If she had analyzed her emotions she would have been obliged to face the disagreeable truth that she, Anne Wellington, was jealous. Jealous of a stable of horses! After all, introspection, however deep, might not have opened her eyes as to the basic element of her mood, for jealousy had never been among the components of her mental equipment. At all events she was, as she would have expressed it, "peeved." Why? Because he had held her hand—and talked to her like a school girl.

But silence, smilingly indifferent, was the only manifestation of her state of mind. If he noticed this he said nothing to indicate that he did, but resumed his conversation as though no interruption had occurred. And curiously enough even her simulation of indifference disappeared as he turned to her, bringing words and all the subtle charm of his personality to bear. Strange elation possessed him and she yielded again as freely as before to that indescribable air of the world which characterized his every action and word. He spoke English with but the faintest accent. Once he lapsed into French, speaking as rapidly as a native. Anne caught him perfectly and answered him at some length in the same tongue. Koltsoff stopped short and gazed at her glowingly.

"There, you have demonstrated what I have been trying to say so poorly. Permit me to carry on my point more intimately. Yes, it is so; you are typically an American girl. But wherein do such young women, such as you, my dear Miss Wellington, find their metier? In America? In New York? In Newport? No. They are abroad; the wives of diplomats, cabinet ministers, or royal councillors of France, Germany, Austria, Italy, and," the Prince bowed slightly, "of my native land. Here, what lies before you? Ah," he stooped and snatched a bit of clover, "I have seen, I have studied, have I not? Washington, what is it to you? A distant place. And its affairs? Bah, merely items to be skipped in the newspapers. As you have admitted, you know nothing of them. You do not know your cabinet officers; and so you marry and—and what do you Americans say?—settle down."

"How knowingly you picture us," smiled the girl.

The Prince waved his hands.

"You travel, yes, but at best, most significantly, your lives are narrow. You are wives and mothers, living in ruts as well-defined as those of your most prosaic middle-class women. What do you know of the inner world, its moving affairs? Who of you can read the significance, open though it may be, of the cabled statement or speech of a prime minister, in relation to America?"

"Perhaps our opportunities or incentives do not exist," replied the girl gravely. "I have heard father say ours is a government of politicians and not statesmen."

"Precisely, that is it. But in Europe, where conditions are different, what do we find? Lady Campbell in Egypt—an American girl; the Princess Stein in St. Petersburg; the Marquise de Villiers in France; Lady Clanclaren in London—oh, scores, all American girls, some of whom have made their influence felt constructively, as I can personally assure you. American history is so uninteresting because there is not a woman in it."

"You know the Marquise de Villiers!" exclaimed the girl. "Won't you tell me, sometime, all about her? How interesting her story must be! I have heard garbled versions of the Berlin incident."

"I do know her," the Prince smiled, as he thought how intimate his knowledge was, "and I shall delight in telling you all about her sometime. But now," he continued, "allow me to carry on my thought. You travel—yes. You even live abroad as the, ah, butterfly—your own word—lives. I know. Have not I heard of you! Have I not followed you in the newspapers since I saw your face on canvas! I read from a dossier that I formulated concerning you." He drew a notebook from his pocket and glanced at the girl. "May I?"

"It is yours," was the reply.

"January," he read, "Miss W. is tobogganing in Switzerland. February, she is viewing the Battle of Flowers at Nice. March, she is at Monaco, at Monte Carlo—ah! April, Miss W. has arrived in Paris. May and June, she is in London. July, she is attending English race meetings with young Clanclaren—" the Prince paused with a sibilant expulsion of breath. "I must not read my comment."

"Yes, you must, please. I never heard of such a romantic Russian!"

The Prince raised his eyebrows and glanced at the book—"with young Clanclaren, damn him! August," continued Koltsoff hurriedly, drowning her subdued exclamation, "at Clanclaren's Scotch shooting box. September, she is again in England, deer stalking—most favored deer! October, November, she is riding to hounds in England. December, she is doing the grand tour of English country houses." The Prince paused. "So, our acquaintance—my acquaintance with you—is of more than a few days. I have known you for more than a year. Do you find it not agreeable?"

"Not agreeable! I don't know. I am—I—I—oh, I don't know, it seems almost uncanny to me."

"Not at all, my dear Miss Wellington. Surely not uncanny. Let us ascribe it to the genius of Sargent; to the inspiration of a face on canvas."

"But you really haven't known me at all. You—"

He interrupted.

