"See, here is the picture—it stands out very plainly," said Miss Carrington, indicating with the point of her shoe.

"I'm not given to moralizing, particularly over a grave," observed Macloud, "but it's queer to think that the old pirate, who had so much blood and death on his hands, who buried the treasure, and who wrote the letter, lies at our feet; and we—or rather Croyden is the heir of that treasure, and that we searched and dug all over Greenberry Point, committed violence, were threatened with violence, did things surreptitiously, are threatened, anew, with blackmail and violence——"

"Pirate's gold breeds pirate's ways," she quoted.

"It does seem one cannot get away from its pollution. It was gathered in crime and crime clings to it, still. However, I fancy Croyden would willingly chance the danger, if he could unearth the casket."

"And is there no hope of finding it?" she asked.

"Absolutely none—there's half a million over on Greenberry Point, or in the water close by, and none will ever see it—except by accident."

"What sort of accident?"

"I don't know!" he laughed. "My own idea—and Croyden's (as he has, doubtless, explained to you) is that the place, where Parmenter buried the jewels, is now under water, possibly close to the shore. We dragged every inch of the bottom, which has been washed away to a depth more than sufficient to uncover the iron box, but found nothing. A great storm, such as they say sometimes breaks over the Chesapeake, may wash it on the beach—that, I think, is the only way it will ever be found.... It makes everything seem very real to have stood by Parmenter's grave!" he said, thoughtful, as they turned back toward town.

On nearing the Carrington house, they saw Croyden approaching. They met him at the gates.

"I've been communing with Parmenter," said Macloud.

"I didn't know there was a spiritualistic medium in Hampton! What does the old man look like?" smiled Croyden.

"I didn't see him."

"Well, did he help you to locate his jewel box?"

"He wasn't especially communicative—he was in his grave."

"That isn't surprising—he's been dead something over one hundred and seventy years. Did he confide where he's buried?"

"He's buried with the Duvals in the Cemetery, here."

"He is!" Croyden exclaimed. "Humph! one more circumstance to prove the letter speaks the truth. Everything but the thing itself. We find his will, probated with Marmaduke Duval as executor, we even discover a notice of his death in the Gazette, and now, finally, you find his body—or the place of its interment! But, hang it all! what is really worth while, we can't find."

"Come into the house—I'll give you something to soothe your feelings temporarily," said Miss Carrington.

They encountered Miss Erskine just coming from the library on her way to the door.

"My dear Davila, so glad to see you!" she exclaimed. "And Mr. Croyden, we thought you had deserted us, and just when we're trying to make you feel at home. So glad to welcome you back!" holding out her fat hand.

"I'm delighted to be back," said Croyden. "The Carringtons seemed genuinely glad to see me—and, now, if I may include you, I'm quite content to return," and he shook her hand, as though he meant it.

"Of course you may believe it," with an inane giggle. "I'm going to bring my art class over to Clarendon to revel in your treasures, some day, soon. You'll be at home to them, won't you, dear Mr. Croyden?"

"Surely! I shall take pleasure in being at home," Croyden replied, soberly.

Then Macloud, who was talking with the Captain, was called over and presented, that being, Miss Carrington thought, the quickest method of getting rid of her. The evident intention to remain until he was presented, being made entirely obvious by Miss Erskine, who, after she had bubbled a bit more, departed.

"What is her name, I didn't catch it?—and" (observing smiles on Croyden and Miss Carrington's faces) "what is she?"

"I think father can explain, in more appropriate language!" Miss Carrington laughed.

"She's the most intolerable nuisance and greatest fool in Hampton!" Captain Carrington exploded.

"A red flag to a bull isn't in it with Miss Erskine and father," Miss Carrington observed.

"But I hide it pretty well—while she's here," he protested.

"If she's not here too long—and you can get away, in time."

When the two men left the Carrington place, darkness had fallen. As they approached Clarendon, the welcoming brightness of a well-lighted house sprang out to greet them. It was Croyden's one extravagance—to have plenty of illumination. He had always been accustomed to it, and the gloom, at night, of the village residence, bright only in library or living room—with, maybe, a timid taper in the hall—set his nerves on edge. He would have none of it. And Moses, with considerable wonder at, to his mind, the waste of gas, and much grumbling to himself and Josephine, obeyed.

They had finished dinner and were smoking their cigars in the library, when Croyden, suddenly bethinking himself of a matter which he had forgotten, arose and pulled the bell.

"Survent, seh!" said old Mose a moment later from the doorway.

"Moses, who is the best carpenter in town?" Croyden asked.

"Mistah Snyder, seh—he wuz heah dis arfternoon, yo knows, seh!"

"I didn't know it," said Croyden.

"Why yo sont 'im, seh."

"I sent him! I don't know the man."

"Dat's mons'us 'culiar, seh—he said yo sont 'im. He com'd 'torrectly arfter yo lef! Him an' a'nudder man, seh—I didn't know the nudder man, hows'ever."

"What did they want?" Croyden asked.

"Dey sed yo warn dem to look over all de place, seh, an' see what repairs wuz necessary, and fix dem. Dey wuz heah a'most two hours, I s'pose."

"This is most extraordinary!" Croyden exclaimed. "Do you mean they were in this house for two hours?"

"Yass, seh."

"What were they doing?"

"'Zaminin the furniture everywhere. I didn't stays wid em, seh—I knows Mistah Snyder well; he's bin heah off'n to wuk befo' yo cum, seh. But I seed dem gwine th'oo de drawers, an' poundin on the floohs, seh. Dey went down to de cellar, too, seh, an wuz dyar quite a while."

"Are you sure it was Snyder?" Croyden asked.

"Sut'n'y! seh, don't you t'inks I knows 'im? I knows 'im from de time he wuz so high."

Croyden nodded. "Go down and tell Snyder I want to see him, either to-night or in the morning."

The negro bowed, and departed.

Croyden got up and went to the escritoire: the drawers were in confusion. He glanced at the book-cases: the books were disarranged. He turned and looked, questioningly, at Macloud—and a smile slowly overspread his face.

"Well, the tall gentleman has visited us!" he said.

"I wondered how long you would be coming to it!" Macloud remarked. "It's the old ruse, in a slightly modified form. Instead of a telephone or gas inspector, it was a workman whom the servant knew; a little more trouble in disguising himself, but vastly more satisfactory in results."

"They are clever rogues," said Croyden—"and the disguise must have been pretty accurate to deceive Moses."

"Disguise is their business," Macloud replied, laconically. "If they're not proficient in it, they go to prison—sure."

"And if they are proficient, they go—sometimes."

"Certainly!—sometimes."

"We'll make a tour of inspection—they couldn't find what they wanted, so we'll see what they took."

They went over the house. Every drawer was turned upside down, every closet awry, every place, where the jewels could be concealed, bore evidence of having been inspected—nothing, apparently, had been missed. They had gone through the house completely, even into the garret, where every board that was loose had evidently been taken up and replaced—some of them carelessly.

Not a thing was gone, so far as Croyden could judge—possibly, because there was no money in the house; probably, because they were looking for jewels, and scorned anything of moderate value.

"Really, this thing grows interesting—if it were not so ridiculous," said Croyden. "I'm willing to go to almost any trouble to convince them I haven't the treasure—just to be rid of them. I wonder what they will try next?"

"Abduction, maybe," Macloud suggested. "Some night a black cloth will be thrown over your head, you'll be tossed into a cab—I mean, an automobile—and borne off for ransom like Charlie Ross of fading memory."

"Moral—don't venture out after sunset!" laughed Croyden.

"And don't venture out at any time without a revolver handy and a good pair of legs," added Macloud.

"I can work the legs better than I can the revolver."

"Or, to make sure, you might have a guard of honor and a gatling gun."

"You're appointed to the position—provide yourself with the gun!"

"But, seriously!" said Macloud, "it would be well to take some precaution. They seem obsessed with the idea that you have the jewels, here—and they evidently intend to get a share, if it's possible."

"What precaution, for instance?" scoffed Croyden.

Macloud shrugged his shoulders, helplessly.

"I wish I knew," he said.



XVI

THE MARABOU MUFF

The next two weeks passed uneventfully. The thieves did not manifest themselves, and the Government authorities did nothing to suggest that they had been informed of the Parmenter treasure.

Macloud had developed an increasing fondness for Miss Carrington's society, which she, on her part, seemed to accept with placid equanimity. They rode, they drove, they walked, they sailed when the weather warranted—and the weather had recovered from its fit of the blues, and was lazy and warm and languid. In short, they did everything which is commonly supposed to denote a growing fondness for each other.

Croyden had been paid promptly for the Virginia Development Company bonds, and was once more on "comfortable street," as he expressed it. But he spoke no word of returning to Northumberland. On the contrary, he settled down to enjoy the life of the village, social and otherwise. He was nice to all the girls, but showed a marked preference for Miss Carrington; which, however, did not trouble his friend, in the least.

Macloud was quite willing to run the risk with Croyden. He was confident that the call of the old life, the memory of the girl that was, and that was still, would be enough to hold Geoffrey from more than firm friendship. He was not quite sure of himself, however—that he wanted to marry. And he was entirely sure she had not decided whether she wanted him—that was what gave him his lease of life; if she decided for him, he knew that he would decide for her—and quickly.

