"Then, with the point moved in six hundred and sixty-five feet Parmenter's beeches should be only eighty-five feet from the shore line, instead of seven hundred and fifty!" Macloud reflected.

"Just so!" said Croyden.

"But where are the beeches?" asked Axtell.

"Disappeared!" Croyden replied. "As the Point from year to year slipped into the Bay, the fierce gales, which sweep up the Chesapeake, gradually ate into the timber. It is seventy years, at least, since Parmenter's beeches went down."

"Why shouldn't the Duvals have noticed the encroachment of the Bay, and made a note of it on the letter?" Macloud asked.

"Probably, because it was so gradual they did not observe it. They, likely, came to Annapolis only occasionally, and Greenberry Point seemed unchanged—always the same narrow stretch of sand, with large trees to landward."

Macloud nodded. "I reckon that's reasonable."

"Next let us measure back eighty-five feet," said Croyden, producing a tape-line.... "There! this is where the beech tree should stand. But where were the other trees, and where did the two lines drawn from them intersect?"...

"Yes, now you have it!" said Macloud—"where were the trees, and where did the lines intersect? I reckon you're stumped."

"Let us try some more assuming. You had a compass yesterday, still got it?"

Macloud drew it out and tossed it over.

"I took the trouble to make a number of diagrams last night, and they disclosed a peculiar thing. With the location of the first tree fixed, it matters little where the others were, in determining the direction of the treasure. It is practically the same. The objective point will change as you change the position of the trees, but the direction will vary scarcely at all. It is self-evident, of course, to those who understand such things, but it was a valuable find for me. Now, if we are correct in our assumption, thus far, the treasure is buried——"

He opened the compass, and having brought North under the needle, ran his eye North-by-North-east. A queer look passed over his face, then he glanced at Macloud and smiled.

"The treasure is buried," he repeated—"the treasure is buried—out in the Bay."

Macloud laughed!

"Looks as if wading would be a bit difficult," he said dryly.

Croyden produced the tape-line again, and they measured to the low bluff at the water's edge.

"Two hundred and eighty-two feet to here," he said, "and Parmenter buried the treasure at three hundred and thirty feet—therefore, it's forty-eight feet out in the Bay."

"Then your supposition is that, since Parmenter's time, the Bay has not only encroached on the Point, but also has eaten in on the sides."

"It would seem so."

"It's hard to dig in water," Macloud remarked. "It's apt to fill in the hole, you know."

"Don't be sarcastic," Croyden retorted. "I'm not responsible for the Bay, nor the Point, nor Parmenter, nor anything else connected with the fool quest, please remember."

"Except the present measurements and the theory on which they're based," Macloud replied. "And as the former seem to be accurate, and the latter more than reasonable, we'd best act on them."

"At least, I am satisfied that the treasure lies either in the Bay, or close on shore; if so, we have relieved ourselves from digging up the entire Point."

"You have given us a mighty plausible start," said Macloud.

"Land or water?" Croyden laughed. "Hello, whom have we here?" as a buggy emerged from among the timber, circled around, and halted before the tents.

"It is Hook-nose back again," said Macloud. "Come to pay a social call, I suppose! Anything about for them to steal?"

"Nothing but the shooting-irons."

"They're safe—I put them under the blankets."

"What the devil do they want?"

"Come to treat with us—to share the treasure."

"Hum! they've got their nerve!" exclaimed Croyden.

By this time, they had been observed by the men in the buggy who, immediately, came toward them.

"Let us get away from this place!" said Croyden, and they sauntered along landward.

"And make them stop us—don't give the least indication that we know them," added Macloud.

As the buggy neared, Macloud and Croyden glanced carelessly at the occupants, and were about to pass on, when Hook-nose calmly drew the horse over in front of them.

"Which of you men is named Croyden?" he asked.

"I am," said Geoffrey.

"Well, you're the man we're lookin' for. Geoffrey is the rest of your handle, isn't it?"

"You have the advantage of me," Croyden assured him.

"Yes, I think I have, in more ways than your name. Where can we have a little private talk?"

"We can't!" said Croyden, stepping quickly around the horse and continuing on his way—Macloud and Axtell following.

"If you'd rather have it before your friends, I'm perfectly ready to accommodate you," said the fellow. "I thought, however, you'd rather keep the little secret. Well, we'll be waiting for you at the tents, all right, my friend!" and he drove ahead.

"Macloud, we are going to bag those fellows right now—and easy, too," said Croyden. "When we get to the tents, I'll take them into one—and give them a chance to talk. When you and Axtell have the revolvers, with one for me, you can join us. They are armed, of course, but only with small pistols, likely, and you should have the drop on them before they can draw. Come, at any time—I'll let down the tent flaps on the plea of secrecy (since they've suggested it), so you can approach with impunity."

"This is where we get killed, Axtell!" said Macloud. "I would that I were in my happy home, or any old place but here. But I've enlisted for the war, so here goes! If you think it will do any good to pray, we can just as well wait until you've put up a few. I'm not much in that line, myself."

"Imagine a broker praying!" laughed Axtell.

"I can't," said Macloud. "But there seem to be no rules to the game we're playing, so I wanted to give you the opportunity."

As they approached the tents, Hook-nose passed the reins to Bald-head and got out.

"What's to do now?" asked Macloud. "They're separated."

"Leave it to me, I'll get them together," Croyden answered.... "You wish to see me, privately?" to Hook-nose.

"I wish to see you—it's up to you whether to make it private or not."

"Come along!" said Croyden, leading the way toward the tent, which was pitched a trifle to one side.... "Now, sir, what is it?" as the flaps dropped behind them.

"You've a business way about you, which I like——" began Hook-nose.

"Never mind my ways!" Croyden interrupted. "Come to the point—what do you want?"

"There's no false starts with you, my friend, are there!" laughed the other. "That's the thing—bang! and we are off. Good!—we'll get to business. You lost a letter recently——"

"Not at all," Croyden cut in. "I had a letter stolen—you, I suppose, are the thief."

"I, or my pal—it matters not which," the fellow replied easily. "Now, what we want, is to make some arrangement as to the division of the treasure, when you've found it."

"I thought as much!" said Croyden. "Well, let me tell you there won't be any arrangement made with you, alone. You must get your pal here—I don't agree with one. I agree with both or none."

"Oh, very well, I'll have him in, if you wish."

Croyden bowed.

"I do wish," he said.

Hook-nose went to the front of the tent and raised the flap.

"Bill!" he called, "hitch the horse and come in."

And Macloud and Axtell heard and understood.

While Hook-nose was summoning his partner, Croyden very naturally retired to the rear of the tent, thus obliging the rogues to keep their backs to the entrance.

"Mr. Smith, this is Mr. Croyden!" said Hook-nose.

"I'm glad to make your acquaint——" began Smith.

"There is no need for an introduction," Croyden interrupted curtly. "You're thieves, by profession, and blackmailers, in addition. Get down to business, if you please!"

"You're not overly polite, my friend—but we'll pass that by. You're hell for business, and that's our style. You understand, I see, that this treasure hunt has got to be kept quiet. If anyone peaches, the Government's wise and Parmenter's chest is dumped into its strong box—that is, as much as is left after the officials get their own flippers out. Now, my idea is for you people to do the searching, and, when the jewels is found, me and Bill will take half and youn's half. Then we all can knock off work, and live respectable."

"Rather a good bargain for you," said Croyden. "We supply the information, do all the work and give up half the spoils—for what, pray?"

"For our silence, and an equal share in the information. You have doubtless forgot that we have the letter now."

"And what if I refuse?" Croyden asked.

"You're not likely to refuse!" the fellow laughed, impudently. "Better half a big loaf than no loaf at all."

"But if I refuse?" Croyden repeated.

"I see what's in your mind, all right. But it won't work, and you know it. You can have us arrested, yes—and lose your plunder. Parmenter's money belongs to the United States because it's buried in United States land. A word to the Treasury Department, with the old pirate's letter, and the jig is up. We'll risk your giving us to the police, my friend!" with a sneering laugh. "If you're one to throw away good money, I miss my guess."

Croyden affected to consider.

"I forgot to say, that as you're fixed so comfortable here, me and Bill might as well stay with you—it will be more convenient, when you uncover the chest, you know; in the excitement, you're liable to forget that we come in for a share."

"Anything else you are moved to exact?" said Croyden. His ears were primed, and they told him that Macloud and Axtell were coming—"Let us have them all, so I can decide—I want no afterthoughts."

"You've got them all—and very reasonable they are!" laughed Hook-nose.

Just then, Macloud and Axtell stepped noiselessly into the tent.

Something in Croyden's face caused Hook-nose's laugh to end abruptly. He swung sharply around—and faced Macloud's leveled revolver—Axtell's covered his pal.

"Hands up! Both of you!"—Croyden cried—"None of that, Hook-nose!—make another motion to draw a gun, and we'll scatter your brains like chickenfeed." His own big revolver was sticking out of Macloud's pocket. He took it. "Now, I'll look after you, while my friends tie up your pal, and the first one to open his head gets a bullet down his throat."

"Hands behind your back, Bald-head," commanded Axtell, briskly. "Be quick about it, Mr. Macloud is wonderfully easy on the trigger. So, that's better! just hold them there a moment."

He produced a pair of nippers, and snapped them on.

"Now, lie down and put your feet together—closer! closer!" Another pair were snapped on them.

"Now, I'll do for you," Axtell remarked, turning toward Hook-nose.

With Croyden's and Macloud's guns both covering him, the fellow was quickly secured.

"With your permission, we will search you," said Croyden. "Macloud, if you will look to Mr. Smith, I'll attend to Hook-nose. We'll give them a taste of their own medicine."

"You think you're damn smart!" exclaimed Hook-nose.

"Shut up!" said Croyden. "I don't care to shoot a prisoner, but I'll do it without hesitation. It's going to be either perfect quiet or permanent sleep—and you may do the choosing."

He slowly went through Hook-nose's clothes—finding a small pistol, several well-filled wallets, and, in his inside waistcoat pocket, the Parmenter letter. Macloud did the same for Bald-head.

"You stole one hundred and seventy-nine dollars from Mr. Macloud and one hundred and eight from me," said Croyden. "You may now have the privilege of returning it, and the letter. If you make no more trouble, lie quiet and take your medicine, you'll receive no further harm. If you're stubborn, we'll either kill you and dump your bodies in the Bay, or give you up to the police. The latter would be less trouble, for, without the letter, you can tell your story to the Department, or whomever else you please—it's your word against ours—and you are thieves!"

"How long are you going to hold us prisoners?" asked Bald-head—"till you find the treasure? Oh, Lord!"