"Know you! Ah, don't I! I know you above these trivial things. The world of affairs will feel the impress of your personality, of your wit, your intellect—of your beauty. Then vale the idle, flashing days of pleasure. Iron will enter into your life. But you will rejoice. For who is there that finds power not joyous? Ambassadors will confide in you. Prime ministers will forget the interests of their offices." He paused. "Who knows when or how soon? But it shall be, surely, inevitably. . . . I wonder," he was speaking very slowly now, "if you will recognize your opportunity."

"Who knows," she said softly. The Prince remained silent, looking at her. She seemed to feel the necessity of further words but was wholly without inspiration. She glanced down the road and saw a boy in blue toiling along on a bicycle. Her exclamation was out of all proportion to the event.

"A messenger boy! He brings word from father—we expect him to-morrow, you know."

"He brings no word from your father," replied the Prince mysteriously. "His errand concerns me. You shall see." They moved to the gate and the boy alighting, glanced at the two with his alert Irish eyes.

"Say, does a fellow named Koltsoff live here?"

"I am he; give me the package, boy. It is prepaid—very well; here is something for you," tossing the urchin a quarter.

"Thanks," said the boy, who suddenly paused in the act of remounting his wheel and clapped his hand to his pocket. "Here's a letter, too."

As he rode away the two slowly retraced their steps.

"You will pardon me if I read this note?"

Anne, strangely abstracted, nodded, and Koltsoff tore open the envelope. As he read the letter his brow darkened.

"Gone!" he muttered. Then he read the letter again.

Yeasky would not have departed without the best of reasons. He held the inked-out line to the light but could make nothing of it. He walked along beside the girl in deep thought. His hands trembled. He knew that in his possession was that which represented the triumph of his career. There were few honors which a grateful Government would withhold from him. Besides, it meant the probable rehabilitation of the prestige of the Russian arms; that thought thrilled him no less, for he was a patriot.

And yet amid all his exaltation indecision filled him. Duty pointed a direct and immediate course to St. Petersburg. Other emotions dictated his remaining at The Crags. The package could not be intrusted to the express companies. It must be carried personally to Russia. And yet—and yet he could not leave Newport now. Just a little while! He must wait. To his Czar, to his country, he owed haste; to himself he owed delay. Which debt should he cancel? Suddenly with a sharp upward turn of the head he dismissed all conflicting thoughts from his mind, refused utterly to allow them to remain, and turned to the girl. They were entering a small grove of trees.

An inspiration had flashed over him, dominant, compelling. He spoke impulsively, almost wildly; so much so that Anne stopped, startled. In his outstretched hand the package was within a few inches of her face.

"Miss Wellington," he cried, "we were speaking of opportunities, but a while ago. May I call upon you now? I have said I am not in Newport for pleasure alone. A great matter has been consummated. I hold it in my hand. Who can trust servants? My valet? No! Who? Can I trust you. Miss Wellington? Can I place my honor, my life, in your hands, for a week, not more?"

"Why, I—" began Anne.

"Is it then too much to ask?"

"I hope not, Prince Koltsoff. Tell me and then I can judge."

"So!" and Koltsoff held out the package to her. "Keep this for me. Let no one know where it is except myself. Keep it until I ask for it. If matters arise of such nature to prevent my asking, keep it still. Keep it!" Koltsoff was now acting as he loved to act. "Keep it until I ask for it; or until I am dead. If the latter, throw it over the cliffs. My country is on the verge of a war with—with you may guess whom. Japan, no less. That, that which you hold in your hand is the heart of our hopes." He paused.

He was really sincere. His desire was to forestall any defeat of his plans by having the package out of his hands until such time as he would leave Newport. One of his valets had once been successfully bribed. But equally did he desire that the girl should have a bond of interest akin to his; through this, he knew, must lie the success of that understanding which alone kept him from following Yeasky out of Newport forthwith.

But the girl could not know this. Her pride in sharing in so intimate a way a matter which she believed to—and for that matter, really did—affect the policy of a great empire, held her spellbound. There was the feminine delight, too, in being on the inner side of a mystery.

She nodded mechanically. "I shall do as you ask," she said.

The Prince sprang forward, caught her hands and pressed upon them hot, lingering kisses.

"Into these hands," he said, "I commit my destiny and my honor."



CHAPTER IX

ARMITAGE CHANGES HIS VOCATION

Half an hour after the incident at Trinity, Armitage hurried from the little ferry boat which had just landed him at the Torpedo Station and made his way to the house of the storekeeper, who was out, of course. He had gone to Providence, his wife said, and would return about four o'clock.