Then, one day, came a letter—forwarded by the Club, where he had left his address with instructions that it be divulged to no one. It was dated Northumberland, and read:

"My dear Colin—

"It is useless, between us, to dissemble, and I'm not going to try it. I want to know whether Geoffrey Croyden is coming back to Northumberland? You are with him, and should know. You can tell his inclination. You can ask him, if necessary. If he is not coming and there is no one else—won't you tell me where you are? (I don't ask you to reveal his address, you see.) I shall come down—if only for an hour, between trains—and give him his chance. It is radically improper, according to accepted notions—but notions don't bother me, when they stand (as I am sure they do, in this case), in the way of happiness.

"Sincerely,

"Elaine Cavendish."

At dinner, Macloud casually remarked:

"I ought to go out to Northumberland, this week, for a short time, won't you go along?"

Croyden shook his head.

"I'm not going back to Northumberland," he said.

"I don't mean to stay!" Macloud interposed. "I'll promise to come back with you in two days at the most."

"Yes, I suppose you will!" Croyden smiled. "You can easily find your way back. For me, it's easier to stay away from Northumberland, than to go away from it, again."

And Macloud, being wise, dropped the conversation, saying only:

"Well, I may not have to go."

A little later, as he sat in the drawing-room at Carringtons', he broached a matter which had been on his mind for some time—working around to it gradually, with Croyden the burden of their talk. When his opportunity came—as it was bound to do—he took it without hesitation.

"You are right," he replied. "Croyden had two reasons for leaving Northumberland: one of them has been eliminated; the other is stronger than ever."

She looked at him, shrewdly.

"And that other is a woman?" she said.

He nodded. "A woman who has plenty of money—more than she can ever spend, indeed."

"And in looks?"

"The only one who can approach yourself."

"Altogether, most desirable!" she laughed. "What was the trouble—wouldn't she have him?"

"He didn't ask her."

"Useless?"

"Anything but useless."

"You mean she was willing?"

"I think so."

"And Croyden?"

"More than willing, I take it."

"Then, what was the difficulty?"

"Her money—she has so much!—So much, that, in comparison, he is a mere pauper:—twenty millions against two hundred thousand."

"If she be willing, I can't see why he is shy?"

"He says it is all right for a poor girl to marry a rich man, but not for a poor man to marry a rich girl. His idea is, that the husband should be able to maintain his wife according to her condition. To marry else, he says, is giving hostages to fortune, and is derogatory to that mutual respect which should exist between them."

"We all give hostages to fortune when we marry!" Miss Carrington exclaimed.

"Not all!" replied Macloud, meaningly.

She flushed slightly.

"What is it you want me to do?" she asked hastily—"or can I do anything?"

"You can," he answered. "You can ask Miss Cavendish to visit you for a few days."

"Can you, by any possibility, mean Elaine Cavendish?"

"That's exactly who I do mean—do you know her?"

"After a fashion—we went to Dobbs Ferry together."

"Bully!" exclaimed Macloud. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never mentioned her before."

"True!" he laughed. "This is fortunate, very fortunate! Will you ask her down?"

"She will think it a trifle peculiar."

"On the contrary, she'll think it more than kind—a positive favor. You see, she knows I'm with Croyden, but she doesn't know where; so she wrote to me at my Club and they forwarded it. Croyden left Northumberland without a word—and no one is aware of his residence but me. She asks that I tell her where I am. Then she intends to come down and give Croyden a last chance. I want to help her—and your invitation will be right to the point—she'll jump at it."

"You're a good friend!" she reflected.

"Will you do it?" he asked.

She thought a moment before she answered.

"I'll do it!" she said at length. "Come, we'll work out the letter together."

"Would I not be permitted to kiss you as Miss Cavendish's deputy?" he exclaimed.

"Miss Cavendish can be her own deputy," she answered.—"Moreover, it would be premature."

The second morning after, when Elaine Cavendish's maid brought her breakfast, Miss Carrington's letter was on the tray among tradesmen's circulars, invitations, and friendly correspondence.

She did not recognize the handwriting, and the postmark was unfamiliar, wherefore, coupled with the fact that it was addressed in a particularly stylish hand, she opened it first. It was very brief, very succinct, very informing, and very satisfactory.

"Ashburton,

"Hampton, Md.

"My dear Elaine:—

"Mr. Macloud tells me you are contemplating coming down to the Eastern Shore to look for a country-place. Let me advise Hampton—there are some delightful old residences in this vicinity which positively are crying for a purchaser. Geoffrey Croyden, whom you know, I believe, is resident here, and is thinking of making it his home permanently. If you can be persuaded to come, you are to stay with me—the hotels are simply impossible, and I shall be more than delighted to have you. We can talk over old times at Dobbs, and have a nice little visit together. Don't trouble to write—just wire the time of your arrival—and come before the good weather departs. Don't disappoint me.

"With lots of love,

"Davila Carrington."

Elaine Cavendish read the letter slowly—and smiled.

"Clever! very clever!" she mused. "Colin is rather a diplomat—he managed it with exceeding adroitness—and the letter is admirably worded. It tells me everything I wanted to know. I'd forgotten about Davila Carrington, and I reckon she had forgotten me, till he somehow found it out and jogged her memory. Surely! I shall accept."

To-morrow would be Thursday. She went to her desk and wrote this wire, in answer:

"Miss Davila Carrington,

"Hampton, Md.

"I shall be with you Friday, on morning train. You're very, very kind.

"Elaine Cavendish."

Miss Carrington showed the wire to Macloud.

"Now, I've done all that I can; the rest is in your hands," she said. "I'll cooperate, but you are the general."

"Until Elaine comes—she will manage it then," Macloud answered.

And on Friday morning, a little before noon, Miss Cavendish arrived. Miss Carrington, alone, met her at the station.

"You're just the same Davila I'd forgotten for years," said she, laughingly, as they walked across the platform to the waiting carriage.

"And you're the same I had forgotten," Davila replied.

"But it's delightful to be remembered!" said Elaine, meaningly.

"And it's just as delightful to be able to remember," was the reply.

Just after they left the business section, on the drive out, Miss Carrington saw Croyden and Macloud coming down the street. Evidently Macloud had not been able to detain him at home until she got her charge safely into Ashburton. She glanced at Miss Cavendish—she had seen them, also, and, settling back into the corner of the phaeton, she hid her face with her Marabou muff.

"Don't stop!" she said.

Miss Carrington smiled her understanding.

"I won't!" she answered. "Good morning!" as both men raised their hats—and drove straight on.

"Who was the girl with Miss Carrington?" Croyden asked. "I didn't see her face."

"I couldn't see it!" said Macloud. "I noticed a bag in the trap, however, so I reckon she's a guest."

"Unfortunate for you!" Croyden sympathized. "Your opportunity, for the solitariness of two, will be limited."

"I'll look to you for help!" Macloud answered.

"Humph! You may look in vain. It depends on what she is—I'm not sacrificing myself on the altar of general unattractiveness." Then he laughed. "Rest easy, I'll fuss her to the limit. You shan't have her to plead for an excuse."

"An excuse for what?"

"For not winning the Symphony in Blue."

"You're overly solicitous. I'm not worried about the guest," Macloud remarked.

"There was a certain style about as much of her as I could see which promised very well," Croyden remarked. "I think this would be a good day to drop in for tea."

"And if you find her something over sixty, you'll gallantly shove her off on me, and preempt Miss Carrington. Oh! you're very kind."

"She's not over sixty—and you know it. You're by no means as blind as you would have me believe. In fact, now that I think of it, there was something about her that seems familiar."

"You're an adept in many things," laughed Macloud, "but, I reckon, you're not up to recognizing a brown coat and a brown hat. I think I've seen the combination once or twice before on a woman."

"Well, what about tea-time—shall we go over?" demanded Croyden.

"I haven't the slightest objection——"

"Really!"

"——to your going along with me—I'm expected!"

"Oh! you're expected, are you! pretty soon it will be: 'Come over and see us, won't you?'"

"I trust so," said Macloud, placidly.—"But, as you're never coming back to Northumberland, it's a bit impossible."

"Oh! damn Northumberland!" said Croyden.

"I've a faint recollection of having heard that remark before."

"I dare say, it's popular there on smoky days."

"Which is the same as saying it's popular there any time."

"No, I don't mean that; Northumberland isn't half so bad as it's painted. We may make fun of it—but we like it, just the same."

"Yes, I suppose we do," said Macloud. "Though we get mighty sick of seeing every scatterbrain who sets fire to the Great White Way branded by the newspapers as a Northumberland millionaire. We've got our share of fools, but we haven't a monopoly of them, by any means."

"We had a marvelously large crop, however, running loose at one time, recently!" laughed Croyden.

"True!—and there's the reason for it, as well as the fallacy. Because half a hundred light-weights were made millionaires over night, and, top heavy, straightway went the devil's pace, doesn't imply that the entire town is mad."

"Not at all!" said Croyden. "It's no worse than any other big town—and the fellows with unsavory reputations aren't representative. They just came all in a bunch. The misfortune is, that the whole country saw the fireworks, and it hasn't forgot the lurid display."

"And isn't likely to very soon," Macloud responded, "with the whole Municipal Government rotten to the core, councilmen falling over one another in their eagerness to plead nolle contendere and escape the penitentiary, bankers in jail for bribery, or fighting extradition; and graft! graft! graft! permeating every department of the civic life—and published by the newspapers' broadcast, through the land, for all the world to read, while the people, as a body, sit supine, and meekly suffer the robbers to remain. The trouble with the Northumberlander is, that so long as he is not the immediate victim of a hold up, he is quiescent. Let him be touched direct—by burglary, by theft, by embezzlement—and the yell he lets out wakes the entire bailiwick."