"As long as it suits our convenience."

"And luck is with you," Hook-nose sneered.

"At present, it is with us—very much with us, my friend," said Croyden. "You will excuse us, now, we have pressing business, elsewhere."

When they were out of hearing, Macloud said:

"Doesn't our recovery of Parmenter's letter change things very materially?"

"It seems to me it does," Croyden answered. "Indeed, I think we need fear the rogues no longer—we can simply have them arrested for the theft of our wallets, or even release them entirely."

"Arrest is preferable," said Macloud. "It will obviate all danger of our being shot at long range, by the beggars. Let us put them where they're safe, for the time."

"But the arrest must not be made here!" interposed Croyden. "We can't send for the police: if they find them here it would give color to their story of a treasure on Greenberry Point."

"Then Axtell and I will remain on guard, while you go to town and arrange for their apprehension—say, just as they come off the Severn bridge. When you return, we can release them."

"What if they don't cross the Severn—what if they scent our game, and keep straight on to Baltimore? They can abandon their team, and catch a Short Line train at a way station."

"Then the Baltimore police can round them up. I'm for chancing it. They've lost Parmenter's letter; haven't anything to substantiate their story. Furthermore, we have a permit for the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee and friends to camp here. I think that, now, we can afford to ignore them—the recovery of the letter was exceedingly lucky."

"Very good!" said Macloud—"you're the one to be satisfied; it's a whole heap easier than running a private prison ourselves."

Croyden looked the other's horse over carefully, so he could describe it accurately, then they hitched up their own team and he drove off to Annapolis.

In due time, he returned.

"It's all right!" he said. "I told the Mayor we had passed two men on the Severn bridge whom we identified as those who picked our pockets, Wednesday evening, in Carvel Hall—and gave him the necessary descriptions. He recognized the team as one of 'Cheney's Best,' and will have the entire police force—which consists of four men—waiting at the bridge on the Annapolis side." He looked at his watch. "They are there, now, so we can turn the prisoners loose."

Croyden and Macloud resumed their revolvers, and returned to the tent—to be greeted with a volley of profanity which, for fluency and vocabulary, was distinctly marvelous. Gradually, it died away—for want of breath and words.

"Choice! Choice!" said Croyden. "In the cuss line, you two are the real thing. Why didn't you open up sooner?—you shouldn't hide such proficiency from an admiring world."

Whereat it flowed forth afresh from Hook-nose. Bald-head, however, remained quiet, and there was a faint twinkle in his eyes, as though he caught the humor of the situation. They were severely cramped, and in considerable pain, but their condition was not likely to be benefited by swearing at their captors.

"Just listen to him!" said Croyden, as Hook-nose took a fresh start. "Did you ever hear his equal!... Now, if you'll be quiet a moment, like your pal, we will tell you something that possibly you'll not be averse to hear.... So, that's better. We're about to release you—let you go free; it's too much bother to keep you prisoners. These little toy guns of yours, however, we shall throw into the Bay, in interest of the public peace. May we trouble you, Mr. Axtell, to remove the bonds?... Thank you! Now, you may arise and shake yourselves—you'll, likely, find the circulation a trifle restricted, for a few minutes."

Hook-nose gave him a malevolent look, but made no reply, Bald-head grinned broadly.

"Now, if you have sufficiently recovered, we will escort you to your carriage! Forward, march!"

And with the two thieves in front, and the three revolvers bringing up the rear, they proceeded to the buggy. The thieves climbed in.

"We wish you a very good day!" said Croyden. "Drive on, please!"



XI

ELAINE CAVENDISH

"May we have seen the last of you!" said Macloud, as the buggy disappeared among the trees; "and may the police provide for you in future."

"And while you're about it," said Croyden, "you might pray that we find the treasure—it would be quite as effective." He glanced at his watch. "It's four o'clock. Now, to resume where those rogues interrupted us. We had the jewels located, somewhere, within a radius of fifty feet. They must be, according to our theory, either on the bank or in the Bay. We can't go at the water without a boat. Shall we tackle the land at once? or go to town and procure a boat, and be ready for either in the morning."

"I have an idea," said Macloud.

"Don't let it go to waste, old man, let's have it!" Croyden encouraged.

"If you can give up hearing yourself talk, for a moment, I'll try!" laughed Macloud. "It is conceded, I believe, that digging on the Point by day may, probably will, provoke comment and possibly investigation as well. My idea is this. Do no work by day. Then as soon as dusky Night has drawn her robes about her——"

"Oh, Lord!" ejaculated Croyden, with upraised hands.

"Then, as soon as dusky Night has drawn her robes about her," Macloud repeated, imperturbably, "we set to work, by the light of the silvery moon. We arouse no comment—provoke no investigation. When morning dawns, the sands are undisturbed, and we are sleeping as peacefully as guinea pigs."

"And if there isn't a moon, we will set to work by the light of the silvery lantern, I reckon!" said Croyden.

"And, when we tackle the water, it will be in a silver boat and with silver cuirasses and silver helmets, a la Lohengrin."

"And I suppose, our swan-song will be played on silver flutes!" laughed Croyden.

"There won't be a swan-song—we're going to find Parmenter's treasure," said Macloud.

Leaving Axtell in camp, they drove to town, stopping at the North end of the Severn bridge to hire a row-boat,—a number of which were drawn up on the bank—and to arrange for it to be sent around to the far end of the Point. At the hotel, they found a telephone call from the Mayor's office awaiting them.

The thieves had been duly captured, the Mayor said, and they had been sent to Baltimore. The Chief of Detectives happened to be in the office, when they were brought in, and had instantly recognized them as well-known criminals, wanted in Philadelphia for a particularly atrocious hold-up. He had, thereupon, thought it best to let the Chief take them back with him, thus saving the County the cost of a trial, and the penitentiary expense—as well as sparing Mr. Croyden and his friend much trouble and inconvenience in attending court. He had had them searched, but found nothing which could be identified. He hoped this was satisfactory.

Croyden assured him it was more than satisfactory.

That night they began the hunt. That night, and every night for the next three weeks, they kept at it.

They tested every conceivable hypothesis. They dug up the entire zone of suspicion—it being loose sand and easy to handle. On the plea that a valuable ruby ring had been lost overboard while fishing, they dragged and scraped the bottom of the Bay for a hundred yards around. All without avail. Nothing smiled on them but the weather—it had remained uniformly good until the last two days before. Then there had set in, from the North-east, such a storm of rain as they had never seen. The very Bay seemed to be gathered up and dashed over the Point. They had sought refuge in the hotel, when the first chilly blasts of wind and water came up the Chesapeake. As it grew fiercer,—and a negro sent out for information returned with the news that their tents had been blown away, and all trace of the camp had vanished—it was decided that the quest should be abandoned.

"It's a foolish hunt, anyway!" said Croyden. "We knew from the first it couldn't succeed."

"But we wanted to prove that it couldn't succeed," Macloud observed. "If you hadn't searched, you always would have thought that, maybe, you could have been successful. Now, you've had your try—and you've failed. It will be easier to reconcile yourself to failure, than not to have tried."

"In other words, it's better to have tried and lost, than never to have tried at all," Croyden answered. "Well! it's over and there's no profit in thinking more about it. We have had an enjoyable camp, and the camp is ended. I'll go home and try to forget Parmenter, and the jewel box he buried down on Greenberry Point."

"I think I'll go with you," said Macloud.

"To Hampton!" Croyden exclaimed, incredulously.

"To Hampton—if you can put up with me a little longer."

A knowing smile broke over Croyden's face.

"The Symphony in Blue?" he asked.

"Maybe!—and maybe it is just you. At any rate, I'll come if I may."

"My dear Colin! You know you're more than welcome, always!"

Macloud bowed. "I'll go out to Northumberland to-night, arrange a few matters which are overdue, and come down to Hampton as soon as I can get away."

* * * * *

The next afternoon, as Macloud was entering the wide doorway of the Tuscarora Trust Company, he met Elaine Cavendish coming out.

"Stranger! where have you been these many weeks?" she said, giving him her hand.

"Out of town," he answered. "Did you miss me so much?"

"I did! There isn't a handy dinner man around, with you and Geoffrey both away. Dine with us this evening, will you?—it will be strictly en famille, for I want to talk business."

"Wants to talk business!" he thought, as, having accepted, he went on to the coupon department. "It has to do with that beggar Croyden, I reckon."

* * * * *

And when, the dinner over, they were sitting before the open grate fire, in the big living room, she broached the subject without timidity, or false pride.

"You are more familiar with Geoffrey Croyden's affairs than any one else, Colin," she said, crossing her knees, in the reckless fashion women have now-a-days, and exposing a ravishing expanse of blue silk stockings, with an unconscious consciousness that was delightfully naive. "And I want to ask you something—or rather, several things."

Macloud blew a whiff of cigarette smoke into the fire, and waited.

"I, naturally, don't ask you to violate any confidence," she went on, "but I fancy you may tell me this: was the particular business in which Geoffrey was engaged, when I saw him in Annapolis, a success or a failure?"

"Why do you ask!" Macloud said. "Did he tell you anything concerning it?"

"Only that his return to Northumberland would depend very much on the outcome."

"But nothing as to its character?"

"No," she answered.

"Well, it wasn't a success; in fact, it was a complete failure."

"And where is Geoffrey, now?" she asked.

"I do not know," he replied.

She laughed lightly. "I do not mean, where is he this minute, but where is he in general—where would you address a wire, or a letter, and know that it would be received?"

He threw his cigarette into the grate and lit another.

"I am not at liberty to tell," he said.

"Then, it is true—he is concealing himself."

"Not exactly—he is not proclaiming himself——"

"Not proclaiming himself or his whereabouts to his Northumberland friends, you mean?"

"Friends!" said Macloud. "Are there such things as friends, when one has been unfortunate?"

"I can answer only for myself," she replied earnestly.

"I believe you, Elaine——"

"Then tell me this—is he in this country or abroad?"

"In this country," he said, after a pause.

"Is he in want,—I mean, in want for the things he has been used to?"

"He is not in want, I can assure you!—and much that he was used to having, he has no use for, now. Our wants are relative, you know."

"Why did he leave Northumberland so suddenly?" she asked.

"To reduce expenses. He was forced to give up the old life, so he chose wisely, I think—to go where his income was sufficient for his needs."

"But is it sufficient?" she demanded.

"He says it is."

She was silent for a while, staring into the blaze. He did not interrupt—thinking it wise to let her own thoughts shape the way.

"You will not tell me where he is?" she said suddenly, bending her blue eyes hard upon his face.

"I may not, Elaine. I ought not to have told you he was not abroad."