Armitage took the key to the shops, only to find when he entered that the storekeeper's books were in the safe, the combination to which he did not know. This by no means improved his temper and he began to blunder about the office in a dragnet search. Finally, when he found himself kicking over chairs which were in his way in his aimless course, the humor of the situation came to him. He sat down upon a tool chest and laughed aloud.

Clearly, there was nothing for him to do in the absence of Jackson—except go to his dinner; which he did. A few minutes before three o'clock, he went to the office again and sat down to wait for Yeasky. He gave the man half an hour overtime and then nodded grimly and dismissed any lingering notion he might have entertained concerning his honesty.

When the storekeeper appeared some time later, Armitage was still at his desk idly drawing diagrams on a pad.

"Mr. Jackson," he said, "I hate to bother you to-day, but things have happened which seem to make it necessary to check those parts now—" Armitage arose briskly.

The storekeeper waved his hands.

"Oh, I checked them up this morning," he said.

"Everything straight?" snapped Armitage.

"Why—yes," Jackson fumbled in his desk. "Here is the sheet."

Armitage seized it and glanced up and down the various items.

"Bully work, Mr. Jackson!" He looked up with a sigh of relief. "Everything seems correct. George! That takes a load off my mind. Let's see." He went down the list with his finger. "I understand you, don't I?" he said, handing the sheet to the storekeeper.

"Understand?"

"I mean, this is a list taken from the tally sheet of parts, all of which you have found to be in the office? In other words," he added rapidly, "everything that appears on this sheet is now, at the present time, inside this office?"

"Yes—everything, except—" the storekeeper paused an instant, looking at Armitage with sudden doubt.

"Except what?" cried the officer impatiently.

"Why, that special core of the magnetic control. You have that, haven't you? It is n't in the shop."

"Is n't in the shop! Well, where the devil is it then?"

"Why," exclaimed the storekeeper, "no one ever handled that but you. Not even Yeasky. You never let any one even see it. I remember how careful you have been about that."

"I know," Armitage rose from his chair. "But it was never out of the shop. It was always in the big safe. Have you looked there?" He turned to Jackson hopefully.

But the storekeeper shook his head.

"Are you sure you have looked everywhere?"

"It is not in the shop—I thought sure you must have it. Does it—was it vitally important?"

"Important!" Armitage threw himself into a chair and put his feet on the desk. "Well, Jackson, I fancy you might call it so. Damn!"

The storekeeper whistled.

"I shall have the rooms of the workmen searched."

"Just one room, please; and quickly, will you?" rejoined Armitage, "Yeasky's. He is the only man who would have known its value. Give my compliments to the superintendent and ask him for some one to help you."

As the storekeeper departed, Joe Thornton entered the office.

"Any luck, Jack?"

"Rotten! The magnetic control of the model is gone. I was right this morning and you were wrong, Joe. Yeasky got it. Why did n't I keep my hands on him, when I had him! Something told me to."

"The deuce!" Thornton regarded his friend with a grave face. "Is it very serious? Does it give the whole snap away?"

"It gives about ninety per cent more away than pleases me. It would take some genius long nights of labor to supply the other ten per cent even with the aid of the plans which no doubt Yeasky has copied. That is, there are one or two things that I kept off the paper—kept in my head." He paced up and down the floor. "But other men have heads, too. That thing has got to be returned, the quicker the better."

"Well," Thornton smiled encouragingly. "Yeasky can't get out of the country—and he 'll be caught before he dopes the thing out. Even if he has mailed or expressed it, it can be held up before it leaves this country. You had the control in the model torpedo last night. Have you wired?"

"I 've sent a general call to the secret service for him, to Boston, New York, and Washington. They are holding the telegrams, as long as letters, at the telegraph office for release. I 've also a wire to the Department on file, telling what has happened. I wrote before I knew what was gone, so I would n't have to lie in case he took what he did take."

"Yes," agreed Thornton, "there is no use in letting on how bad it really is."

Thornton was growing quite optimistic.

"Yeasky can't get away; you 'll have the thing back here within three days."

Armitage smiled.

"Not through capturing Yeasky. He hasn't it now. You don't suppose he is enough of a fool to risk being caught with the goods, do you? He got that thing off his hands, quick."

"Transferred it! Who to?"

Armitage shrugged his shoulders.

"To Prince Koltsoff."

"Koltsoff! How do you know?"

