"You said in your note to Barnes that the—er—something was in Curtis's study."

"The Prince sleeps in Mr. Curtis's room. The study adjoins it, and can only be entered from the bed-room. There is no other door. What are you doing?"

"I am going to take a peep over the transom, first of all. If the coast is clear, I shall take a little stroll down the hall. Do not be alarmed. I will come back,—with the things we both want. Pardon me." He sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes. She watched him as if fascinated while he opened the bosom of his soft shirt and stuffed the wet shoes inside.

"How did you dispose of the man who watches below my window?" she inquired, drawing near. "He has been there for the past three nights. I missed him to-night."

"Wasn't he there earlier in the evening?" demanded Sprouse quickly.

"I have been in my room since eleven. He seldom comes on duty before that hour."

"I had it figured out that he was one of the men we got down in the woods. If I have miscalculated—well, poor Barnes may be in for a bad time. We are quite safe up here for the time being. The fellow will assume that Barnes is alone and that he comes to pay his respects to you in a rather romantic manner."

"You must warn Mr. Barnes. He—"

"May I not leave that to you, Countess? I shall be very busy for the next few minutes, and if you will—Be careful! A slip now would be fatal. Don't be hasty." His whispering was sharp and imperative. It was a command that he uttered, and she shrank back in surprise.

"Pray do not presume to address me in—"

"I crave your pardon, my lady," he murmured abjectly. "You are not dressed for flight. May I suggest that while I am outside you slip on a dark skirt and coat? You cannot go far in that dressing-gown. It would be in shreds before you had gone a hundred feet through the brush. If I do not return to this room inside of fifteen minutes, or if you hear sounds of a struggle, crawl through the window and go down the vines. Barnes will look out for you."

"You must not fail, Theodore Sprouse," she whispered. "I must regain the jewels and the state papers. I cannot go without—"

"I shall do my best," he said simply. Silently he drew a chair to the door, mounted it and, drawing himself up by his hands, poked his head through the open transom. An instant later he was on the floor again. She heard him inserting a key in the lock. Almost before she could realise that it had actually happened, the door opened slowly, cautiously, and his thin wiry figure slid through what seemed to her no more than a crack. As softly the door was closed.

For a long time she stood, dazed and unbelieving, in the centre of the room, staring at the door. She held her breath, listening for the shout that was so sure to come—and the shot, perhaps! A prayer formed on her lips and went voicelessly up to God.

Suddenly she roused herself from the stupefaction that held her, and threw off the slinky peignoir. With feverish haste she snatched up garments from the chair on which she had carefully placed them in anticipation of the emergency that now presented itself. A blouse (which she neglected to button), a short skirt of some dark material, a jacket, and a pair of stout walking shoes (which she failed to lace), completed the swift transformation. She felt the pockets of skirt and jacket, assuring herself that her purse and her own personal jewelry were where she had forehandedly placed them. As she glided to the window, she jammed the pins into a small black hat of felt. Then she peered over the ledge. She started back, stifling a cry with her hand. A man's head had almost come in contact with her own as she leaned out. A man's hand reached over and grasped the inner ledge of the casement, and then a man's face was dimly revealed to her startled gaze.



CHAPTER XIV

A FLIGHT, A STONE-CUTTER'S SHED, AND A VOICE OUTSIDE

He saw her standing in the middle of the room, her clenched hands pressed to her lips. At the angle from which he peered into the room, her head was in line with the lighted transom.

His grip on the ledge was firm but his foothold on the lattice precarious. He felt himself slipping. Exerting all of his strength he drew himself upward, free of the vines that had begun to yield to his weight.

An almost inaudible "Whew!" escaped his lips as he straddled the sill. An instant later he was in the room.

"Why have you come up here?" She came swiftly to his side.

"Thank the Lord, I made it," he whispered, breathlessly. "I came up because there was nowhere else to go. I thought I heard voices—a man and a woman speaking. They seemed to be quite close to me. Don't be alarmed, Miss Cameron. I am confident that I can—"

"And now that you are here, trapped as I am, what do you purpose to do? You cannot escape. Go back before it is too late. Go—"

"Is Sprouse—where is he?"

"He is somewhere in the house. I have heard no sound. I was to wait until he—Oh, Mr. Barnes, I—I am terrified. You will never know the—"

"Trust him," he said. "He is a marvel. We'll be safely out of here in a little while, and then it will all look simple to you. You are ready to go? Good! We will wait a few minutes and if he doesn't show up we'll—Why, you are trembling like a leaf! Sit down, do! If he doesn't return in a minute or two, I'll take a look about the house myself. I don't intend to desert him. I know this floor pretty well, and the lower one. The stairs are—"

"But the stairway is closed at the bottom by a solid steel curtain. It is made to look like a panel in the wall. Mr. Curtis had it put in to protect himself from burglars. You are not to venture outside this room, Mr. Barnes. I forbid it. You—"

"How did Sprouse get out? You said your door was locked."

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. She was still trembling violently. He took her hand in his and held it tightly.

"He had a key. I do not know where he obtained—"

"Skeleton key, such as burglars use. By Jove, what a wonderful burglar he would make! Courage, Miss Cameron! He will be here soon. Then comes the real adventure,—my part of it. I didn't come here to-night to get any flashy old crown jewels. I came to take you out of—"

"You—you know about the crown jewels?" she murmured. Her body seemed to stiffen.

"Very little. They are nothing to me."

"Then you know who I am?"

"No. You will tell me to-morrow."

"Yes, yes,—to-morrow," she whispered, and fell to shivering again.

For some time there was silence. Both were listening intently for sounds in the hall; both were watching the door with unblinking eyes. She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. Their shoulders touched. He wondered if she experienced the same delightful thrill that ran through his body. She told him of the man who watched across the hall from the room supposed to be occupied by Loeb the secretary, and of Sprouse's incomprehensible daring.

"Where is Mr. Curtis?" he asked.

Her breath fanned his cheek, her lips were close to his ear. "There is no Mr. Curtis here. He died four months ago in Florida."

"I suspected as much." He did not press her for further revelations. "Sprouse should be here by this time. It isn't likely that he has met with a mishap. You would have heard the commotion. I must go out there and see if he requires any—"

She clutched his arm frantically. "You shall do nothing of the kind. You shall not—"

"Sh! What do you take me for, Miss Cameron? He may be sorely in need of help. Do you think that I would leave him to God knows what sort of fate? Not much! We undertook this job together and—"

"But he said positively that I was to go in case he did not return in —in fifteen minutes," she begged. "He may have been cut off and was compelled to escape from another—"

"Just the same, I've got to see what has become of—"

"No! No!" She arose with him, dragging at his arm. "Do not be foolhardy. You are not skilled at—"

"There is only one way to stop me, Miss Cameron. If you will come with me now—"

"But I must know whether he secured the—"

"Then let me go. I will find out whether he has succeeded. Stand over there by the window, ready to go if I have to make a run for it."

He was rougher than he realised in wrenching his arm free. She uttered a low moan and covered her face with her hands. Undeterred, he crossed to the door. His hand was on the knob when a door slammed violently somewhere in a distant part of the house.

A hoarse shout of alarm rang out, and then the rush of heavy feet over thickly carpeted floors.

Barnes acted with lightning swiftness. He sprang to the open window, half-carrying, half-dragging the girl with him.

"Now for it!" he whispered. "Not a second to lose. Climb upon my back, quick, and hang on for dear life." He had scrambled through the window and was lying flat across the sill. "Hurry! Don't be afraid. I am strong enough to carry you if the vines do their part."

With surprising alacrity and sureness she crawled out beside him and then over upon his broad back, clasping her arms around his neck. Holding to the ledge with one hand he felt for and clutched the thick vine with the other. Slowly he slid his body off of the sill and swung free by one arm. An instant later he found the lattice with the other hand and the hurried descent began. His only fear was that the vine would not hold. If it broke loose they would drop fifteen feet or more to the ground. A broken leg, an arm, or even worse,—But her hair was brushing his ear and neck, her arms were about him, her heart beat against his straining back, and—Why be a pessimist?

His feet touched the ground. In the twinkling of an eye he picked her up in his arms and bolted across the little grass plot into the shrubbery. She did not utter a sound. Her arms tightened, and now her cheek was against his.

Presently he set her down. His breath was gone, his strength exhausted.

"Can you—manage to—walk a little way?" he gasped. "Give me your hand, and follow as close to my heels as you can. Better that I should bump into things than you."

Shouts were now heard, and shrill blasts on a police whistle split the air.

Her breathing was like sobs,—short and choking,—but he knew she was not crying. Apprehension, alarm, excitement,—anything but hysteria. The fortitude of generations was hers; a hundred forebears had passed courage down to her.

On they stumbled, blindly, recklessly. He spared her many an injury by taking it himself. More than once she murmured sympathy when he crashed into a tree or floundered over a log. The soft, long-drawn "o- ohs!" that came to his ears were full of a music that made him impervious to pain. They had the effect of martial music on him, as the drum and fife exalts the faltering soldier in his march to death.

Utterly at sea, he was now guessing at the course they were taking. Whether their frantic dash was leading them toward the Tavern, or whether they were circling back to Green Fancy, he knew not. Panting, he forged onward, his ears alert not only for the sound of pursuit but for the shot that would end the career of the spectacular Sprouse.

At last she cried out, quaveringly:

"Oh, I—I can go no farther! Can't we—is it not safe to stop for a moment? My breath is—"

"God bless you, yes," he exclaimed, and came to an abrupt stop. She leaned heavily against him, gasping for breath. "I haven't the faintest idea where we are, but we must be some distance from the house. We will rest a few minutes and then take it easier, more cautiously. I am sorry, but it was the only thing to do, rough as it was."

"I know, I understand. I am not complaining, Mr. Barnes. You will find me ready and strong and—"

"Let me think. I must try to get my bearings. Good Lord, I wish Sprouse were here. He has eyes like a cat. He can see in the dark. We are off the path, that's sure."

"I hope he is safe. Do you think he escaped?"

