"I want to know why you think it can't be arranged?" she repeated.

"The danger of detection. No bank would pay a check for that amount to an unknown party, without the personal advice of the drawer."

"Not if it were made payable to self, and properly indorsed for identification?"

"I fear not."

"You can try it—there's no harm in trying. You have a bank that knows you?"

"But scarcely for such large amounts."

"What of it? You deposit the check for collection only. They will send it through. When it's paid, they will pay you. If it's not paid, there is no harm done—and we are still your prisoners. You stand to win everything and lose nothing."

The man looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"The check will be paid?" he asked, presently.

"If it isn't paid, you still have us," said Elaine.

"It might be managed."

"That is your part. If the check is presented, it will be paid—you may rest easy, on that score."

Jones resumed his contemplation of the ceiling.

"But remember," she cautioned, "when it is paid, we are to be released, instantly. No holding us for Mr. Croyden to pay, also. If we play square with you, you must play square with us. I risk a fortune, see that you make good."

"Your check—it should be one of the sort you always use——"

"I always carry a few blank checks in my handbag—and fortunately, I have it with me. You were careful to wrap it in with my arms. I will get it."

She went into her room. In a moment she returned, the blank check in her fingers, and handed it to him. It was of a delicate robin's-egg blue, with "The Tuscarora Trust Company" printed across the face in a darker shade, and her monogram, in gold, at the upper end.

"Is it sufficiently individual to raise a presumption of regularity?" she said.

"Undoubtedly!" he answered.

"Then, let us understand each other," she said.

"By all means," he agreed.

"I give you my check for two hundred thousand dollars, duly executed, payable to my order, and endorsed by me, which, when paid, you, on behalf of your associates and yourself, engage to accept in lieu of the amount demanded from Mr. Croyden, and to release Miss Carrington and myself forthwith."

"There is one thing more," he said. "You, on your part, are to stipulate that no attempt will be made to arrest us."

"We will engage that we will do nothing to apprehend you."

"Directly or indirectly?" he questioned.

"Yes!—more than that is not in our power. You will have to assume the general risk you took when you abducted us."

"We will take it," was the quiet answer.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"I think not—at least, everything is entirely satisfactory to us."

"Despite the fact that it couldn't be made so!" she smiled.

"I didn't know we had to deal with a woman of such business sense and—wealth," he answered gallantly.

She smiled. "If you will get me ink and pen, I will sign the check," she said.

She filled it in for the amount specified, signed and endorsed it. Then she took, from her handbag, a correspondence card, embossed with her initials, and wrote this note:

"Hampton, Md. "Nov. —'10.

"My dear Mr. Thompson:—

"I have made a purchase, down here, and my check for Two Hundred Thousand dollars, in consideration, will come through, at once. Please see that it is paid, promptly.

"Yours very sincerely,

"Elaine Cavendish.

"To James Thompson, Esq'r., "Treasurer, The Tuscarora Trust Co., "Northumberland."

She addressed the envelope and passed it and the card across to Mr. Jones, together with the check.

"If you will mail this, to-night, it will provide against any chance of non-payment," she said.

"You are a marvel of accuracy," he answered, with a bow. "I would I could always do business with you."

"At two hundred thousand the time? No! no! monsieur, I pray thee, no more!"

There was a knock on the door; the maid entered and spoke in a low tone to Jones. He nodded.

"I am sorry to inconvenience you again," he said, turning to them, "but I must trouble you to go aboard the tug."

"The tug—on the water?" Elaine exclaimed.

"On the water—that is usually the place for well behaved tugs!" he laughed.

"Now!" Elaine persisted.

"Now—before I go to deposit the check!" he smiled. "You will be safer on the tug. There will be no danger of an escape or a rescue—and it won't be for long, I trust."

"Your trust is no greater than ours, I assure you," said Elaine.

Their few things were quickly gathered, and they went down to the wharf, where a small boat was drawn up ready to take them to the tug, which was lying a short distance out in the Bay.