"How do I know anything that isn't as plain as a pikestaff? Common sense! Prince Koltsoff has that thing right now." Armitage grinned. "The noble guest of the house of Ronald Wellington playing the spy—and rather successfully. Quite an interesting society item, eh?"

Thornton did not smile.

"Look here, old man, what is your drift? Prince Koltsoff! Old boy, this is serious! It is nothing to smile about. Say, do you know what this means?"

"Oh, no!" said Armitage sarcastically. "Oh, I don't mean the loss to yourself and the Government, I mean the politics of it. Jack, every nation knows about that torpedo. You know the attaches that have been snooping round here on one pretence or another since you have been working. Japan knows about it; you know her situation with Russia. Russia gets your torpedo—what's Japan going to do? What will England say? How can the Government prove it was stolen? Oh, we can say so but we 'd say so anyway, would n't we? How will you look?" Thornton threw up his hands and confronted Armitage. "I tell you, Jack, it's a nasty mess. Your status in the matter will size up about like a pin point at Washington. You 've got to catch Yeasky, somehow."

"Fine, bright boy!" Armitage twisted a newspaper in his hands, broke it, and tossed the two ends away. "I don't want Yeasky, I tell you. You 're off the track. I want Koltsoff. The secret service fellows can go after Yeasky. It's perfectly certain he turned that control over to Koltsoff, after, if not before, I held him up. He knew he was suspected. Anyway, the Russian was undoubtedly here to receive it. Why else would he be here?"

"Anne Wellington, so the Saunterer says."

Armitage turned quickly upon his friend and brother officer.

"Anne, nothing!" he fairly snarled. "I remember about Koltsoff now. Worcester was once attache at St. Petersburg and told me all about him last summer. He 's just a plain, ordinary, piking crook. But he 's up against the wrong kind of diplomacy this time. I 'll get him before he leaves Newport and choke that magnetic control out of him. Come over to the D'Estang a minute, Joe; I want to show you something. . . . Well, Mr. Jackson, cleaned out? I thought so. Thank you, I am going to be away for a few days. Don't let anything be touched, please. Let the work stop until I return. Come on, Joe."

In his cabin on the D'Estang, Armitage pointed to several more or less disreputable garments lying on his berth.

"Say," he said, "would a candidate for physical instructor for the Wellington boys wear such clothes?"

Thornton looked hard at his friend for a minute and then his face broadened into a huge smile of understanding. "Not if he wanted the job," he said. "You 'll make more of a hit as you are."

"All right, and now, Joe, go into the yeoman's office like a good chap, pick out a time-stained sheet of paper and typewrite a letter, signing your name as captain of the 19— football eleven at Annapolis, saying that the bearer, Jack—Jack—who?"

"McCall," suggested Thornton.

"Yes, McCall—saying that Jack McCall had given great satisfaction as trainer for the eleven and was honest and God-fearing; you know how to do it."

"All right," said Thornton, starting for the door. He paused in the corridor. "Say, Jack, do you know you're taking all this mighty light?" He frowned. "This is serious."

Armitage frowned too.

"I know, but I 'll be serious enough before it's over, I reckon."

"You will," said Thornton dryly. "How do you expect to get the job anyway?"

Armitage shrugged his shoulders.

"Leave that to me," he said. "Oh, Joe, are you going to be on the island for supper?"

"No—not for supper," he said. "I 'll be over from Newport about eleven o'clock though."

"All right, drop aboard then, will you? I want to see you."

"Right-o," said Thornton.

For some time after his departure Armitage sat writing a document, covering the case to date, outlining his plans, his suspicions and the like. It turned out to be lengthy. He sealed it in an envelope, labelled it, "Armitage vs. Koltsoff," and locked it in a small safe in the yeoman's room.

One of the engineer's force came in to say that they had made progress in repairing the boiler baffle plates, designed to keep the funnels from torching when under high speed, but that they were at the point where advice was needed.

Armitage arose, put on a suit of greasy overalls, and went into the grimy vitals of the destroyer, a wrench in one hand, a chisel in the other. In about ten minutes he had solved the problem, explained it to the mechanics gathered about him, and then demonstrated just how simple the remedial measures were. All torpedo boat officers do this more often than not. It explains the blind fidelity with which the crews of craft of this sort accompany their officers without a murmur under the bows of swiftly moving battleships or through crowded ocean lanes at night without lights, with life boats aboard having aggregate capacity for about half the crew.