"This business which you and he were on, in Annapolis—it failed, you say?"

He nodded.

"And is there no chance that it may succeed, some time?"

"He has abandoned it."

"But may not conditions change—something happen——" she began.

"It is the sort that does not happen. In this case, abandonment spells finis."

"Did he know, when we were in Annapolis?" she asked.

"On the contrary, he was very sanguine—it looked most promising then."

Her eyes went back to the flames. He blew ring after ring of smoke, and waited, patiently. He was the friend, he saw, now. He could never hope to be more. Croyden was the lucky fellow—and would not! Well, he had his warning and it was in time. Since she was baring her soul to him, as friend to friend, it was his duty to help her to the utmost of his power.

Suddenly, she uncrossed her knees and sat up.

"I have bought all the stock, and the remaining bonds of the Virginia Development Company, from the bank that held them as collateral for Royster & Axtell's loan," she said. "Oh, don't be alarmed! I didn't appear in the matter—my broker bought them in your name, and paid for them in actual money."

"I am your friend—use me!" he said, simply.

She arose, and bending swiftly over, kissed him on the cheek.

"Don't, Elaine," he said. "I am, also, Geoffrey Croyden's friend, but there are temptations which mortal man cannot resist."

"You think so?" she smiled, leaning over the back of his chair, and putting her head perilously close to his—"but I trust you—though I shan't kiss you again—at least, for the present. Now, you have been so very good about the bonds, I want you to be good some more. Will you, Colin?"

He held his hands before him, to put them out of temptation.

"Ask me to crawl in the grate, and see how quickly I do it!" he declared.

"It might prove my power, but I should lose my friend," she whispered.

"And that would be inconvenient!" he laughed. "Come, speak up! it's already granted, that you should know, Elaine."

"You're a very sweet boy," she said, going back to her seat.

"Which needs demonstration. But that you're a very sweet girl, needs no proof—unless——" looking at her with a meaning smile.

"Would that be proof, think you?" with a sidelong glance.

"I should accept it as such," he averred—"whenever you choose to confer it."

"Confer smacks of reward for service done," she said. "Will it bide till then?"

"Not if it may come sooner?"

"Wait—If you choose such pay, the——"

"I choose no pay," he interrupted.

"Then, the reward will be in kind," she answered enigmatically. "I want you——" She put one slender foot on the fender, and gazed at it, meditatively, while the firelight stole covert glances at the silken ankles thus exposed. "I want you to purchase for me, from Geoffrey Croyden, at par, his Virginia Development Company bonds," she said. "You can do it through your broker. I will give you a check, now——"

"Wait!" he said; "wait until he sells——"

"You think he won't sell?" she inquired.

"I think he will have to be satisfied, first, as to the purchaser—in plain words, that it isn't either you or I. We can't give Geoffrey money! The bonds are practically worthless, as he knows only too well."

"I had thought of that," she said, "but, isn't it met by this very plan? Your broker purchases the bonds for your account, but he, naturally, declines to reveal the identity of his customer. You can, truthfully, tell Geoffrey that you are not buying them—for you're not. And I—if he will only give me the chance—will assure him that I am not buying them from him—and you might confirm it, if he asked."

"Hum! It's juggling with the facts—though true on the face," said Macloud, "but it's pretty thin ice we're skating on."

"You are assuming he suspects or questions. He may take the two hundred thousand and ask no question."

"You don't for a moment believe that!" he laughed.

"It is doubtful," she admitted.

"And you wouldn't think the same of him, if he did."

"I admit it!" she said.

"So, we are back to the thin ice. I'll do what I can; but, you forgot, I am not at liberty to give his address to my brokers. I shall have to take their written offer to buy, and forward it to him, which, in itself will oblige me, at the same time, to tell him that I am not the purchaser."

"I leave it entirely to you—manage it any way you see fit. All I ask, is that you get him to sell. It's horrible to think of Geoffrey being reduced to the bare necessities of life—for that's what it means, when he goes 'where his income is sufficient for his needs.'"

"It's unfortunate, certainly: it would be vastly worse for a woman—to go from luxury to frugality, from everything to relatively nothing is positively pathetic. However, Croyden is not suffering—he has an attractive house filled with old things, good victuals, a more than competent cook, and plenty of society. He has cut out all the non-essentials, and does the essentials economically."

"You have been there?" she demanded. "You speak of your own knowledge, not from his inferences?"

"I have been there!" he answered.

"And the society—what of it?" she asked quickly.

"Better than our own!" he said, instantly.

"Indeed!" she replied with lifted eye-brows. "Our own in the aggregate or differentiated?"

"In the aggregate!" he laughed; "but quite the equal of our own differentiated. If Croyden were a marrying man—with sufficient income for two—I should give him about six months, at the outside."

"And how much would you give one with sufficient for two—yourself, for instance?"

"Just long enough to choose the girl—and convince her of the propriety of the choice."

"And do you expect to join Geoffrey, soon?" meaningly.

"As soon as I can get through here,—probably in a day or two."

"Then, we may look for the new Mrs. Macloud in time for the holidays, I presume.—Sort of a Christmas gift?"

"About then—if I can pick among so many, and she ratifies the pick."

"You haven't, yet, chosen?"

"No!—there are so many I didn't have time to more than look them over. When I go back, I'll round them up, cut out the most likely, and try to tie and brand her."

"Colin!" cried Miss Cavendish. "One would think, from your talk, that Geoffrey was in a cowboy camp, with waitresses for society."

He grinned, and lighted a fresh cigarette.

She tossed him an alluring look.

"And nothing can induce you to tell me the location of the camp?" she implored.

He smoked, a bit, in silence. Should he or should he not?...

"No!—not now!" he said, slowly. "Let us try the bond matter, first. If he sells, I think he will return; if not, I'll then consider telling."

"You're a good fellow, Colin, dear!" she whispered, leaning over and giving his hand an affectionate little pat. "You're so nice and comfortable to have around—you never misunderstand, nor draw inferences that you shouldn't."

"Which means, I'm not to draw inferences now?" he said.

"Nor at any other time," she remarked.

"And the reward?"

"Will be forthcoming," with an alluring smile.

"I've a mind to take part payment now," said he, intercepting the hand before she could withdraw it.

"If you can, sir!" whisking it loose, and darting around a table.

"A challenge, is it? Oh, very well!" and he sprang after.

With a swift movement, she swept up her skirts and fled—around chairs, and tables, across rugs, over sofas and couches—always manoeuvring to gain the doorway, yet always finding him barring the way;—until, at last, she was forced to refuge behind a huge davenport, standing with one end against the wall.

"Now, will you surrender?" he demanded, coming slowly toward her in the cul de sac.

She shook her head, smiling the while.

"I'll be merciful," he said. "It is five steps, until I reach you—One!—Will you yield?"

"No!"

"Two!—will you yield?"

"No!"

"Three!—will you yield?"

"No!"

"Four——"

Quick as thought, she dropped one hand on the back of the davenport; there was a flash of slippers, lingerie and silk, and she was across and racing for the door, now fair before her, leaving him only the echo of a mocking laugh.

"Five!" she counted, tauntingly, from the hall. "Why don't you continue, sir?"

"I stop with four," he said. "I'll be good for to-night, Elaine—you need have no further fear."

She tossed her head ever so slightly, while a bantering look came into her eyes.

"I'm not much afraid of you, now—nor any time," she answered. "But you have more courage than I would have thought, Colin—decidedly more!"



XII

ONE LEARNED IN THE LAW

It was evening, when Croyden returned to Hampton—an evening which contained no suggestion of the Autumn he had left behind him on the Eastern Shore. It was raw, and damp, and chill, with the presage of winter in its cold; the leaves were almost gone from the trees, the blackening hand of frost was on flower and shrubbery. As he passed up the dreary, deserted street, the wind was whistling through the branches over head, and moaning around the houses like spirits of the damned.

He turned in at Clarendon—shivering a little at the prospect. He was beginning to appreciate what a winter spent under such conditions meant, where one's enjoyments and recreations are circumscribed by the bounds of comparatively few houses and few people—people, he suspected, who could not understand what he missed, of the hurly-burly of life and amusement, even if they tried. Their ways were sufficient for them; they were eminently satisfied with what they had; they could not comprehend dissatisfaction in another, and would have no patience with it.

He could imagine the dismalness of Hampton, when contrasted with the brightness of Northumberland. The theatres, the clubs, the constant dinners, the evening affairs, the social whirl with all that it comprehended, compared with an occasional dinner, a rare party, interminable evenings spent, by his own fireside, alone! Alone! Alone!

To be sure, Miss Carrington, and Miss Borden, and Miss Lashiel, and Miss Tilghman, would be available, when they were home. But the winter was when they went visiting, he remembered, from late November until early April, and, at that period, the town saw them but little. There was the Hampton Club, of course, but it was worse than nothing—an opportunity to get mellow and to gamble, innocent enough to those who were habituated to it, but dangerous to one who had fallen, by adversity, from better things....

However, Macloud would be there, shortly, thank God! And the dear girls were not going for a week or so, he hoped. And, when the worst came, he could retire to the peacefulness of his library and try to eke out a four months' existence, with the books, and magazines and papers.

Moses held open the door, with a bow and a flourish, and the lights leaped out to meet him. It was some cheer, at least, to come home to a bright house, a full larder, faithful servants—and supper ready on the table, and tuned to even a Clubman's taste.

"Moses, do you know if Miss Carrington's at home?" he asked, the coffee on and his cigar lit.

"Yass, seh! her am home, seh, I seed she herse'f dis mornin' cum down de parf from de front poach wid de dawg, seh."

Croyden nodded and went across the hall to the telephone.

Miss Carrington, herself, answered his call.—Yes, she intended to be home all evening. She would be delighted to see him and to hear a full account of himself.

He was rather surprised at his own alacrity, in finishing his cigar and changing his clothes—and he wondered whether it was the girl, or the companionship, or the opportunity to be free of himself? A little of all three, he concluded.... But, especially, the girl, as she came from the drawing-room to meet him.

"So you have really returned," she said, as he bowed over her slender fingers. "We were beginning to fear you had deserted us."

"You are quite too modest," he replied. "You don't appreciate your own attractions."

The "you" was plainly singular, but she refused to see it.

"Our own attractions require us to be modest," she returned; "with a—man of the world."

"Don't!" he laughed. "Whatever I may have been, I am, now, a man of Hampton."

She shook her head. "You can never be a man of Hampton."

"Why not, if I live among you?"

"If you live here—take on our ways, our beliefs, our mode of thinking, you may, in a score of years, grow like us, outwardly; but, inwardly, where the true like must start, never!"

"How do we differ?"