"It's the same everywhere," said Croyden.

"No, it's not,—other communities have waked up—Northumberland hasn't. There is too much of the moneyed interest to be looked after; and the councilmen know it, and are out for the stuff, as brazen as the street-walker, and vastly more insistent.—I'm going in here, for some cigarettes—when I come out, we'll change the talk to something less irritating. I like Northumberland, but I despise about ninety-nine one hundredths of its inhabitants."

When he returned, Croyden was gazing after an automobile which was disappearing in a cloud of dust.

"Ever see a motor before?" he asked.

Croyden did not hear him. "The fellow driving, unless I am mightily fooled, is the same who stopped me on the street, in front of Clarendon," he said.

"That's interesting—any one with him?"

"A woman."

"A woman! You're safe!" said Macloud. "He isn't travelling around with a petticoat—at least, if he's thinking of tackling you."

"It isn't likely, I admit—but suppose he is?"

The car was rapidly vanishing in the distance. Macloud nodded toward it.

"He is leaving here as fast as the wheels will turn."

"I've got a very accurate memory for faces," said Croyden. "I couldn't well be mistaken."

"Wait and see. If it was he, and he has some new scheme, it will be declared in due time. Nothing yet from the Government?"

"No!"

"It's a bluff! So long as they think you have the jewels, they will try for them. There's Captain Carrington standing at his office door. Suppose we go over."

"Sitting up to grandfather-in-law!" laughed Croyden. "Distinctly proper, sir, distinctly proper! Go and chat with him; I'll stop for you, presently."

* * * * *

Meanwhile, the two women had continued on to Ashburton.

"Did he recognize me?" Elaine asked, dropping her muff from before her face, when they were past the two men.

"I think not," answered Davila.

"Did he give any indication of it?"

"None, whatever."

"It would make a difference in my—attitude toward him when we met!" she smiled.

"Naturally! a very great difference." Elaine was nervous, she saw. The fact that Croyden did not come out and stop them, that he let them go on, was sufficient proof that he had not recognized her.

"You see, I am assuming that you know why I wanted to come to Hampton," Elaine said, when, her greeting made to Mrs. Carrington, she had carried Davila along to her room.

"Yes, dear," Davila responded.

"And you made it very easy for me to come."

"I did as I thought you would want—and as I know you would do with me were I in a similar position."

"I'm sadly afraid I should not have thought of you, were you——"

"Oh, yes, you would! If you had been in a small town, and Mr. Croyden had told you of my difficulty——"

"As Mr. Macloud told you of mine—I see, dear."

"Not exactly that," said Davila, blushing. "Mr. Macloud has been very attentive and very nice and all that, you know, but you mustn't forget there are not many girls here, and I'm convenient, and—I don't take him seriously."

"How does he take you?" Elaine asked.

"I don't know—sometimes I think he does, and sometimes I think he doesn't!" she laughed. "He is an accomplished flirt and difficult to gauge."

"Well, let me tell you one fact, for your information: there isn't a more indifferent man in Northumberland. He goes everywhere, is in great demand, is enormously popular, yet, I've never known him to have even an affair. He is armor-plated—but he is a dear, a perfect dear, Davila!"

"I know it!" she said, with heightening color—and Elaine said no more, then.

"Shall you prefer to meet Mr. Croyden alone, for the first time, or in company?" Davila asked.

"I confess I don't know, but I think, however, it would be better to have a few words with Colin, first—if it can be arranged."

Miss Carrington nodded. "Mr. Macloud is to come in a moment before luncheon, if he can find an excuse that will not include Mr. Croyden."

"Is an excuse difficult to find—or is any, even, needed?"

Elaine smiled.

"He doesn't usually come before four—that's the tea hour in Hampton."

"Tea!" exclaimed Elaine. "If you've got him into the tea habit, you can do what you want with him—he will eat out of your hand."

"I never tried him with tea," said Davila. "He chose a high ball the first time—so it's been a high ball ever since."

"With gratifying regularity?"

"I admit it!" laughed Davila.

Elaine sat down on the couch and put her arm about Davila.

"These awful men!" she said. "But we shall be good friends, better friends than ever, Davila, when you come to Northumberland to live."

"That is just the question, Elaine," was the quick answer; "whether I shall be given the opportunity, and whether I shall take it, if I am. I haven't let it go so far, because I don't feel sure of him. Until I do, I intend to keep tight hold on myself."

"Do it—if you can. You'll find it much the happier way."

Just before luncheon, Macloud arrived.

"Bully for you!" was his greeting to Miss Cavendish. "I'm glad to see you here."

"Yes, I'm here, thanks to you," said Elaine—and Davila not being present, she kissed him.

"I'm more than repaid!" he said.

"But you wish it were—another?"

"No—but I wish the other—would, too!" he laughed.

"Give her the chance, Colin."

"You think I may dare?" eagerly.

"You're not wont to be so timid," she returned.

"I wish I had some of your bravery," he said.

"Is it bravery?" she demanded. "Isn't it impetuous womanliness."

"Not a bit! There isn't a doubt as to his feelings."

"But there is a doubt as to his letting them control—I see."

"Yes! And you alone can help him solve it—if any one can. And I have great hopes, Elaine, great hopes!" regarding her with approving eyes. "How any chap could resist you is inconceivable—I could not."

"You could not at one time, you mean."

"You gave me no encouragement,—so I must, perforce, fare elsewhere."

"And now?" she asked.

"How many love affairs have you come down here to settle?" he laughed. "By the way, Croyden is impatient to come over this afternoon. The guest in the trap with Miss Carrington has aroused his curiosity. He could see only a long brown coat and a brown hat, but the muff before your face, and his imagination, did the rest."

"Does he suspect?" she inquired, anxiously.

"That it's you? No! no! It's simply the country town beginning to tell on him. He is curious about new guests, and Miss Carrington hadn't mentioned your coming! He suggested, in a vague sort of way, that there was something familiar about you, but he didn't attempt to particularize. It was only a momentary idea."

She looked her relief.

"Shall you meet him alone?"

"I think not—we shall all be present."

"And how shall you meet him?"

"It depends on how he meets me."

"I reckon you don't know much about it—haven't any plans?"

"No, I haven't. Everything depends on the moment. He will know why I'm here, and whether he is glad or sorry or displeased at my coming, I shall know instantly. I shall then have my cue. It's absurd, this notion of his, and why let it rule him and me! I've always got what I wanted, and I'm going to get Geoffrey. A Queen of a Nation must propose to a suitor, so why not a Queen of Money to a man less rich than she—especially when she is convinced that that alone keeps them apart. I shall give him a chance to propose to me first; several chances, indeed!" she laughed. "Then, if he doesn't respond—I shall do it myself."



XVII

A HANDKERCHIEF AND A GLOVE

Miss Cavendish was standing behind the curtains in the window of her room, when Croyden and Macloud came up the walk, at four o'clock.

She was waiting!—not another touch to be given to her attire. Her gown, of shimmering blue silk, clung to her figure with every movement, and fell to the floor in suggestively revealing folds. Her dark hair was arranged in simple fashion—the simplicity of exquisite taste—making the fair face below it, seem fairer even than it was. She was going to win this man.

She heard them enter the lower hall, and pass into the drawing-room. She glided out to the stairway, and stood, peering down over the balustrade. She heard Miss Carrington's greeting and theirs—heard Macloud's chuckle, and Croyden's quiet laugh. Then she heard Macloud say:

"Mr. Croyden is anxious to meet your guest—at least, we took her to be a guest you were driving with this morning."

"My guest is equally anxious to meet Mr. Croyden," Miss Carrington replied.

"Why does she tarry, then?" laughed Croyden.

"Did you ever know a woman to be ready?"

"You were."

"I am the hostess!" she explained.

"Mr. Croyden imagined there was something familiar about her," Macloud remarked.

"Do you mean you recognized her?" Miss Carrington asked.

(Elaine strained her ears to catch his answer.)

"She didn't let me have the chance to recognize her," said he—"she wouldn't let me see her face."

(Elaine gave a little sigh of relief.)

"Wouldn't?" Miss Carrington interrogated.

"At least, she didn't."

"She couldn't have covered it completely—she saw you."

"Don't raise his hopes too high!" Macloud interjected.

"She can't—I'm on the pinnacle of expectation, now."

"Humpty-Dumpty risks a great fall!" Macloud warned.

"Not at all!" said Croyden. "If the guest doesn't please me, I'm going to talk to Miss Carrington."

"You're growing blase," she warned.

"Is that an evidence of it?" he asked. "If it is, I know one who must be too blase even to move," with a meaning glance at Macloud.

A light foot-fall on the stairs, the soft swish of skirts in the hallway, Croyden turned, expectantly—and Miss Cavendish entered the room.

There was an instant's silence. Croyden's from astonishment; the others' with watching him.

Elaine's eyes were intent on Croyden's face—and what she saw there gave her great content: he might not be persuaded, but he loved her, and he would not misunderstand. Her face brightened with a fascinating smile.

"You are surprised to see me, messieurs?" she asked, curtsying low.

Croyden's eyes turned quickly to his friend, and back again.

"I'm not so sure as to Monsieur Macloud," he said.

"But for yourself?"

"Surprised is quite too light a word—stunned would but meekly express it."

