutch was up.

"One moment, Mr. Titus," I said, setting my jaw. "I have this to say about it. You are guests in my house. We are jointly interested in the effort to protect the Countess Tarnowsy. I consider it to be the height of imprudence for any member of your family to venture into the city, now or at any time during her stay in this castle. I happen to know that Tarnowsy is having me watched for some purpose or other. I don't think he suspects that the Countess is here, but I greatly fear that he believes I am interested in her cause. He suspects me. You have heard of our recent encounter. He knows my position pretty well by this time. Mrs. Titus says that the man Dillingham assures her there is no danger. Well, I can only say that Dillingham is a fool, and I don't purpose having my own safety threatened by—"

"Your safety?" exclaimed he. "I like that! What have you got to be afraid of?"

"You seem to forget that I am harbouring a fugitive from justice," I said flatly.

Mrs. Titus gasped. "How dare you—" "The Countess Tarnowsy is wanted by the authorities for kidnapping, and I think you know the facts quite as well as I do," I went on harshly. "God knows I am doing my best to protect her. I am risking more than you seem to appreciate. If she is found here, my position isn't likely to be an enviable one. I am not thinking solely of myself, believe me, but after all I contend that I have a right to assert myself in a crisis that may affect me vitally. I trust you will see my position and act accordingly,—with consideration, if nothing else."

Mrs. Titus did not take her eyes off mine while I was speaking. There was an expression of utter amazement in them. No one had ever opposed her before in just this way, I gathered. She didn't know what to make of it.

"I fear you exaggerate the extent of your peril, Mr. Smart," she said drily. "Of course, I have no desire to put you in jeopardy, but it seems to me—"

"Leaving me out of the case altogether, don't you think it is a bit unfair to the Countess?" I asked in some heat. "She doesn't want to go to jail."

"Jail?" she cried angrily.

"That's no way to speak about—" began Colingraft furiously.

I broke in rashly. "If you please, Mr. Titus, be good enough to keep your temper. I have no desire to appear harsh and arbitrary, but I can see that it is necessary to speak plainly. There isn't anything in the world I will not do to help you and the Countess in this unfortunate business, Mrs. Titus. I hope you believe me when I say as much. I am her friend; I want to be yours if you will let me. But I reserve the right to say what shall be and what shall not be done as long as you are under my roof. Just a moment, Mr. Titus! I think we are quite agreed that your sister is to depart from here on the fourteenth of the month. I am to be her escort, so to speak, for a considerable distance, in company with Mr. Bangs. Well, it must be clearly understood that not one of you is to show his or her face outside these walls until after that journey is over. That's plain-speaking, isn't it?"

"I shall go where I please, and I'll go to the town to-day—" roared Colingraft, getting no farther for the reason that his mother, seeing that I was desperately in earnest, gave vent to a little cry of alarm and clutched her big son by the shoulder. She begged him to listen to reason!

"Reason!" he gasped.

"If you—or any of you—put a foot outside these walls," I declared, "you will not be allowed to re-enter. That's flat!"

"By cricky!" fell in fervent admiration from the lips of Jasper, Jr. I glanced at his beaming, astonished face. He positively was grinning! "Good for you! You're a wonder, Mr. Smart! By cricky! And you're dead right. We're darn fools!"

"Jasper!" gasped Mrs. Titus.

"Good for you, Jasper!" I cried warmly, and took the hand he proffered.

"Colingraft, please take me to my room," murmured the mother. "I—I feel faint. Send for Aline. Ask Mr. Bangs to come to me at once."

I bowed stiffly. "I am sorry, Mrs. Titus, to have been so harsh, so assertive—"

She held up both hands. "I never was so spoken to in all my life, Mr. Smart. I shall not forget it to my dying day."

She walked away from me, her pretty head held high and her chin suspiciously aquiver. Colingraft hastened after her, but not without giving me a stare in which rage and wonder struggled for the mastery.

I ran my hand over my moist brow.

"Gee!" said Jasper, Jr. "You've corked her all right, all right." He followed me into the study and I couldn't get rid of him for hours.

Later in the forenoon the Countess, with a queer little smile on her lips, told me that her mother considered me the most wonderful, the most forceful character she had ever encountered. I brightened up at that.

But Colingraft was not yet through with me.



CHAPTER XVII

I SEE TO THE BOTTOM OF THINGS

He sought me out just before luncheon. I was in the courtyard, listening patiently to Jasper Jr.'s theories and suggestions concerning the restoration of the entire facade of the castle, and what he'd do if he were in my place. Strange to say, I was considerably entertained; he was not at all offensive; on the contrary, he offered his ideas in a pleasantly ingenuous way, always supplementing them with some such salve as: "Don't you think so, Mr. Smart?" or "I'm sure you have thought of it yourself," or "Isn't that your idea, too?" or "You've done wonders with the joint, old man."

Colingraft came directly up to where we were standing. There was trouble in his eye.

"See here, Mr. Smart," he began austerely. "I've got something to say to you, and I'm not the sort to put it off. I appreciate what you've done for Aline and all that sort of thing, but your manner to-day has been intolerable, and we've got to come to an understanding."

I eyed him closely. "I suppose you're about to suggest that one or the other of us must—evacuate—get out, so to speak," said I.

"Don't talk rubbish. You've got my mother bawling her eyes out upstairs, and wishing she were dead. You've got to come off this high horse of yours. You've got to apologise to her, and damned quick, at that. Understand?"

"Nothing will give me greater joy than to offer her my most abject apology, Mr. Titus, unless it would be her unqualified forgiveness."

"You'll have to withdraw everything you said."

"I'll withdraw everything except my ultimatum in respect to her putting a foot outside these walls. That still stands."

"I beg to differ with you."

"You may beg till you're black in the face," said I coolly.

He swallowed hard. His face twitched, and his hands were clenched.

"You are pretty much of a mucker, Mr. Smart," he said, between his teeth. "I'm sorry my sister has fallen into your hands. The worst of it is, she seems satisfied with everything you do. Good Lord! What she can see in you is beyond my comprehension. Protection! Why you couldn't protect her from the assault of a chicken."

"Are you trying to insult me, Mr. Titus?"

"You couldn't resent it if I were. There never was an author with enough moral backbone to—"

"Wait! You are her brother. I don't want to have trouble with you. But if you keep on in this strain, Mr. Titus, I shall be compelled to thresh you soundly."

He fairly gasped. "Th—thresh me!" he choked out. Then he advanced.

Much to his surprise—and, strangely enough, not to my own—I failed to retreat. Instead, I extended my left fist with considerable abruptness and precision and he landed on his back.

I experienced a sensation of unholy joy. Up to that moment I had wondered whether I could do it with my left hand.

I looked at Jasper, Jr. He was staring at me in utter bewilderment.

"Good Lord! You—you've knocked him down!"

"I didn't think I could do it," said I hazily.

He sprang to his brother's side, and assisted him to a sitting posture.

"Right to the jaw," shouted Jasper, with a strange enthusiasm.

"Left," I corrected him.

Colingraft gazed about him in a stupid, vacant fashion for a moment, and then allowed his glazed eyes to rest upon me. He sat rather limply, I thought.

"Are you hurt, Colly?" cried Jasper, Jr.

A sickly grin, more of surprise than shame, stole over Colingraft's face. He put his hand to his jaw; then to the back of his head.

"By Jove!" he murmured. "I—I didn't think he had it in him. Let me get up!"

Jasper, Jr. was discreet. "Better let well enough alone, old—"

"I intend to," said Colingraft, as he struggled to his feet.