Armitage was alone at supper, his junior taking tea aboard a German cruiser in the harbor. With the coffee he lighted a cigar and half closed his eyes. He marvelled at the strange thrill which had possessed him since Thornton had gone. The loss of that control was something which justified the gravest fears and deepest gloom. And yet—and yet—whenever he thought about it he saw, not Yeasky, nor Koltsoff, nor the torpedo—just a tall, flexible girl, with wonderful hair and eyes and lips. He puffed impatiently at his cigar. Hang it all, he had gone to church that morning because he felt he had to see her, and the morrow had been a blank because he knew he should not be able to see her again. But now, well, it looked as though he should see her; swift blood tingled in his cheeks.

Precisely at eleven Thornton looked in. Armitage gave him the combination of the safe, told him about the letter, and explained how he expected to obtain employment. They parted at midnight.

"Good-night, Jack," said Thornton, placing his hand affectionately on his brother officer's shoulder. "Now don't forget to dodge the interference and tackle low. And if you want me, 'phone. Consider me a minute man until you return."

"Thanks," replied Armitage. "Oh, Joe, will you mail this letter to the Department?" His voice lowered as he added half humorously, "It seems almost a shame to set the dogs on a man who may prove to be a benefactor."

"What?" asked Thornton.

"Nothing; good-night, Joe."



CHAPTER X

JACK MCCALL, AT YOUR SERVICE

Armitage landed in Newport by the eight o'clock boat and calling a hack drove out to the house of the chief of police. The chief was at breakfast and came to the door with his napkin in his hand. He greeted his visitor with a broad smile of welcome.

"Hello, Lieutenant," he said. "What's doing? Another of your boys you want turned loose?"

"Good-morning, Chief. No, not exactly. May I talk to you a minute?"

"Sure." The chief glanced about the dining room and closed the door with his foot. "Talk as much as you like."

Armitage glanced at the chief with an admiring smile. He had never ceased to wonder at the multifarious qualities which enabled the man to remain indispensable to native and cottager alike. Courteous, handsome, urbane, diplomatic, debonair, when a matron of the very highest caste sent for him to enlist his efforts in the regaining of some jewel, tiara, or piece of vertu, missing after a weekend, he never for a moment forgot that it was all a bit of carelessness, which the gentlest sort of reminder would correct. This is to say that he usually brought about the return of the missing article and neither of the parties between which he served as intermediary ever felt the slightest embarrassment or annoyance. No wedding was ever given without consulting him as to the proper means to be employed in guarding the presents. He was at once a social register, containing the most minute and extensive data, and an index criminis, unabridged.

As Armitage talked, the chief's eyes lighted and he nodded his head approvingly from time to time.

"I see," he said. "It's rather clever of you. I 'll hold myself for any word. I can do more: I know Mrs. Wellington quite well. You can ask her to call me for reference if you wish. I 'll make you out a fine thug."

"That 'll be fine, although I may not need you. In the meantime have your men keep an eye out for Yeasky. And," Armitage paused, "if Koltsoff—never mind; we 've first to prove our case."

"Yes, that would be about the wisest thing you could do," observed the chief. "Good luck."

An hour later Armitage stood in the servants' sitting-room confronting Miss Hatch, Mrs. Wellington's secretary, who was viewing him, not without interest.

"Mrs. Wellington will see you, I think," she said. "She usually breakfasts early and should be in her office now."

Armitage had an engaging grin which invariably brought answering smiles even from the veriest strangers. So now the crisp, bespectacled young woman was smiling broadly when Armitage shrugged his shoulders.

"Mrs. Wellington?" he said. "I had an idea I should have to see Mr. Wellington."

"By no means," asserted the secretary. "Wait a moment, please."

In a few minutes the young woman returned and nodded.

"Will you come with me, please?"

She led the way up a winding pair of stairs and down a long hall with heavy crimson carpet, turning into a room near the rear of the house. Mrs. Wellington was at her desk looking over a menu which the housekeeper had just submitted. She glanced up as the two entered, her face unchanging in expression.

"This is Mr. McCall," said the secretary, who without further words went to her desk and unlimbered the typewriter.

As Mrs. Wellington brought Armitage under her scrutiny, which was long, silent, and searching, he felt as he did upon his first interview with the Secretary of the Navy. However, no one had ever accused him of lack of nerve.

"You apply for the position of physical instructor to my sons," she said at length. "How did you know we wanted one?"

Armitage, caught for the instant off his guard, stammered.

"I—at least Miss—I mean I read it in one of the papers."

"Hum," replied Mrs. Wellington, "a rather misleading medium. Correct in this instance, though."