"Did neither of you ever hear me mention Miss Carrington?—We were friends, almost chums, at Dobbs Ferry."

"If I did, it has escaped me?" Croyden smiled.

"Well, you're likely not to forget it again."

"Did you know that I—that we were here?"

"Certainly! I knew that you and Colin were both here," Elaine replied, imperturbably. "Do you think yourself so unimportant as not to be mentioned by Miss Carrington?"

"What will you have to drink, Mr. Croyden?" Davila inquired.

"A sour ball, by all means."

"Is that a reflection on my guest?" she asked—while Elaine and Macloud laughed.

"A reflection on your guest?" he inflected, puzzled.

"You said you would take a sour ball."

Croyden held up his hands.

"I'm fussed!" he confessed. "I have nothing to plead. A man who mixes a high ball with a sour ball is either rattled or drunk, I am not the latter, therefore——"

"You mean that my coming has rattled you?" Elaine inquired.

"Yes—I'm rattled for very joy."

She put her hands before her face.

"Spare my blushes, Geoffrey!"

"You could spare a few—and not miss them!" he laughed.

"Davila, am I?" she demanded.

"Are you what?"

"Blushing?"

"Not the slightest, dear."

"Here's your sour ball!" said Macloud, handing him the glass.

"Sweetened by your touch, I suppose!"

"No! By the ladies' presence—God save them!"

"Colin," said Croyden, as, an hour later, they walked back to Clarendon, "you should have told me."

"Should have told you what?" Macloud asked.

"Don't affect ignorance, old man—you knew Elaine was coming."

"I did—yesterday."

"And that it was she in the trap."

"The muff hid her face from me, too."

"But you knew."

"I could only guess."

"Do you think it was wise to let her come?" Croyden demanded.

"I had nothing to do with her decision. Miss Carrington asked her, she accepted."

"Didn't you give her my address?"

"I most assuredly did not."

Croyden looked at him, doubtfully.

"I'm telling you the truth," said Macloud. "She tried to get your address, when I was last in Northumberland, and I refused."

"And then, she stumbles on it through Davila Carrington! The world is small. I reckon, if I went off into some deserted spot in Africa, it wouldn't be a month until some fellow I knew, or who knows a mutual friend, would come nosing around, and blow on me."

"Are you sorry she came?" Macloud asked.

"No! I'm not sorry she came—at least, not now, since she's here.—I'll be sorry enough when she goes, however."

"And you will let her go?"

Croyden nodded. "I must—it's the only proper thing to do."

"Proper for whom?"

"For both!"

"Would it not be better that she should decide what is proper for her?"

"Proper for me, then."

"Based on your peculiar notion of relative wealth between husband and wife—without regard to what she may think on the subject. In other words, have you any right to decline the risk, if she is willing to undertake it?"

"The risk is mine, not hers. She has the money. Her income, for three months, about equals my entire fortune."

"Can't you forget her fortune?"

"And live at the rate of pretty near two hundred thousand dollars a year?" Croyden laughed. "Could you?"

"I think I could, if I loved the girl."

"And suffer in your self-respect forever after?"

"There is where we differ. You're inclined to be hyper-critical. If you play your part, you won't lose your self-respect."

"It is a trifle difficult to do—to play my part, when all the world is saying, 'he married her for her money,' and shows me scant regard in consequence."

"Why the devil need you care what the world says!"

"I don't!"

"What?" Macloud exclaimed.

"I don't—the world may go hang. But the question is, how long can the man retain the woman's esteem, with such a handicap."

"Ah! that is easy! so long as he retains her love."

"Rather an uncertain quantity."

"It depends entirely on yourself.—If you start with it, you can hold it, if you take the trouble to try."

"You're a strong partisan!" Croyden laughed, as they entered Clarendon.

"And what are you?" Macloud returned.

"Just what I should like to know——"

"Well, I'll tell you what you are if you don't marry Elaine Cavendish," Macloud interrupted—"You're an unmitigated fool!"

"Assuming that Miss Cavendish would marry me."

"You're not likely to marry her, otherwise," retorted Macloud, as he went up the stairs. On the landing he halted and looked down at Croyden in the hall below. "And if you don't take your chance, the chance she has deliberately offered you by coming to Hampton, you are worse than——" and, with an expressive gesture, he resumed the ascent.

"How do you know she came down here just for that purpose?" Croyden called.

But all that came back in answer, as Macloud went down the hall and into his room, was the whistled air from a popular opera, then running in the Metropolis.

"Ev'ry little movement has a meaning all its own, Ev'ry thought and action——"

The door slammed—the music ceased.

"I won't believe it," Croyden reflected, "that Elaine would do anything so utterly unconventional as to seek me out deliberately.... I might have had a chance if—Oh, damn it all! why didn't we find the old pirate's box—it would have clarified the whole situation."

As he changed into his evening clothes, he went over the matter, carefully, and laid out the line of conduct that he intended to follow.

He would that Elaine had stayed away from Hampton. It was putting him to too severe a test—to be with her, to be subject to her alluring loveliness, and, yet, to be unmoved. It is hard to see the luscious fruit within one's reach and to refrain from even touching it. It grew harder the more he contemplated it....

"It's no use fighting against it, here!" he exclaimed, going into Macloud's room, and throwing himself on a chair. "I'm going to cut the whole thing."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Macloud inquired, pausing with his waistcoat half on.

"What the devil do you think I'm talking about?" Croyden demanded.

"Not being a success at solving riddles, I give it up."

"Oh, very well!" said Croyden. "Can you comprehend this:—I'm going to leave town?"

"Certainly—that's plain English. When are you going?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Why this suddenness?"

"To get away quickly—to escape."

"From Elaine?"

Croyden nodded.

Macloud smiled.

"He is coming to it, at last," he thought. What he said was:—"You're not going to be put to flight by a woman?"

"I am.—If I stay here I shall lose."

"You mean?"

"I shall propose."

"And be refused?"

"Be accepted."

"Most people would not call that losing," said Macloud.

"I have nothing to do with most people—only, with myself."

"It seems so!—even Elaine isn't to be considered."

"Haven't we gone over all that?"

"I don't know—but, if we have, go over it again."

"You assume she came down here solely on my account—because I'm here?"

"I assume nothing," Macloud answered, with a quiet chuckle. "I said you have a chance, and urged you not to let it slip. I should not have offered any suggestion—I admit that——"

"Oh, bosh!" Croyden interrupted. "Don't be so humble—you're rather proud of your interference."

"I am! Certainly, I am! I'm only sorry it is so unavailing."

"Who said it was unavailing!"

"You did!—or, at least, I inferred as much."

"I'm not responsible for your inferences."

"What are you responsible for?" asked Macloud.

"Nothing! Nothing!—not even for my resolution—I haven't any—I can't make any that holds. I'm worse than a weather-cock. Common sense bids me go. Desire clamors for me to stay—to hasten over to Ashburton—to put it to the test. When I get to Ashburton, common sense will be in control. When I come away, desire will tug me back, again—and so on, and so on—and so on."

"You're in a bad way!" laughed Macloud. "You need a cock-tail, instead of a weather-cock. Come on! if we are to dine at the Carringtons' at seven, we would better be moving. Having thrown the blue funk, usual to a man in your position, you'll now settle down to business."

"To be or not to be?"

"Let future events determine—take it as it comes," Macloud urged.

"Sage advice!" returned Croyden mockingly. "If I let future events decide for me, the end's already fixed."

The big clock on the landing was chiming seven when they rang the bell at Ashburton and the maid ushered them into the drawing-room. Mrs. Carrington was out of town, visiting in an adjoining county, and the Captain had not appeared. He came down stairs a moment later, and took Macloud and Croyden over to the library.

After about a quarter of an hour, he glanced at his watch a trifle impatiently.—Another fifteen minutes, and he glanced at it again.

"Caroline!" he called, as the maid passed the door. "Go up to Miss Davila's room and tell her it's half-after-seven."

Then he continued with the story he was relating.

Presently, the maid returned; the Captain looked at her, interrogatingly.

"Mis' Davila, she ain' deah, no seh," said the girl.

"She is probably in Miss Cavendish's room,—look, there, for her," the Captain directed.

"No, seh! I looks dyar—she ain' no place up stairs, and neither is Mis' Cav'dish, seh. Hit's all dark, in dey rooms, seh, all dark."

"Very singular," said the Captain. "Half-after-seven, and not here?"

"They were here, two hours ago," said Croyden. "We had tea with them."

"Find out from the other servants whether they left any word."

"Dey didn', seh! no, seh! I ax'd dem, seh!"

"Very singular, indeed! excuse me, sirs, I'll try to locate them."

He went to the telephone, and called up the Lashiels, the Tilghmans, the Tayloes, and all their neighbors and intimates, only to receive the same answer: "They were not there, and hadn't been there that afternoon."

"This is amazing, sirs!" he exclaimed. "I will go up myself and see."

"We are at your service, Captain Carrington," said Macloud instantly.—"At your service for anything we can do."

"They knew, of course, you were expected for dinner?" he asked, as he led the way upstairs.—"I can't account for it."

The Captain inspected his granddaughter's and Miss Cavendish's rooms, Macloud and Croyden, being discreet, the rooms on the other side of the house. They discovered nothing which would explain.

"We will have dinner," said the Captain. "They will surely turn up before we have finished."

The dinner ended, however, and the missing ones had not returned.

"Might they have gone for a drive?" Macloud suggested.