"Ask me something easier! You've been bred differently, used to different things, to doing them in a different way. We do things slowly, leisurely, with a fine disregard of time, you, with the modern rush, and bustle, and hurry. You are a man of the world—I repeat it—up to the minute in everything—never lagging behind, unless you wish. You never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day. We never do anything to-day that can be put off till to-morrow."

"And which do you prefer, the to-day or the to-morrow?" he asked.

"It depends on my humor, and my location, at the time—though, I must admit, the to-day makes for thrift, and business, and success in acquiring wealth."

"And success also in getting rid of it. It is a return toward the primitive condition—the survival of the fittest. There must be losers as well as acquirers."

"There's the pity of it!" she exclaimed, "that one must lose in order that another may gain."

"But as we are not in Utopia or Altruria," he smiled, "it will continue so to be. Why, even in Baltimore, they——"

"Oh, Baltimore is only an overgrown country town!" she exclaimed.

"Granted!" he replied. "With half a million population, it is as provincial as Hampton, and thanks God for it—the most smug, self-satisfied, self-sufficient municipality in the land, with its cobblestones, its drains-in-the-gutters, its how much-holier-than-thou air about everything."

"But it has excellent railway facilities!" she laughed.

"Because it happens to be on the main line between Washington and the North."

"At least, the people are nice, barring a few mushrooms who are making a great to-do."

"Yes, the people are delightful!—And, when it comes to mushrooms, Northumberland has Baltimore beaten to a frazzle. We raise a fresh crop every night."

"Northumberland society must be exceedingly large!" she laughed.

"It is—but it's not overcrowded. About as many die every day, as are born every night; and, at any rate, they don't interfere with those who really belong—except to increase prices, and the cost of living, and clog the avenue with automobiles."

"That is progress!"

"Yes, it's progress! but whither it leads no one knows—to the devil, likely—or a lemon garden."

"'Blessed are the lemons on earth, for they shall be peaches in Heaven!'" she quoted.

"What a glorious peach your Miss Erskine will be," he replied.

"I'm afraid you don't appreciate the great honor the lady did you, in condescending to view the treasures of Clarendon, and to talk about them afterward. To hear her, she is the most intimate friend you have in Hampton."

"Good!" he said, "I'm glad you told me. Somehow, I'm always drawing lemons."

"Am I a lemon?" she asked, abruptly.

"You! do you think you are?"

"One can never know."

"Have I drawn you?" he inquired.

"Quite immaterial to the question, which is: A lemon or not a lemon?"

"If you could but see yourself at this moment, you would not ask," he said, looking at her with amused scrutiny.

The lovely face, the blue black hair, the fine figure in the simple pink organdie, the slender ankles, the well-shod feet—a lemon!

"But as I can't see myself, and have no mirror handy, your testimony is desired," she insisted. "A lemon or not a lemon?"

"A lemon!" he answered.

"Then you can't have any objection——"

"If you bring Miss Erskine in?" he interrupted. "Nay! Nay! Nay! NAY!"

"——if I take you there for a game of Bridge—shall we go this very evening?"

"If you wish," he answered.

She laughed. "I don't wish—and we are growing very silly. Come, tell about your Annapolis trip. You stayed a great while."

"Something more than three weeks!"

"It's a queer old town, Annapolis—they call it the 'Finished City!' It's got plenty of landmarks, and relics, but nothing more. If it were not for the State Capitol and Naval Academy, it would be only a lot of ruins, lost in the sand. In midsummer, it's absolutely dead. No one on the streets, no one in the shops, no one any place.—Deserted—until there's a fire. Then you should see them come out!"

"That is sufficiently expressed!" laughed Croyden. "But, with the autumn and the Academy in session, the town seemed very much alive. We sampled 'Cheney's Best,' Wegard's Cakes, and saw the Custard-and-Cream Chapel."

"You've been to Annapolis, sure!" she replied. "There's only one thing more—did you see Paul Jones?"

He shook his head. "We missed him."

"Which isn't surprising. You can't find him without the aid of a detective or a guide."

"Then, who ever finds him?"

"No one!—and there is the shame. We accepted the vast labors and the money of our Ambassador to France in locating the remains of America's first Naval Hero; we sent an Embassy and a warship to bring them back; we received them with honor, orated over them, fired guns over them. And then, when the spectators had departed—assuming they were to be deposited in the crypt of the Chapel—we calmly chucked them away on a couple of trestles, under a stairway in Bancroft Hall, as we would an old broom or a tin can. That's our way of honoring the only Naval Commander we had in the Revolution. It would have been better, much better, had we left him to rest in the quiet seclusion of his grave in France—lost, save in memory, with the halo of the past and privacy of death around him."

"And why didn't we finish the work?" said Croyden. "Why bring him here, with the attendant expense, and then stop, just short of completion? Why didn't we inter him in the Chapel (though, God save me from burial there), or any place, rather than on trestles under a stairway in a midshipmen's dormitory?"

"Because the appropriation was exhausted, or because the Act wasn't worded to include burial, or because the Superintendent didn't want the bother, or because it was a nuisance to have the remains around—or some other absurd reason. At all events, he is there in the cellar, and he is likely to stay there, till Bancroft Hall is swallowed up by the Bay. The junket to France, the parade, the speeches, the spectacular part are over, so, who cares for the entombment, and the respect due the distinguished dead?"

"I don't mean to be disrespectful," he observed, "but it's hard luck to have one's bones disturbed, after more than a hundred years of tranquillity, to be conveyed clear across the Atlantic, to be orated over, and sermonized over, and, then, to be flung aside like old junk and forgot. However, we have troubles of our own—I know I have—more real than Paul Jones! He may be glad he's dead, so he won't have any to worry over. In fact, it's a good thing to be dead—one is saved from a heap of worry."

She looked at him, without replying.

"What's the use?" he said. "A daily struggle to procure fuel sufficient to keep up the fire."

"What's the use of anything! Why not make an end of life, at once?" she asked.

"Sometimes, I'm tempted," he admitted. "It's the leap in the dark, and no returning, that restrains, I reckon—and the fact that we must face it alone. Otherwise——"

She laughed softly. "Otherwise death would have no terrors! You have begged the question, or what amounts to it. But, to return to Annapolis; what else did you see?"

"You have been there?"

"Many times."

"Then you know what I saw," he replied. "I had no wonderful adventures. This isn't the day of the rapier and the mask."

She half closed her eyes and looked at him through the long lashes.

"What were you doing down on Greenberry Point?" she demanded.

"How did you know?" he asked, surprised.

"Oh! very naturally. I was in Annapolis—I saw your name on the register—I inquired—and I had the tale of the camp. No one, however, seemed to think it queer!" laughing.

"Why should they? Camping out is entirely natural," Croyden answered.

"With the Chairman of the Senate Committee on Naval Affairs?"

"We were in his party!"

"A party which until five days ago he had not joined—at least, so the Superintendent told me, when I dined at his house. He happened to mention your name, found I knew you—and we gossiped. Perhaps we shouldn't, but we did."

"What else did he tell you?"

"Nothing! he didn't seem even to wonder at your being there——"

"But you did?"

"It's the small town in me, I suppose—to be curious about other people and their business; and it was most suspicious."

"What was most suspicious?" he asked.

"Your actions. First, you hire a boat and cross the Bay direct from Hampton to Annapolis. Second, you procure, through Senator Rickrose, a permit from the Secretary of the Navy to camp on Greenberry Point. Third, you actually do camp, there, for nearly, or quite three weeks. Query:—Why? Why go clear to the Western Shore, and choose a comparatively inaccessible and exposed location on United States property, if the idea were only a camp? Why not camp over on Kent Island, or on this coast? Anywhere, within a few miles of Hampton, there are scores of places better adapted than Greenberry Point."

"You should be a story teller!" he laughed. "Your imagination is marvelous. With a series of premises, you can reach whatever conclusion you wish—you're not bound by the probabilities."

"You're simply obscuring the point," she insisted. "In this instance, my premises are facts which are not controverted. You admit them to be correct. So, why? Why?——" She held up her hand. "Don't answer! I'm not asking for information. I don't want to be told. I'm simply 'chaffing of you,' don't you know!"

"With just a lingering curiosity, however," he added.

"A casual curiosity, rather," she amended.

"Which, some time, I shall gratify. You've trailed me down—we were on Greenberry Point for a purpose, but nothing has come of it, yet—and it's likely a failure."

"My dear Mr. Croyden, I don't wish to know. It was a mistake to refer to it. I should simply have forgot what I heard in Annapolis—I'll forget now, if you will permit."

"By no means, Miss Carrington. You can't forget, if you would—and I would not have you, if you could. Moreover, I inherited it along with Clarendon, and, as you were my guide to the place, it's no more than right that you should know. I think I shall confide in you—no use to protest, it's got to come!" he added.

"You are determined?—Very well, then, come over to the couch in the corner, where we can sit close and you can whisper."

He arose, with alacrity. She put out her hand and led him—and he suffered himself to be led.

"Now!" when they were seated, "you may begin. Once upon a time——" and laughed, softly. "I'll take this, if you've no immediate use for it," she said, and released her hand from his.

"For the moment," he said. "I shall want it back, presently, however."

"Do you, by any chance, get all you want?" she inquired.

"Alas! no! Else I would have kept what I already had."

She put her hands behind her, and faced around.

"Begin, sir!" she said. "Begin! and try to be serious."

"Well,—once upon a time——" Then he stopped. "I'll go over to the house and get the letter—it will tell you much better than I can. You will wait here, right here, until I return?"

She looked at him, with a tantalizing smile.

"Won't it be enough, if I am here when you return?" she asked.

When he came out on the piazza the rain had ceased, the clouds were gone, the temperature had fallen, and the stars were shining brightly in a winter sky.

He strode quickly down the walk to the street and crossed it diagonally to his own gates. As he passed under the light, which hung near the entrance, a man walked from the shadow of the Clarendon grounds and accosted him.

"Mr. Croyden, I believe?" he said.

Croyden halted, abruptly, just out of distance.

"Croyden is my name?" he replied, interrogatingly.

"With your permission, I will accompany you to your house—to which I assume you are bound—for a few moments' private conversation."

"Concerning what?" Croyden demanded.

"Concerning a matter of business."

"My business or yours?"

"Both!" said the man, with a smile.

Croyden eyed him suspiciously. He was about thirty years of age, tall and slender, was well dressed, in dark clothes, a light weight top-coat, and a derby hat. His face was ordinary, however, and Croyden had no recollection of ever having seen it—certainly not in Hampton.

"I'm not in the habit of discussing business with strangers, at night, nor of taking them to my house," he answered, brusquely. "If you have anything to say to me, say it now, and be brief. I've no time to waste."