"I believe it was an advertisement," said Armitage.

"What qualifications have you?"

Armitage smiled easily.

"I have taught boxing, wrestling, and jiu-jitsu in Southern athletic clubs," he said, "and I trained the 19— navy team at Annapolis."

He submitted Thornton's eloquent testimonial. Mrs. Wellington laid it aside after a glance.

"Where is your home?"

"Louisville, Kentucky, ma'm."

"What have you been doing in Newport? I remember having seen you at church yesterday morning."

"I came up to see Winthrop of the Harvard Graduate Advisory Committee on Athletics about getting the job as trainer for the football team next month. He is away."

"Were you ever in college?" asked Mrs. Wellington.

Armitage assumed a look of embarrassment.

"Yes," he said, "but unless you insist I had rather not say where or why I left."

Mrs. Wellington sniffed.

"I thought so," she observed drily. "What would you do for my sons?"

Armitage was on his favorite topic now.

"I 'd try to convince them that it pays to be strong and clean in mind and body—" he began earnestly, when a rustle of skirts and the click of footsteps at the threshold caused him to turn. Anne Wellington, in an embroidered white linen frock, stood framed in the doorway, smiling at them.

"Pardon me, mother," she said, "but I am in a dreadful fix." She glanced toward Armitage. "This is our new physical instructor, is it not?"

"He has applied for the position," said Mrs. Wellington, not altogether blithely.

"How fortunate—" began the girl and then stopped abruptly. "That is," she added, "if he can drive a car."

"I helped make automobiles in Chicago," Armitage ventured.

"Good!" exclaimed Anne. "You know, mother, Rimini has gone to New York to receive that Tancredi, and Benoir, the second chauffeur, is in the hospital. I must have a driver for a day or so. He may for a while, may he not, mother?" She nodded to Armitage. "If you will go out to the garage, please, I shall have Mr. Dawson give you some clothing. I think he can fit you. I—"

"One moment, Anne," interrupted her mother. "You do run on so. Just wait one moment. You seem to forget I am, or at least was, about to engage McCall as a physical instructor, not a mecanicien." Mrs. Wellington was fundamentally opposed to being manoeuvred, and her daughter's apparent attempt at finesse in this matter irritated her. She was fully bent now upon declining to employ Armitage in any capacity and was on the point of saying so, when Anne, who had diagnosed her trend of mind, broke in.

"Really, mother, I am perfectly sincere. But this situation, you must admit, was totally unexpected—and I must have a driver, don't you know. Why, I 've planned to take Prince Koltsoff, oh, everywhere."

This won for her. Mrs. Wellington even when irritated was altogether capable of viewing all sides of a matter.

"Very well," she said. "I shall consider the other matter. When you are through with McCall, let me know."

Anne's eyes sparkled with relief.

"Mother, you are a dear." She walked over and touched her affectionately on her arm. "McCall, if you will go out to the garage, Mr. Dawson will show you your room and give you some clothes. I may want you any time, so please don't go far from the garage."

As Armitage passed out, guided by Miss Hatch, Mrs. Wellington turned to her daughter.

"Well, Anne," she said, "he lied and lied and lied. But I do believe some of the things he said and some he did n't. I believe him to be honest and I believe he will be good for the boys. He himself is a magnificent specimen, certainly. But I don't reconcile one thing."

"What is that, mother?"

"He is a gentleman and has been bred as one; that is perfectly evident."

"Oh, no doubt," replied her daughter with apparent indifference. "One of the younger son variety you meet in and out of England, I fancy."

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Wellington. "Is that why you invited him to sit with us in church? Why you spoke to him on the General? Why you wanted me to employ him?"

"I don't know," replied Anne frankly. "He interested me. He does yet. He is a mystery and I want to solve him."

"May an old woman give you a bit of advice, Anne? Thank you," as her daughter bowed. "Remember he is an employee of this house. He sought the position; he must be down to it. Keep that in your mind—and don't let him drive fast. In the meantime, how about his license?"

Anne stamped her foot.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "I forgot all about that beastly license. What can we do?" She faced her mother. "Mother, can't you think of something? I know you can arrange it if you will."

"Well," said her mother thoughtfully. Suddenly she looked at her secretary who entered at the moment. "Miss Hatch, you might get Chief Roberts on the 'phone—right away, please. Now, Anne, I am getting nervous; you had better go."

"Yes, mother." Anne dropped a playful curtsey and left the room, smiling.