For a moment he faced me, uncertainly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Titus," said I calmly.

"You—you are a wonder!" fell from his lips. "I'm not a coward, Mr. Smart. I've boxed a good deal in my time, but—by Jove, I never had a jolt like that."

He turned abruptly and left us. We followed him slowly toward the steps. At the bottom he stopped and faced me again.

"You're a better man than I thought," he said. "If you'll bury the hatchet, so will I. I take back what I said to you, not because I'm afraid of you, but because I respect you. What say? Will you shake hands?"



The surly, arrogant expression was gone from his face. In its place was a puzzled, somewhat inquiring look.

"No hard feeling on my part," I cried gladly. We shook hands. Jasper, Jr. slapped me on the back. "It's a most distressing, atavistic habit I'm getting into, knocking people down without rhyme or reason."

"I daresay you had reason," muttered Colingraft. "I got what was coming to me." An eager light crept into his handsome eyes. "By Jove, we can get in some corking work with the gloves while I'm here. I box quite a bit at home, and I miss it travelling about like this. What say to a half-hour or so every day? I have the gloves in one of my trunks. I'm getting horribly seedy. I need stirring up."

"Charmed, I'm sure," I said, assuming an enthusiasm I did not feel. Put on the gloves with this strapping, skillful boxer? Not I! I was firmly resolved to stop while my record was good. In a scientific clash with the gloves he would soon find out what a miserable duffer I was.

"And Jappy, here, is no slouch. He's as shifty as the dickens."

"The shiftier the better," said I, with great aplomb. Jasper, Jr., stuck out his chest modestly, and said: "Oh, piffle, Colly." But just the same I hadn't the least doubt in my mind that Jasper could "put it all over me." It was a rather sickening admission, though strictly private.

We made our way to my study, where I mildly suggested that we refrain from mentioning our little encounter to Mrs. Titus or the Countess. I thought Colingraft was especially pleased with the idea. We swore secrecy.

"I've always been regarded as a peaceful, harmless grub," I explained, still somewhat bewildered by the feat I had performed, and considerably shaken by the fear that I was degenerating into a positive ruffian. "You will believe me, I hope, when I declare that I was merely acting in self-defence when I—"

He actually laughed. "Don't apologise." He could not resist the impulse to blurt out once more: "By Jove, I didn't think you could do it."

"With my left hand, too," I said wonderingly. Catching myself up, I hastily changed the subject.

A little later on, as Colingraft left the room, slyly feeling of his jaw, Jasper, Jr. whispered to me excitedly: "You've got him eating out of your hand, old top."

Things were coming to a pretty pass, said I to myself when I was all alone. It certainly is a pretty pass when one knocks down the ex-husband and the brother of the woman he loves, and quite without the least suspicion of an inherited pugnacity.

I had a little note from the Countess that afternoon, ceremoniously delivered by Helene Marie Louise Antoinette. It read as follows:

"You did Colingraft a very good turn when you laid him low this morning. He is tiresomely interested in his prowess as a box-maker, or a boxster, or whatever it is in athletic parlance. He has been like a lamb all afternoon and he really can't get over the way you whacked him. (Is whack the word?) At first he was as mum as could be about it, but I think he really felt relieved when I told him I had seen the whole affair from a window in my hall. You see it gave him a chance to explain how you got in the whack, and I have been obliged to listen to intermittent lectures on the manly art of self-defence all afternoon, first from him, then from Jappy. I have a headache, and no means of defence. He admits that he deserved it, but I am not surprised. Colly is a sporting chap. He hasn't a mean drop of blood in his body. You have made a friend of him. So please don't feel that I hold a grudge against you for what you did. The funny part of it all is that mamma quite agrees with him. She says he deserved it! Mamma is wonderful, really, when it comes to a pinch. She has given up all thought of 'putting a foot outside the castle.' Can you have luncheon with us to-morrow? Would it be too much trouble if we were to have it in the loggia? I am just mad to get out-of-doors if only for an hour or two in that walled-in spot. Mr. Poopendyke has been perfectly lovely. He came up this morning to tell me that you haven't sneezed at all and there isn't the remotest chance now that you will have a cold. It seems he was afraid you might. You must have a very rugged constitution. Britton told Blake that most men would have died from exposure if they had been put in your place. How good you are to me.

"ALINE T."

"P. S.—I may come down to see you this evening."

* * * * * * *

I shall skip over the rather uninteresting events of the next two or three days. Nothing of consequence happened, unless you are willing to consider important two perfectly blissful nights of sleep on my part. Also, I had the pleasure of taking the Countess "out walking" in my courtyard, to use a colloquialism: once in the warm, sweet sunshine, again 'neath the glow of a radiant moon. She had not been outside the castle walls, literally, in more than five weeks, and the colour leaped back into her cheeks with a rush that delighted me. I may mention in passing that I paid particular attention to her suggestion concerning my dilapidated, gone-to-seed garden, although I had been bored to extinction by Jasper, Jr. when he undertook to enlighten me horticulturally. She agreed to come forth every day and assist me in building the poor thing up; propping it, so to speak.

As for Mrs. Titus, that really engaging lady made life so easy for me that I wondered why I had ever been apprehensive. She was quite wonderful when "it came to a pinch." I began to understand a good many things about her, chief among them being her unvoiced theories on matrimony. While she did not actually commit herself, I had no difficulty in ascertaining that, from her point of view, marriages are not made in heaven, and that a properly arranged divorce is a great deal less terrestrial than it is commonly supposed to be. She believed in matrimony as a trial and divorce as a reward, or something to that effect.

My opinion seemed to carry considerable weight with her. For a day or two after our somewhat sanguinary encounter, she was prone to start—even to jump slightly—when I addressed myself to her with unintentional directness. She soon got over that, however.

We were discussing Aline's unfortunate venture into the state of matrimony and I, feeling temporarily august and superior, managed to say the wrong thing and in doing so put myself in a position from which I could not recede without loss of dignity. If my memory serves me correctly I remarked, with some asperity, that marriages of that kind never turned out well for any one except the bridegroom.

She looked at me coldly. "I am afraid, Mr. Smart, that you have been putting some very bad notions into my daughter's head," she said.

"Bad notions?" I murmured.

"She has developed certain pronounced and rather extraordinary views concerning the nobility as the result of your—ah—argument, I may say."

"I'm very sorry. I know one or two exceedingly nice noblemen, and I've no doubt there are a great many more. She must have misunderstood me. I wasn't running down the nobility, Mrs. Titus. I was merely questioning the advisability of elevating it in the way we Americans sometimes do."

"You did not put it so adroitly in discussing the practice with Aline," she said quickly. "Granted that her own marriage was a mistake,—a dreadful mistake,—it does not follow that all international matches are failures. I would just as soon be unhappily married to a duke as to a dry-goods merchant, Mr. Smart."

"But not at the same price, Mrs. Titus," I remarked.

She smiled. "A husband is dear at any price."

"I shouldn't put it just that way," I protested. "A good American husband is a necessity, not a luxury."

"Well, to go back to what I started to say, Aline is very bitter about matrimony as viewed from my point of view. I am sorry to say I attribute her attitude to your excellent counselling."

"You flatter me. I was under the impression she took her lessons of Tarnowsy."

"Granted. But Tarnowsy was unfit. Why tar all of them with the same stick? There are good noblemen, you'll admit."

"But they don't need rehabilitation."

"Aline, I fear, will never risk another experiment. It's rather calamitous, isn't it? When one stops to consider her youth, beauty and all the happiness there may be—"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Titus, but I think your fears are groundless."

"What do you mean?"