"One of the Baltimore tugs, likely," said Davila. "There are scores of them, there, and some are none too chary about the sort of business they are employed in."

"Witness the present!" commented Elaine.

They got aboard without accident. Jones conducted them to the little cabin, which they were to occupy together—an upper and a lower bunk having been provided.

"The maid will sleep in the galley," said he. "She will look after the cooking, and you will dine in the small cabin next to this one. It's a bit contracted quarters for you, and I'm sorry, but it won't be for long—as we both trust, Miss Cavendish."

"And you?" asked Elaine.

"I go to deposit the check. I will have my bank send it direct for collection, with instructions to wire immediately if paid. I presume you don't wish it to go through the ordinary course."

"Most assuredly not!" Elaine answered.

"This is Thursday," said Jones. "The check, and your note, should reach the Trust Company in the same mail to-morrow morning; they can be depended upon to wire promptly, I presume?"

"Undoubtedly!"

"Then, we may be able to release you to-morrow night, certainly by Saturday."

"It can't come too soon for us."

"You don't seem to like our hospitality," Jones observed.

"It's excellent of its sort, but we don't fancy the sort—you understand, monsieur. And then, too, it is frightfully expensive."

"We have done the best we could under the circumstances," he smiled. "Until Saturday at the latest—meanwhile, permit me to offer you a very hopeful farewell."

Elaine smiled sweetly, and Mr. Jones went out.

"Why do you treat him so amiably?" Davila asked. "I couldn't, if I would."

"Policy," Elaine answered. "We get on better. It wouldn't help our case to be sullen—and it might make it much worse. I would gladly shoot him, and hurrah over it, too, as I fancy you would do, but it does no good to show it, now—when we can't shoot him."

"I suppose not," said Davila. "But I'm glad I don't have to play the part." She hesitated a moment. "Elaine, I don't know how to thank you for my freedom——"

"Wait until you have it!" the other laughed. "Though there isn't a doubt of the check being paid."

"My grandfather, I know, will repay you with his entire fortune, but that will be little——"

Elaine stopped her further words by placing a hand over her mouth, and kissing her.

"That's quite enough, dear!" she said. "Take it that the reward is for my release, and that you were just tossed in for good measure—or, that it is a slight return for the pleasure of visiting you—or, that the money is a small circumstance to me—or, that it is a trifling sum to pay to be saved the embarrassment of proposing to Geoffrey, myself—or, take it any way you like, only, don't bother your pretty head an instant more about it. In the slang of the day: 'Forget it,' completely and utterly, as a favor to me if for no other reason."

"I'll promise to forget it—until we're free," agreed Davila.

"And, in the meantime, let us have a look around this old boat," said Elaine. "You're nearer the door, will you open it? Two can't pass in this room."

Davila tried the door—it refused to open.

"It's locked!" she said.

"Oh, well! we will content ourselves with watching the Bay through the port hole, and when one wants to turn around the other can crawl up in her bunk. I'm going to write a book about this experience, some time.—I wonder what Geoffrey and Colin are doing?" she laughed—"running around like mad and stirring up the country, I reckon."



XXI

THE JEWELS

Macloud went to New York on the evening train. He carried Croyden's power of attorney with stock sufficient, when sold, to make up his share of the cash. He had provided for his own share by a wire to his brokers and his bank in Northumberland. A draft would be awaiting him. He would reduce both amounts to one thousand dollar bills and hurry back to Annapolis to meet Croyden.

But they counted not on the railroads,—or rather they did count on them, and they were disappointed. A freight was derailed just south of Hampton, tearing up the track for a hundred yards, and piling the right of way with wreckage of every description. Macloud's train was twelve hours late leaving Hampton. Then, to add additional ill luck, they ran into a wash out some fifty miles further on; with the result that they did not reach New York until after the markets were over and the banks had closed for the day.

He wired the facts to Croyden. The following day, he sold the stocks, the brokers gave him the proceeds in the desired bills, after the delivery hour, and he made a quick get-away for Annapolis, arriving there at nine o'clock in the evening.