"Some one may hear us," the man objected.

"Let them—I've no objection."

"Pardon me, but I think, in this matter, you would have objection."

"You'll say it quickly, and here, or not at all," snapped Croyden.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"It's scarcely a subject to be discussed on the street," he observed, "but, if I must, I must. Did you ever hear of Robert Parmenter? Oh! I see that you have! Well, the business concerns a certain letter—need I be more explicit?"

"If you wish to make your business intelligible."

The fellow shrugged his shoulders again.

"As you wish," he said, "though it only consumes time, and I was under the impression that you were in a hurry. However: To repeat—the business concerns a letter, which has to do with a certain treasure buried long ago, on Greenberry Point, by the said Robert Parmenter. Do I make myself plain, now, sir?"

"Your language is entirely intelligible—though I cannot answer for the facts recited."

The man smiled imperturbably, and went on:

"The letter in question having come into your possession recently, you, with two companions, spent three weeks encamped on Greenberry Point, ostensibly for your health, or the night air, or anything else that would deceive the Naval authorities. During which time, you dug up the entire Point, dragged the waters immediately adjoining—and then departed, very strangely choosing for it a time of storm and change of weather. My language is intelligible, thus far?"

Croyden nodded—rather amused. Evidently, the thieves had managed to communicate with a confederate, and this was a hold-up. They assumed he had been successful.

"Therefore, it is entirely reasonable to suppose that your search was not ineffectual. In plain words, you have recovered the treasure."

The man paused, waiting for an answer.

Croyden only smiled, and waited, too.

"Very good!—we will proceed," said the stranger. "The jewels were found on Government land. It makes no difference whether recovered on the Point or on the Bay—the law covering treasure trove, I am informed, doesn't apply. The Government is entitled to the entire find, it being the owner in fee of the land."

"You talk like a lawyer!" said Croyden.

The stranger bowed. "I have devoted my spare moments to the study of the law——"

"And how to avoid it," Croyden interjected.

The other bowed again.

"And also how to prevent others from avoiding it," he replied, suggestively. "Let us take up that phase, if it please you."

"And if it doesn't please?" asked Croyden, suppressing an inclination to laugh.

"Then let us take it up, any way—unless you wish to forfeit your find to the Government."

"Proceed!" said Croyden. "We are arriving, now, at the pith of the matter. What do you offer?"

"We want an equal divide. We will take Parmenter's estimate and multiply it by two, though jewels have appreciated more than that in valuation. Fifty thousand pounds is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which will total, according to the calculation, half a million dollars,—one half of which amount you pay us as our share."

"Your share! Why don't you call it properly—blackmail?" Croyden demanded.

"As you wish!" the other replied, airily. "If you prefer blackmail to share, it will not hinder the contract—seeing that it is quite as illegal on your part as on ours. Share merely sounds a little better but either obtains the same end. So, suit yourself. Call it what you will—but pay."

"Pay—or what?"

"Pay—or lose everything!" was the answer. "If you are not familiar with the law covering the subject under discussion, let me enlighten you."

"Thunder! how you do roll it out!" laughed Croyden. "Get on! man, get on!"

"I was endeavoring to state the matter succinctly," the stranger replied, refusing to be hurried or flustered. "The Common Law and the practice of the Treasury Department provide, that all treasure found on Government land or within navigable waters, is Government property. If declared by the finder, immediately, he shall be paid such reward as the Secretary may determine. If he does not declare, and is informed on, the informer gets the reward. You will observe that, under the law, you have forfeited the jewels—I fancy I do not need to draw further deductions."

"No!—it's quite unnecessary," Croyden remarked. "Your fellow thieves went into that phase (good word, I like it!) rather fully, down on Greenberry Point. Unluckily, they fell into the hands of the police, almost immediately, and we have not been able to continue the conversation."

"I have the honor to continue the conversation—and, in the interim, you have found the treasure. So, Parmenter's letter won't be essential—the facts, circumstances, your own and Mr. Macloud's testimony, will be sufficient to prove the Government's case. Then, as you are aware, it's pay or go to prison for larceny."

"There is one very material hypothesis, which you assume as a fact, but which is, unfortunately, not a fact," said Croyden. "We did not find the treasure."

The man laughed, good-humoredly.

"Naturally!" he replied. "We don't ask you to acknowledge the finding—just pay over the quarter of a million and we will forget everything."

"My good man, I'm speaking the truth!" Croyden answered. "Maybe it's difficult for you to recognize, but it's the truth, none the less. I only wish I had the treasure—I think I'd be quite willing to share it, even with a blackmailer!"

The man laughed, again.

"I trust it will give no offence if I say I don't believe you."

"You can believe what you damn please!" Croyden retorted.

And, without more ado, he turned his back and went up the path to Clarendon.



XII

I COULD TELL SOME THINGS

When Croyden had got Parmenter's letter from the secret drawer in the escritoire, he rang the old-fashioned pull-bell for Moses. It was only a little after nine, and, though he did not require the negro to remain in attendance until he retired, he fancied the kitchen fire still held him.

And he was not mistaken. In a moment Moses appeared—his eyes heavy with the sleep from which he had been aroused.

"Survent, marster!" he said, bowing from the doorway.

"Moses, did you ever shoot a pistol?" Croyden asked.

"Fur de Lawd, seh! Hit's bin so long sence I dun hit, I t'ink I'se gun-shy, seh."

"But you have done it?"

"Yass, seh, I has don hit."

"And you could do it again, if necessary?"

"I speck so, seh—leas'wise, I kin try—dough I'se mons'us unsuttin, seh, mons'us unsuttin!"

"Uncertain of what—your shooting or your hitting?"

"My hittin', seh."

"Well, we're all of us somewhat uncertain in that line. At least you know enough not to point the revolver toward yourself."

"Hi!—I sut'n'y does! seh, I sut'n'y does!" said the negro, with a broad grin.

"There is a revolver, yonder, on the table," said Croyden, indicating one of those they used on Greenberry Point. "It's a self-cocker—you simply pull the trigger and the action does the rest. You understand?"

"Yass, seh, I onderstands," said Moses.

"Bring it here," Croyden ordered.

Moses' fingers closed around the butt, a bit timorously, and he carried it to his master.

"I'll show you the action," said Croyden. "Here, is the ejector," throwing the chamber out, "it holds six shots, you see: but you never put a cartridge under the firing-pin, because, if anything strikes the trigger, it's likely to be discharged."

"Yass, seh!"

Croyden loaded it, closed the cylinder, and passed it over to Moses, who took it with a little more assurance. He was harkening back thirty years, and more.

"What do yo warn me to do, seh?" he asked.

"I want you to sit down, here, while I'm away, and if any one tries to get in this house, to-night, you're to shoot him. I'm going over to Captain Carrington's—I'll be back by eleven o'clock. It isn't likely you will be disturbed; if you are, one shot will frighten him off, even if you don't hit him, and I'll hear the shot, and come back at once. You understand?"

"Yass, seh!—I'm to shoot anyone what tries to get in."

"Not exactly!" laughed Croyden. "You're to shoot anyone who tries to break in. For Heaven's sake! don't shoot me, when I return, or any one else who comes legitimately. Be sure he is an intruder, then bang away."

"Sut'n'y, seh! I onderstands. I'se dub'us bout hittin', but I kin bang away right nuf. Does yo' spose any one will try to git in, seh?"

"No, I don't!" Croyden smiled—"but you be ready for them, Moses, be ready for them. It's just as well to provide against contingencies."

"Yass, seh!" as Croyden went out and the front door closed behind him, "but dem 'tingencies is monty dang'ous t'ings to fools wid. I don' likes hit, dat's whar I don'."

Croyden found Miss Carrington just where he had left her—a quick return to the sofa having been synchronous with his appearance in the hall.

"I had a mind not to wait here," she said; "you were an inordinately long time, Mr. Croyden."

"I was!" he replied, sitting down beside her. "I was, and I admit it—but it can be explained."

"I'm listening!" she smiled.

"Before you listen to me, listen to Robert Parmenter, deceased!" said he, and gave her the letter.

"Oh, this is the letter—do you mean that I am to read it?"

"If you please!" he answered.

She read it through without a single word of comment—an amazing thing in a woman, who, when her curiosity is aroused, can ask more questions to the minute than can be answered in a month. When she had finished, she turned back and read portions of it again, especially the direction as to finding the treasure, and the postscript bequests by the Duvals.

At last, she dropped the letter in her lap and looked up at Croyden.

"A most remarkable document!" she said. "Most extraordinary in its ordinariness, and most ordinary in its extraordinariness. And you searched, carefully, for three weeks and found—nothing?"

"We did," he replied. "Now, I'll tell you about it."

"First, tell me where you obtained this letter?"

"I found it by accident—in a secret compartment of an escritoire at Clarendon," he answered.

She nodded.

"Now you may tell me about it?" she said, and settled back to listen.

"This is the tale of Parmenter's treasure—and how we did not find it!" he laughed.

Then he proceeded to narrate, briefly, the details—from the finding of the letter to the present moment, dwelling particularly on the episode of the theft of their wallets, the first and second coming of the thieves to the Point, their capture and subsequent release, together with the occurrence of this evening, when he was approached, by the well-dressed stranger, at Clarendon's gates.

And, once again, marvelous to relate, Miss Carrington did not interrupt, through the entire course of the narrative. Nor did she break the silence for a time after he had concluded, staring thoughtfully, the while, down into the grate, where a smouldering back log glowed fitfully.

"What do you intend to do, as to the treasure?" she asked, slowly.

"Give it up!" he replied. "What else is there to do?"

"And what about this stranger?"

"He must give it up!" laughed Croyden. "He has no recourse. In the words of the game, popular hereabout, he is playing a bobtail!"

"But he doesn't know it's a bobtail. He is convinced you found the treasure," she objected.

"Let him make whatever trouble he can, it won't bother me, in the least."

"He is not acting alone," she persisted. "He has confederates—they may attack Clarendon, in an effort to capture the treasure."

"My dear child! this is the twentieth century, not the seventeenth!" he laughed. "We don't 'stand-by to repel boarders,' these days."

"Pirate's gold breeds pirate's ways!" she answered.

He stared at her, in surprise.

"Rather queer!—I've heard those same words before, in this connection."

"Community of minds."

"Is it a quotation?" he asked.

"Possibly—though I don't recall it. Suppose you are attacked and tortured till you reveal where you've hidden the jewels?" she insisted.

"I cannot suppose them so unreasonable!" he laughed, again. "However, I put Moses on guard—with a big revolver and orders to fire at anyone molesting the house. If we hear a fusillade we'll know it's he shooting up the neighborhood."