"The Countess will marry again. I am not betraying a secret, because she has intimated as much to my secretary as well as to me. I take it that as soon as this unhappy affair is settled, she will be free to reveal the true state of her feelings toward—" I stopped, somewhat dismayed by my garrulous turn.

"Toward whom?" she fairly snapped.

"I don't know," I replied truthfully—and, I fear, lugubriously.

"Good heaven!" she cried, starting up from the bench on which we were sitting in the loggia. There was a queer expression in her eyes. "Hasn't—hasn't she ever hinted at—hasn't she mentioned any one at all?"

"Not to me."

Mrs. Titus was agitated, I could see that very plainly. A thoughtful frown appeared on her smooth brow, and a gleam of anxiety sprang into her eyes.

"I am sure that she has had no opportunity to—" She did not complete the sentence, in which there was a primary note of perplexity and wonder.

It grilled me to discover that she did not even so much as take me into consideration.

"You mean since the—er—divorce?" I inquired.

"She has been in seclusion all of the time. She has seen no man,—that is to say, no man for whom she could possibly entertain a—But, of course, you are mistaken in your impression, Mr. Smart. There is absolutely nothing in what you say."

"A former sweetheart, antedating her marriage," I suggested hopelessly.

"She has no sweetheart. Of that I am positive," said she with conviction.

"She must have had an army of admirers. They were legion after her marriage, I may be pardoned for reminding you."

She started. "Has she never mentioned Lord Amberdale to you?" she asked.

"Amberdale?" I repeated, with a queer sinking of the heart. "No, Mrs. Titus. An Englishman?"

She was mistress of herself once more. In a very degage manner she informed me that his lordship, a most attractive and honourable young Englishman, had been one of Aline's warmest friends at the time of the divorce proceedings. But, of course, there was nothing in that! They had been good friends for years, nothing more, and he was a perfect dear.

But she couldn't fool me. I could see that there was something working at the back of her mind, but whether she was distressed or gratified I was not by way of knowing.

"I've never heard her mention Lord Amberdale," said I.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Had I but known, the mere fact that the Countess had not spoken of his lordship provided her experienced mother with an excellent reason for believing that there was something between them. She abruptly brought the conversation to a close and left me, saying that she was off for her beauty nap.

Alone, I soon became a prey to certain disquieting thoughts. Summed up, they resolved themselves into a condition of certainty which admitted of but one aspect: the charming Countess was in love with Amberdale. And the shocking part of it all was that she was in love with him prior to her separation from Tarnowsy! I felt a cold perspiration start out all over my body as this condition forced itself upon me. He was the man; he had been the man from the beginning. My heart was like lead for the rest of the day, and, very curiously, for a leaden thing it was subject to pain.

Just before dinner, Britton, after inspecting me out of the corner of his eye for some time, advised me to try a little brandy.

"You look seedy, sir," he said with concern in his voice. "A cold setting in perhaps, sir."

I tried the brandy, but not because I thought I was taking a cold. Somehow it warmed me up. There is virtue in good spirits.

The Countess was abroad very early the next morning. I discovered her in the courtyard, giving directions to Max and Rudolph who were doing some spading in the garden. She looked very bright and fresh and enticing in the light of an early moon, and I was not only pleased but astonished, having been led to believe all my life that a woman, no matter how pretty she may be, appears at her worst when the day is young.

I joined her at once. She gave me a gay, accusing smile.

"What have you been saying to mother?" she demanded, as she shook hands with me. "I thought you were to be trusted."

I flushed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Countess. I—I didn't know it was a secret."

She looked at me somewhat quizzically for a moment. Then she laughed softly. "It is a secret."

"I hope I haven't got you into bad odour with your—"

"Oh, dear me, no! I'm not in the least worried over what mother may think. I shall do as I please, so there's the end of it."

I swallowed something that seemed to be sticking in my throat. "Then it is true that you are going to marry?"

"Quite," she said succinctly.

I was silent for a moment. "Well, I'm—I'm glad to know it in time," I said, rather more gruffly than was necessary.

She smiled too merrily, I thought. "You must not tell any one else about it, however."

"I can promise that," I said, a sullen rage in my soul. "Devils could not drag it out of me. Rest easy."

It occurred to me afterwards that she laughed rather jerkily, you might say uneasily. At any rate, she turned away and began speaking to Max.

"Have you had your breakfast?" I asked stupidly.

"No."

"Neither have I. Will you join me?"

"Isn't it getting to be a habit?"

"Breakfast or—you?"

"Breakfast and me."

"I confess, my dear Countess, that I like you for breakfast," I said gallantly.

"That is a real tribute," she said demurely, and took her place beside me. Together we crossed the courtyard.

On the steps Colingraft Titus was standing. I uttered an audible groan and winced as if in dire pain.

"What is it?" she cried quickly.

"Rheumatism," I announced, carefully raising my right arm and affecting an expression of torture. I am not a physical coward, kind reader. The fact that young Mr. Titus carried in his hands a set of formidable looking boxing-gloves did not frighten me. Heaven knows, if it would give him any pleasure to slam me about with a pair of gloves, I am not without manliness and pluck enough to endure physical pain and mental humiliation. It was diplomacy, cunning, astuteness,—whatever you may choose to call it,—that stood between me and a friendly encounter with him. Two minutes' time would serve to convince him that he was my master, and then where would I be? Where would be the prestige I had gained? Where my record as a conqueror? "I must have caught cold in my arms and shoulders," I went on, making worse faces than before as I moved the afflicted parts experimentally.

"There!" she exclaimed ruefully. "I knew you would catch cold. Men always do. I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing," I made haste to explain:—"that is, nothing serious. I'll get rid of it in no time at all." I calculated for a minute. "A week or ten days at the most. Good morning, Colingraft."

"Morning. Hello, sis. Well?" He dangled the gloves before my eyes.

My disappointment was quite pathetic. "Tell him," I said to the Countess.

"He's all crippled up with rheumatism, Colly," she said. "Put those ugly things away. We're going in to breakfast."

He tossed the gloves into a corner of the vestibule. I felt a little ashamed of my subterfuge in the face of his earnest expression of concern.

"Tell you what I'll do," he said warmly. "I know how to rub a fellow's muscles—"

"Oh, I have a treasure in Britten," said I, hastily. "Thanks, old man. He will work it out of me. Sorry we can't have a go this morning."

The worst of it all was that he insisted, as a matter of personal education, on coming to my room after breakfast to watch the expert manoeuvres of Britton in kneading the stiffness out of my muscles. He was looking for new ideas, he explained. I first consulted Britton and then resignedly consented to the demonstration.

To my surprise, Britton was something of an expert. I confess that he almost killed me with those strong, iron-like hands of his; if I was not sore when he began with me, I certainly was when he finished. Colingraft was most enthusiastic. He said he'd never seen any one manipulate the muscles so scientifically as Britton, and ventured the opinion that he would not have to repeat the operation often. To myself I said that he wouldn't have to repeat it at all.

We began laying our plans for the fourteenth. Communications arrived from Italy, addressed to me but intended for either the Countess or the rather remote Mr. Bangs, who seemed better qualified to efface himself than any human being I've ever seen. These letters informed us that a yacht—one of three now cruising in the-Mediterranean—would call at an appointed port on such and such a day to take her out to sea. Everything was being arranged on the outside for her escape from the continent, and precision seamed to be the watchword.

Of course I couldn't do a stroke of work on my novel. How could I be expected to devote myself to fiction when fact was staring me in the face so engagingly? We led an idle, dolce far niente life in these days, with an underlying touch of anxiety and excitement that increased as the day for her departure drew near. I confess to a sickening sense of depression that could not be shaken off.