Croyden was awaiting him, at Carvel Hall.

"I'm sorry, for the girls' sake," said he, "but it's only a day lost. We will deliver the goods to-morrow. And, then, pray God, they be freed before another night! That lawyer thief is a rogue and a robber, but something tells me he will play straight."

"I reckon we will have to trust him," returned Macloud. "Where is the Pinkerton man?"

"He is in town. He will be over on the Point in the morning, disguised as a negro and chopping wood, on the edge of the timber. There isn't much chance of him identifying the gang, but it's the best we can do. It's the girls first, the scoundrels afterward, if possible."

At eleven o'clock the following day, Croyden, mounted on one of "Cheney's Best," rode away from the hotel. There had been a sudden change in the weather, during the night; the morning was clear and bright and warm, as happens, sometimes, in Annapolis, in late November. The Severn, blue and placid, flung up an occasional white cap to greet him, as he crossed the bridge. He nodded to the draw-keeper, who recognized him, drew aside for an automobile to pass, and then trotted sedately up the hill, and into the woods beyond.

He could hear the Band of the Academy pounding out a quick-step, and catch a glimpse of the long line of midshipmen passing in review, before some notable. The "custard and cream" of the chapel dome obtruded itself in all its hideousness; the long reach of Bancroft Hall glowed white in the sun; the library with its clock—the former, by some peculiar idea, placed at the farthest point from the dormitory, and the latter where the midshipmen cannot see it—dominated the opposite end of the grounds. Everywhere was quiet, peace, and discipline—the embodiment of order and law,—the Flag flying over all.

And yet, he was on his way to pay a ransom of very considerable amount, for two women who were held prisoners!

He tied his horse to a limb of a maple, and walked out on the Point. Save for a few trees, uprooted by the gales, it was the same Point they had dug over a few weeks before. A negro, chopping at a log, stopped his work, a moment, to look at him curiously, then resumed his labor.

"The Pinkerton man!" thought Croyden, but he made no effort to speak to him.

Somewhere,—from a window in the town, or from one of the numerous ships bobbing about on the Bay or the River—he did not doubt a glass was trained on him, and his every motion was being watched.

For full twenty minutes, he stood on the extreme tip of the Point, and looked out to sea. Then he faced directly around and stepped ten paces inland. Kneeling, he quickly dug with a small trowel a hole a foot deep in the sand, put into it the package of bills, wrapped in oil-skin, and replaced the ground.

"There!" said he, as he arose. "Pirate's gold breeds pirate's ways. May we have seen the last of you—and may the devil take you all!"

He went slowly back to his horse, mounted, and rode back to town. They had done their part—would the thieves do theirs?

Adhering strictly to the instructions, Croyden and Macloud left Annapolis on the next car, caught the boat at Baltimore, and arrived in Hampton in the evening, in time for dinner. They stopped a few minutes at Ashburton, to acquaint Captain Carrington with their return, and then went on to Clarendon.

Both men were nervous. Neither wanted the other to know and each endeavored to appear at ease.

Croyden gave in first. He threw his cigarette into his coffee cup, and pushed his chair back from the table.

"It's no use, Colin!" he laughed. "You're trying to appear nonchalant, and you're doing it very well, too, but you can't control your fingers and your eyes—and neither can I, I fancy, though I've tried hard enough, God knows! We are about all in! These four days of strain and uncertainty have taken it all out of us. If I had any doubt as to my affection for Elaine, it's vanished, now.——I don't say I'm fool enough to propose to her, yet I'm scarcely responsible, at present. If I were to see her this minute, I'd likely do something rash."

"You're coming around to it, gradually," said Macloud.

"Gradually! Hum! I don't know about the 'gradually.' I want to pull myself together—to get a rein on myself—to—what are you smiling at; am I funny?"

"You are!" said Macloud. "I never saw a man fight so hard against his personal inclinations, and a rich wife. You don't deserve her!—if I were Elaine, I'd turn you down hard, hard."