"Then the same idea did suggest itself to you!"

"Only to the extent of searching for the jewels—I regarded that as vaguely possible, but there isn't the slightest danger of any one being tortured."

"You know best, I suppose," she said—"but you've had your warning—and pirate's gold breeds pirate's ways. You've given up all hope of finding the treasure—abandoned jewels worth—how many dollars?"

"Possibly half a million," he filled in.

"Without a further search? Oh! Mr. Croyden!"

"If you can suggest what to do—anything which hasn't been done, I shall be only too glad to consider it."

"You say you dug up the entire Point for a hundred yards inland?"

"We did."

"And dredged the Bay for a hundred yards?"

"Yes."

She puckered her brows in thought. He regarded her with an amused smile.

"I don't see what you're to do, except to do it all over again," she announced—"Now, don't laugh! It may sound foolish, but many a thing has been found on a second seeking—and this, surely, is worth a second, or a third, or even many seekings."

"If there were any assurance of ultimate success, it would pay to spend a lifetime hunting. The two essentials, however, are wanting: the extreme tip of Greenberry Point in 1720, and the beech-trees. We made the best guess at their location. More than that, the zone of exploration embraced every possible extreme of territory—yet, we failed. It will make nothing for success to try again."

"But it is somewhere!" she reflected.

"Somewhere, in the Bay!—It's shoal water, for three or four hundred feet around the Point, with a rock bottom. The Point itself has been eaten into by the Bay, down to this rock. Parmenter's chest disappeared with the land in which it was buried, and no man will find it now, except by accident."

"It seems such a shame!" she exclaimed. "A fortune gone to waste!"

"Without anyone having the fun of wasting it!" laughed Croyden.

She took up Parmenter's letter again, and glanced over it. Then she handed it back, and shook her head.

"It's too much for my poor brain," she said. "I surrender."

"Precisely where we landed. We gave it rather more than a fair trial, and, then, we gave it up. I'm done. When I go home, to-night, I shall return the letter to the escritoire where I found it, and forget it. There is no profit in speculating further."

"You can return it to its hiding place," she reflected, "but you can't cease wondering. Why didn't Marmaduke Duval get the treasure while the landmarks were there? Why did he leave it for his heirs?"

"Probably on account of old Parmenter's restriction that it be left until the 'extremity of need.'"

She nodded, in acquiescence.

"Probably," she said, "the Duvals would regard it as a matter of honor to observe the exact terms of the bequest. Alas! Alas! that they did so!"

"It's only because they did so, that I got a chance to search!" Croyden laughed.

"You mean that, otherwise, there would be no buried treasure!" she exclaimed. "Of course!—how stupid! And with all that money, the Duvals might have gone away from Hampton—might have experienced other conditions. Colonel Duval might never have met your father—you might have never come to Clarendon.—My goodness! Where does it end?"

"In the realm of pure conjecture," he answered. "It is idle to theorize on the might-have-beens, or what might-have-happened if the what-did-happen hadn't happened. Dismiss it, at least, for this evening. You asked what I was doing for three weeks at Annapolis, and I have consumed a great while in answering—let us talk of something else. What have you been doing in those three weeks?"

"Nothing! A little Bridge, a few riding parties, some sails on the Bay, with an occasional homily by Miss Erskine, when she had me cornered, and I couldn't get away. Then is when I learned what a deep impression you had made!" she laughed.

"We both were learning, it seems," he replied.

She looked at him, inquiringly.

"I don't quite understand," she said.

"You made an impression, also—of course, that's to be expected, but this impression is much more than the ordinary kind!"

"Merci, Monsieur," she scoffed.

"No, it isn't merci, it's a fact. And he is a mighty good fellow on whom to make an impression."

"You mean, Mr.—Macloud?"

"Just so! I mean Macloud."

"You're very safe in saying it!"

"Wherefore?"

"He is absent. It's not susceptible of proof."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I think so!"

"I don't!"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"For he's coming back——"

"To Hampton?"

"To Hampton."

"When?" she said, sceptically.

"Very soon!"

"Delightfully indefinite!" she laughed.

"In fact, within a week."

She laughed, again!

"To be accurate, I expect him not later than the day-after-to-morrow."

"I shall believe you, when I see him!" incredulously.

"He is, I think, coming solely on your account."

"But you're not quite sure?—oh! modest man!"

"Naturally, he hasn't confided in me."

"So you're confiding in me—how clever!"

"I could tell some things——"

"Which are fables."

"——but I won't—they might turn your head——"

"Which way—to the right or left?"

"——and make you too confident and too cruel. He saw you but twice——"

"Once!" she corrected.

"Once, on the street; again, when we called in the evening—but he gave you a name, the instant he saw you——"

"How kind of him!"

"He called you: 'The Symphony in Blue.'"

"Was I in blue?" she asked.

"You were—and looking particularly fit."

"Was that the first time you had noticed it?" she questioned blandly.

"Do you think so?" he returned.

"I am asking you, sir."

"Do I impress you as being blind?"

"No, you most assuredly do not!" she laughed.

He looked at her with daring eyes.

"Yes!" she said, "I know you're intrepid—but you won't!"

"Why?—why won't I?"

"Because, it would be false to your friend. You have given me to him."

"I have given you to him!" he exclaimed, with denying intonation.

"Yes!—as between you two, you have renounced, in his favor."

"I protest!"

"At least, I so view it," with a teasingly fascinating smile.

"I protest!" he repeated.

"I heard you."

"I protest!" he reiterated.

"Don't you think that you protest over-much?" she inquired sweetly.

"If we were two children, I'd say: 'You think you're smart, don't you?'"

"And I'd retort: 'You got left, didn't you?'"

Then they both laughed.

"Seriously, however—do you really expect Mr. Macloud?" she asked.

"I surely do—probably within two days; and I'm not chaffing when I say that you're the inducement. So, be good to him—he's got more than enough for two, I can assure you."

"Mercenary!" she laughed.

"No—just careful!" he answered.

"And what number am I—the twenty-first, or thereabout?"

"What matters it, if you're the one, at present?"

She raised her shoulders in the slightest shrug.

"I'd sooner be the present one than all the has-beens," he insisted.

"Opinions differ," she remarked.

"If it will advantage any——"

"I didn't say so," she interrupted.

"——I can tell you——"

"Many fables, I don't doubt!" she cut in, again.

"——that we have been rather intimate, for a few years, and I have never before known him to exhibit particular interest in any woman."

"'Why don't you speak for yourself, John,'" she quoted, merrily.

"Because, to be frank, I haven't enough for two," he answered, gayly.

But beneath the gayety, she thought she detected the faintest note of regret. So! there was some one!

And, woman-like, when he had gone, she wondered about her—whether she was dark or fair, tall or small, vivacious or reserved, flirtatious or sedate, rich or poor—and whether they loved each other—or whether it was he, alone, who loved—or whether he had not permitted himself to be carried so far—or whether—then, she dropped asleep.

Croyden went back to Clarendon, keeping a sharp look-out for anyone under the trees around the house. He found Moses in the library, evidently just aroused from slumber by the master's door key.

"No one's bin heah, seh, 'cep de boy wid dis 'spatch," he hastened to say.

Croyden tore open the envelope:—It was a wire from Macloud, that he would be down to-morrow.

"You may go to bed, Moses."

"Yass, seh! yass, seh!—I'se pow'ful glad yo's back, seh. Nothin' I kin git yo befo I goes?"

"Nothing!" said Croyden. "You're a good soldier, Moses, you didn't sleep on guard."

"No, seh! I keps wide awake, Marster Croyden, wide awake all de time, seh. Survent, seh!" and, with a bow, he disappeared.

Croyden finished his cigar, put out the light, and went slowly upstairs—giving not a thought to the Parmenter treasure nor the man he had met outside. His mind was busy with Elaine Cavendish—their last night on the moonlit piazza—the brief farewell—the lingering pressure of her fingers—the light in her eyes—the subdued pleasure, when they met unexpectedly in Annapolis—her little ways to detain him, keep him close to her—her instant defense of him at Mattison's scurrilous insinuation—the officers' hop—the rhythmic throb of the melody—the scented, fluttering body held close in his arms—the lowered head—the veiled eyes—the trembling lashes—his senses steeped in the fragrance of her beauty—the temptation well-nigh irresistible—his resolution almost gone—trembling—trembling——

* * * * *

The vision passed—music ceased—the dance was ended. Sentiment vanished—reason reigned once more.

He was a fool! a fool! to think of her, to dream of the past, even. But it is pleasant, sometimes, to be a fool—where a beautiful woman is concerned, and only one's self to pay the piper.



XIV

THE SYMPHONY IN BLUE

Macloud arrived the next day, bringing for his host a great batch of mail, which had accumulated at the Club.

"I thought of it at the last moment—when I was starting for the station, in fact," he remarked. "The clerk said he had no instructions for forwarding, so I just poked it in my bag and brought it along. Stupid of me not to think of it sooner. Why didn't you mention it? I can understand why you didn't leave an address, but not why I shouldn't forward it."

"I didn't care, when I left—and I don't care much, now—but I'm obliged, just the same!" said Croyden. "It's something to do; the most exciting incident of the day, down here, is the arrival of the mail. The people wait for it, with bated breath. I am getting in the way, too, though I don't get much.... I never did have any extensive correspondence, even in Northumberland—so this is just circulars and such trash."

He took the package, which Macloud handed him, and tossed it on the desk.

"What's new?" he asked.

"In Northumberland? Nothing—beyond the usual thing. Everybody is back—everybody is hard up or says he is—everybody is full of lies, as usual, and is turning them loose on anyone who will listen, credulous or sophisticated, it makes no difference. It's the telling, not the believing that's the thing. Oh! the little cad Mattison is engaged—Charlotte Brundage has landed him, and the wedding is set for early next month."

"I don't envy her the job," Croyden remarked.

"It won't bother her!" Macloud laughed. "She'll be privileged to draw on his bank account, and that's the all important thing with her. He will fracture the seventh commandment, and she won't turn a hair. She is a chilly proposition, all right."

"Well, I wish her joy of her bargain," said Croyden. "May she have everything she wants, and see Mattison not at all, after the wedding journey—and but very occasionally, then."

He took up the letters and ran carelessly through them.

"Trash! Trash! Trash!" he commented, as he consigned them, one by one, to the waste-basket.

Macloud watched him, languidly, behind his cigar smoke, and made no comment.

Presently Croyden came to a large, white envelope—darkened on the interior so as to prevent the contents from being read until opened. It bore the name of a firm of prominent brokers in Northumberland.