The Captain shook his head. "The keys of the stable are on my desk, which shows that the horses are in for the night. I admit I am at a loss—however, I reckon they will be in presently, with an explanation and a good laugh at us for being anxious."

But when nine o'clock came, and then half-after-nine, and still they did not appear, the men grew seriously alarmed.

The Captain had recourse to the telephone again, getting residence after residence, without result. At last he hung up the receiver.

"I don't know what to make of it," he said, bewildered. "I've called every place I can think of, and I can't locate them. What can have happened?"

"Let us see how the matter stands," said Macloud. "We left them here about half-after-five, and, so far as can be ascertained, no one has seen them since. Consequently, they must have gone out for a walk or a drive. A drive is most unlikely, at this time of the day—it is dark and cold. Furthermore, your horses are in the stable, so, if they went, they didn't go alone—some one drove them. The alternative—a walk—is the probable explanation; and that remits us to an accident as the cause of delay. Which, it seems to me, is the likely explanation."

"But if there were an accident, they would have been discovered, long since; the walks are not deserted," the Captain objected.

"Possibly, they went out of the town."

"A young woman never goes out of town, unescorted," was the decisive answer. "This is a Southern town, you know."

"I suppose you don't care to telephone the police?" asked Croyden.

"No—not yet," the Captain replied. "Davila would never forgive me, if nothing really were wrong—besides, I couldn't. The Mayor's office is closed for the night—we're not supposed to need the police after six o'clock."

"Then Croyden and I will patrol the roads, hereabout," said Macloud.

"Good! I will go out the Queen Street pike a mile or two," the Captain said. "You and Mr. Croyden can take the King Street pike, North and South. We'll meet here not later than eleven o'clock. Excuse me a moment——"

"What do you make of it?" said Macloud.

"It is either very serious or else it's nothing at all. I mean, if anything has happened, it's far out of the ordinary," Croyden answered.

"Exactly my idea—though, I confess, I haven't a notion what the serious side could be. It's safe to assume that they didn't go into the country—the hour, alone, would have deterred them, even if the danger from the negro were not present, constantly, in Miss Carrington's mind. On the other hand, how could anything have happened in the town which would prevent one of them from telephoning, or sending a message, or getting some sort of word to the Captain."

"It's all very mysterious—yet, I dare say, easy of solution and explanation. There isn't any danger of the one thing that is really terrifying, so I'm not inclined to be alarmed, unduly—just disquieted."

At this moment Captain Carrington returned.

"Here! take these," he said, giving each a revolver. "Let us hope there won't be any occasion to use them, but it is well to be prepared."

They went out together—at the intersection of Queen and King Streets, they parted.

"Remember! eleven o'clock at my house," said the Captain. "If any one of us isn't there, the other two will know he needs assistance."

Croyden went north on King Street. It was a chilly November night, with frost in the air. The moon, in its second quarter and about to sink into the waters of the Bay, gave light sufficient to make walking easy, where the useless street lamps did not kill it with their timid brilliancy. He passed the limits of the town, and struck out into the country. It had just struck ten, when they parted—he would walk for half an hour, and then return. He could do three miles—a mile and a half each way—and still be at the Carrington house by eleven. He proceeded along the east side of the road, his eyes busy lest, in the uncertain light, he miss anything which might serve as a clue. For the allotted time, he searched but found nothing—he must return. He crossed to the west side of the road, and faced homeward.

A mile passed—a quarter more was added—the feeble lights of the town were gleaming dimly in the fore, when, beside the track, he noticed a small white object.

It was a woman's handkerchief, and, as he picked it up, a faint odor of violets was clinging to it still. Here might be a clue—there was a monogram on the corner, but he could not distinguish it, in the darkness. He put it in his pocket and hastened on. A hundred feet farther, and his foot hit something soft. He groped about, with his hands, and found—a woman's glove. It, also, bore the odor of violets.

At the first lamp-post, he stopped and examined the handkerchief—the monogram was plain: E. C.—and violets, he remembered, were her favorite perfume. He took out the glove—a soft, undressed kid affair—but there was no mark on it to help him. He glanced at his watch. His time had almost expired. He pushed the feminine trifles back into his pocket, and hurried on.

He was late, and when he arrived at Ashburton, Captain Carrington and Macloud were just about to start in pursuit.

"I found these!" he said, tossing the glove and the handkerchief on the table—"on the west side of the road, about half a mile from town."

Macloud picked them up.

"The violets are familiar—and the handkerchief is Elaine's," said he. "I recognize the monogram as hers."

"What do you make of it?" Captain Carrington demanded.

"Nothing—it passes me."

His glance sought Croyden's.

A shake of the head was his answer.

The Captain strode to the telephone.

"I'm going to call in our friends," he said. "I think we shall need them."



XVIII

THE LONE HOUSE BY THE BAY

When Croyden and Macloud left the Carrington residence that evening, after their call and tea, Elaine and Davila remained for a little while in the drawing-room rehearsing the events of the day, as women will. Presently, Davila went over to draw the shades.

"What do you say to a walk before we dress for dinner?" she inquired.

"I should like it, immensely," Elaine answered.

They went upstairs, changed quickly to street attire, and set out.

"We will go down to the centre of the town and back," said Davila. "It's about half a mile each way, and there isn't any danger, so long as you keep in the town. I shouldn't venture beyond it unescorted, however, even in daylight."

"Why?" asked Elaine. "Isn't Hampton orderly?"

"Hampton is orderly enough. It's the curse that hangs over the South since the Civil War: the negro."

"Oh! I understand," said Elaine, shuddering.

"I don't mean that all black men are bad, for they are not. Many are entirely trustworthy, but the trustworthy ones are much, very much, in the minority. The vast majority are worthless—and a worthless nigger is the worst thing on earth."

"I think I prefer only the lighted streets," Elaine remarked.

"And you will be perfectly safe there," Davila replied.

They swung briskly along to the centre of the town—where the two main thoroughfares, King and Queen Streets, met each other in a wide circle that, after the fashion of Southern towns, was known, incongruously enough, as "The Diamond." Passing around this circle, they retraced their steps toward home.

As they neared Ashburton, an automobile with the top up and side curtains on shot up behind them, hesitated a moment, as though uncertain of its destination and then drew up before the Carrington place. Two men alighted, gave an order to the driver, and went across the pavement to the gate, while the engine throbbed, softly.

Then they seemed to notice the women approaching, and stepping back from the gate, they waited.

"I beg your pardon!" said one, raising his hat and bowing, "can you tell me if this is where Captain Carrington lives?"

"It is," answered Davila.

"Thank you!" said the man, standing aside to let them pass.

"I am Miss Carrington—whom do you wish to see?"

"Captain Carrington, is he at home?"

"I do not know—if you will come in, I'll inquire."

"You're very kind!" with another bow.

He sprang forward and opened the gate. Davila thanked him with a smile, and she and Elaine went in, leaving the strangers to follow.

The next instant, each girl was struggling in the folds of a shawl, which had been flung over her from behind and wrapped securely around her head and arms, smothering her cries to a mere whisper. In a trice, despite their struggles—which, with heads covered and arms held close to their sides, were utterly unavailing—they were caught up, tossed into the tonneau, and the car shot swiftly away.

In a moment, it was clear of the town, the driver "opened her up," and they sped through the country at thirty miles an hour.

"Better give them some air," said the leader. "It doesn't matter how much they yell here."

He had been holding Elaine on his lap, his arms keeping the shawl tight around her. Now he loosed her, and unwound the folds.

"You will please pardon the liberty we have taken," he said, as he freed her, "but there are——"

Crack!

Elaine had struck him straight in the face with all her strength, and, springing free, was on the point of leaping out, when he seized her and forced her back, caught her arms in the shawl, which was still around her, and bound them tight to her side.

"Better be a little careful, Bill!" he said. "I got an upper cut on the jaw that made me see stars."

"I've been very easy with mine," his companion returned. "She'll not hand me one." However, he took care not to loosen the shawl from her arms. "There you are, my lady, I hope you've not been greatly inconvenienced."

"What do you mean by this outrage?" said Davila.

"Don't forget, Bill!—mum's the word!" the chief cautioned.

"At least, you can permit us to sit on the floor of the car," said Elaine. "Whatever may be your scheme, it's scarcely necessary to hold us in this disgusting position."

"Will you make no effort to escape?" the chief asked.

"No!"

"I reckon that is a trifle overstated!" he laughed. "What about you, Miss Carrington?"

Davila did not answer—contenting herself with a look, which was far more expressive than words.

"Well, we will take pleasure in honoring your first request, Miss Cavendish."

He caught up a piece of rope, passed it around her arms, outside the shawl, tied it in a running knot, and quietly lifted her from his lap to the floor.

"I trust that is satisfactory?" he asked.

"By comparison, eminently so."

"Thank you!" he said. "Do you, Miss Carrington, wish to sit beside your friend?"

"If you please!" said Davila, with supreme contempt.

He took the rope and tied her, likewise.

"Very good, Bill!" he said, and they placed her beside Elaine.

"If you will permit your legs to be tied, we will gladly let you have the seat——"

"No!——"

"Well, I didn't think you would—so you will have to remain on the floor; you see, you might be tempted to jump, if we gave you the seat."

They were running so rapidly, through the night air, that the country could scarcely be distinguished, as it rushed by them. To Elaine, it was an unknown land. Davila, however, was looking for something she could recognize—some building that she knew, some stream, some topographical formation. But in the faint and uncertain moonlight, coupled with the speed at which they travelled, she was baffled. The chief observed, however.