Half of my time was spent in playing with Rosemary. She became dearer to me with each succeeding day. I knew I should miss her tremendously. I should even miss Jinko, who didn't like me but who no longer growled at me. The castle would be a very gloomy, drear place after they were out of it. I found myself wondering how long I would be able to endure the loneliness. Secretly I cherished the idea of selling the place if I could find a lunatic in the market.

An unexpected diversion came one day when, without warning and figuratively out of a clear sky, the Hazzards and the Billy Smiths swooped down upon me. They had come up the river in the power boat for a final September run, and planned to stop over night with me!

They were the last people in the world whom I could turn away from my door. There might have been a chance to put them up for the night and still avoid disclosures, had not circumstance ordered that the Countess and I should be working in the garden at the very moment that brought them pounding at the postern gates. Old Conrad opened the gate in complete ignorance of our presence in the garden. (We happened to be in a somewhat obscure nook and seated upon a stone bench—so he must be held blameless.) The quartette brushed past the old man and I, hearing their chatter, foolishly exposed myself.

I shall not attempt to describe the scene that followed their discovery of the Countess Tarnowsy. Be it said, however, to the credit of Elsie and Betty Billy, the startled refugee was fairly smothered in kisses and tears and almost deafened by the shrill, delighted exclamations that fell from their eager lips. I doubt if there ever was such a sensation before!

* * * * * * *

They brought rather interesting news concerning the Count. It appears that he and the baron had quarrelled and at the time of my friends' departure from Vienna it was pretty generally understood that there would be a duel.

"I never liked the baron," I said, with a grim smile that could not have been misinterpreted, "but I hope to heavens he isn't killed."

Mrs. Titus sighed. "Tarnowsy is regarded as a wonderful marksman."

"Worse luck!" growled Colingraft, gloomily twiddling his thumbs.

"What kind of a shot is the baron?" asked Jasper Jr., hopefully.

No one was able to enlighten him, but Billy Smith shook his head dolefully.

"Maris Tarnowsy is a dead shot. He'll pot the baron sure."

"Hang it all," said I, and then lapsed into a horrified silence.

When the Hazzards and Smiths departed the next morning they were in full possession of all of our plans, hopes and secrets, but they were bound by promises that would have haunted them throughout all eternity if they allowed them to be violated. I do not recall having seen two more intensely excited, radiant women in my life than Elsie and Betty Billy. They were in an ecstatic state of mind. Their husbands, but little less excited, offered to help us in every way possible, and, to prove their earnest, turned the prow of the motor-boat down-stream, abandoning the trip up the river in order to be in Vienna in case I should need them for any purpose whatsoever.

"You may rest easy so far as I am concerned, Mrs. Titus," said the young diplomat. "As a representative of the United States government I can't become publicly involved in this international muddle. I've just got to keep my lips sealed. If it were discovered that I knew of all this, my head would be under the snickersnee in no time at all. Swish! Officially suicided!"

At ten o'clock the next morning I was called to the telephone. Smith had startling news to impart. Count Tarnowsy and Baron Umovitch had engaged in a duel with pistols at sunrise and the latter had gone down with a bullet through his lungs! He died an hour later. Tarnowsy, according to the rumours flying about official Vienna, was already on his way to Berlin, where he would probably remain in seclusion until the affair blew over or imperial forgiveness was extended to him.

There was cause for satisfaction among us, even though the baron had fallen instead of the count. The sensational affair would serve to keep Tarnowsy under cover for some weeks at least and minimise the dangers attending the Countess's flight from the castle. Still, I could not help feeling disappointed over the outcome of the meeting. Why couldn't Count Tarnowsy have been the one to fall?

The Countess, very pale and distrait, gave utterance to her feelings in a most remarkable speech. She said: "This is one of the few fine things that Maris has ever done. I am glad that he killed that man. He should have done so long ago,—the beast! He was—ugh!—the most despicable creature I've ever known."

She said no more than this, but one could readily grasp all that she left unuttered.

Colingraft rather sententiously remarked to little Rosemary, who could not have comprehended the words, of course: "Well, little Rosebud, your papa may be a spendthrift but he never wastes bullets."

Which was entirely uncalled for, I contend. I was struck by the swift look of dread that leaped into Aline's eyes and her pallor.

On top of all this came the astonishing news, by cipher despatch from old Jasper Titus's principal adviser in London, that his offer of one million dollars had been declined by Tarnowsy two days before, the Count having replied through his lawyers that nothing short of two millions would induce him to relinquish all claims to his child.

I had been ignorant of this move in the case, and expressed my surprise.

"I asked father to do it, Mr. Smart," said the Countess dejectedly. "It seemed the easiest way out of our difficulties—and the cheapest. He will never give in to this new demand, though. We must make the best of it."

"But why did you suggest such a thing to him?" I demanded with heat.

She looked hurt. "Because you seemed to think it was the right and honourable thing to do," she said patiently. "I do not forget what you said to me, days and days ago, even though it may have slipped your mind. You said that a bargain is a bargain and—well, I had Mr. Bangs write father just what you thought about it."

There was a suspicion of tears in her voice as she turned away and left me without another word. She was quite out of sight around the bend in the staircase, and her little boots were clattering swiftly upwards, before I fully grasped the significance of her explanation —or, I might better say, her reproach. It slowly dawned upon me that I had said a great many things to her that it would pay me to remember before questioning her motives in any particular.

As the day for her departure drew nearer,—it was now but forty-eight hours away,—her manner seemed to undergo a complete change. She became moody, nervous, depressed. Of course, all this was attributable to the dread of discovery and capture when she was once outside the great walls of Schloss Rothhoefen. I could understand her feelings, and rather lamely attempted to bolster up her courage by making light of the supposed perils.

She looked at me with a certain pathetic sombreness in her eyes that caused my heart to ache. All of her joyous raillery was gone, all of her gentle arrogance. Her sole interest in life in these last days seemed to be of a sacrificial nature. She was sweet and gentle with every one,—with me in particular, I may say,—and there was something positively humble in her attitude of self-abnegation. Where she had once been wilful and ironic, she was now gentle and considerate. Nor was I the only one to note these subtle changes in her. I doubt, however, if the others were less puzzled than I. In fact, Mrs. Titus was palpably perplexed, and there were times when I caught her eyeing me with distinct disapproval, as if she were seeking in me the cause of her daughter's weaknesses; as much as to say: "What other nonsense have you been putting into the poor child's head, you wretch?"

I went up to have a parting romp with Rosemary on the last night of her stay with me, to have my last sip of honey from her delectable neck. The Countess paid but little attention to us. She sat over in the window and stared out into the dusky shadows of the falling night. My heart was sore. I was miserable. The last romp!

Blake finally snatched Rosemary off to bed. It was then that the Countess aroused herself and came over to me with a sad little smile on her lips.

"Good night," she said, rather wistfully, holding out her hand to me.

I deliberately glanced at my watch. "It's only ten minutes past eight," I said, reproachfully.

"I know," she said, quietly. "Good night."



CHAPTER XVIII

I SPEED THE PARTING GUEST

Four o'clock in the morning is a graceless hour. Graveyards may yawn at twelve but even they are content to slumber at four. I don't believe there is anything so desolate in this world as the mental perspective one obtains at four o'clock. Tombstones are bright beacons of cheer as compared to the monumental regret one experiences on getting up to greet the alleged and vastly over-rated glories of a budding day. The sunrise is a pall! It is a deadly, dour thing. It may be pink and red and golden and full of all the splendours of the east, but it is a resurrection and you can't make anything else out of it. Staying up till four and then going to bed gives one an idea of the sunrise that is not supported by the facts; there is but one way to appreciate the real nature of the hateful thing called dawn, and that is to get up with it instead of taking it to bed with you.