"I am sure of it. Those whistles were sounding the alarm. There would have been no object in blowing them unless he had succeeded in getting out of the house. He may come this way. The chances are that your flight has not been discovered. They are too busy with him to think of you,—at least for the time being. Do you feel like going on? We must beat them to the Tavern. They—"

"I am all right now," she said, and they were off again. Barnes now picked his way carefully and with the greatest caution. If at times he was urged to increased speed through comparatively open spaces it was because he realised the peril that lay at the very end of their journey: the likelihood of being cut off by the pursuers before he could lodge her safely inside of the walls. He could only pray that he was going in the right direction.

An hour,—but what seemed thrice as long,—passed and they had not come to the edge of the forest. Her feet were beginning to drag; he could tell that by the effort she made to keep up with him. From time to time he paused to allow her to rest. Always she leaned heavily against him, seldom speaking; when she did it was to assure him that she would be all right in a moment or two. There was no sentimental motive behind his action when he finally found it necessary to support her with an encircling arm, nor was she loath to accept this tribute of strength.

"You are plucky," he once said to her.

"I am afraid I could not be so plucky if you were not so strong," she sighed, and he loved the tired, whimsical little twist she put into her reply. It revived the delightful memory of another day.

To his dismay they came abruptly upon a region abounding in huge rocks. This was new territory to him. His heart sank.

"By Jove, I—I believe we are farther away from the road than when we started. We must have been going up the slope instead of down."

"In any case, Mr. Barnes," she murmured, "we have found something to sit down upon."

He chuckled. "If you can be as cheerful as all that, we sha'n't miss the cushions," he said, and, for the first time, risked a flash of the electric torch. The survey was brief. He led her forward a few paces to a flat boulder, and there they seated themselves.

"I wonder where we are," she said.

"I give it up," he replied dismally. "There isn't much sense in wandering over the whole confounded mountain, Miss Cameron, and not getting anywhere. I am inclined to suspect that we are above Green Fancy, but a long way off to the right of it. My bump of direction tells me that we have been going to the right all of the time. Admitting that to be the case, I am afraid to retrace our steps. The Lord only knows what we might blunder into."

"I think the only sensible thing to do, Mr. Barnes, is to make ourselves as snug and comfortable as we can and wait for the first signs of daybreak."

He scowled,—and was glad that it was too dark for her to see his face. He wondered if she fully appreciated what would happen to him if the pursuers came upon him in this forbidding spot. He could almost picture his own body lying there among the rocks and rotting, while she—well, she would merely go back to Green Fancy.

"I fear you do not realise the extreme gravity of the situation."

"I do, but I also realise the folly of thrashing about in this brush without in the least knowing where our steps are leading us. Besides, I am so exhausted that I must be a burden to you. You cannot go on supporting me—"

"We must get out of these woods," he broke in doggedly, "if I have to carry you in my arms."

"I shall try to keep going," she said quickly. "Forgive me if I seemed to falter a little. I—I—am ready to go on when you say the word."

"You poor girl! Hang it all, perhaps you are right and not I. Sit still and I will reconnoitre a bit. If I can find a place where we can hide among these rocks, we'll stay here till the sky begins to lighten. Sit—"

"No! I shall not let you leave me for a second. Where you go, I go." She struggled to her feet, suppressing a groan, and thrust a determined arm through his.

"That's worth remembering," said he, and whether it was a muscular necessity or an emotional exaction that caused his arm to tighten on hers, none save he would ever know.

After a few minutes prowling among the rocks they came to the face of what subsequently proved to be a sheer wall of stone. He flashed the light, and, with an exclamation, started back. Not six feet ahead of them the earth seemed to end; a yawning black gulf lay beyond. Apparently they were on the very edge of a cliff.

"Good Lord, that was a close call," he gasped. He explained in a few words and then, commanding her to stand perfectly still, dropped to the ground and carefully felt his way forward. Again he flashed the light. In an instant he understood. They were on the brink of a shallow quarry, from which, no doubt, the stone used in building the foundations at Green Fancy had been taken.

Lying there, he made swift calculations. There would be a road leading from this pit up to the house itself. The quarry, no longer of use to the builder, was reasonably sure to be abandoned. In all probability some sort of a stone-cutter's shed would be found nearby. It would provide shelter from the fine rain that was falling and from the chill night air. He remembered that O'Dowd, in discussing the erection of Green Fancy the night before, had said that the stone came from a pit two miles away, where a fine quality of granite had been found. The quarry belonged to Mr. Curtis, who had refused to consider any offer from would-be purchasers. Two miles, according to Barnes's quick calculations, would bring the pit close to the northern boundary of the Curtis property and almost directly on a line with the point where he and Sprouse entered the meadow at the beginning of their advance upon Green Fancy. That being the case, they were now quite close to the stake and rider fence separating the Curtis land from that of the farmer on the north. Sprouse and Barnes had hugged this fence during their progress across the meadow.

"Good," he said, more to himself than to her. "I begin to see light."

"Oh, dear! Is there some one down in that hole, Mr.—"

"Are you afraid to remain here while I go down there for a look around? I sha'n't be gone more than a couple of minutes."

"The way I feel at present," she said, jerkily, "I shall never, never from this instant till the hour in which I die, let go of your coat- tails, Mr. Barnes." Suiting the action to the word, her fingers resolutely fastened, not upon the tail of his coat but upon his sturdy arm. "I wouldn't stay here alone for anything in the world."

"Heaven bless you," he exclaimed, suddenly exalted. "And, since you put it that way, I shall always contrive to be within arm's length."

And so, together, they ventured along the edge of the pit until they reached the wagon road at the bottom. As he had expected, there was a ramshackle shed hard by. It was not much of a place, but it was deserted and a safe shelter for the moment.

A workman's bench lay on its side in the middle of the earthen floor. He righted it and drew it over to the boarding.... She laid her head against his shoulder and sighed deeply.... He kept his eyes glued on the door and listened for the first ominous sound outside. A long time afterward she stirred.

"Don't move," he said softly. "Go to sleep again if you can. I will—"

"Sleep? I haven't been asleep. I've been thinking all the time, Mr. Barnes. I've been wondering how I can ever repay you for all the pain, and trouble, and—"

"I am paid in full up to date," he said. "I take my pay as I go and am satisfied." He did not give her time to puzzle it out, but went on hurriedly: "You were so still I thought you were asleep."

"As if I could go to sleep with so many things to keep me awake!" She shivered.

"Are you cold? You are wet—"

"It was the excitement, the nervousness, Mr. Barnes," she said, drawing slightly away from him. He reconsidered the disposition of his arm. "Isn't it nearly daybreak?"

He looked at his watch. "Three o'clock," he said, and turned the light upon her face. "God, you are—" He checked the riotous words that were driven to his lips by the glimpse of her lovely face. "I-I beg your pardon!"

"For what?" she asked, after a moment.

"For—for blinding you with the light," he floundered.

"Oh, I can forgive you for that," she said composedly.

There ensued another period of silence. She remained slightly aloof.

"You'd better lean against me," he said at last. "I am softer than the beastly boards, you know, and quite as harmless."

"Thank you," she said, and promptly settled herself against his shoulder. "It IS better," she sighed.

"Would you mind telling me something about yourself, Miss Cameron? What is the true story of the crown jewels?"

She did not reply at once. When she spoke it was to ask a question of him.

"Do you know who he really is,—I mean the man known to you as Mr. Loeb?"

"Not positively. I am led to believe that he is indirectly in line to succeed to the throne of your country."

"Tell me something about Sprouse. How did you meet him and what induced him to take you into his confidence? It is not the usual way with government agents."

He told her the story of his encounter and connection with the secret agent, and part but not all of the man's revelations concerning herself and the crown jewels.

"I knew that you were not a native American," he said. "I arrived at that conclusion after our meeting at the cross-roads. When O'Dowd said you were from New Orleans, I decided that you belonged to one of the French or Spanish families there. Either that or you were a fairy princess such as one reads about in books."

"And you now believe that I am a royal—or at the very worst—a noble lady with designs on the crown?" There was a faint ripple in her low voice.

"I should like to know whether I am to address you as Princess, Duchess, or—just plain Miss."

"I am more accustomed to plain Miss, Mr. Barnes, than to either of the titles you would give me."

"Don't you feel that I am deserving of a little enlightenment?" he asked. "I am working literally as well as figuratively in the dark. Who are you? Why were you a prisoner at Green Fancy? Where and what is your native land?"

"Sprouse did not tell you any of these things?"

"No. I think he was in some doubt himself. I don't blame him for holding back until he was certain."

"Mr. Barnes, I cannot answer any one of your questions without jeopardising a cause that is dearer to me than anything else in all the world. I am sorry. I pray God a day may soon come when I can reveal everything to you—and to the world. I am of a stricken country; I am trying to serve the unhappy house that has ruled it for centuries and is now in the direst peril. The man you know as Loeb is a prince of that house. I may say this to you, and it will serve to explain my position at Green Fancy: he is not the Prince I was led to believe awaited me there. He is the cousin of the man I expected to meet, and he is the enemy of the branch of the house that I would serve. Do not ask me to say more. Trust me as I am trusting you,—as Sprouse trusted you."

"May I ask the cause of O'Dowd's apparent defection?"

"He is not in sympathy with all of the plans advanced by his leader," she said, after a moment's reflection.

"Your sympathies are with the Entente Allies, the prince's are opposed? Is that part of Sprouse's story true?"

"Yes."

"And O'Dowd?"

"O'Dowd is anti-English, Mr. Barnes, if that conveys anything to you. He is not pro-German. Perhaps you will understand."

"Wasn't it pretty risky for you to carry the crown jewels around in a travelling bag, Miss Cameron?"

"I suppose so. It turned out, however, that it was the safest, surest way. I had them in my possession for three days before coming to Green Fancy. No one suspected. They were given into my custody by the committee to whom they were delivered in New York by the men who brought them to this country."

"And why did you bring them to Green Fancy?"

"I was to deliver them to one of their rightful owners, Mr. Barnes,—a loyal prince of the blood."

"But why HERE?" he insisted.

"He was to take them into Canada, and thence, in good time, to the palace of his ancestors."