"Humph! Blaxham & Company!" he grunted. "'We own and offer, subject to prior sale, the following high grade investment bonds.' Oh yes! I'll take the whole bundle." He drew out the letter and looked at it, perfunctorily, before sending it to rest with its fellows.—It wasn't in the usual form.—He opened it, wider.—It was signed by the senior partner.

"My dear Mr. Croyden:

"We have a customer who is interested in the Virginia Development Company. He has purchased the Bonds and the stock of Royster & Axtell, from the bank which held them as collateral. He is willing to pay you par for your Bonds, without any accrued interest, however. If you will consent to sell, the Company can proceed without reorganization but, if you decline, he will foreclose under the terms of the mortgage. We have suggested the propriety and the economy to him—since he owns or controls all the stock—of not purchasing your bonds, and, frankly, have told him it is worse than bad business to do so. But he refuses to be advised, insisting that he must be the sole owner, and that he is willing to submit to the additional expense rather than go through the tedious proceeding for foreclosure and sale. We are prepared to honor a sight-draft with the Bonds attached, or to pay cash on presentation and transfer. We shall be obliged for a prompt reply.

"Yours very truly,

"R. J. Blaxham."

"What the devil!——"

He read it a second time. No, he wasn't asleep—it was all there, typewritten and duly signed. Two hundred thousand dollars!—honor sight draft, or pay cash on presentation and transfer!

"What the devil!" he said, again. Then he passed it across to Macloud. "Read this aloud, will you,—I want to see if I'm quite sane!"

Macloud was at his favorite occupation—blowing smoke rings through one another, and watching them spiral upward toward the ceiling.

"I beg your pardon!" he said, as Croyden's words roused him from his meditation. "I must have been half asleep. What did you say—read it?" taking the letter.

He and Blaxham had spent considerable time on that letter, trying to explain the reason for the purchase, and the foolishly high price they were offering, in such a way as to mislead Croyden.

"Yes,—aloud! I want to hear someone else read it."

Macloud looked at him, curiously.

"It is typewritten, you haven't a chance to get wrong!" he said, wonderingly.

Croyden laughed!

"Read it, please!" he exclaimed.... "So, I wasn't crazy: and either Blaxham is lying or his customer needs a guardian—which is it?"

"I don't see that it need concern you, in the least, which it is," said Macloud. "Be grateful for the offer—and accept by wireless or any other way that's quicker."

"But the bonds aren't worth five cents on the dollar!"

"So much the more reason to hustle the deal through. Sell them! man, sell them! You may have slipped up on the Parmenter treasure, but you have struck it here."

"Too rich," Croyden answered. "There's something queer about that letter."

Macloud smoked his cigar, and smiled.

"There's nothing queer about the letter!"—he said. "Blaxham's customer may have the willies—indeed, he as much as intimates that such is the case—but, thank God! we're not obliged to have a commission-in-lunacy appointed on everybody who makes a silly stock or bond purchase. If we were, we either would have no markets, or the courts would have time for nothing else. No! no! old man! take what the gods have given you and be glad. There's ten thousand a year in it! You can return to Northumberland, resume the old life, and be happy ever after;—or you can live here, and there, and everywhere. You're unattached—not even a light-o'-love to squander your money, and pester you for gowns and hats, and get in a hell of a temper—and be false to you, besides."

"No, I haven't one of them, thank God!" laughed Croyden. "I've got troubles enough of my own. The present, for instance."

"Troubles!" marvelled Macloud. "You haven't any troubles, now. This clears them all away."

"It clears some of them away—if I take it."

"Thunder! man, you're not thinking, seriously, of refusing?"

"It will put me on 'easy street,'" Croyden observed.

"So, why hesitate an instant?"

"And it comes with remarkable timeliness—so timely, indeed, as to be suspicious."

"Suspicious? Why suspicious? It's a bona fide offer."

"It's a bona fide offer—there's no trouble on that score."

"Then, what is the trouble?"

"This," said Croyden: "I'm broke—finally. The Parmenter treasure is moonshine, so far as I'm concerned. I'm down on my uppers, so to speak—my only assets are some worthless bonds. Behold! along comes an offer for them at par—two hundred thousand dollars for nothing! I fancy, old man, there is a friend back of this offer—the only friend I have in the world—and I did not think that even he was kind and self-sacrificing enough to do it.—I'm grateful, Colin, grateful from the heart, believe me, but I can't take your money."

"My money!" exclaimed Macloud—"you do me too much credit, Croyden. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I never thought of the bonds, or of helping you out, in your trouble. It's a way we have in Northumberland. We may feel for misfortune, but it rarely gets as far as our pockets. Don't imagine for a moment that I'm the purchaser. I'm not, though I wish, now, that I was."

"Will you give me your word on that?" Croyden demanded.

"I most assuredly will," Macloud answered.

Croyden nodded. He was satisfied.

"There is no one else!" he mused, "no one else!" He looked at the letter again.... "And, yet, it is very suspicious, very suspicious.... I wonder, could I ascertain the name of the purchaser of the stocks and bonds, from the Trust Company who held them as collateral?"

"They won't know," said Macloud. "Blaxham & Company bought them at the public sale."

"I could try the transfer agent, or the registrar."

"They never tell anything, as you are aware," Macloud replied.

"I could refuse to sell unless Blaxham & Company disclosed their customer."

"Yes, you could—and, likely, lose the sale; they won't disclose. However, that's your business," Macloud observed; "though, it's a pity to tilt at windmills, for a foolish notion."

Croyden creased and uncreased the letter—thinking.

Macloud resumed the smoke rings—and waited. It had proved easier than he had anticipated. Croyden had not once thought of Elaine Cavendish—and his simple word had been sufficient to clear himself....

At length, Croyden put the letter back in its envelope and looked up.

"I'll sell the bonds," he said—"forward them at once with draft attached, if you will witness my signature to the transfer. But it's a queer proceeding, a queer proceeding: paying good money for bad!"

"That's his business—not yours," said Macloud, easily.

Croyden went to the escritoire and took the bonds from one of the drawers.

"You can judge, from the place I keep them, how much I thought them worth!" he laughed.

When they were duly transferred and witnessed, Croyden attached a draft drawn on an ordinary sheet of paper, dated Northumberland, and payable to his account at the Tuscarora Trust Company. He placed them in an envelope, sealed it and, enclosing it in a second envelope, passed it over to Macloud.

"I don't care to inform them as to my whereabouts," he remarked, "so, if you don't mind, I'll trouble you to address this to some one in New York or Philadelphia, with a request that he mail the enclosed envelope for you."

Macloud, when he had done as requested, laid aside the pen and looked inquiringly at Croyden.

"Which, being interpreted," he said, "might mean that you don't intend to return to Northumberland."

"The interpretation does not go quite so far; it means, simply, that I have not decided."

"Don't you want to come back?" Macloud asked.

"It's a question of resolution, not of inclination," Croyden answered. "I don't know whether I've sufficient resolution to go, and sufficient resolution to stay, if I do go. It may be easier not to go, at all—to live here, and wander, elsewhere, when the spirit moves."

And Macloud understood. "I've been thinking over the proposition you recently advanced of the folly of a relatively poor man marrying a rich girl," he said, "and you're all wrong. It's a question of the respective pair, not a theory that can be generalized over. I admit, the man should not be a pauper, but, if he have enough money to support himself, and the girl love him and he loves the girl, the fact that she has gobs more money, won't send them on the rocks. It's up to the pair, I repeat."

"Meaning, that it would be up to Elaine Cavendish and me?" answered Croyden.

"If you please, yes!" said Macloud.

"I wish I could be so sure," Croyden reflected. "Sure of the girl, as well as sure of myself."

"What are you doubtful about—yourself?"

Croyden laughed, a trifle self-consciously.

"I fancy I could manage myself," he said.

"Elaine?"

"Yes, Elaine!"

"Try her!—she's worth the try."

"From a monetary standpoint?" smiling.

"Get the miserable money out of your mind a moment, will you?—you're hipped on it!"

"All right, old man, anything for peace! Tell me, did you see her, when you were home?"

"I did—I dined with her."

"Who else was there?"

"You—she talked Croyden at least seven-eighths of the time; I, the other eighth."

"Must have been an interesting conversation. Anything left of the victim, afterward?"

"I refuse to become facetious," Macloud responded. Then he threw his cigar into the grate and arose. "It matters not what was said, nor who said it! If you will permit me the advice, you will take your chance while you have it."

"Have I a—chance?" Croyden asked.

"You have—more than a chance, if you act, now——" He walked across to the window. He would let that sink in.—"How's the Symphony in Blue?" he asked.

"As charming as ever—and prepared for your coming."

"What?"

"As charming as ever, and prepared for your coming."

"Some of your work!" he commented. "Did you propose for me?"

"I left that finality for you—being the person most interested."

"Thanks! you're exceedingly considerate."

"I thought you would appreciate it."

"When did you arrange for me to go over?" asked Macloud.

"Any time—the sooner the quicker. She'll be glad to see you."

"She confided in you, I suppose?"

"Not directly; she let me infer it."

"In other words, you worked your imagination—overtime!" laughed Macloud. "It's a pity you couldn't work it a bit over the Parmenter jewels. You might locate them."

"I'm done with the Parmenter jewels!" said Croyden.

"But they're not done with you, my friend. So long as you live, they'll be present with you. You'll be hunting for them in your dreams."

"Meet me to-night in dream-land!" sang Croyden. "Well, they're not likely to disturb my slumbers—unless—there was a rather queer thing happened, last night, Colin."

"Here?"

"Yes!—I got in to Hampton, in the evening; about nine o'clock, I was returning to Clarendon when, at the gates, I was accosted by a tall, well-dressed stranger. Here is the substance of our talk.... What do you make of it?" he ended.

"It seems to me the fellow made it very plain," Macloud returned, "except on one possible point. He evidently believes we found the treasure."

"He is convinced of it."

"Then, he knows that you came direct from Annapolis to Hampton—I mean, you didn't visit a bank nor other place where you could have deposited the jewels. Ergo, the jewels are still in your possession, according to his theory, and he is going to make a try for them while they are within reach. Informing the Government is a bluff. He hoped, by that means, to induce you to keep the jewels on the premises—not to make evidence against yourself, which could be traced by the United States, by depositing them in any bank."

"Why shouldn't I have taken them to a dealer in precious stones?" said Croyden.

"Because that would make the best sort of evidence against you. You must remember, he thinks you have the jewels, and that you will try to conceal it, pending a Government investigation."

"You make him a very canny gentleman."

"No—I make him only a clever rogue, which, by your own account, he is."