"With your permission!" he said, and taking two handkerchiefs from his pocket, he bound the eyes of both.

"It is only for a short while," he explained—"matter of an hour or so, and you suffer no particular inconvenience, I trust."

Neither Elaine nor Davila condescended to reply.

After a moment's pause, the man went on:

"I neglected to say—and I apologize for my remissness—that you need fear no ill-treatment. You will be shown every consideration—barring freedom, of course—and all your wants, within the facilities at our command, will be gratified. Naturally, however, you will not be permitted to communicate with your friends."

"How nice of you!" said Elaine. "But I should be better pleased if you would tell us the reason for this abduction."

"That, I regret, I am not at liberty to discuss."

"How long are we to remain prisoners?" demanded Davila.

"It depends."

"Upon what?"

"Upon whether something is acceded to."

"By whom?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

"And if it is not acceded to?" Elaine inquired.

"In that event—it would be necessary to decide what should be done with you."

"Done with us! What do you mean to imply?"

"Nothing!—the time hasn't come to imply—I hope it will not come."

"Why?" said Davila.

"Because."

"Because is no reason."

"It is a woman's reason!" said he, laughing lightly.

"Do you mean that your failure would imperil our lives?"

"Something like it?" he replied, after a moment's thought.

"Our lives!" Davila cried. "Do you appreciate what you are saying!"

The man did not answer.

"Is it possible you mean to threaten our lives?" Davila persisted.

"I threaten nothing—yet."

"Oh, you threaten nothing, yet!" she mocked. "But you will threaten, if——"

"Exactly! if—you are at liberty to guess the rest."

"I don't care to guess!" she retorted. "Do you appreciate that the whole Eastern Shore will be searching for us by morning—and that, if the least indignity is offered us, your lives won't be worth a penny?"

"We take the risk, Miss Carrington," replied the man, placidly.

Davila shrugged her shoulders, and they rode in silence, for half an hour.

Then the speed of the car slackened, they ran slowly for half a mile, and stopped. The chief reached down, untied the handkerchiefs, and sprang out.

"You may descend," he said, offering his hand.

Elaine saw the hand, and ignored it; Davila refused even to see the hand.

They could make out, in the dim light, that they were before a long, low, frame building, with the waters of the Bay just beyond. A light burned within, and, as they entered, the odor of cooking greeted them.

"Thank goodness! they don't intend to starve us!" said Elaine. "I suppose it's scarcely proper in an abducted maiden, but I'm positively famished."

"I'm too enraged to eat," said Davila.

"Are you afraid?" Elaine asked.

"Afraid?—not in the least!"

"No more am I—but oughtn't we be afraid?"

"I don't know! I'm too angry to know anything."

They had been halted on the porch, while the chief went in, presumably, to see that all was ready for their reception. Now, he returned.

"If you will come in," he said, "I will show you to your apartment."

"Prison, you mean," said Davila.

"Apartment is a little better word, don't you think?" said he. "However, as you wish, Miss Carrington, as you wish! We shall try to make you comfortable, whatever you may call your temporary quarters.—These two rooms are yours," he continued, throwing open the door. "They are small, but quiet and retired; you will not, I am sure, be disturbed. Pardon me, if I remove these ropes, you will be less hampered in your movements. There! supper will be served in fifteen minutes—you will be ready?"

"Yes, we shall be ready," said Elaine, and the man bowed and retired. "He has some manners!" she reflected.

"They might be worse," Davila retorted.

"Which is some satisfaction," Elaine added.

"Yes!—and we best be thankful for it."

"The rooms aren't so bad," said Elaine, looking around.

"We each have a bed, and a bureau, and a wash-stand, and a couple of chairs, a few chromos, a rug on the floor—and bars at the window."

"I noticed the bars," said Davila.

Elaine crossed to her wash-stand.

"They've provided us with water, so we may as well use it," she said. "I think my face needs—Heavens! what a sight I am!"

"Haven't you observed the same sight in me?" Davila asked. "I've lost all my puffs, I know—and so have you—and your hat is a trifle awry."

"Since we're not trying to make an impression, I reckon it doesn't matter!" laughed Elaine. "We will have ample opportunity to put them to rights before Colin and Geoffrey see us."

She took off her hat, pressed her hair into shape, replaced a few pins, dashed water on her face, and washed her hands.

"Now," she said, going into the other room where Miss Carrington was doing likewise, "if I only had a powder-rag, I'd feel dressed."

Davila turned, and, taking a little book, from the pocket of her coat, extended it.

"Here is some Papier Poudre," she said.

"You blessed thing!" Elaine exclaimed, and, tearing out a sheet, she rubbed it over her face. "Is my nose shiny?" she ended.

A door opened and a young girl appeared, wearing apron and cap.

"The ladies are served!" she announced.

The two looked at each other and laughed.

"This is quite some style!" Davila commented.

"It is, indeed!" said Elaine as she saw the table, with its candles and silver (plated, to be sure), dainty china, and pressed glass.

"If the food is in keeping, I think we can get along for a few days. We may as well enjoy it while it lasts."

Davila smiled. "You always were of a philosophic mind."

"It's the easiest way."

She might have added, that it was the only way she knew—her wealth having made all roads easy to her.

The meal finished, they went back to their apartment, to find the bed turned down for the night, and certain lingerie, which they were without, laid out for them.

"Better and better!" exclaimed Elaine. "You might think this was a hotel."

"Until you tried to go out."

"We haven't tried, yet—wait until morning." A pack of cards was on the table. "See how thoughtful they are! Come, I'll play you Camden for a cent a point."

"I can't understand what their move is?" said Davila, presently. "What can they hope to accomplish by abducting us—or me, at any rate. It seems they don't want anything from us."

"I make it, that they hope to extort something, from a third party, through us—by holding us prisoners."

"Captain Carrington has no money—it can't be he," said Davila, "and yet, why else should they seize me?"

"The question is, whose hand are they trying to force?" reflected Elaine. "They will hold us until something is acceded to, the man said. Until what is acceded to, and by whom?"

"You think that we are simply the pawns?" asked Davila.

"Undoubtedly!"

"And if it isn't acceded to, they will kill us?"

"They will doubtless make the threat."

"Pleasant prospect for us!"

"We won't contemplate it, just yet. They may gain their point, or we may be rescued; in either case, we'll be saved from dying!" Elaine laughed. "And, at the worst, I may be able to buy them off—to pay our own ransom. If it's money they want, we shall not die, I assure you."

"You would pay what they demand?" Davila asked, quickly.

"If I have to choose between death and paying, I reckon I'll pay."

"But can you pay?"

"Yes, I think I can pay," she said quietly. "I'm not used to boasting my wealth, but I can draw my check for a million, and it will be honored without a moment's question. Does that make you feel easier, my dear?"

"Considerably easier," said Davila, with a glad laugh. "I couldn't draw my check for much more than ten thousand cents. I am only——" She stopped, staring.

"What on earth is the matter, Davila?" Elaine exclaimed.

"I have it!—it's the thieves!"

"Have you suddenly lost your mind?"

"No! I've found it! I've come out of my trance. It's Parmenter's chest."

"Parmenter's chest?" echoed Elaine. "I reckon I must be in a trance, also."

"Hasn't Mr. Croyden told you—or Mr. Macloud?"

"No!"

"Then maybe I shouldn't—but I will. Parmenter's chest is a fortune in jewels."

"A what?"

"A fortune in jewels, which Mr. Croyden has searched for and not found—and the thieves think——"

"You would better tell me the story," said Elaine, pushing back the cards.

And Davila told her....

"It is too absurd!" laughed Elaine, "those rogues trying to force Geoffrey to divide what he hasn't got, and can't find, and we abducted to constrain him. He couldn't comply if he wanted to, poor fellow!"

"But they will never believe it," said Davila.

"And, meanwhile, we suffer. Well, if we're not rescued shortly, I can advance the price and buy our freedom. They want half a million. Hum! I reckon two hundred thousand will be sufficient—and, maybe, we can compromise for one hundred thousand. Oh! it's not so bad, Davila, it's not so bad!"

She smiled, shrewdly. Unless she were wofully mistaken, this abduction would release her from the embarrassment of declaring herself to Geoffrey. She could handle the matter, now.

"What is it?" asked Davila. "Why are you smiling so queerly?"

"I was thinking of Colin and Geoffrey—and how they are pretty sure to know their minds when this affair is ended."

"You mean?"

"Exactly! I mean, if this doesn't bring Colin to his senses, he is hopeless."

"And Mr. Croyden?" Davila queried. "How about him?"

"He will surrender, too. All his theoretical notions of relative wealth will be forgotten. I've only to wait for rescue or release. On the whole, Davila, I'm quite satisfied with being abducted. Moreover, it is an experience which doesn't come to every girl." She looked at her friend quizzically. "What are you going to do about Colin? I rather think you should have an answer ready; the circumstances are apt to make him rather precipitate."

The next morning after breakfast, which was served in their rooms, Elaine was looking out through the bars on her window, trying to get some notion of the country, when she saw, what she took to be, the chief abductor approaching. He was a tall, well-dressed man of middle age, with the outward appearance of a gentleman. She looked at him a moment, then rang for the maid.

"I should like to have a word with the man who just came in," she said.

"I will tell him, Miss."