"I am to understand, then, that not only you but the committee you speak of, fell into a carefully prepared trap."

"Yes."

"You did not know the man who picked you up in the automobile, Miss Cameron. Why did you take the chance with—"

"He gave the password, or whatever you may call it, and it could have been known only to persons devoted to our—our cause."

"I see. The treachery, therefore, had its inception in the loyal nest. You were betrayed by a friend."

"I am sure of it," she said bitterly. "If this man Sprouse does not succeed in restoring the—oh, I believe I shall kill myself, Mr. Barnes."

The wail of anguish in her voice went straight to his heart.

"He has succeeded, take my word for it. They will be in your hands before many hours have passed."

"Is he to come to the Tavern with them? Or am I to meet him—"

"Good Lord!" he gulped. Here was a contingency he had not considered. Where and when would Sprouse appear with his booty? "I—I fancy we'll find him waiting for us at the Tavern."

"But had you no understanding?"

"Er—tentatively." The perspiration started on his brow.

"They will guard the Tavern so closely that we will never be able to get away from the place," she said, and he detected a querulous note in her voice.

"Now don't you worry about that," he said stoutly.

"I love the comforting way you have of saying things," she murmured, and he felt her body relax.

For reasons best known to himself, he failed to respond to this interesting confession. He was thinking of something else: his amazing stupidity in not foreseeing the very situation that now presented itself. Why had he neglected to settle upon a meeting place with Sprouse in the event that circumstances forced them to part company in flight? Fearing that she would pursue the subject, he made haste to branch off onto another line.

"What is the real object of the conspiracy up there, Miss Cameron?"

"You must bear with me a little longer, Mr. Barnes," she said, appealingly. "I cannot say anything now. I am in a very perplexing position. You see, I am not quite sure that I am right in my conclusions, and it would be dreadful if I were to make a mistake."

"If they are up to any game that may work harm to the Allies, they must not be allowed to go on with it," he said sternly. "Don't wait too long before exposing them, Miss Cameron."

"I—I cannot speak now," she said, painfully.

"You said that to-morrow night would be too late. What did you mean by that?"

"Do you insist on pinning me down to—"

"No. You may tell me to mind my own business, if you like."

"That is not a nice way to put it, Mr. Barnes. I could never say such a thing to you."

He was silent. She waited a few seconds and then removed her head from his shoulder. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and felt the convulsive movement of the arm that rested against his. There was no mistaking her sudden agitation.

"I will tell you," she said, and he was surprised by the harshness that came into her voice. "To-morrow morning was the time set for my marriage to that wretch up there. I could have avoided it only by destroying myself. If you had come to-morrow night instead of to-night you would have found me dead, that is all. Now you understand."

"Good God! You—you were to be forced into a marriage with—why, it is the most damnable—"

"O'Dowd,—God bless him!—was my only champion. He knew my father. He—"

"Listen!" he hissed, starting to his feet.

"Don't move!" came from the darkness outside. "I have me gun leveled. I heard me name taken in vain. Thanks for the blessing. I was wondering whether you would say something pleasant about me,—and, thank the good Lord, I was patient. But I'd advise you both to sit still, just the same."

A chuckle rounded out the gentle admonition of the invisible Irishman.



CHAPTER XV

LARGE BODIES MOVE SLOWLY,—BUT MR. SPROUSE WAS SMALLER THAN THE AVERAGE

There was not a sound for many seconds. The trapped couple in the stone-cutter's shed scarcely breathed. She was the first to speak.

"I am ready to return with you, Mr. O'Dowd," she said, distinctly. "There must be no struggle, no blood-shed. Anything but that."

She felt Barnes's body stiffen and caught the muttered execration that fell from his lips.

O'Dowd spoke out of the darkness: "You forget that I have your own word for it that ye'll be a dead woman before the day is over. Wouldn't it be better for me to begin shooting at once and spare your soul the everlasting torture that would begin immediately after your self-produced decease?"

A little cry of relief greeted this quaint sally. "You have my word that I will return with you quietly if—"

"Thunderation!" exclaimed Barnes wrathfully. "What do you think I am? A worm that—"

"Easy, easy, me dear man," cautioned O'Dowd. "Keep your seat. Don't be deceived by my infernal Irish humour. It is my way to be always polite, agreeable and—prompt. I'll shoot in a second if ye move one step outside that cabin."

"O'Dowd, you haven't the heart to drag her back to that beast of a—"

"Hold hard! We'll come to the point without further palavering. Where are ye dragging her yourself, ye rascal?"

"To a place where she will be safe from insult, injury, degradation—"

"Well, I have no fault to find with ye for that," said O'Dowd. "Bedad, I didn't believe you had the nerve to tackle the job. To be honest with you, I hadn't the remotest idea who the divvil you were, either of you, until I heard your voices. You may be interested to know that up to the moment I left the house your absence had not been noticed, my dear Miss Cameron. And as for you, my dear Barnes, your visit is not even suspected. By this time, of course, the list of the missing at Green Fancy is headed by an honourable and imperishable name,— which isn't Cameron,—and there is an increased wailing and gnashing of teeth. How the divvil did ye do it, Barnes?"

"Are you disposed to be friendly, O'Dowd?" demanded Barnes. "If you are not, we may just as well fight it out now as later on. I do not mean to submit without a—"

"You are not to fight!" she cried in great agitation. "What are you doing? Put it away! Don't shoot!"

"Is it a gun he is pulling" inquired O'Dowd calmly. "And what the deuce are you going to aim at, me hearty?"

"It may sound cowardly to you, O'Dowd, but I have an advantage over you in the presence of Miss Cameron. You don't dare shoot into this shed. You—"

"Lord love ye, Barnes, haven't you my word that I will not shoot unless ye try to come out? And I know you wouldn't use her for a shield. Besides, I have a bull's-eye lantern with me. From the luxurious seat behind this rock I could spot ye in a second. Confound you, man, you ought to thank me for being so considerate as not to flash it on you before. I ask ye now, isn't that proof that I'm a gentleman and not a bounder? Having said as much, I now propose arbitration. What have ye to offer in the shape of concessions?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'll be explicit. Would you mind handing over that tin box in exchange for my polite thanks and a courteous good-by to both of ye?"

"Tin box?" cried Barnes.

"We have no box of any description, Mr. O'Dowd," cried she, triumphantly. "Thank heaven, he got safely away!"

"Do you mean to tell me you came away without the—your belongings, Miss Cameron?" exclaimed O'Dowd.

"They are not with me," she replied. Her grasp on Barnes's arm tightened. "Oh, isn't it splendid? They did not catch him. He—"

"Catch him? Catch who?" cried O'Dowd.

"Ah, that is for you to find out, my dear O'Dowd," said Barnes, assuming a satisfaction he did not feel.

"Well, I'll be—jiggered," came in low, puzzled tones from the rocks outside. "Did you have a—a confederate, Barnes? Didn't you do the whole job yourself?"

"I did my part of the job, as you call it, O'Dowd, and nothing more."

"Will you both swear on your sacred honour that ye haven't the jewels in your possession?"

"Unhesitatingly," said Barnes.

"I swear, Mr. O'Dowd."

"Then," said he, "I have no time to waste here. I am looking for a tin box. I beg your pardon for disturbing you."

"Oh, Mr. O'Dowd, I shall never forget all that you have—"

"Whist, now! There is one thing I must insist on your forgetting completely: all that has happened in the last five minutes. I shall put no obstacles in your way. You may go with my blessings. The only favour I ask in return is that you never mention having seen me to- night."

"We can do that with a perfectly clear conscience," said Barnes. "You are absolutely invisible."

"What I am doing now, Mr. Barnes," said O'Dowd seriously, "would be my death sentence if it ever became known."

"It shall never be known through me, O'Dowd. I'd like to shake your hand, old man."

"God bless you, Mr. O'Dowd," said the girl in a low, small voice, singularly suggestive of tears. "Some day I may be in a position to—"

"Don't say it! You'll spoil everything if you let me think you are in my debt. Bedad, don't be so sure I sha'n't see you again, and soon. You are not out of the woods yet."

"Tell me how to find Hart's Tavern, old man. I'll—"

"No, I'm dashed if I do. I leave you to your own devices. You ought to be grateful to me for not stopping you entirely, without asking me to give you a helping hand. Good-bye, and God bless you. I'm praying that ye get away safely, Miss Cameron. So long, Barnes. If you were a crow and wanted to roost on that big tree in front of Hart's Tavern, I dare say you'd take the shortest way there by flying as straight as a bullet from the mouth of this pit, following your extremely good- looking nose."

They heard him rattle off among the loose stones and into the brush. A long time afterward, when the sounds had ceased, Barnes said, from the bottom of a full heart:

"I shall always feel something warm stirring within me when I think of that man."

"He is a gallant gentleman," said she simply.

They did not wait for the break of day. Taking O'Dowd's hint, Barnes directed his steps straight out from the mouth of the quarry and pressed confidently onward. Their progress was swifter than before and less cautious. The thought had come to him that the men from Green Fancy would rush to the outer edges of the Curtis land and seek to intercept, rather than to overtake, the fugitive. In answer to a question she informed him that there were no fewer than twenty-five men on the place, all of them shrewd, resolute and formidable.

"The women, who are they, and what part do they play in this enterprise?" he inquired, during a short pause for rest.

"Mrs. Collier is the widow of a spy executed in France at the beginning of the war. She is an American and was married to a—to a foreigner. The Van Dykes are very rich Americans,—at least she has a great deal of money. Her husband was in the diplomatic service some years ago but was dismissed. There was a huge gambling scandal and he was involved. His wife is determined to force her way into court circles in Europe. She has money, she is clever and unprincipled, and —I am convinced that she is paying in advance for future favours and position at a certain court. She—"

"In other words, she is financing the game up at Green Fancy."

"I suppose so. She has millions, I am told. Mr. De Soto is a Spaniard, born and reared in England. All of them are known in my country."