Half an hour later, Armitage, squeezed into a beautifully made suit of tan whipcord, his calves swathed in putees, and a little cap with vizor pressing flat against his brows, was loitering about the garage with Ryan, a footman, and absorbing the gossip of the family. Prince Koltsoff was still there and intended, evidently, to remain for some time. This information, gained from what Anne Wellington had said to her mother, had relieved his mind of fears that his quarry had already gone, and he would have been quite at his ease had not the thought that the fact of Koltsoff's presence here rather argued against his having the control in his possession, occurred to him. Still, if the Russian had any of the instincts of a gentleman he could hardly break away from the Wellingtons at such short notice, and certainly not if he was, as Thornton surmised, interested in the daughter. Talk about the garage left him in no doubt of this.

If the Prince had the missing part he would do one of three things: hold onto it until he left; mail it; or express it to St. Petersburg. Benoir, he had learned, carried the Wellington mail as well as express matter to the city, mornings and afternoons. In his absence, Armitage was, he felt, the logical man for this duty. So he did not worry about these contingencies. He had knowledge that up to eight o'clock that morning no package for foreign countries had been either mailed or expressed; this eliminated the fear, which might otherwise have been warrantable, that the package had already been sent on its way to Europe. Besides, no man of Koltsoff's experience would be likely to trust the delivery of so important an object to any but his own hands. Thus the probabilities were that the thing was at this minute in the Prince's room. If all these suppositions were wrong, then Yeasky had it. Armitage knew enough of the workings of the Secret Service Bureau to know that if the man got out of the country he would be an elusive person indeed, especially as he had a long, livid scar across his left cheek which could not be concealed with any natural effect.

But, somehow, the conviction persisted in Armitage's mind that the Prince had the control. In the short time he had spent at The Crags this impression had not diminished; it had increased, without definite reason, to be sure; and yet, the fact remained. He would find out one way or another shortly. His room, not in the servants' wing, was on the third floor, right over the apartments of the Wellington boys, which in turn were not far from Koltsoff's suite. It would not be long before a burglary would be committed in the Wellington house. At this thought, Armitage thrilled with delightful emotions.

In the meantime he addressed himself to the task of gleaning further information concerning the family into whose employ he had entered. He learned that while Mr. Wellington and his daughter were devoted to motoring, Mrs. Wellington would have none of it, and that the boys were inclined to horses also. Ronald Wellington left things pretty much to his wife and she was a "Hellian," as Ryan put it, to those about her who were not efficient and faithful. But otherwise, she was a pretty decent sort and willing to pay well.

"What sort are the boys?" asked Armitage, recalling that his duties with them might begin at any time.

"Master Ronald, the oldest, is stuck on himself," replied Ryan. "He ain't easy to get along with. Master Royal, the youngster, is as fine a little chap as ever lived. Ronald is learning himself the cigarette habit; which is all right—the quicker he smokes himself to death the better, if he was n't after learnin' young Muck, as every one calls him, to smoke, too. They do it on the quiet here in the garage, although it's against the rules."

"Why don't you stop them then?" asked Armitage.

Ryan shrugged and laughed.

"If we stopped them we 'd be fired for committin' insult and if they 're caught here we 'll be fired for lettin' 'em smoke. That's the way with those who work for people like the Wellingtons—always between the devil and the deep sea."

"Oh, I don't know," said Armitage, whose combative instincts were now somewhat aroused, "I don't think people get into great trouble for doing their duty, whoever they work for."

The footman grinned.

"Well," he said, "you 'll know more about that the longer you 're here."

As he spoke, the boys under discussion entered the doorway and seating themselves upon the running board of a touring car, helped themselves to cigarettes from a silver case which the elder took from his pocket. They lighted them without a glance at the two men and had soon filled the atmosphere with pungent smoke.

"Do they do this often?" asked Armitage at length, turning to Ryan and speaking in a voice not intended to be hidden.

The footman grinned and nodded.

"Against the rules, isn't it?" persisted Armitage, much to Ryan's evident embarrassment, who, however, nodded again.

The older boy took his cigarette from his mouth and rising, walked a few steps toward the new chauffeur. He was a slender stripling with high forehead, long, straight nose, and a face chiefly marked by an imperious expression. In his flannels and flapping Panama hat he was a reduced copy of such Englishmen as Armitage had seen lounging in the boxes at Ascot or about the paddock at Auteuil.

"Were you speaking of us, my man?" he said.

A gleam of amusement crossed Armitage's face.