Still, I suppose the sun has to come up and perhaps it is just as well that it does so at an hour when people are least likely to suspect it of anything so shabby.

Four o'clock is more than a graceless, sodden hour when it ushers in a day that you know is to be the unhappiest in your life; when you know that you are to say farewell forever to the hopes begot and nurtured in other days; when the one you love smiles and goes away to smile again but not for you. And that is just what four o'clock on the morning of the fourteenth of September meant to me.

Britton and I set forth in the automobile just at the break of dawn, crossing the river a few miles below the castle, and running back to a point on the right hand bank where we were to await the arrival of the boat conveying the Countess and her escort. Her luggage, carefully disguised as crated merchandise, had gone to Trieste by fast express a couple of days before, sent in my name and consigned to a gentleman whose name I do not now recall, but who in reality served as a sort of middleman in transferring the shipment to the custody of a certain yacht's commander.

It was required of me—and of my machine, which is more to the point—that the distance of one hundred and twenty miles through the foothills of the Austrian Alps should be covered and the passengers delivered at a certain railway station fifty miles or more south of Vienna before ten o'clock that night. There they were to catch a train for the little seaport on the upper Adriatic, the name of which I was sworn never to reveal, and, as I have not considered it worth while to be released from that oath, I am of necessity compelled to omit the mention of it here.

Mr. Bangs went on to Vienna the night before our departure, taking with him Helene Marie Louise Antoinette, a rather shocking arrangement you would say unless you had come to know the British lawyer as well as we knew him. They were to proceed by the early morning train to this obscure seaport. Colingraft Titus elected to accompany his sister the entire length of the journey, with the faithful Blake and Rosemary.

Billy Smith was to meet us a few miles outside the town for which we were bound, with a word of warning if there was anything sinister in the wind.

I heard afterwards from Poopendyke that the departure of the Countess and Rosemary from the castle in the grey; forlorn dawn of that historic fourteenth was attended by a demonstration of grief on the part of the four Schmicks that was far beyond his powers of description, and he possesses a wonderful ability to describe lachrymose situations, rather running to that style of incident, I may say. The elder Schmicks wailed and boo-hooed and proclaimed to the topmost turrets that the sun would never shine again for either of them, and, to prove that she was quite in earnest about the matter, Gretel fell off the dock into the river and was nearly drowned before Jasper, Jr., could dive in and get her. Their sons, both of whom cherished amorous feelings for Blake, sighed so prodigiously all the way down the river that the boat rocked. Incidentally, during the excitement, Jinko, who was to remain behind and journey westward later on with Mrs. Titus and Jasper, Jr., succeeded after weeks of vain endeavour in smartly nipping the calf of Hawkes' left leg, a feat of which he no doubt was proud but which sentenced my impressive butler to an everlasting dread of hydrophobia and a temporary limp.

It was nearing five o'clock when the boat slipped into view around the tree-covered point of land and headed straight for our hiding place on the bank.

I shall not stop here to describe the first stage of our journey through the narrow, rocky by-roads that ended eventually in the broad, alpine highway south and west of Vienna. Let it be sufficient to say that we jostled along for twelve or fifteen miles without special incident, although we were nervously anxious and apprehensive. Our guide book pointed, or rather twiddled, a route from the river flats into the hills, where we came up with the main road about eight o'clock. We were wrapped and goggled to the verge of ludicrousness. It would have been quite impossible to penetrate our motor-masks and armour, even for one possessed of a keen and practiced eye. The Countess was heavily veiled; great goggles bulged beneath the green, gauzy thing that protected her lovely face from sun, wind and man. A motor coat, two or three sizes too large, enveloped her slender, graceful figure, and gauntlets covered her hands. Even Rosemary's tiny face was wrapped in a silken veil of white. As for the rest of us, we could not have been mistaken for anything on earth but American automobilists, ruthlessly inspired to see Europe with the sole view to comparing her roads with our own at home. You would have said, on seeing us, that we knew a great deal about roads and very little about home.

Colingraft and Britton,—the latter at the wheel,—sat in the front seat, while I shared the broad cushions of the tonneau with the Countess, part of the time holding Rosemary, who was clamouring for food, and the rest of the time holding my breath in the fear that we might slip over a precipice. I am always nervous when not driving the car myself.

We stopped for breakfast at a small mountain inn, fifteen miles from our starting place. The Countess, a faint red spot in each cheek and a curiously bright, feverish glow in her dark eyes, revealed a tendency to monopolise the conversation, a condition properly attributed to nervous excitement. I could see that she was vastly thrilled by the experiences of the hour; her quick, alert brain was keeping pace with the rush of blood that stimulated every fibre in her body to new activities. She talked almost incessantly, and chiefly about matters entirely foreign to the enterprise in hand.

The more I see of women, the less I know about them. Why she should have spent the whole half hour devoted to breakfast to a surprisingly innocuous dissertation on Schopenhauer and Nietzsche is—or was— beyond me.

How was I to know that tears lay close to the surface of those shimmering, vivacious eyes? How was I to know that sobs took refuge behind a simulated interest in philosophy?

We had luncheon picnic fashion half-way to our journey's end, diverging from the main road to find a secluded spot where we could spread our cloth and open our hampers without fear of interruption or, to use a more sinister word, detection. It was rather a jolly affair, that first and last al fresco banquet of ours under the spreading branches of mighty trees and beside the trickling waters of a gay little mountain brook that hurried like mad down to the broad channel of the Danube, now many miles away. The strain of the first few hours had slackened. Success seemed assured. We had encountered no difficulties, no dangers in town or country. No one appeared to be interested in us except through idle curiosity; villagers and peasants stared at us and grinned; policemen and soldiers stood aside to let us pass, or gave directions politely when requested to do so. There were no signs of pursuit, no indications of trouble ahead. And so we could afford to be gay and confident at our midday meal in the hills bordering the broad highway.

We even went so far as to arrange for a jolly reunion in New York City at no distant day! I remember distinctly that we were to dine at Sherry's. To me, the day seemed a long way off.

I suppose, being a writer of fiction, I should be able to supply at this point in the narrative, a series of thrilling, perhaps hair-raising encounters with the enemy, in the form of spies, cut-throats, imperial mercenaries or whatever came handiest to the imagination. It would be a very simple matter to transform this veracious history into the most lurid of melodramas by the introduction of the false and bizarre, but it is not my purpose to do so. I mean to adhere strictly to the truth and stand by the consequences. Were I inclined to sensationalism it would be no trouble at all for me to have Tarnowsy's agents shooting at our tires or gasoline tank from every crag and cranny; or to have Rosemary kidnapped by aeroplanists supplied with drag-hooks; or to have the Countess lodged in a village prison from which I should be obliged to liberate her with battle-axe and six-shooter, my compensation being a joyous rest in a hospital with the fair Aline nursing me back to health and strength and cooing fond words in my rapacious ear the while I reflected on the noble endowments of a nature that heretofore had been commonplace and meek. But, no! None of these things happened and I decline to perjure myself for the privilege of getting into the list of "six best sellers."

So far as I am able to judge, there was absolutely no heroism displayed during our flight through the hills and valleys, unless you are willing to accept as such a single dash of sixty miles an hour which Britton made in order to avoid a rain-shower that threatened to flank us if we observed the speed laws.