"Thank God! you're not Elaine!" Croyden retorted.

"And hence, with a woman's unreasonableness and trust in the one she loves, she will likely accept you."

"How do you know she loves me?"

Macloud blew a couple of smoke rings and watched them sail upward.

"I suppose you're equally discerning as to Miss Carrington, and her love for you," Croyden commented.

"I regret to say, I'm not," said Macloud, seriously. "That is what troubles me, indeed. Unlike my friend, Geoffrey Croyden, I'm perfectly sure of my own mind, but I'm not sure of the lady's."

"Then, why don't you find out?"

"Exactly what I shall do, when she returns."

"It's sure as fate!" said Croyden.

"Thanks! We each seem to be able to answer the other's uncertainty," he remarked, calmly.

Presently, Macloud arose.

"I'm going over to Ashburton, and talk with the Captain a little—sort of cheer him up. Come along?"

Croyden shook his head.

"Go on!" said he. "It's a very good occupation for you, sitting up to the old gent. I'll give you a chance by staying away, to-night. Make a hit with grandpa, Colin, make a hit with grandpa!"

"And you make a hit with yourself—get rid of your foolish theory, and come down to simple facts," Macloud retorted, and he went out.

"Get rid of your foolish theory," Croyden soliloquized. "Well, maybe—but is it foolish, that's the question? I'm poor, once more—I've not enough even for Elaine Cavendish's husband—there's the rub! she won't be Geoffrey Croyden's wife, it's I who will be Elaine Cavendish's husband. 'Elaine Cavendish and her husband dine with us to-night!'—'Elaine Cavendish and her husband were at the horse show!' 'Elaine Cavendish and her husband were here!—or there!—or thus and so!'"

He could not endure it. It would be too belittling, too disparaging of self-respect.—Elaine Cavendish's husband!—Elaine Cavendish's husband! Might he out-grow it—be known for himself? He glanced up at the portrait of the gallant soldier of a lost cause, with the high-bred face and noble bearing.

"You were a brave man, Colonel Duval!" he said. "What would you have done?"

He took out a cigar, lit it very deliberately, and fell to thinking.... Presently, worn out by fatigue and anxiety, he dozed....

* * * * *

And as he dozed, the street door opened softly, a light step crossed the hall, and Elaine Cavendish stood in the doorway.

She was clad in black velvet, trimmed in sable. Her head was bare. A blue cloak was thrown, with careless grace, about her gleaming shoulders. One slender hand lifted the gown from before her feet. She saw the sleeping man and paused, and a smile of infinite tenderness passed across her face.

A moment she hesitated, and at the thought, a faint blush suffused her face. Then she glided softly over, bent and kissed him on the lips.

He opened his eyes, and sprang up! Startled! She was there, before him, the blush still on cheek and brow.

"Elaine! sweetheart!" he cried. And, straightway took her, unresisting, in his arms....

"Tell me all about yourself," he said, at last, drawing her down into the chair and seating himself on the arm. "Where is Miss Carrington—safe?"

"Colin's with her—I reckon she's safe!" smiled Elaine. "It won't be his fault if she isn't, I'm sure.—I left them at Ashburton, and came over here to—you."

"Alone!" said Croyden, bending over her.

She nodded, eyes half downcast.

"You foolish girl!"

"I'll go back at once——"

He laughed, joyously.

"Not yet a little while!" and bent again.

"Geoffrey! you're dreadful!" she exclaimed, half smothered. "My hair, dear,—do be careful!"

"I'll be good—if you will kiss me again!" he said.

"But you're not asleep," she objected.

"That's why I want it."

"And you will promise—not to kiss me again?"

"For half an hour."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

She looked up at him tantalizingly, her red lips parted, her bosom fluttering below.

"If it's worth coming half way for, sweetheart—you may," she said....

"Now, if you're done with foolishness—for a little while," she said, gayly, "I'll tell you how we managed to get free."