He appeared almost immediately, an inquiring look on his face.

"How can I serve you, Miss Cavendish?" he said, deferentially.

"By permitting us to go out for some air—these rooms were not designed, apparently, for permanent residence."

"It can be arranged," he answered. "When do you wish to go?"

"At once!"

"Very good!" he said. "You will have no objection to being attended, to make sure you don't stray off too far, you know?"

"None whatever, if the attendant remains at a reasonable distance."

He bowed and stood aside.

"You may come," he said.

"Is the locality familiar?" Elaine asked, when they were some distance from the house.

Davila shook her head. "It is south of Hampton, I think, but I can't give any reason for my impression. The car was running very rapidly; we were, I reckon, almost two hours on the way, but we can't be more than fifty miles away."

"If they came direct—but if they circled, we could be much less," Elaine observed.

"It's a pity we didn't think to drop something from the car to inform our friends which way to look for us."

"I did," said Elaine. "I tossed out a handkerchief and a glove a short distance from Hampton—just as I struck that fellow. The difficulty is, there isn't any assurance we kept to that road. Like as not, we started north and ended east or south of town. What is this house, a fishing club?"

"I rather think so. There is a small wharf, and a board-walk down to the Bay, and the house itself is one story and spread-out, so to speak."

"Likely it's a summer club-house, which these men have either rented or preempted for our prison."

"The country around here is surely deserted!" said Davila.

"Hence, a proper choice for our temporary residence."

"I can't understand the care they are taking of us—the deference with which we are treated, the food that is given us."

"Parmenter's treasure, and the prize they think they're playing for, has much to do with it. We are of considerable value, according to their idea."

After a while, they went back to the house. The two men, who had remained out of hearing, but near enough to prevent any attempt to escape, having seen them safely within, disappeared. As they passed through the hall they encountered the chief. He stepped aside.

"You enjoyed your walk, I trust?" he said.

Davila nodded curtly. Elaine stopped.

"I feel sorry for you!" she said, smiling.

"You are very kind," he replied. "But why?"

"You are incurring considerable expense for nothing."

He grinned. "It is a very great pleasure, I assure you."

"You are asking the impossible," she went on. "Mr. Croyden told you the simple truth. He didn't find the Parmenter jewels."

The man's face showed his surprise, but he only shrugged his shoulders expressively, and made no reply.

"I know you do not believe it—yet it's a fact, nevertheless. Mr. Croyden couldn't pay your demands, if he wished. Of course, we enjoy the experience, but, as I said, it's a trifle expensive for you."

The fellow's grin broadened.

"You're a good sport!" he said—"a jolly good sport! But we're dealing with Mr. Croyden and Mr. Macloud, so, you'll pardon me if I decline to discuss the subject."



XIX

ROBERT PARMENTER'S SUCCESSORS

In half-an-hour from the time Captain Carrington strode to the telephone to arouse his friends, all Hampton had the startling news: Davila Carrington and her guest, Miss Cavendish, had disappeared.

How, when, and where, it could not learn, so it supplied the deficiency as best pleased the individual—by morning, the wildest tales were rehearsed and credited.

The truth was bad enough, however. Miss Carrington and Miss Cavendish were not in the town, nor anywhere within a circuit of five miles. Croyden, Macloud, all the men in the place had searched the night through, and without avail. Every horse, and every boat had been accounted for. It remained, that they either had fallen into the Bay, or had gone in a strange conveyance.

Croyden and Macloud had returned to Clarendon for a bite of breakfast—very late breakfast, at eleven o'clock. They had met by accident, on their way to the house, having come from totally different directions of search.

"It's Parmenter again!" said Croyden, suddenly.

"It's what?" said Macloud.

"Parmenter:—Pirate's gold breeds pirate's ways. The lawyer villain has reappeared. I told you it was he I saw, yesterday, driving the automobile."

"I don't quite understand why they selected Elaine and Miss Carrington to abduct," Macloud objected, after a moment's consideration. "Why didn't they take you?"

"Because they thought we would come to time more quickly, if they took the women. They seem to be informed on everything, so, we can assume, they are acquainted with your fondness for Miss Carrington and mine for Elaine. Or, it's possible they thought that we both were interested in Davila—for I've been with her a lot this autumn—and then, at the pinch, were obliged to take Elaine, also, because she was with her and would give the alarm if left behind."

"A pretty fair scheme," said Macloud. "The fellow who is managing this business knew we would do more for the women than for ourselves."

"It's the same old difficulty—we haven't got Parmenter's treasure, but they refuse to be convinced."

The telephone rang, and Croyden himself answered it.

"Captain Carrington asks that we come over at once," he said, hanging up the receiver. "The Pinkerton men have arrived."

They finished their breakfast and started. Half way to the gate, they met the postman coming up the walk. He handed Croyden a letter, faced about and trudged away.

Croyden glanced at it, mechanically tore open the envelope, and drew it out. As his eyes fell on the first line, he stopped, abruptly.

"Listen to this!" he said.

"On Board The Parmenter, "Pirate Sloop of War, "Off the Capes of the Chesapeake.

"Dear Sir:—

"It seems something is required to persuade you that we mean business. Therefore, we have abducted Miss Carrington and her friend, Miss Cavendish, in the hope that it will rouse you to a proper realization of the eternal fitness of things, and of our intention that there shall be a division of the jewels—or their value in money. Our attorney had the pleasure of an interview with you, recently, at which time he specified a sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, as being sufficient. A further investigation of the probable value of the jewels, having convinced us that we were in slight error as to their present worth, induces us to reduce the amount, which we claim as our share, to two hundred thousand dollars. This is the minimum of our demand, however, and we have taken the ladies, aforesaid, as security for its prompt payment.

"They will be held in all comfort and respect (if no effort at rescue be attempted—otherwise we will deal with them as we see fit), for the period of ten days from the receipt of this letter, which will be at noon to-morrow. If the sum indicated is not paid, they will, at the expiration of the ten days, be turned over to the tender mercies of the crew.—Understand?

"As to the manner of payment—You, yourself, must go to Annapolis, and, between eleven and twelve in the morning, proceed to the extreme edge of Greenberry Point and remain standing, in full view from the Bay, for the space of fifteen minutes. You will, then, face about, step ten paces, and bury the money, which must be in thousand dollar bills, under a foot of sand. You will then, immediately, return to Annapolis and take the first car to Baltimore, and, thence, to Hampton.

"In the event that you have not reduced the jewels to cash, we will be content with such a division as will insure us a moiety thereof. It will be useless to try deception concerning them,—though a few thousand dollars, one way or the other, won't matter. When you have complied with these terms, the young women will be released and permitted to return to Hampton. If not—they will wish they were dead, even before they are. We are, sir, with deep respect,

"Y'r h'mbl. and ob'dt. serv'ts,

"Robert Parmenter's Successors.

"Geoffrey Croyden, Esq'r. "Hampton, Md."

"Where was it mailed?" Macloud asked.

Croyden turned over the envelope. It was postmarked Hampton, 6.30 A.M., of that day.

"Which implies that it was mailed some time during the night," said he.

"What do you make of it?"

"Do you mean, will they carry out their threat?"

Croyden nodded.

"They have been rather persistent," Macloud replied.

"It's absurd!" Croyden exclaimed. "We haven't the jewels. Damn Parmenter and his infernal letter!"

"Parmenter is not to blame," said Macloud. "Damn the thieves."

"And damn my carelessness in letting them pick my pocket! there lies the entire difficulty."

"Well, the thing, now, is to save the women—and how?"

"Pay, if need be!" exclaimed Croyden. "The two hundred thousand I got for the Virginia Development bonds will be just enough."

Macloud nodded. "I'm in for half, old man. Aside from any personal feelings we may have for the women in question," he said, with a serious sort of smile, "we owe it to them—they were abducted solely because of us—to force us to disgorge."

"I'm ready to pay the cash at once."

"Don't be hasty!" Macloud cautioned. "We have ten days, and the police can take a try at it."

"That, for the police!" said Croyden, snapping his fingers. "They're all bunglers—they will be sure to make a mess of it, and, then, no man can foresee what will happen. It's not right to subject the women to the risk. Let us pay first, and punish after—if we can catch the scoundrels. How long do you think Henry Cavendish will hesitate when he learns that Elaine has been abducted, and the peril which menaces her?"

"Thunder! we have clean forgot her father!" exclaimed Macloud. "He should be informed at once."

"Just what he shouldn't be," Croyden returned. "What is the good in alarming him? Free her—then she may tell him, or not, as it pleases her."

Macloud held out his hand.

"Done!" he said. "Our first duty is to save the women, the rest can bide until they are free. How about the money? Are your stocks readily convertible? If not, I'll advance your share."

"Much obliged, old man," said Croyden, "but a wire will do it—they're all listed on New York."

"Will you lose much, if you sell now?" asked Macloud. He wished Croyden would let him pay the entire amount.

"Just about even; a little to the good, in fact," was the answer.

And Macloud said no more—he knew it was useless.

At Ashburton, they found Captain Carrington pacing the long hall, in deep distress—uncertain what course to pursue, because there was no indication as to what had caused the disappearance. He turned, as the two men entered.

"The detectives are quizzing the servants in the library," he said. "I couldn't sit still.—You have news?" he exclaimed, reading Croyden's face.

"I have!" said Croyden, and gave him the letter.

He seized it. As he read, concern, perplexity, amazement, anger, all showed in his countenance.