"I can't understand a decent chap like O'Dowd being mixed up in a rotten—"

"Ah, but you do not understand. He is a soldier of fortune, an adventurer. His heart is better than his reputation. It is the love of intrigue, the joy of turmoil that commands him. He has been mixed up, as you say, in any number of secret enterprises, both good and bad. His sister's children are the owners of Green Fancy. I know her well. It was through Mr. O'Dowd that I came to Green Fancy. Too late he realised that it was a mistake. He was deceived. He has known me for years and he would not have exposed me to——But come! As he has said, we are not yet out of the woods."

"I cannot, for the life of me, see why they took chances on inviting me to the house, Miss Cameron. They must have known that—"

"It was a desperate chance but it was carefully considered, you may be sure. They are clever, all of them. They were afraid of you. It was necessary to deal openly, boldly, with you if your suspicions were to be removed."

"But they must have known that you would appeal to me."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke it was with great intensity. "Mr. Barnes, I had your life in my hands all the time you were at Green Fancy. It was I who took the desperate chance. I shudder now when I think of what might have happened. Before you were asked to the house, I was coolly informed that you would not leave it alive if I so much as breathed a word to you concerning my unhappy plight. The first word of an appeal to you would have been the signal for—for your death. That is what they held over me. They made it very clear to me that nothing was to be gained by an appeal to you. You would die, and I would be no better off than before. It was I who took the chance. When I spoke to you on the couch that night, I—oh, don't you see? Don't you see that I wantonly, cruelly, selfishly risked YOUR life,—not my own,—when I—"

"There, there, now!" he cried, consolingly, as she put her hands to her face and gave way to sobs. "Don't let THAT worry you. I am here and alive, and so are you, and—for Heaven's sake don't do that! I—I simply go all to pieces when I hear a woman crying. I—"

"Forgive me," she murmured. "I didn't mean to be so silly."

"It helps, to cry sometimes," he said lamely.

The first faint signs of day were struggling out of the night when they stole across the road above Hart's Tavern and made their way through the stable-yard to the rear of the house. His one thought was to get her safely inside the Tavern. There he could defy the legions of Green Fancy, and from there he could notify her real friends, deliver her into their keeping,—and then regret the loss of her!

The door was locked. He delivered a series of resounding kicks upon its stout face. Revolver in hand, he faced about and waited for the assault of the men who, he was sure, would come plunging around the corner of the building in response to the racket. He was confident that the approach to the Tavern was watched by desperate men from Green Fancy, and that an encounter with them was inevitable. But there was no attack. Save for his repeated pounding on the door, there was no sign of life about the place.

At last there were sounds from within. A key grated in the lock and a bolt was shot. The door flew open. Mr. Clarence Dillingford appeared in the opening, partially dressed, his hair sadly tumbled, his eyes blinking in the light of the lantern he held aloft.

"Well, what the—" Then his gaze alighted on the lady. "My God," he gulped, and instantly put all of his body except the head and one arm behind the door.

Barnes crowded past him with his faltering charge, and slammed the door. Moreover, he quickly shot the bolt.

"For the love of—" began the embarrassed Dillingford. "What the dev— I say, can't you see that I'm not dressed? What the—"

"Give me that lantern," said Barnes, and snatched the article out of the unresisting hand. "Show me the way to Miss Thackeray's room, Dillingford. No time for explanations. This lady is a friend of mine."

"Well, for the love of—"

"I will take you to Miss Thackeray's room," said Barnes, leading her swiftly through the narrow passage. "She will make you comfortable for the—that is until I am able to secure a room for you. Come on, Dillingford."

"My God, Barnes, have you been in an automobile smash-up? You—"

"Don't wake the house! Where is her room?"

"You know just as well as I do. All right,—all right! Don't bite me! I'm coming."

Miss Thackeray was awake. She had heard the pounding. Through the closed door she asked what on earth was the matter.

"I have a friend here,—a lady. Will you dress as quickly as possible and take her in with you for a little while?" He spoke as softly as possible.

There was no immediate response from the inside. Then Miss Thackeray observed, quite coldly: "I think I'd like to hear the lady's voice, if you don't mind. I recognise yours perfectly, Mr. Barnes, but I am not in the habit of opening my—"

"Mr. Barnes speaks the truth," said Miss Cameron. "But pray do not disturb—"

"I guess I don't need to dress," said Miss Thackeray, and opened her door. "Come in, please. I don't know who you are or what you've been up to, but there are times when women ought to stand together. And what's more, I sha'n't ask any questions."

She closed the door behind the unexpected guest, and Barnes gave a great sigh of relief.

"Say, Mr. Barnes," said Miss Thackeray, several hours later, coming upon him in the hall; "I guess I'll have to ask you to explain a little. She's a nice, pretty girl, and all that, but she won't open her lips about anything. She says you will do the talking. I'm a good sport, you know, and not especially finicky, but I'd like to—"

"How is she? Is she resting? Does she seem—"

"Well, she's stretched out in my bed, with my best nightie on, and she seems to be doing as well as could be expected," said Miss Thackeray dryly.

"Has she had coffee and—"

"I am going after it now. It seems that she is in the habit of having it in bed. I wish I had her imagination. It would be great to imagine that all you have to do is to say 'I think I'll have coffee and rolls and one egg' sent up, and then go on believing your wish would come true. Still, I don't mind. She seems so nice and pathetic, and in trouble, and I—"

"Thank you, Miss Thackeray. If you will see that she has her coffee, I'll—I'll wait for you here in the hall and try to explain. I can't tell you everything at present,—not without her consent,—but what I do tell will be sufficient to make you think you are listening to a chapter out of a dime novel."

He had already taken Putnam Jones into his confidence. He saw no other way out of the new and somewhat extraordinary situation.

His uneasiness increased to consternation when he discovered that Sprouse had not yet put in an appearance. What had become of the man? He could not help feeling, however, that somehow the little agent would suddenly pop out of the chimney in his room, or sneak in through a crack under the door,—and laugh at his fears.

His lovely companion, falling asleep, blocked all hope of a council of war, so to speak. Miss Thackeray refused to allow her to be disturbed. She listened with sparkling eyes to Barnes's curtailed account of the exploit of the night before. He failed to mention Mr. Sprouse. It was not an oversight.

"Sort of white slavery game, eh?" she said, with bated breath. "Good gracious, Mr. Barnes, if this story ever gets into the newspapers you'll be the grandest little hero in—"

"But it must never get into the newspapers," he cried.

"It ought to," she proclaimed stoutly. "When a gang of white slavers kidnap a girl like that and—"

"I'm not saying it was that," he protested, uncomfortably.

"Well, I guess I'll talk to her about that part of the story," said Miss Thackeray sagely. "And as you say, mum's the word. We don't want them to get onto the fact that she's here. That's the idea, isn't it?"

"Absolutely."

"Then," she said, wrinkling her brow, "I wouldn't repeat this story to Mr. Lyndon Rushcroft, father of yours truly. He would blab it all over the county. The greatest press stuff in the world. Listen to it: 'Lyndon Rushcroft, the celebrated actor, takes part in the rescue of a beautiful heiress who falls into the hands of So and So, the king of kidnappers.' That's only a starter. So we'd better let him think she just happened in. You fix it with old Jones, and I'll see that Dilly keeps his mouth shut. I fear I shall have to tell Mr. Bacon." She blushed. "I have always sworn I'd never marry any one in the profession, but—Mr. Bacon is not like other actors, Mr. Barnes. You will say so yourself when you know him better. He is more like a—a— well, you might say a poet. His soul is—but, you'll think I'm nutty if I go on about him. As soon as she awakes, I'll take her up to the room you've engaged for her, and I'll lend her some of my duds, bless her heart. What an escape she's had! Oh, my God!"

She uttered the exclamation in a voice so full of horror that Barnes was startled.

"What is it, Miss Thack—"

"Why, they might have nabbed me yesterday when I was up there in the woods! And I don't know what kind of heroism goes with a poetic nature. I'm afraid Mr. Bacon—"

He laughed. "I am sure he would have acted like a man."

"If you were to ask father, he'd say that Mr. Bacon can't act like a man to save his soul. He says he acts like a fence-post."

Shortly before the noon hour, Peter Ames halted the old automobile from Green Fancy in front of the Tavern and out stepped O'Dowd, followed by no less a personage than the pseudo Mr. Loeb. There were a number of travelling bags in the tonneau of the car.

Catching sight of Barnes, the Irishman shouted a genial greeting.

"The top of the morning to ye. You remember Mr. Loeb, don't you? Mr. Curtis's secretary."

He shook hands with Barnes. Loeb bowed stiffly and did not extend his hand.

"Mr. Loeb is leaving us for a few days on business. Will you be moving on yourself soon, Mr. Barnes?"

"I shall hang around here a few days longer," said Barnes, considerably puzzled but equal to the occasion. "Still interested in our murder mystery, you know."

"Any new developments?"

"Not to my knowledge." He ventured a crafty "feeler." "I hear, however, that the state authorities have asked assistance of the secret service people in Washington. That would seem to indicate that there is more behind the affair than—"

"Have I not maintained from the first, Mr. O'Dowd, that it is a case for the government to handle?" interrupted Loeb. He spoke rapidly and with unmistakable nervousness. Barnes remarked the extraordinary pallor in the man's face and the shifty, uneasy look in his dark eyes. "It has been my contention, Mr. Barnes, that those men were trying to carry out their part of a plan to inflict—"

"Lord love ye, Loeb, you are not alone in that theory," broke in O'Dowd hastily. "I think we're all agreed on that. Good morning, Mr. Boneface," he called out to Putnam Jones who approached at that juncture. "We are sadly in want of gasoline."

Peter had backed the car up to the gasoline hydrant at the corner of the building and was waiting for some one to replenish his tank. Barnes caught the queer, perplexed look that the Irishman shot at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Perhaps you'd better see that the scoundrels don't give us short measure, Mr. Loeb," said O'Dowd. Loeb hesitated for a second, and then, evidently in obedience to a command from the speaker's eye, moved off to where Peter was opening the intake. Jones followed, bawling to some one in the stable-yard.

O'Dowd lowered his voice. "Bedad, your friend made a smart job of it last night. He opened the tank back of the house and let every damn' bit of our gas run out. Is she safe inside?"