"You know why you were abducted?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!—the Parmenter jewels. Davila told me the story, and how you didn't find them, though our abductors think you did, and won't believe otherwise."

"You suffered no hurt?" he asked, sharply.

"None—we were most courteously treated; and they released us, as quickly as the check was paid."

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"I mean, that I gave them my check for the ransom money—you hadn't the jewels, you couldn't comply with the demand. How do you suppose we got free?" she questioned.

"You paid the money?" he asked, again.

"Certainly! I knew you couldn't pay it, so I did. Don't let us think of it, dear!—It's over, and we have each other, now. What is money compared to that?" Then suddenly she, woman-like, went straight back to it. "How did you think we managed to get free—escaped?" she asked.

"Yes!" he answered. "Yes—I never thought of your paying the money."

She regarded him critically.

"No!" she said, "you are deceiving me!—you are—you paid the money, also!" she cried.

"What matters it?" he said joyfully. "What matters anything now? Macloud and I did pay the ransom to-day—but of what consequence is it; whether you bought your freedom, or we bought it, or both bought it? You and Davila are here, again—that's the only thing that matters!"

"Right you are! Geoffrey, right you are!" came Macloud's voice from the hallway, and Davila and he walked into the room.

Elaine, with a little shriek, sprang up.

"Don't be bashful!" said Macloud. "Davila and I were occupying similar positions at Ashburton, a short time ago. Weren't we, little girl?" as he made a motion to put his arm around her.

Davila eluded him—though the traitor red confirmed his words—and sought Elaine's side for safety.

"It's a pleasure only deferred, my dear!" he laughed. "By the way, Elaine, how did Croyden happen to give in? He was shying off at your wealth—said it would be giving hostages to fortune, and all that rot."

"Shut up, you beggar!" Croyden exclaimed. "I'm going to try to make good."

"Geoffrey," said Elaine, "won't you show us the old pirate's letter—we're all interested in it, now."

"Certainly, I will!" he said. "I'll show you the letter, and where I found it, and anything else you want to see. Nothing is locked, to-night."

They went over to the escritoire. Croyden opened the secret drawer, and took out the letter.

"A Message from the Dead!" he said, solemnly, and handed it to Elaine.

She carried it to the table, spread it out under the lamp, and Davila and she studied it, carefully, even as Croyden and Macloud had done—reading the Duval endorsements over and over again.

"It seems to me there is something queer about these postscripts," she said, at last; "something is needed to make them clear. Is this the entire letter?—didn't you find anything else?"

"Nothing!" said Croyden.

"May I look?" she asked.

"Most assuredly, sweetheart."

"It's a bit dark in this hole. Let me have a match."

She struck it, and peered back into the recess.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Here is something!—only a corner visible." She put in her hand. "It has slipped down, back of the false partition. I'll get it, presently.—There!"

She drew out a tiny sheet of paper, and handed it to Croyden.

"Does that help?" she asked.

Croyden glanced at it; then gave a cry of amazed surprise.

"It does!" he said. "It does! It's the key to the mystery. Listen!"

The rest crowded around him while he read:

"Hampton, Maryland. "5 Oct. 1738.

"Memorandum to accompany the letter of Robert Parmenter, dated 10 May 1738.

"Whereas, it is stipulated by the said Parmenter that the Jewels shall be used only in the Extremity of Need; and hence, as I have an abundance of this world's Goods, that Need will, likely, not come to me. And judging that Greenberry Point will change, in time—so that my son or his Descendants, if occasion arise, may be unable to locate the Treasure—I have lifted the Iron box, from the place where Parmenter buried it, and have reinterred it in the cellar of my House in Hampton, renewing the Injunction which Parmenter put upon it, that it shall be used only in the Extremity of Need. When this Need arise, it will be found in the south-east corner of the front cellar. At the depth of two feet, between two large stones, is the Iron box. It contains the jewels, the most marvelous I have ever seen.

"Marmaduke Duval."

For a moment, they stood staring at one another too astonished to speak.

"My Lord!" Macloud finally ejaculated. "To think that it was here, all the time!"