But wait! There was an example of bravado on my part that shall not go unrecorded. I hesitated at first to put it down in writing, but my sense of honour urges me to confess everything. It happened just after that memorable picnic luncheon in the shady dell. The Countess, I maintain, was somewhat to blame for the incident. She suggested that we,—that is to say, the two of us,—explore the upper recesses of this picturesque spot while the others were making ready for the resumption of our journey.

Shame, contrition, humiliation or whatever you may elect to call it, forbids a lengthy or even apologetic explanation of what followed her unfortunate suggestion. I shall get over with it in as few words as possible.

In the most obscure spot in all those ancient hills, I succumbed to an execrable impulse to take her forcibly in my arms and kiss her! I don't know why I did it, or how, but that is just what happened. My shame, my horror over the transcendental folly was made almost unbearable by the way in which she took it. At first I thought she had swooned, she lay so limp and unresisting in my arms. My only excuse, whispered penitently in her ear, was that I couldn't help doing what I had done, and that I deserved to be drawn and quartered for taking advantage of my superior strength and her gentle forbearance. Strange to say, she merely looked at me in a sort of dumb wonder and quietly released herself, still staring at me as if I were the most inexplicable puzzle in the world. Her cheeks, her throat, her brow grew warm and pink with a just indignation; her lips parted but she uttered no word. Then I followed her dejectedly, cravenly back to the roadside and executed an inward curse that would hang over my miserable head so long as it was on my shoulders.

Her vivacity was gone. She shrank down into the corner of the seat, and, with her back half turned toward me, gazed steadfastly at the panoramic valley which we were skirting. From time to time I glanced, at her out of the corners of my eyes, and eventually was somewhat relieved to see that she had closed her own and was dozing. My soul was in despair. She loathed, despised me. I could not blame her. I despised myself.

And yet my heart quickened every time I allowed myself to think of the crime I had committed.

The day was a glorious one and the road more than passably good. We bowled along at a steady rate of speed and sundown found us about twenty-five miles from our destination. Not caring to run the risk of a prolonged stay in the town, we drew up at a roadside inn and had our dinner in the quaint little garden, afterwards proceeding leisurely by moonlight down the sloping highway.

Billy Smith met us six or eight miles out and we stopped to parley. He examined the Countess's skilfully prepared passports, pronounced them genuine (!), and then gave us the cheerful news that "everything was lovely and the goose hung high." The train for the coast was due to leave the Staats-bahn-hof at 10.05, and we had an hour to spare. He proposed that we spend it quite comfortably at the roadside while Britton went through the pretence of repairing our tires. This seemed an agreeable arrangement for every one but Britton, who looked so glum that I, glad of the excuse, offered to help him.

No sooner was I out of the car and Billy Smith in my place beside the Countess than she became quite gay and vivacious once more. She laughed and chatted with him in a manner that promptly convinced me that propinquity so far as I was concerned had had a most depressing effect upon her, and that she revelled in the change of companions.

I was so disturbed by the discovery that Britton had to caution me several times to handle the inner tubes less roughly or I would damage them and we might suffer a blow-out after all.

Every one appeared to be gay and frivolous, even Blake, who chattered sotto voce with Britton, that excellent rascal spending most of his time leaning against the spare tires in order to catch what she was saying for his benefit. All efforts to draw me into the general conversation were unavailing. I was as morose and unresponsive as an Egyptian mummy, and for a very excellent reason, I submit. The Countess deliberately refused to address a single remark to me. Indeed, when I seemed perilously near to being drawn into the conversation she relapsed into a silence that was most forbidding. My cup of misery was overflowing.

I wondered if she would feel called upon, at some distant confessional, to tell the fortunate Lord Amberdale that I had brutally kissed her. And Lord Amberdale would grin in his beastly supercilious English way and say: "What else could you have expected from a bally American bounder?" She would no doubt smile indulgently.

Heigh-ho!

All things come to an end, however. We found ourselves at last uttering our good-byes in the railway station, surrounded by hurrying travellers and attended by eager porters.

The Countess did not lift her veil. I deliberately drew her aside. My hot hand clasped hers, and found it as cold as ice and trembling.

"For God's sake," I whispered hoarsely in my humbleness, "say that you forgive me?"

She did not speak for many seconds. Then her voice was very low and tremulous. I felt that her sombre eyes were accusing me even as they tried to meet my own with a steadiness that was meant to be reassuring.

"Of course I forgive you," she said. "You have been so good to me."

"Good!" I cried bitterly. "I've been harsh, unreasoning, super-critical from the day I met—"

"Hush!" she said, laying her free hand upon my arm. "I shall never forget all that you have done for me. I—I can say no more."

I gulped. "I pray to heaven that you may be happy, Aline,—happier than any one else in the world."

She lowered her head suddenly, and I was made more miserable than before by hearing a quick, half-suppressed sob. Then she withdrew her cold little hand and turned away to follow Colingraft who had called out to her.

I saw them board the train. In my heart there was the memory of a dozen kisses I had bestowed in repentant horror upon the half-asleep Rosemary, who, God bless her little soul, cried bitterly on being torn away from my embrace.

"Well," said Billy Smith, taking me by the arm a few minutes later, "let's have a bite to eat and a cold bottle before we go to bed, old chap. I hope to heaven she gets through all right. Damme, I am strong for her, aren't you?"

"I am," said I, with conviction, coming out of a daze.

He led me off to a cafe where he seemed to be more or less at home, and where it was bright and gay for him but gloomier than the grave to me.

* * * * * * *

I drove the car home the next day. When we got down at the garage, Britton shivered and drew a prodigious breath. It was as if he had not breathed for hours. We had gone the distance in little more than half the time taken on the trip down.

"My word, sir," was all he said, but there was a significant tremor in his voice. It smacked of pride.

Mrs. Titus placidly inquired how we had got along, and appeared quite relieved when I told her we had caught the train at K—-. Jasper, Jr., revealed a genuine interest in the enterprise, but spoiled it all by saying that Aline, now prematurely safe, was most likely to leap out of the frying-pan into the fire by marrying some blithering foreigner and having the whole beastly business to do over again.

"How soon do they go?" asked Poopendyke late that afternoon, after listening to Mrs. Titus's amiable prophecies concerning Aline's future activities, and getting my harassed ear in a moment of least resistance.

"I don't know," said I, hopelessly. I had heard about all I could endure concerning his lordship's magnificent estates in England, and the sort of a lord he was besides. "There's nothing to do but wait, Fred."

"She is a remarkably fine woman but—" He completed the estimate by shaking his head, trusting to my intelligence, I suppose.

We waited two days for word from the fugitives. Late in the afternoon of the second day, Britton returned from town with a telegram for me. It said:

"Cargo safely aboard Pendennis, Captain Pardee commanding. Clear at two to-day. Everything satisfactory. (Signed) C. G. RAFT."

No sooner was this reassuring news received than Mrs. Titus complacently set about having her trunks packed. The entire household was in a stew of activity, for she had suddenly decided to catch the eight o'clock train for Paris. I telephoned to reserve accommodation on the Orient Express from Vienna, and also to have it stopped at the town across the river, a concession secured at a no inconsiderable cost.

She was to travel once more as my mother.

"You will not fail to look us up when you come to New York, will you, Mr. Smart? Mr. Titus will not be happy until he has expressed to you in person his endless gratitude. You have been splendid. We shall never forget your kindness, your thoughtfulness, your—your forbearance. I—I—"

Upon my word, there were real tears in the dear lady's eyes! I forgot and forgave much in recognition of this instant of genuine feeling on her part. It was not necessary for her to complete the sentence so humbly begun.