"Yes, thanks to you, old man. You didn't catch him?"

"Not even a whiff of him," said the other lugubriously. "The devil's to pay. In the name of God, how many were in your gang last night?"

"That is for Mr. Loeb to find out," said Barnes shrewdly.

"Barnes, I let you off last night, and I let her off as well. In return, I ask you to hold your tongue until the man down there gets a fair start. "O'Dowd was serious, even imploring.

"What would she say to that, O'Dowd? I have to consider her interests, you know."

"She'd give him a chance for his white alley, I'm sure, in spite of the way he treated her. There is a great deal at stake, Barnes. A day's start and—"

"Are you in danger too, O'Dowd?"

"To be sure,—but I love it. I can always squirm out of tight places. You see, I am putting myself in your hands, old man."

"I would not deliberately put you in jeopardy, O'Dowd."

"See here, I am going back to that house up yonder. There is still work for me there. What I'm after now is to get him on the train at Hornville. I'll be here again at four o'clock, on me word of honour. Trust me, Barnes. When I explain to her, she'll agree that I'm doing the right thing. Bedad, the whole bally game is busted. Another week and we'd have—but, there ye are! It's all up in the air, thanks to you and your will-o'-the-wisp rascals. You played the deuce with everything."

"Do you mean to say that you are coming back here to run the risk of being—"

"We've had word that the government has men on the way. They'll be here to-night or to-morrow, working in cahoots with the fellows across the border. Why, damn it all, Barnes, don't you know who it was that engineered that whole business last night?" He blurted it out angrily, casting off all reserve.

Barnes smiled. "I do. He is a secret agent from the embassy—"

"Secret granny!" almost shouted O'Dowd. "He is the slickest, cleverest crook that ever drew the breath of life. And he's got away with the jewels, for which you can whistle in vain, I'm thinking."

"For Heaven's sake, O'Dowd—" began Barnes, his blood like ice in his veins.

"But don't take my word for it. Ask her,—upstairs there, God bless her!—ask her if she knows Chester Naismith. She'll tell ye, my bucko. He's been standing guard outside her window for the past three nights. He's—"

"Now, I know you are mistaken," cried Barnes, a wave of relief surging over him. "He has been in this Tavern every night—"

"Sure he has. But he never was here after eleven o'clock, was he? Answer me, did ye ever see him here after eleven in the evening? You did not,—not until last night, anyhow. In the struggle he had with Nicholas last night his whiskers came off and he was recognised. That's why poor old Nicholas is lying dead up there at the house now, —and will have a decent burial unbeknownst to anybody but his friends."

"Whiskers? Dead?" jerked from Barnes's lips.

"Didn't you know he had false ones on?"

"He did not have them on when he left me," declared Barnes. "Good God, O'Dowd, you can't mean that he—he killed—"

"He stuck a knife in his neck. The poor devil died while I was out skirmishing, but not before he whispered in the chief's ear the name of the man who did for him. The dirty snake! And the chief trusted him as no crook ever was trusted before. He knew him for what he was, but he thought he was loyal. And this is what he gets in return for saving the dog's life in Buda Pesth three years ago. In the name of God, Barnes, how did you happen to fall in with the villain?"

Barnes passed his hand over his brow, dazed beyond the power of speech. His gaze rested on Putnam Jones. Suddenly something seemed to have struck him between the eyes. He almost staggered under the imaginary impact. Jones! Was Jones a party to this—He started forward, an oath on his lips, prepared to leap upon the man and throttle the truth out of him. As abruptly he checked himself. The cunning that inspired the actions of every one of these people had communicated itself to him. A false move now would ruin everything. Putnam Jones would have to be handled with gloves, and gently at that.

"He—he represented himself as a book-agent," he mumbled, striving to collect himself. "Jones knew him. Said he had been around here for weeks. I—I—

"That's the man," said O'Dowd, scowling. "He trotted all over the county, selling books. For the love of it, do ye think? Not much. He had other fish to fry, you may be sure. I talked with him the night you dined at Green Fancy. He beat you to the Tavern, I dare say. It was his second night on guard below the—below her window. He told me how he shinned up and down one of these porch posts, so as not to let old Jones get onto the fact he was out of his room. He had old Jones fooled as badly—What are you glaring at HIM for? I was about to say he had old Jones as badly fooled as you—or worse, damn him. Barnes, if we ever lay hands on that friend of yours,—well, he won't have to fry in hell. He'll be burnt alive. Thank God, my mind's at rest on one score. SHE didn't skip out with him. They all think she did. Not one of them suspects that she came away with you. There is plenty of evidence that she let him in through her window—"

"All ready, O'Dowd," called Loeb. "Come along, please."

"Coming," said the Irishman. To Barnes: "Don't blame yourself, old man. You are not the only one who has been hoodwinked. He fooled men a long shot keener than you are, so—All right! Coming. See you later, Barnes. So long!"



CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRST WAYFARER VISITS A SHRINE, CONFESSES, AND TAKES AN OATH

How was he to find the courage to impart the appalling news to her? He was now convinced beyond all doubt that the so-called Sprouse had made off with the priceless treasure and that only a miracle could bring about its recovery. O'Dowd's estimate of the man's cleverness was amply supported by what Barnes knew of him. He knew him to be the personification of craftiness, and of daring. It was not surprising that he had been tricked by this devil's own genius. He recalled his admiration, his wonder over the man's artfulness; he groaned as he thought of the pride he had felt in being accorded the privilege of helping him!

Sitting glumly in a corner of the tap-room, watching but not listening to the spouting Mr. Rushcroft, (who was regaling the cellarer and two vastly impressed countrymen with the story of his appearance before Queen Victoria and the Royal Family), Barnes went over the events of the past twenty-four hours, deriving from his reflections a few fairly reasonable deductions as to his place in the plans of the dauntless Mr. Sprouse.

In the first place, Sprouse, being aware of his somewhat ardent interest in the fair captive, took a long and desperate chance on his susceptibility. With incomprehensible boldness he decided to make an accomplice of the eager and unsuspecting knight-errant! His cunningly devised tale,—in which there was more than a little of the truth,— served to excite the interest and ultimately to win the co-operation of the New Yorker. His object in enlisting this support was now perfectly clear to the victim of his duplicity. Barnes had admitted that he was bound by a promise to aid the prisoner in an effort to escape from the house; even a slow-witted person would have reached the conclusion that a partial understanding at least existed between captive and champion. Sprouse staked everything on that conviction. Through Barnes he counted on effecting an entrance to the almost hermetically sealed house.

Evidently the simplest, and perhaps the only, means of gaining admission was through the very window he was supposed to guard. Once inside her room, with the aid and connivance of one in whom the occupant placed the utmost confidence, he would be in a position to employ his marvellous talents in accomplishing his own peculiar ends.

Barnes recalled all of the elaborate details preliminary to the actual performance of that amazing feat, and realised to what extent he had been shaped into a tool to be used by the master craftsman. He saw through the whole Machiavellian scheme, and he was now morally certain that Sprouse would have sacrificed him without the slightest hesitation.

In the event that anything went wrong with their enterprise, the man would have shot him dead and earned the gratitude and commendation of his associates! There would be no one to question him, no one to say that he had failed in the duty set upon him by the master of the house. He would have been glorified and not crucified by his friends.

Up to the point when he actually passed through the window Sprouse could have justified himself by shooting the would-be rescuer. Up to that point, Barnes was of inestimable value to him; after that,—well, he had proved that he was capable of taking care of himself.

Mr. Dillingford came and pronounced sentence. He informed the rueful thinker that the young lady wanted to see him at once in Miss Thackeray's room.

With a heavy heart he mounted the stairs. At the top he paused to deliberate. Would it not be better to keep her in ignorance? What was to be gained by revealing to her the—But Miss Thackeray was luring him on to destruction. She stood outside the door and beckoned. That in itself was ominous. Why should she wriggle a forefinger at him instead of calling out in her usual free-and-easy manner? There was foreboding—

"Is Mr. Barnes coming?" His heart bounded perceptibly at the sound of that soft, eager voice from the interior of the room.

"By fits and starts," said Miss Thackeray critically. "Yes, he has started again."

She closed the door from the outside, and Barnes was alone with the cousin of kings and queens and princes.

"I feared you had deserted me," she said, holding out her hand to him as he strode across the room. S he did not rise from the chair in which she was seated by the window. The lower wings of the old- fashioned shutters were closed except for a narrow strip; light streamed down upon her wavy golden hair from the upper half of the casement. She was attired in a gorgeously flowered dressing-gown; he had seen it once before, draping the matutinal figure of Miss Thackeray as she glided through the hall with a breakfast tray which Miss Tilly had flatly refused to carry to her room: being no servant, she declared with heat.

"I saw no occasion to disturb your rest," he mumbled. "Nothing— nothing new has turned up."

"I have been peeping," she said, looking at him searchingly. A little line of anxiety lay between her eyes. "Where is Mr. Loeb going, Mr. Barnes?"

He noted the omission of Mr. O'Dowd. "To Hornville, I believe. They stopped for gasoline."

"Is he running away?" was her disconcerting question.

"O'Dowd says he is to be gone for a few days on business," he equivocated.

"He will not return," she said quietly. "He is a coward at heart. Oh, I know him well," she went on, scorn in her voice.

"Was I wrong in not trying to stop him?" he asked.

She pondered this for a moment. "No," she said, but he caught the dubious note in her voice. "It is just as well, perhaps, that he should disappear. Nothing is to be gained now by his seizure. Next week, yes; but to-day, no. His flight to-day spares—but we are more interested in the man Sprouse. Has he returned?"

"No, Miss Cameron," said he ruefully. And then, without a single reservation, he laid bare the story of Sprouse's defection. When he inquired if she had heard of the man known as Chester Naismith, she confirmed his worst fears by describing him as the guard who watched beneath her window. He was known to her as a thief of international fame. The light died out of her lovely eyes as the truth dawned upon her; her lips trembled, her shoulders drooped.