Croyden caught up the lamp.

"Come on!" he said.

They trooped down to the cellar, Croyden leading the way. Moses was off for the evening, they had the house to themselves. As they passed the foot of the stairs, Macloud picked up a mattock.

"Me for the digging!" he said. "Which is the south-east corner, Davila?"

"There, under those boxes!" said she.

They were quickly tossed aside.

"The ground is not especially hard," observed Macloud, with the first stroke. "I reckon a yard square is sufficient.—At a depth of two feet the memorandum says, doesn't it?"

No one answered. Fascinated, they were watching the fall of the pick. With every blow, they were listening for it to strike the stones.

"Better get a shovel, Croyden, we'll need it," said Macloud, pausing long enough, to throw off his coat.... "Oh! I forgot to say, I wired the Pinkerton man to recover the package you buried this morning."

Croyden only nodded—stood the lamp on a box, and returned with the coal scoop.

"This will answer, I reckon," he said, and fell to work.

"It seems absurd!" remarked Macloud, between strokes. "To have hunted the treasure, for weeks, all over Greenberry Point, and then to find it in the cellar, like a can of lard or a bushel of potatoes."

"You haven't found it, yet," Croyden cautioned. "And we've gone the depth mentioned."

"No! we haven't found it, yet!—but we're going to find it!" Macloud answered, sinking the pick, viciously, in the ground, with the last word.

Crack!

It had struck hard against a stone.

"What did I tell you?" Macloud cried, sinking the pick in at another place.

Crack!

Again, it struck! and again! and again! The fifth stroke laid the stone bare—the sixth and seventh loosened it, still more—the eighth and ninth completed the task.

"Give me the shovel!" said he.

When the earth was away and the stone exposed, he stooped and, putting his fingers under the edges, heaved it out.

"The rest is for you, Croyden!" and stepped aside.

The iron box was found!

For a moment, Croyden looked at it, rather dazedly. Could it be the jewels were there!—within his reach!—under that lid! Suddenly, he laughed!—gladly, gleefully, as a boy—and sprang down into the hole.

The box clung to its resting place for a second, as though it was reluctant to be disturbed—then it yielded, and Croyden swung it onto the bank.

"We'll take it to the library," he said, scraping it clean of the adhering earth.

And carrying it before them, like the Ark of the Covenant, they went joyously up to the floor above.

He placed it on the table under the chandelier, where all could see. It was of iron, rusty with age; in dimension, about a foot square; and fastened by a hasp, with the bar of the lock thrust through but not secured.

"Light the gas, Colin!—every burner," he said. "We'll have the full effulgence, if you please."...

For a little time, the lid resisted. Suddenly, it yielded.

"Behold!" he heralded, and flung it back.

The scintillations which leaped out to meet them, were like the rays from myriads of gleaming, glistening, varicolored lights, of dazzling brightness and infinite depth. A wonderful cavern of coruscating splendor—rubies and diamonds, emeralds and sapphires, pearls and opals glowing with all the fire of self, and the resentment of long neglect.

"Heaven! What beauty!" exclaimed Davila.

It broke the spell.

"They are real!" Croyden laughed. "You may touch them—they will not fade."

They put them out on the table—in little heaps of color. The women exclaiming whene'er they touched them, cooingly as a woman does when handling jewels—fondling them, caressing them, loving them.

At last, the box was empty. They stood back and gazed—fascinated by it all:—the color—the glowing reds and whites, and greens and blues.

"It is wonderful! wonderful!" breathed Elaine.

"It is wonderful—and it's true!" said Croyden.

Two necklaces lay among the rubies, alike as lapidary's art could make them. Croyden handed one to Macloud, the other he took.

"In remembrance of your release, and of Parmenter's treasure!" he said, and clasped it around Elaine's fair neck.

Macloud clasped his around Davila's.

"Who cares, now, for the time spent on Greenberry Point or the double reward!" he laughed.



* * * * *



Transcriber's note:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.

THE END