Their departure was made with some degree of caution, Mrs. Titus rather considerately reminding herself that my interests were at stake. I saw them aboard the train; she played her part admirably, I will say that for her. She lifted her veil so that I could bestow a farewell filial kiss upon her cheek. Jasper, Jr.'s, eyes popped very wide open at this, and, as he shook my hand warmly at parting, he said:

"You are a wonder, John,—a sure enough wonder. Why, hang it all, she doesn't even let dad do that."

But Jasper, Jr., was very young and he couldn't understand.

At last we were to ourselves, my extensive household and I. Late that night I sat in my study considering the best means of reducing my staff of servants and in computing, with dismay, the cost of being a princely host to people who had not the least notion what it meant to do sums in economic subtraction. It was soon apparent to me that retrenchment, stern and relentless, would have to follow upon my wild though brief season of profligacy. I decided to dismiss the scullery-maid.

I was indescribably lonely. Poopendyke was worried about my pallor, my lassitude. At the end of a week, he took it upon himself to drop a line to the Hazzards, urging them to run out for a visit in the hope that company might take me out of myself. All attempts to renew my work on the ill-fated novel met with utter failure. The power of mental concentration was gone. I spent most of my time in the garden.

The Hazzards came and with them the joyously beautiful Betty Billy. Poopendyke must have prepared them for the task in hand, for they proceeded at once to transform the bleak, dreary old castle into a sort of hilarious merry-go-round, with me in the very Tortex of it all. They succeeded in taking me "out of myself," I will say that for them. My spirits took an upward bound and, wonderful to relate, retained their altitude in spite of all I could do to lower them. I did not want to be happy; I figured that I owed it to my recently aroused temperament to be permanently unhappy. But the wind blew another way and I drifted amiably with it, as a derelict drifts with the currents of the ocean but preferably with the warm gulf stream.

We had word from Mrs. Titus, in London, that negotiations had been reopened with the Count, and that a compromise might be expected. The obdurate nobleman had agreed, it seemed, to meet Jasper Titus's lawyers in Paris at no distant date. My chief concern however was for the Countess herself. That she had successfully reached the high seas was apparent; if not, the newspapers, which I read with eagerness, would have been filled with accounts of her seizure. We eagerly awaited the promised cablegram from New York, announcing her safe arrival there.

Smith joined us at the end of the week. I nerved myself to question him about the Englishman.

"Splendid fellow," said he, with discouraging fervour. "One of the finest chaps I know, eh, George?"

"For an Englishman," admitted Hazzard.

"He's a gentleman, and that's more than you can say for the rag-tag of nobility that paid court to Aline Tarnowsy. He was in love with her, but he was a gentleman about it. A thoroughbred, I say."

"Good looking?" I enquired.

"Well, rather! The sort of chap women rave about. Ask Betty. She was mad about him. But he couldn't see anything in her. I think she hates him now. He had eyes for no one but the fair Countess. An awful grind on Betty. She's used to something different."

Hazzard studied the clouds that drifted over our heads. "I wonder if Aline cared anything for him."

"I've always believed that she liked him better than she cared to admit, even to herself."

"I fancy he'll not let any grass grow under his feet, now that she's free," said Dr. Hazzard.

"Think she'll have him?"

"Why not? He has a much better position in England than Tarnowsy has here, and he's not after her money. I hate to say it, but Aline is a seeker after titles. She wouldn't be averse to adding 'your ladyship' to her collection."

"Oh, come!" I protested. "That is a nasty thing to say, George."

"She may have been regenerated," he said obligingly. "You know her better than I do, old chap. What say?"

"I didn't say anything," I muttered.

"I thought you did."

I hesitated a moment and then purged myself of the truth. "As a matter of fact, I have reason to believe she's in love with Amberdale and has been for a long time. I'm not saying it in disparagement, believe me. God knows she's entitled to something decent and fine in the shape of love. I hope he's good enough for her."

They looked at me with interest, and Smith broke the momentary silence.

"Oh, he's good enough for her," he said, with a queer smile.

"I'm glad of that," I said gruffly.

"The old la—I mean Mrs. Titus will be tickled to death if the match is pulled off," said Hazzard.

"She was tickled the first time," said I sententiously, and changed the subject. There was no sense in prolonging the agony.

Toward the close of their visit, a message arrived from the Countess herself, signed with the fictitious name we had agreed upon. The news she gave caused us to celebrate that night. We had a bonfire in the courtyard and drank to the god of Good Luck.

"Cargo safely landed in New York and forwarded to the Adirondacks for storage and to await the appearance of a claimant. Former owner has agreed to accept million and a half and release all claims. When are you coming over? (Signed) Alrose."

By the most extraordinary coincidence, a curt, business-like letter arrived in the evening post from Maris Tarnowsy, post-marked Paris. Its contents staggered me.

"John Bellamy Smart, Esquire.

"Dear Mr. Smart: Will you put a price on Schloss Rothhoefen? I am desirous of purchasing the castle if you care to sell and we can agree upon a fair price for the property. Sentiment moves me in this matter and I earnestly hope that you may be induced to part with your white elephant. If you will be so kind as to wire your decision, you will find me deeply grateful, and at the Ritz for the ensuing fortnight.

"Faithfully yours,

"MARIS TARNOWSY."

My "white elephant!" I was so eager to get rid of it that I would have wired at once, naming a figure proportionately low had it not been for the united protests of my four friends and the canny advice of Mr. Poopendyke.

"Soak him," said he, and I arose to the occasion.

I waited for three days and then telegraphed him that I would not take a heller less than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, more than doubling the price I had paid for the property. I was prepared, however, to come down a paltry hundred thousand or so if he revealed signs of reluctance.

We built another bonfire that night and danced around it like so many savages.

"Terms acceptable. Will come to Schloss Rothhoefen at once to complete the transfer.

"TARNOWSY."



CHAPTER XIX

I BURN A FEW BRIDGES

Accompanied by Hazzard and Smith, I went over the castle from top to bottom, in quest of the reason for Tarnowsy's prompt acceptance of my demand. We made no doubt that he had a good and sufficient reason for wanting the place, and but one thing suggested itself to our imagination: his absolute certainty that treasure was hidden somewhere about the venerable pile, treasure of considerable magnitude, you may be sure, or he would not have revealed such alacrity in accepting my terms. Sentiment had nothing to do with this surprising move on his part. That was all bosh. He had an ulterior motive, and it was for me to get the better of him at his own game if I could. While I was eager to get rid of the castle at any price, I did not relish the thought of being laughed at for a fool by Maris Tarnowsy after he had laid his greedy hands upon treasure that had been mine without my knowledge.

He was no fool. The castle meant nothing to him as a home or as an investment. No doubt he would blow it to pieces in order to unearth the thing he knew its walls secreted.

We spent two unprofitable days in going over the place, and in the end sank down tired, defeated and without the slightest evidence in our possession that so much as a half crown lay hidden there as treasure- trove. I gave in and announced that if Tarnowsy could find anything worth having he was entitled to it so far as I was concerned, and I wouldn't begrudge him a farthing's worth.

He telegraphed that he would arrive on the morning of the third day, accompanied by his lawyer, a notary and an architect. My four guests departed in haste by the late night train, after extracting a promise from me to join them in Vienna when I was no longer the master of Schloss Rothhoefen. I rather relished the thought of a brief vacation!

Then, like the spider, I crept back into my web and waited for the foolish fly, knowing all the time that he would have the better of me in the long run.