"And the more clever he is, the more he will have his wits' work for naught. There's some compensation in everything—even in failure!"

"It would be a bit annoying," observed Macloud, "to be visited by burglars, who are obsessed with the idea that you have a fortune concealed on the premises, and are bent on obtaining it."

"Annoying?—not a bit!" smiled Croyden. "I should rather enjoy the sport of putting them to flight."

"Or of being bound, and gagged, and ill-treated."

"Bosh! you've transferred your robber-barons from Northumberland to the Eastern Shore."

"No, I haven't!" laughed Macloud. "The robber-barons were still on the job in Northumberland. These are banditti, disguised as burglars, about to hold you up for ransom."

"I wish I had your fine imagination," scoffed Croyden. "I could make a fortune writing fiction."

"Oh, you're not so bad yourself!" Macloud retorted. Then he smiled. "Apropos of fortunes!" and nodded toward the envelope on the table. "It's bully good to think you're coming back to us!"

At that moment Moses passed along the hall.

"Here, Moses," said Croyden, "take this letter down to the post office—I want it to catch the first mail."

"I fancy you haven't heard of the stranger since last evening?" Macloud asked.

Croyden shook his head.

"And of course you haven't told any one?"

"Yes, I have!" said Croyden.

"A woman?"

"A woman."

"How strange!" commented Macloud, mockingly. "I suppose you even told her the entire story—from the finding of the letter down to date."

"I did!—and showed her the letter besides. Why shouldn't I have done it?"

"No reason in the world, my dear fellow—except that in twenty-four hours the dear public will know it, and we shall be town curiosities."

"We don't have to remain," said Croyden, with affected seriousness—"there are trains out, you know, as well as in."

"I don't want to go away—I came here to visit you."

"We will go together."

"But we can't take the Symphony in Blue!"

"Oh! that's it!" Croyden laughed.

"Certainly, that's it! You don't think I came down here to see only you, after having just spent nearly four weeks with you, in that fool quest on Greenberry Point?" He turned, suddenly, and faced Croyden. "Who was the woman you told?"

"Miss Carrington!" Croyden laughed. "Think she will retail it to the dear public?"

"Oh, go to thunder!"

"Because, if you do, you might mention it to her—there, she goes, now!"

"Where?" said Macloud, whirling around toward the window.

Croyden made no reply. It was not necessary. On the opposite side of the street, Miss Carrington—in a tailored gown of blue broadcloth, close fitting and short in the skirt, with a velvet toque to match—was swinging briskly back from town.

Macloud watched her a moment in silence.

"The old man is done for, at last!" Croyden thought.

"Isn't she a corker!" Macloud broke out. "Look at the poise of the head, and ease of carriage, and the way she puts down her feet!—that's the way to tell a woman. God! Croyden, she's thoroughbred!"

"You better go over," said his friend. "It's about the tea hour, she'll brew you a cup."

"And I'll drink it—as much as she will give me. I despise the stuff, but I'll drink it!"

"She'll put rum in it, if you prefer!" laughed Croyden; "or make you a high ball, or you can have it straight—just as you want."

"Come along!" exclaimed Macloud. "We're wasting time."

"I'll be over, presently," Croyden replied. "I don't want any tea, you know."

"Good!" Macloud answered, from the hallway. "Come along, as soon as you wish—but don't come too soon."



XV

AN OLD RUSE

Macloud found Miss Carrington plucking a few belated roses, which, somehow, had escaped the frost.

She looked up at his approach, and smiled—the bewilderingly bewitching smile which lighted her whole countenance and seemed to say so much.

"Back again! to Clarendon and its master?" was her greeting.

"And, if I may, to you," he replied.

"Very good! After them, you belong to me," she laughed.

"Why after?" he inquired.

"I don't know—it was the order of speech, and the order of acquaintance," with a naive look.

"But not the order of—regard."

"Content!" she exclaimed. "You did it very well for a—novice."

He tapped the gray hair upon his temples.

"A novice?" he inflected.

"You decline to accept it?—Very well, sir, very well!"

"I can't accept, and be honest," he replied.

"And you must be honest! Oh, brave man! Oh, noble gentleman! Perchance, you will accept a reward: a cup of tea—or a high ball!"

"Perchance, I will—the high ball!"

"I thought so! come along."

"You were not going out?"

She looked at him, with a sly smile.

"You know that I have just returned," she said. "I saw you in the window at Clarendon."

"I was there," he admitted.

"And you came over at once—prepared to be surprised that I was here."

"And found you waiting for me—just as I expected."

"Oh!" she cried. "You're horrid! perfectly horrid!"

"Peccavi! Peccavi!" he said humbly.

"Te absolvo!" she replied, solemnly. "Now, let us make a fresh start—by going for a walk. You can postpone the high ball until we return."

"I can postpone the high ball for ever," he averred.

"Meaning, you could walk forever, or you're not thirsty?" she laughed.

"Meaning, I could walk forever with you—on, and on, and on——"

"Until you walked into the Bay—I understand. I'll take the will for the deed—the water's rather chilly at this season of the year."

Macloud held up his hand, in mock despair.

"Let us make a third start—drop the attempt to be clever and talk sense. I think I can do it, if I try."

"Willingly!" she responded.

As they came out on the side walk, Croyden was going down the street. He crossed over and met them.

"I've not forgot your admonition, so don't be uneasy," he observed to Macloud. "I'm going to town now, I'll be back in about half an hour—is that too soon?"

"It's quite soon enough!" was the answer.

Miss Carrington looked at Macloud, quizzically, but made no comment.

"Shall we take the regulation walk?" she asked.

"The what?"

"The regulation walk—to the Cemetery and back."

"I'm glad we're coming back?" he laughed.

"It's the favorite walk, here," she explained—"the most picturesque and the smoothest."

"To say nothing of accustoming the people to their future home," Macloud remarked.

"You're not used to the ways of small towns—the Cemetery is a resort, a place to spend a while, a place to visit."

"Does it make death any easier to hob-nob with it?" he asked.

"I shouldn't think so," she replied. "However, I can see how it would induce morbidity, though there are those who are happiest only when they're miserable."

"Such people ought to live in a morgue," agreed Macloud. "However we're safe enough—we can go to the Cemetery with impunity."

"There are some rather queer old headstones, out there," she said. "Remorse and the inevitable pay-up for earthly transgression seem to be the leading subjects. There is one in the Duval lot—the Duvals from whom Mr. Croyden got Clarendon, you know—and I never have been able to understand just what it means. It is erected to the memory of one Robert Parmenter, and has cut in the slab the legend: 'He feared nor man, nor god, nor devil,' and below it, a man on his knees making supplication to one standing over him. If he feared nor man, nor god, nor devil, why should he be imploring mercy from any one?"

"Do you know who Parmenter was?" said Macloud.

"No—but I presume a connection of the family, from having been buried with them."

"You read his letter only last evening—his letter to Marmaduke Duval."

"His letter to Marmaduke Duval!" she repeated. "I didn't read any——"

"Robert Parmenter is the pirate who buried the treasure on Greenberry Point," he interrupted.

Then, suddenly, a light broke in on her.

"I see!—I didn't look at the name signed to the letter. And the cutting on the tombstone——?"

"Is a victim begging mercy from him," said Macloud. "I like that Marmaduke Duval—there's something fine in a man, in those times, bringing the old buccaneer over from Annapolis and burying him beside the place where he, himself, some day would rest.—That is friendship!"

"And that is like the Duvals!" said she. "It was a sad day in Hampton when the Colonel died."

"He left a good deputy," Macloud replied. "Croyden is well-born and well-bred (the former does not always comprehend the latter, these days), and of Southern blood on his mother's side."

"Which hasn't hurt him with us!" she smiled. "We are a bit clannish, still."

"Delighted to hear you confess it! I've got a little of it myself."

"Southern blood?"

He nodded. "Mine doesn't go so far South, however, as Croyden's—only, to Virginia."

"I knew it! I knew there was some reason for my liking you!" she laughed.

"Can I find any other reason?"

"Than your Southern ancestors?—isn't that enough?"

"Not if there be a means to increase it."

"Southern blood is never satisfied with some things—it always wants more!"

"Is the disposition to want more, in Southerners, confined to the male sex?" he laughed.

"In some things—yes, unquestionably yes!" she retorted. Then changed the subject. "Has Mr. Croyden told you of his experience, last evening?"

"With the stranger, yes?"

"Do you think he is in danger?"

"What possible danger could there be—the treasure isn't at Clarendon."

"But they think it is—and desperate men sometimes take desperate means, when they feel sure that money is hidden on the premises."

"In a town the size of Hampton, every stranger is known."

"How will that advantage, in the prevention of the crime?" she asked.

"By making it difficult."

"They don't need stay in the town—they can come in an automobile."

"They could also drive, or walk, or come by boat," he added.

"They are not so likely to try it if there are two in the house. Do you intend to remain at Clarendon some time?"

"It depends—on how you treat me."

"I engage to be nice for—two weeks!" she smiled.

"Done!—I'm booked for two weeks, at least."

"And when the two weeks have expired we shall consider whether to extend the period."

"To—life?" smiling down at her.

She flung him a look that was delightfully alluring.

"Do you wish me to—consider that?" she asked, softly.

"If you will," he said, bending down.

She laughed, gayly.

"We are coming on!" she exclaimed. "This pace is getting rather brisk—did you notice it, Mr. Macloud?"

"You're in a fast class, Miss Carrington."

She glanced up quickly.

"Now don't misunderstand me——"

"You were speaking in the language of the race track, I presume."

"I was—you understand?"

"A Southern girl usually loves—horses," with a tantalizing smile.

"It is well for you this is a public street," he said.

"Why?" she asked, with assumed innocence.

"But then if it hadn't been, you would not have ventured to tempt me," he added. "I'm grateful for the temptation, at any rate."

"His first temptation!" she mocked.

"No, not likely—but his first that he has resisted."

"And why did you resist? The fact that we are on a public street would not restrain you. There was absolutely no one within sight—and you knew it."

"How do you know it?"

"Because I looked."

"You were afraid?"

"Not at all!—only careful."

"This is rather faster than the former going!" he laughed.

"We would better slow down a bit!" she laughed back. "Any way, here is the Cemetery, and we dare not go faster than a walk in it. Yonder, just within the gates, is the Duval burial place. Come, I'll show you Parmenter's grave?"

They crossed to it—marked by a blue slate slab, which covered it entirely. The inscription, cut in script, was faint in places and blurred by moss, in others.

Macloud stooped and, with his knife, scratched out the latter.

"He died two days after the letter was written: May 12, 1738," said he. "His age is not given. Duval did not know it, I reckon."