"What a fool I've been," she mourned. "What a fool I was to accept the responsibility of—"

"Don't blame yourself," he implored. "Blame me. I am the fool, the stupidest fool that ever lived. He played with me as if I were the simplest child."

"Ah, my friend, why do you say that? Played with you? He has tricked some of the shrewdest men in the world. There are no simple children at Green Fancy. They are men with the brains of foxes and the hearts of wolves. To deceive you was child's play. You are an honest man. It is always the honest man who is the victim; he is never the culprit. If honest men were as smart as the corrupt ones, Mr. Barnes, there would be no such thing as crime. If the honest man kept one hand on his purse and the other on his revolver, he would be more than a match for the thief. You were no match for Chester Naismith. Do not look so glum. The shrewdest police officers in Europe have never been able to cope with him. Why should you despair?"

He sprang to his feet. "By gad, he hasn't got away with it yet," he grated. "He is only one man against a million. I will set every cog in the entire police and detective machinery of the United States going. He cannot escape. They will run him to earth before—"

"Mr. Barnes, I have no words to express my gratitude to you for all that you have done and all that you still would do," she interrupted. "I may prove it to you, however, by advising you to abandon all efforts to help me from now on. You did all that you set out to do, and I must ask no more of you. You risked your life to save a woman who, for all you know, may be deceiving you with—"

"I have not lost all of my senses, Miss Cameron," he said bluntly. "The few that I retain make me your slave. I shall abandon neither you nor the effort to recover what my stupidity has cost you. I will run this scoundrel down if I have to devote the remainder of my life to the task."

She sighed. "Alas, I fear that I shall have to tell you a little more about this wonderful man you know as Sprouse. Six months ago the friends and supporters of the legitimate successor to my country's throne, consummated a plan whereby the crown jewels and certain documents of state were surreptitiously removed from the palace vaults. The act, though meant to be a loyal and worthy one, was nevertheless nullified by the most stupendous folly. Instead of depositing the treasure in Paris, it was sent to this country in charge of a group of men whose fealty could not be questioned. I am not at liberty to tell you how this treasure was brought into the United States without detection by the Customs authorities. Suffice it to say, it was delivered safely to a committee of my countrymen in New York. There are two contenders for the throne in my land. One is a prisoner in Austria, the other is at liberty somewhere in—in the world. The Teutonic Allies are now in possession of my country. It has been ravished and despoiled."

"So far Sprouse's story jibes," said he, as she paused.

"My countrymen conceived the notion that Germany would one day conquer France and over-run England. It was this notion that urged them to put the treasure beyond all possible chance of its being seized by the conquerors and turned over to the usurping prince who would be placed on our throne.

"As for my part in this unhappy project, it is quite simple. I was not the only one to be deceived by plotters who far outstripped the original conspirators in cleverness and guile. The man you know as Loeb is in reality my cousin. I have known him all my life. He is the youngest brother of the pretender to the throne, and a cousin of the prince who is held prisoner by the Austrians. This prince has a brother also, and it was to him that I was supposed to deliver the jewels. He came to Canada a month ago, sent by the embassy in Paris. I travelled from New York, but not alone as you may suspect. I was carefully protected from the time I left my hotel there until—well, until I arrived in Boston.

"While there I received a secret message from friends in Canada directing me to go to Spanish Falls, where I would be met and conducted to Green Fancy by Prince Sebastian himself. I was on my way to Halifax when this message changed my plans. Moreover, the reason given for this change was an excellent one. It had been discovered that the two men who acted secretly as my escort were traitors. They were to lead me into a trap prepared at Portland, where I was to be robbed and detained long enough for the wretches to make off in safety with their booty. I need not describe my feelings. I obeyed the directions and stole away at night, eluding my protectors, and came by devious ways to the place mentioned in the message.

"As you may have guessed by this time, the whole thing was a carefully planned ruse. The company at Green Fancy,—you may some day know why they were there,—learned through the man Naismith that the treasure had been entrusted to me for delivery to Prince Sebastian and his friends in Halifax. Let me interrupt myself to explain why the Prince did not come to New York in person, instead of arranging to have the jewels taken to him at Halifax. He is an officer of high rank in the army. His trip across the ocean was known to the German secret service. The instant he landed on American soil, a demand would have been made by the German Embassy for his detention here for the duration of the war.

"I was informed in the message that Prince Sebastian would take me to the place called Green Fancy, which was near the Canadian border. A safe escort would be provided for us, and we would be on British soil within a few hours after our meeting. It is only necessary to add that when I arrived at Green Fancy I met Prince Ugo,—and understood! I had carefully covered my tracks after leaving Boston. My real friends were, and still are, completely in the dark as to my movements, so skilfully was the trick managed. I shall ask you directly, Mr. Barnes, to wire my friends in New York and in Halifax, acquainting them with my present whereabouts and safety. Now, that we know the jewels have been stolen again, that message need not be delayed.

"And now for Chester Naismith. It was he who, acting for the misguided loyalists and recommended by certain young aristocrats who by virtue of their own dissipations had come to know him as a man of infinite resourcefulness and daring, planned and carried out the pillaging of the palace vaults. Almost under the noses of the foreign guards he succeeded in obtaining the jewels. No doubt he could have made off with them at that time, but he shrewdly preferred to have them brought to America by some one else. It would have been impossible for him to dispose of them in Europe. The United States was the only place in the world where he could have sold them. You see how cunning he is?

"This much I know: he came to New York with the men who carried the jewels. He tried to rob them in New York but failed. Then he disappeared. So carefully guarded were the jewels that he knew there was no chance of securing them without assistance. For nearly six months they remained in a safety vault on Fifth Avenue. Evidently he gave up hope and, falling in with Prince Ugo, joined his party. I do not know this to be the case, but I am now convinced that he learned of the plan to send the jewels to Halifax. It was he, I am sure, who conveyed this news to Prince Ugo, who at once invented the scheme to divert me to this place.

"And now comes the remarkable part of the story. When I arrived at Spanish Falls, there was no one to meet me. The agent, seeing me on the platform and evidently at a loss which way to turn, accosted me. He offered to secure a conveyance for me, and was very considerate, but I decided to call up Green Fancy on the telephone. I wanted to be sure that there was no trick. To my surprise, O'Dowd came to the telephone. I was greatly relieved when I actually heard his voice. I have known him for years, and the belief that he had at last allied himself with Prince Sebastian,—after being on the opposite side, you see,—was cause for rejoicing.

"He was amazed. It seems that I was not expected until the next afternoon. The car was out on an errand to some little village in the mountains, he said, but he would telephone at once to see if it could be located. Afterwards it turned out that the message announcing my arrival a day ahead of the time agreed upon was never delivered."

"Sprouse's fine work, I suppose," put in Barnes.

"I haven't the remotest doubt. Nor do I doubt that he intended to waylay me at some point along the road. O'Dowd failed to catch the car at the village and was on the point of starting off on horseback to meet me, when it returned. He sent it ahead and followed on horseback. You know how I was picked up at the cross-roads. It is all so like one of those picture puzzles. By putting the meaningless pieces together one obtains a complete design. The last piece to go into this puzzle is the mishap that befell Naismith on that very afternoon. He was no doubt thwarted in his design to waylay me on the road from Spanish Falls by a singular occurrence in this tavern. He was attacked in his room here shortly after the noon hour, overpowered, bound and gagged by two men. They carried him to another room, where he remained until late in the night when he managed to extricate himself. I have reason to believe that this part of his story is true. He knew the men. They were thieves as clever and as merciless as himself. They too were watching for me. I may say to you now, Mr. Barnes, that he has never posed as an honest man among his associates at Green Fancy. He glories in his fame as a thief, but until now no one would have questioned his loyalty to his friends. I do not know how these men learned of my intention to come to Green Fancy. They—"

"They came to this tavern four or five days in advance of your arrival at Green Fancy," he interrupted.

"Are you sure?" she asked in surprise.

"Absolutely."

"In that case, they could not have known," she said, deeply perplexed.

"Sprouse told me that they were secret service men from abroad and that he was working with them. Putnam Jones, I am sure, believes that they were detectives. He also believes the same to be true of Sprouse. My theory is this, and I think it is justified by events. The men were really secret agents, sent here to watch the movements of the gang up there. They came upon Sprouse and recognised him. On the day mentioned they overpowered him and forced him to reveal certain facts connected with affairs at Green Fancy. Possibly he led them to believe that you were one of the conspirators. They waited for your arrival and then risked the hazardous trip to Green Fancy. They were discovered and shot."

She could hardly wait for him to finish. "I believe you are right," she cried. "A little while before the shooting occurred, the house was roused by a telephone call. I was in my room, but not asleep. I had just realised my own dreadful predicament. There was a great commotion downstairs, and I distinctly heard some one say, in my own language, that they were not to get away alive. It must have been Naismith who telephoned. One of the men, I have been told, was killed not far from our gates. He was shot, I am sure, by the man called Nicholas, noted as one of the most marvellous marksmen in our little army. The other was accounted for by Naismith himself, who had managed to reach the cross-roads in time to head him off. Naismith openly boasted of the feat. The greatest consternation prevailed at Green Fancy because the men succeeded in reaching the highway before they were shot. Prince Ugo was distracted. He said that the attention of the public would be directed to Green Fancy and curious investigators were certain to interfere with the great project he was carrying on."

"I believe we have accounted for Mr. Sprouse, and I am no longer interested in the unravelling of the mystery surrounding the deaths of Roon and Paul," said he. "There is nothing to keep me here any longer, Miss Cameron. I suggest that you allow me to escort you at once to your friends, wherever they—"

She was opposed to this plan. While there was still a chance that Sprouse might be apprehended in the neighbourhood, or the possibility of his being caught by the relentless pursuers, she declined to leave.

"Then, I shall also stay," said he promptly, and was repaid by the tremulous smile she gave him. His heart was beating like mad, and he knew, in that instant, just what had happened to him. He was helplessly in love with this beautiful cousin of kings and queens. And when he thought of kings and queens he realised that beyond all question his love was hopeless.

"You are very good to me," she said softly.

He got up suddenly and walked away. After a moment, in which he regained control of himself, he returned to her side.