I confess to a feeling of sadness in parting with the place, after all, elephantine though it was in every sense of the word. Within its grey and ancient walls that beautiful thing called love had come to me, to live with me forever. It had come unbidden, against my will, against my better judgment, and in spite of my prejudices, but still it was a thing to cherish and to hold in its virgin youth all through the long years to come. It would always be young and sweet and rose-coloured, this unrequited love of mine. Walking through the empty, dismantled rooms that had once been hers, I grew sick with longing, and, in something like fear, fled downward, absurd tears blinding my eyes. Verily, I was a fool,—a monstrous, silly fool!

Tarnowsy was as bland and smiling as a May morning as he came jauntily down the great hall to where I awaited him.

"I am here incognito, my dear Smart," he said, extending his gloved hand, which I took perforce. "Sub rosa, you might say," he went on with a wry smile. "A stupid, unchivalric empire has designs upon me, perfunctorily perhaps, but it's just as well not to stir up the monkeys, as you Americans would put it."

"Our late friend, the baron, was not totally without friends, I take it," said I drily.

He made a grimace. "Nor enemies," he declared. "Brave men usually have more enemies than friends, and he was a brave man, a truly brave man. Because he was a brave man I have no feeling of regret over the outcome of our—er—meeting. It is no honour to kill a coward, Mr. Smart."

He introduced his three companions. I was surprised to see that the lawyer was not the fawning Schymansky, and later on inquired for him. Tarnowsy laughed. "Poor old Schymansky! He is in prison."

"Aha! I am not surprised," said I.

"He was my second, poor chap. It did not occur to him to run away after the—er—duel. They had to make an example of some one. His trial comes up next week. I am afraid he may be dealt with rather harshly. I miss him dreadfully. But let us come to the matter in hand, Mr. Smart. I daresay your time is valuable. You have no objection to my going over the place with Mr. Saks, I am sure. He is the architect who is to rebuild the castle for me. My attorney and Mr. Pooly,—the notary,—will, with your assistance, draw up the proper contracts preliminary to the formal transfer, and I will sign them with you upon my return."

"Would it not be better to discuss the question of payments before we go any further, Count Tarnowsy?"

"You will be paid in cash, Mr. Smart, the instant the deed is transferred," he said coldly.

I followed him to the top of the stairs which descended to the basement of the castle. It was rather significant that he elected to explore the lower regions first of all.

"I shall accompany you," said I deliberately.

A faint scowl came into his face. He eyed me fixedly for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and said that his only desire was to avoid putting me to any unnecessary trouble. If I cared to come, he would be more than grateful. "It isn't necessary to visit the cellars, Saks," he said to the architect. "Ample time for that sort of rummaging. I particularly want your opinion on the condition of the intersecting walls on this floor and above. My scheme of improvements, Mr. Smart, contemplates the enlargement of these halls by throwing them into one."

"A very simple process," said I, "if the whole structure doesn't topple down upon your heads while you're about it."

"I shall contrive to save my scalp, Mr. Smart, no matter what happens. It is very precious to me."

We went over the castle rather hurriedly, I thought, but he explained that Saks merely wanted a general idea of the structure; he would return another day to make a careful inspection.

"I daresay you are surprised that I should be willing to pay double your original price for Schloss Rothhoefen," he ventured, pausing in the corridor to light a cigarette. We were on our way to the top of the east wing.

"Oh, no," I said calmly. "I am aware that treasure is buried here. As a matter of fact, I've tried to unearth it myself, but without success. I wish you better luck."

"Thanks," said he laconically, after the first swift glance of inquiry. "It is doubtless a fairy tale, handed down by tradition. I take no stock in it. My principal object in acquiring Rothhoefen is to satisfy a certain vanity which besets me. I have it on excellent authority that my ex-father-in-law,—the man Titus, you know,—talks of buying the property and performing the stupendous, characteristic American feat of removing it, stone and timber, just as it is, to his estate north of New York City. No one but a vulgar, purse-proud American would think of doing such a thing."

The news staggered me. Could there be anything in what he said? If it was true that Jasper Titus contemplated such a quixotic move, there could be but one compelling force behind the whim: sentiment. But not sentiment on the part of Jasper Titus.

"I cannot believe that he considers doing such a thing," I said rather blankly. "You see, if any one should know, I am that one. He has not approached me, of that you may be sure."

He did not appear to be interested. "My information is not authoritative, Mr. Smart," said he. "It came to me through my representatives who conferred with his lawyers a fortnight ago in regard to certain difficulties that had existed between us. From what they were able to gather, the idea has taken root in the old man's head. Now, I want to buy this place for no other reason than to tell him that he hasn't enough money in his possession to purchase it from me. D'you see? Vanity, you may call it, as I do, but it pleases me to coddle it."

Very thoughtfully I strode along beside him. Would I be serving the Countess ill or well by selling the place to Tarnowsy? It was her whim, of course, and it was a foolish one.

"Suppose that he offered you twice what you are to pay me for the place," said I, struck by a sudden thought.

He laughed easily. "You will not, it seems, acquit me of cupidity, Mr. Smart. I should not sell to him under any consideration. That is final. Take it or leave it."

By this time we were in the rooms once occupied by the Countess. He glanced about the apartment carelessly.

"Deserted, I observe," he remarked with a queer smile.

My heart almost stood still. "Eh? What do you mean?"

"If I am not mistaken, these are the rooms once occupied by your valet's wife. Am I right?"

I steadied myself. "She has gone away," I said. "Couldn't stand the climate."

"I see," said he, but he was still smiling. "How does your valet stand it?"

"Nicely," said I, with a conscious blush.

"I mean the separation, of course."

"Certainly. He is used to it."

"Isn't it rather odd that he should still think she is here, in the castle?"

"Does he?" I murmured.

"I inquired for her when I encountered him downstairs. He said she was quite well this morning, except for a headache."

"She is subject to headaches, I believe," said I, with the utmost nonchalance. He lifted his right eyebrow slightly, but said no more on the subject.

A pile of rubbish lay heaped in one corner of the room, swept up and left there by the big Schmicks to await the spring house cleaning season I presume. Tarnowsy at first eyed the heap curiously, then rather intently. Suddenly he strode across the room and gingerly rooted among the odds and ends with the toe of his highly polished boot.

To my horror a dilapidated doll detached itself and rolled out upon the floor,—a well-remembered treasure of Rosemary's and so unique in appearance that I doubt if there was another in the world like it. Indeed, I have a distinct recollection of being told that the child's father had painted in the extraordinary features and had himself decorated the original flaxen locks with singular stripes of red and white and blue, a sardonic tribute to the home land of her mother.

I turned away as he stooped and picked up the soiled, discarded effigy. When next I looked at him, out of the corner of my eye, he was holding the doll at arm's length and staring at it with a fixed gaze. I knew that he recognised it. There could be no doubt in his mind as to the identity of that tell-tale object. My heart was thumping fiercely.

An instant later he rejoined me, but not a word did he utter concerning the strange discovery he had made. His face was set and pallid, and his eyes were misty. Involuntarily I looked to see if he had the doll in his hand, and in that glance observed the bulging surface of his coat pocket.

In silence we stood there awaiting the reappearance of Saks, who had gone into one of the adjoining rooms. I confess that my hand trembled as I lighted a fresh cigarette. He was staring moodily at the floor, his hands clasped behind his back. Something smacking of real intelligence ordered me to hold my tongue. I smoked placidly, yet waited for the outburst. It did not come. It never came. He kept his thoughts, his emotions to himself, and for that single display of restraint on his part I shall always remember him as a true descendant of the nobility.