"They have been abducted!—Davila and Miss Cavendish, and are held for ransom!—a fabulous ransom, which you are asked to pay," he said, incredulously. "So much, at least, is intelligible. But why? why? Who are Robert Parmenter's Successors?—and who was he? and the jewels?—I cannot understand——"

"I'm not surprised," said Croyden. "It's a long story—too long to tell—save that Parmenter was a pirate, back in 1720, who buried a treasure on Greenberry Point, across the Severn from Annapolis, you know, and died, making Marmaduke Duval his heir, under certain conditions. Marmaduke, in turn, passed it on to his son, and so on, until Colonel Duval bequeathed it to me. We searched—Mr. Macloud and I—for three weeks, but did not find it. Our secret was chanced upon by two rogues, who, with their confederates, however, are under the conviction we did find it. They wanted a rake-off. I laughed at them—and this abduction is the result."

"But why abduct the women?" asked the old man.

"Because they think I can be coerced more easily. They are under the impression that I am—fond of Miss Carrington. At any rate, they know I'm enough of a friend to pay, rather than subject her to the hazard."

"Pay! I can't pay! My whole fortune isn't over twenty thousand dollars. It I will gladly sacrifice, but more is impossible."

"You're not to pay, my old friend," said Croyden. "Mr. Macloud and I are the ones aimed at and we will pay."

"I won't permit it, sir!" the Captain exclaimed. "There is no reason for you——"

"Tut! tut!" said Croyden, "you forget that we are wholly responsible; but for us, Miss Carrington and Miss Cavendish would not have been abducted. The obligation is ours, and we will discharge it. It is our plain, our very plain, duty."

The old man threw up his hands in the extremity of despair.

"I don't know what to do!" he said. "I don't know what to do!"

"Do nothing—leave everything to us. We'll have Miss Carrington back in three days."

"And safe?"

"And safe—if the letter is trustworthy, and I think it is. The police can't do as well—they may fail entirely—and think of the possible consequences! Miss Carrington and Miss Cavendish are very handsome women."

"My God, yes!" exclaimed the Captain. "Anything but that! If they were men, or children, it would be different—they could take some chances. But women!"—He sank on a chair and covered his face with his hands. "You must let me pay what I am able," he insisted. "All that I have——"

Croyden let his hand fall sympathizingly on the other's shoulder.

"It shall be as you wish," he said quietly. "We will pay, and you can settle with us afterward—our stocks can be converted instantly, you see, while yours will likely require some time."

The Captain pulled himself together and arose.

"Thank you," he said. "I've been sort of unmanned—I'm better now. Shall you show the detectives the letter—tell them we are going to pay the amount demanded?"

"I don't know," said Croyden, uncertainly. "What's your opinion, Colin?"

"Let them see the letter," Macloud answered, "but on the distinct stipulation, that they make no effort to apprehend 'Robert Parmenter's Successors' until the women are safely returned. They may pick up whatever clues they can obtain for after use, but they must not do anything which will arouse suspicion, even."

"Why take them into our confidence at all?" asked Croyden.

"For two reasons: It's acting square with them (which, it seems to me, is always the wise thing to do). And, if they are not let in on the facts, they may blunder in and spoil everything. We want to save the women at the earliest moment, without any possible handicaps due to ignorance or inadvertence."

"But can we trust them?" Croyden asked, doubtfully.

"It's the lesser of two evils."

"We will have to explain the letter, its reference to the Parmenter jewels, and all that it contains."

"I can see no objection. We didn't find the treasure, and, I reckon, they're welcome to search, if they think there is a chance."

"Well, let it be exactly as you wish—you're quite as much concerned for success as I am," said Croyden.

"Possibly, more so," returned Macloud, seriously.

And Croyden understood.

Then, they went into the library. The two detectives arose at their entrance. The one, Rebbert, was a Pinkerton man, the other, Sanders, was from the Bureau at City Hall. Both were small men, with clean shaven faces, steady, searching eyes, and an especially quiet manner.

"Mr. Croyden," said Rebbert, "we have been questioning the servants, but have obtained nothing of importance, except that the ladies wore their hats and coats (at least, they have disappeared). This, with the fact that you found Miss Cavendish's glove and handkerchief, on a road without the limits of Hampton, leads to the conclusion that they have been abducted. But why? Miss Carrington, we are informed, has no great wealth—how as to Miss Cavendish?"

"She has more than sufficient—in fact, she is very rich——"

"Ah! then we have a motive," said the detective.

"There is a motive, but it is not Miss Cavendish," Croyden answered. "You're correct as to the abduction, however—this will explain," and he handed him the letter.

The two men read it.

"When did you receive this?" said one.

"At noon to-day," replied Croyden, passing over the envelope.

They looked carefully at the postmark.

"Do you object to explaining certain things in this letter?" Rebbert asked.

"Not in the least," replied Croyden. "I'll tell you the entire story.... Is there anything I have missed?" he ended.

"I think not, sir."

"Very well! Now, we prefer that you should take no measures to apprehend the abductors, until after Miss Cavendish and Miss Carrington have been released. We are going to pay the amount demanded."

"Going to pay the two hundred thousand dollars!" cried the detectives, in one breath.

Croyden nodded. "Afterward, you can get as busy as you like."

A knowing smile broke over the men's faces, at the same instant.

"You too think we found the treasure?" Croyden exclaimed.

"It looks that way, sir," said Rebbert; while Sanders acquiesced, with another smile.

Croyden turned to Macloud and held up his hands, hopelessly.

"If we only had!" he cried. "If we only had!"



XX

THE CHECK

On the second morning after their abduction, when Elaine and Davila arose, the sky was obscured by fog, the trees exuded moisture, and only a small portion of the Bay was faintly visible through the mist.

"This looks natural!" said Elaine. "We must have moved out to Northumberland, in the night."

Davila smiled, a feeble sort of smile. It was not a morning to promote light-heartedness, and particularly under such circumstances.

"Is this anything like Northumberland?" she asked.

"Yes!—Only Northumberland is more so. For a misty day, this would be remarkably fine.—With us, it's midnight at noon—all the lights burning, in streets, and shops, and electric cars, bells jangling, people rushing, pushing, diving through the dirty blackness, like devils in hell. Oh, it's pleasant, when you get used to it.—Ever been there?"

"No," said Davila, "I haven't."

"We must have you out—say, immediately after the holidays. Will you come?"

"I'll be glad to come, if I'm alive—and we ever get out of this awful place."

"It is stupid here," said Elaine. "I thought there was something novel in being abducted, but it's rather dreary business. I'm ready to quit, are you?"

"I was ready to quit before we started!" Davila laughed.

"We will see what can be done about it. We'll have in the head jailer." She struck the bell. "Ask the chief to be kind enough to come here a moment," she said, to the girl who attended them.

In a few minutes, he appeared—suave, polite, courteous.

"You sent for me, Miss Cavendish?" he inquired.

"I did. Sit down, please, I've something to say to you, Mr.——"

"Jones, for short," he replied.

"Thank you!" said Elaine, with a particularly winning smile. "Mr. Jones, for short—you will pardon me, I know, if I seem unduly personal, but these quarters are not entirely to our liking."

"I'm very sorry, indeed," he replied. "We tried to make them comfortable. In what are they unsatisfactory?—we will remedy it, if possible."

"We would prefer another locality—Hampton, to be specific."

"You mean that you are tired of captivity?" he smiled. "I see your point of view, and I'm hopeful that Mr. Croyden will see it, also, and permit us to release you, in a few days."

"It is that very point I wish to discuss a moment with you," she interrupted. "I told you before, that Mr. Croyden didn't find the jewels and that, therefore, it is impossible for him to pay."

"You will pardon me if I doubt your statement.—Moreover, we are not privileged to discuss the matter with you. We can deal only with Mr. Croyden, as I think I have already intimated."

"Then you will draw an empty covert," she replied.

"That remains to be seen, as I have also intimated," said Mr. Jones, easily.

"But you don't want to draw an empty covert, do you—to have only your trouble for your pains?" she asked.

"It would be a great disappointment, I assure you."

"You have been at considerable expense to provide for our entertainment?"

"Pray do not mention it!—it's a very great pleasure."

"It would be a greater pleasure to receive the cash?" she asked.

"Since the cash is our ultimate aim, I confess it would be equally satisfactory," he replied.

"Then why not tell me the amount?"

He shook his head.

"Such matters are for Mr. Croyden," he said.

"Just assume that Mr. Croyden cannot pay," she insisted. "Are we not to be given a chance to find the cash?"

"Mr. Croyden can pay."

"But assume that he cannot," she reiterated, "or won't—it's the same result."

"In that event, you——"

"Would be given the opportunity," she broke in.

He bowed.

"Then why not let us consider the matter in the first instance?" she asked. "The money is the thing. It can make no difference to you whence it comes—from Mr. Croyden or from me."

"None in the world!" he answered.

"And it would be much more simple to accept a check and to release us when it is paid?"

"Checks are not accepted in this business!" he smiled.

"Ordinarily not, it would be too dangerous, I admit. But if it could be arranged to your satisfaction, what then?"

"I don't think it can be arranged," he replied. "The amount is much too great."

"And that amount is——" she persisted, smiling at him the while.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," he replied.

"With what per cent. off for cash?"

"None—not a fraction of a penny!"

She nodded, slightly. "Why can't it be arranged?"

"You're thinking of paying it?" he asked, incredulously.