"What effect will Mr. Loeb's flight have on the scheme up there, Miss Cameron?" he inquired, quite steadily.

"They will scatter to the four winds, those people," she said. "He would not have fled unless disaster was staring him in the face. Something has transpired to defeat his ugly plan. They will all run to cover like so many rats."

"The government of the United States is a good rat-catcher," he said.

"The United States would do well to keep the rats out, Mr. Barnes, instead of allowing them to come here and thrive and multiply and gnaw into its very vitals."



CHAPTER XVII

THE SECOND WAYFARER IS TRANSFORMED, AND MARRIAGE IS FLOUTED

Mr. Rushcroft sent for Barnes at three o'clock. "Come to my room as soon as possible," was the message delivered by Mr. Bacon. Barnes was taking a nap. More than that, he was pleasantly dreaming when the pounding fell upon his door. Awakened suddenly from this elysian dream he leaped from his bed and rushed to the door, his heart in his mouth. Something sinister was back of this imperative summons! She was in fresh peril. The gang from Green Fancy had descended upon the Tavern in force and—

"Sorry to disturb you," said Mr. Bacon, as the door flew open, "but he says it's important. He says—"

"I wish you would tell him to go to the devil," said Barnes wrathfully.

"Superfluous, I assure you, sir. He says that everything and everybody is going to the devil, so—"

"If he wants to see me why doesn't he come to my room? Why should I go to his?"

"Lord bless you, don't you know that it's one of the prerogatives of a star to insist on people coming to him instead of the other way about? What's the use of being a star if you can't—"

"Tell him I will come when I get good and ready."

"Quite so," said Mr. Bacon absently. He did not retire, but stood in the door, evidently weighing something that was on his mind and considering the best means of relieving himself of the mental burden. "Ahem!" he coughed. "Miss Thackeray advises me that you have expressed a generous interest in our personal"—(He stepped inside the room and closed the door)—"er—in our private future, so to speak, and I take this opportunity to thank you, Mr. Barnes. If it isn't asking too much of you, I'd like you to say a word or two in my behalf to the old man. You might tell him that you believe I have a splendid future before me,—and you wouldn't be lying, let me assure you,—and that there is no doubt in your mind that a Broadway engagement is quite imminent. A word from you to one of the Broadway managers, by the way, would—"

"You want me to intercede for you in the matter of two engagements instead of one, is that it?"

"I am already engaged to Miss Thackeray,—in a way. The better way to put it would be for you to intercede in the matter of one marriage and one engagement. I think he would understand the situation much better if you put it in that way."

"Have you spoken to Mr. Rushcroft about it?"

"Only in a roundabout way. I told him I'd beat his head off if he ever spoke to Miss Thackeray again as he did last night."

"Well, that's a fair sort of start," said Barnes, who was brushing his hair. "What did he say to that?"

"I don't know. I had to close the door rather hastily. If he said anything at all it was after the chair hit the door. Ahem! That was last night. He is as nice as pie this afternoon, so I have an idea that he busted the chair and doesn't want old Jones to find out about it."

"I will say a good word for you," said Barnes, grinning.

He found Mr. Rushcroft in a greatly perturbed state of mind.

"I've had telegrams from the three people I mentioned to you, Barnes, and the damned ingrates refuse to join us unless they get their railroad fares to Crowndale. Moreover, they had the insolence to send the telegrams collect. The more you do for the confounded bums, the more they ask. I once had a leading woman who—"

Barnes was in no humour to listen to the long-winded reminiscences of the "star," so he cut him short at once. He ascertained that the "ingrates" were in New York, on their "uppers," and that they could not accomplish the trip to Crowndale unless railroad tickets were provided. The difficulty was bridged in short order by telegrams requesting the distant players to apply the next day at his office in New York where tickets to Crowndale would be given them. He telegraphed his office to buy the tickets and hold them for Miss Milkens, Mr. Hatcher and Mr. Fling.

"That completes one of the finest companies, Mr. Barnes, that ever took the road," said Mr. Rushcroft warmly, forgetting his animosity. "You will never be associated with a more evenly balanced company of players, sir. I congratulate you upon your wonderful good fortune in having such a cast for 'The Duke's Revenge.' If you can maintain a similar standard of excellence in all of your future productions, you will go down in history as the most astute theatrical manager of the day."

Barnes winced, but was game. "When do you start rehearsals, Rushcroft?"

"It is my plan to go to Crowndale to-morrow or the next day, where I shall meet my company. Rehearsals will undoubtedly start at once. That would give us—let me see—Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday—four days. We open on Tuesday night. Oh, by the way, I have engaged a young woman of most unusual talent to take the minor part of Hortense. You may have noticed her in the dining-room. Miss Rosamond—er—where did I put that card?—ah, yes, Miss Floribel Blivens. The poor idiot insists on Blivens, desiring to perpetuate the family monicker. I have gotten rid of her spectacles, however, and the name that the prehistoric Blivenses gave her at the christening."

"You—you don't mean Miss Tilly?"

"I do. She is to give notice to Jones to-day. There are more ways than one of getting even with a scurvy caitiff. In this case, I take old Jones's best waitress away from him, and, praise God, he'll never find another that will stick to him for eighteen years as she has done."

O'Dowd returned late in the afternoon. He was in a hurry to get back to Green Fancy; there was no mistaking his uneasiness. He drew Barnes aside.

"For the love of Heaven, Barnes, get her away from here as soon as possible, and do it as secretly as you can," he said. "I may as well tell you that she is in more danger from the government secret service than from any one up yonder. Understand, I'm not pleading guilty to anything, but I shall be far, far away from here meself before another sunrise. That ought to mean something to you."

"But she has done no wrong. She has not laid herself liable to—"

"That isn't the point. She has been up there with us, and you don't want to put her in the position of having to answer a lot of nasty questions they'll be after asking her if they get their hands on her. She might be weeks or months clearing herself, innocent though she be. Mind you, she is as square as anything; she is in no way mixed up with our affairs up there. But I'm giving you the tip. Sneak her out as soon as you can, and don't leave any trail."

"She may prefer to face the music, O'Dowd. If I know her at all, she will refuse to run away."

"Then ye'll have to kidnap her," said the Irishman earnestly. "There will be men swarming here from both sides of the border by to-morrow night or next day. I've had direct information. The matter is in the hands of the people at Washington and they are in communication with Ottawa this afternoon. Never mind how I found it out. It's the gospel truth, and—it's going to be bad for all of us if we're here when they come."

"Who is she, O'Dowd? Man to man, tell me the truth. I want to know just where I stand."

O'Dowd hesitated, looked around the tap-room, and then leaned across the table.

"She is the daughter of Andreas Mara-Dafanda, former minister of war in the cabinet of Prince Bolaroz the Sixth. Her mother was first cousin to the Prince. Both father and mother are dead. And for that matter, so is Bolaroz the Sixth. He was killed early in this war. His brother, a prisoner in Austria, as you may already know, is the next in line for the throne,—if the poor devil lives to get it back from the Huns. Miss Cameron is in reality the Countess Therese Mara- Dafanda—familiarly and lovingly known in her own land as the Countess Ted. She was visiting in this country when the war broke out. If it is of any use to you, I'll add that she would be rich if Aladdin could only come to life and restore the splendours of the demolished castle, refill the chests of gold that have been emptied by the conquerors, and restock the farms that have been pillaged and devastated. In the absence of Aladdin, however, she is almost as poor as the ancient church-mouse. But she has a fortune of her own. Two of the most glorious rubies in the world represent her lips; her eyes are sapphires that put to shame the rocks of all the Sultans; when she smiles, you may look upon pearls that would make the Queen of Sheba's trinkets look like chinaware; her skin is of the rarest and richest velvet; her hair is all silk and a yard wide; and, best of all, she has a heart of pure gold. So there you are, me man. Half the royal progeny of Europe have been suitors for her hand, and the other half would be if they didn't happen to be of the same sex."

"Is she likely to—er—marry any one of them, O'Dowd?"

"Do you mean, is she betrothed to one of the royal nuts? If I were her worst enemy I couldn't wish her anything as bad as that. The world is full of regular men,—like meself, for example,—and 'twould be a pity to see her wasted upon anything so cheap as a king."

"Then, she isn't?"

"Isn't what?"

"Betrothed."

"Oh!" He squinted his eyes drolly. "Bedad, if she is, she's kept it a secret from me. Have you aspirations, me friend?"

"Certainly not," said Barnes sharply. "By the way, you have mentioned Prince Bolaroz the Sixth, but you haven't given a name to the country he ruled."

O'Dowd stared. "The Saints preserve us! Is the man a numbskull? Are you saying that you don't know who and what—My God, such ignorance bewilders me!"

"Painful as it may be to you, O'Dowd, I don't seem able to place Bolaroz in his proper realm."

"Whist, then!" He put his hand to his mouth and whispered a name.

An incredulous expression came into Barnes's eyes. "Are you jesting with me, O'Dowd?"

"I am not."

"But I thought it was nothing more than a make-believe, imaginary land, cooked up by some hair-brained novelist for the purpose of—"

"Well, ye know better now," said O'Dowd crisply. "Good-bye. I must be on my way. Deliver my best wishes to her, Barnes, and say that if she ever needs a friend Billy O'Dowd is the boy to respond to any call she sends out. God willing, I may see her again some day,—and I'll say the same to you, old man." He arose and held out his hand. "I'm trusting to you to get her away from these parts before the rat- catchers come. Don't let 'em bother her. Good-bye and good luck forever."

"You are a brick, O'Dowd. I want to see you again. You will always find me—"

"Thanks. Don't issue any rash invitations. I might take you up." He strode to the door, followed by Barnes.

"Is there anything to be feared from this Prince Ugo or the crowd up there?"

"There would be if they knew where they could lay their hands on her inside of the next ten hours. She could a tale unfold, and they wouldn't like that. Keep her under cover here till—well, till THAT danger is past and then keep her out of the danger that is to come."

Barnes started upstairs as soon as O'Dowd was off, urged by an eagerness that put wings on his feet and a thrill of excitement in his blood. Half way up he stopped short. A new condition confronted him. What was the proper way to approach a person of royal blood? Certainly it wasn't right to go galumping upstairs and bang on her door, and saunter in as if she were just like any one else. He would have to think.

When he resumed his upward progress it was with a chastened and deferential mien. Pausing at her door, he was at once aware of voices inside the room. He stood there for some time before he realised that Miss Thackeray was repeating, with theatric fervour, though haltingly, as much of her "part" as she could remember, evidently to the satisfaction of the cousin of princes, for there were frequent interruptions which had all the symptoms of applause.

He rapped on the door, but so timorously that nothing came of it. His second effort was productive. He heard Miss Thackeray say "good gracious," and, after a moment, Miss Cameron's subdued: "What is it?"

"May I come in?" he inquired, rather ashamed of his vigour. "It's only Barnes."

"Come in," was her lively response. "It was awfully good of you, Miss Thackeray, to let me hear your lines. I think you will be a great success in the part."

"Thanks," said Miss Thackeray drily. "I'll come in again and let you hear me in the third act." She went out, mumbling her lines as she passed Barnes without seeing him.

"Forgive me for not arising, Mr. Barnes," said Royalty, a wry little smile on her lips. "I fear I twisted it more severely than I thought at first. It is really quite painful."

"Your ankle?" he cried in surprise. "When and how did it happen? I'm sorry, awfully sorry."

"It happened last night, just as we were crossing the ditch in front— "

"Last night? Why didn't you tell me? Don't you know that it's wrong to walk with a sprained ankle? Don't—"

"Don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "You could not have done anything."

"Couldn't I, though? I certainly could have carried you the rest of the way,—and upstairs." He was conscious of a strange exasperation. He felt as though he had been deliberately cheated out of something.

"You poor man! I am quite heavy."

"Pooh! A hundred and twenty-five at the outside. Do you think I'm a weakling?"

"Please, please!" she cried. "You look so—so furious. I know you are very, very strong,—but so am I. Why should I expect you to carry me all that distance when—"

"But, good Lord," he blurted out, "I would have loved to do it. I can't imagine anything more—I—I—" He broke off in confusion.

She smiled divinely. "Alas, it is too late now. But—" she went on gaily, "you may yet have the pleasure of carrying me downstairs, Mr. Barnes. Will that appease your wrath?"

He flushed. "I'm sorry I—"

"See," she said, "it is nicely bandaged,—and if you could see through the bandages you would find it dreadfully swollen. That nice Miss Thackeray doctored me. What a quaint person she is."

His brow clouded once more. "I hope you will feel able to leave this place to-morrow, Countess. We must get away almost immediately."

"Ah, you have been listening to O'Dowd, I see."

"Yes. He tells me it will be dangerous to—"

"I was thinking of something else that he must have told you. You forgot to address me as Miss Cameron."

"I might have gone even farther and called you the Countess Ted," he said.

She sighed. "It was rather nice being Miss Cameron to you, Mr. Barnes. You will not let it make any difference, will you? I mean to say, you will be just the same as if I were still Miss Cameron and not—some one else?"

"I will be just the same," he said, leaning a little closer. "I am not so easily frightened as all that, you know."

She looked into his eyes for a moment, and then turned her own swiftly away. Entranced, he watched the delicate colour steal into her cheek.

"You are just like other women," he said thickly, "and I am like other men. We can't help being what we are, Countess. Flesh and blood mortals, that's all. If a cat may look at a king, why may not I look at a countess?"

She met his gaze, but not steadily. Her deep blue eyes were filled with a vague wonder; she seemed to be searching for something in his to explain the sudden embarrassment that had come over her.

"Ah, I do not understand you American men," she murmured, shaking her head. "A king would have found as much pleasure in looking at Miss Cameron as at a countess. Why shouldn't YOU?" A radiant smile lighted her face. "The king would not think of reproving the cat. I see no reason why you should not look at a poor little countess with impunity."

"Do you think it would be possible for you to understand me any better as Miss Cameron?" he asked bluntly.

"I think perhaps it would," she said, the smile fading.

"Then, I shall continue to look upon you as Miss Cameron, Countess. It will make it easier for both of us."

"Yes," she said, a little sadly, "I am sure Miss Cameron would not be half so dense as the Countess. She would understand perfectly. She has grown to be a very discerning person, Mr. Barnes, notwithstanding her extreme youth. Miss Cameron is only four days old, you see."

He bowed very low and said: "My proudest boast is that I have known her since the day she was born. If I had the tongue and the courage of O'Dowd I might add a great deal to that statement."

"A great deal that you would not say to a countess?" she asked, playing with fire.

"A great deal that a child four days old could hardly be expected to grasp, Miss Cameron," he replied, pointedly. "Having lived to a great age myself, and acquired wisdom, I appreciate the futility of uttering profound truths to an infant in arms."

She beamed. "O'Dowd could not have done any better than that," she cried. Then quickly, even nervously, as he was about to speak again: "Now, tell me all that Mr. O'Dowd had to say."

He seated himself and repeated the Irishman's warning. Her eyes clouded as he went on; utter dejection came into them.

"He is right. It would be difficult for me to clear myself. My own people would be against me. No one would believe that I did not deliberately make off with the jewels. They would say that I—oh, it is too dreadful!"

"Don't worry about that," he exclaimed. "You have me to testify that—"

"How little you know of intrigue," she cried. "They would laugh at you and say that you were merely another fool who had lost his head over a woman. They would say that I duped you—"

"No!" he cried vehemently. "Your people know better than you think. You are disheartened, discouraged. Things will look brighter to- morrow. Good heavens, think how much worse it might have been. That— that infernal brute was going to force you into a vile, unholy marriage. He—By the way," he broke off abruptly, "I have been thinking a lot about what you told me. He couldn't have married you without your consent. Such a marriage would never hold in a court of— "

"You are wrong," she said quietly. "He could have married me without my consent, and it would have held,—not in one of your law courts, I dare say, but in the court to which he and I belong by laws that were made centuries before America was discovered. A prince of the royal house may wed whom and when he chooses, provided he does not look too far beneath his station. He may not wed a commoner. The state would not recognise such a union. My consent was not necessary."

"But you are in my country now, not in yours," he argued. "Our laws would have protected you."

"You do not understand. Marriages such as he contemplated are made every year in Europe. Do you suppose that the royal marriages you read about in the newspapers are made with the consent of the poor little princes and princesses? Your laws are one thing, Mr. Barnes; our courts are another. Need I be more explicit?"

"I think I understand," he said slowly. "Poor wretches!"

"Prince Ugo is of royal blood. I am not too far beneath him. In my country his word is the law. The marriage that was to have been celebrated to-day at Green Fancy would have bound me to him forever. It would have been recognised in my country as legal. I have not the right of appeal. I would not even be permitted to question his right to make me his wife against my will. He is a prince. His will is law."

"Isn't love allowed to enter into a—"

"Love?" she scorned. "What has love to do with it? There isn't a queen in all the world who loves—or loved, I would better say,—the man she married. Some of them may have grown afterwards to love their kings, because all kings are not alike. You may be quite sure, however, that the wives of kings and princes did not marry their ideals; they did not marry the men they loved. So, you see, it wouldn't have mattered in the least to Prince Ugo whether I loved him or hated him. It was all the same to him. It was enough that he loved me and wanted me. And besides, laying sentiment aside, it wouldn't have been a bad stroke of business on his part. He has a fair chance to sit on the throne of our country. By placing me beside him on the throne he would be taking a long step toward uniting the factions that are now bitterly opposing each other. I am able to discuss all this very calmly with you now, Mr. Barnes, for the nightmare is ended. I am here with you, alive and well. If you had not come for me last night, I would now be sleeping the long sleep at Green Fancy."

"You—you would have taken your own life?" he said, in a shocked voice.

"I would have spared myself the horror of letting him destroy it in a slower, more painful fashion," she said, compressing her lips.

He did not speak at once. Looking into her troubled eyes, he said, after a soulful moment: "I am glad that I came in time. You were made to love and be loved. The man you love,—if there ever be one so fortunate,—will be my debtor to the end of his days. I glorify myself for having been instrumental in saving you for him."

"If there ever be one so fortunate," she mused. Suddenly her mood changed. A new kind of despair came into her lovely eyes, a plaintive note into her voice. (I may be pardoned for declaring that she became, in the twinkling of an eye, a real flesh and blood woman.) "I don't know what I shall do unless I can get something to wear, Mr. Barnes. I haven't a thing, you see. This suit is—well, you can see what it is. I—"

"I've never seen a more attractive suit," he pronounced. "I said as much to myself the first time I saw it, the other evening at the cross-roads. It fits—"

"But I cannot LIVE in it, you know. My boxes are up at Green Fancy,— two small ones for steamer use. Everything I have in the world is in them. Pray do not look so forlorn. You really couldn't have carried them, Mr. Barnes, and I shudder when I think of what would have happened to you if I had tumbled them out of the window upon your head. You would have been squashed, and it isn't unlikely that you would have aroused every one in the house with your groans and curses."

"I dropped a trunk on my toes one time," he said, grinning with a delight that had nothing to do with the reminiscence. She was quaintly humorous once more, and he was happy. "I think one swears more prodigiously when a trunk falls on his toes than he does when it drops on his head. There is something wonderfully quieting and soothing about a trunk lighting on one's head from a great height. Don't worry about your boxes. I have a feeling it will be perfectly safe to call for them with a wagon to-morrow."

"I don't know what I should do without you," she said.

That evening at supper, Barnes and Mr. Rushcroft, to say nothing of three or four "transients," had great cause for complaint about the service. Miss Tilly was wholly pre-occupied. She was memorising her "part." Instead of asking Mr. Rushcroft whether he would have bean soup or noodles, she wanted to know whether she should speak the line this way or that. She had a faraway, strained look in her eyes, and she mumbled so incessantly that one of the guests got up and went out to see Mr. Jones about it. Being assured that she was just a plain damn' fool and not crazy, he returned and said a great many unpleasant things in the presence of Miss Tilly, who fortunately did not hear them.