"I—I believe I was, my boy. Why?"

A corner of the youth's upper lip curled and snapping the half-burnt cigarette into a corner he took another from the case and lighted it.

"Oh," he said nodding, "you are the new man. Impertinence is not a good beginning. I 'm afraid you won't last."

Armitage crossed quickly to the discarded cigarette which was smouldering near a little pool of gasoline under a large can of that dangerous fluid, and rubbed the fire out with his foot. Returning, he confronted the boy, standing very close to him.

"Look here, son," he said quietly, "that won't do a bit, you know. It's against the rules, and besides," jerking his head in the direction of the gasoline can, "you have n't any sense."

Ronald's emotions were beyond the power of words to relieve. As he stood glaring at Armitage, his face devoid of color, his eyes green with anger, the chauffeur placed his hand gently upon his arm.

"You can't smoke here, I tell you. There 's a notice over there to that effect signed by your father. Now throw that cigarette away; or go out of here with it, as you like."

By way of reply, Ronald jerked his arm from Armitage's grasp and swung at his face with open hand. It was a venomous slap, but it did not come within a foot of the mark for the reason that Jack deftly caught the flailing arm by the wrist and with a powerful twist brought young Wellington almost to his knees through sheer pain of the straining tendons. As this happened, the younger brother with a shrill cry of rage launched himself at Armitage, who caught him by the waist and swung him easily up into the tonneau of the touring car.

Ronald had risen to his feet and in cold passion was casting his eye about the garage. A heavy wrench lay on the floor; he stepped towards it, but not too quickly for Armitage to interpose. Slowly the latter raised his finger until it was on a level with the boy's face.

"Now, stop just a minute and think," he said. "I like your spirit, and yours, too, kid," he added, gazing up at the tonneau from which the younger Wellington was glaring down like a bellicose young tiger, "but this won't go at all. Now wait," as Ronald tried to brush past. "In the first place, if your mother hears you have been smoking in the garage—or anywhere else—you 'll get into trouble with her, so Ryan has told me. And I don't believe that's any fun. . . . Now—listen, will you? I am employed here as physical instructor for you chaps, not as a chauffeur—although your sister has been good enough to press me into service for a day or two—and I imagine I 'm going to draw pay for making you into something else than thin-chested cigarette fiends. I can do it, if you 'll help. How about it?" he said, smiling at Ronald. "Will you be friends?"

Ronald, who had worked out of his passion, sniffed.

"Thank you, I had rather not, if you don't mind. I think you will find that you don't like your place."

"Well," said Armitage affably, "then I can leave, you know."

"Yes, you can, all right; it 'll be sooner than you think. Come on, Muck," and the older brother turned and left the garage.

Muck, who for the past few seconds had been gazing at Armitage with wide eyes, slipped down from the car and stood in front of him.

"Say," he exclaimed, "you 're the fellow I gave that note to in church—the one from my sister—are n't you?"

He grinned as Armitage looked at him dumbly.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I shan't tell. Sister gave me a five-dollar gold piece. I thought you did n't act like a chauffeur. Say, show me that grip you got on Ronie, will you? He has been too fresh lately,—I want to spring it on him. Can I learn it?"

"Not that one." Armitage took the boy's hand, his thumb pressing back of the second knuckle, his fingers on the palm. He twisted backward and upward gently. "There 's one that's better, though, and easier. See? Not that way," as the boy seized his hand. "Press here. That's right. Now you 've got it. You can make your brother eat out of your hand."

"Thanks!" Muck left beaming, searching for his disgruntled brother—and Armitage had made a friend.

A minute later Royal, or Muck, as his nickname seemed to be, thrust his head into the garage. "You 're not going to say anything to mother about the cigarettes, are you?"

"That's the best guess you ever made," smiled Armitage. "You and I 'll settle that, won't we?"

"Rather," replied the boy, who departed with a nod.

"Well, you 've done it," said Ryan, gazing at Armitage admiringly. "Master Ronald will raise hell!"

Armitage shook his head.

"I don't care, I just had to devil that rooster. He was insufferable. I—"

The telephone bell rang, and Ryan, with a significant I-told-you-so grimace took up the receiver. A second later a smile of relief lighted his face.

"Very well. Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to Armitage.

"The butler, Mr. Buchan, says that Miss Wellington would have you bring out her car at once. She don't want any footman."

Armitage arose with a thrill which set his ears tingling, cranked the motor, and within a minute was rolling out of the garage.



CHAPTER XI

THE DYING GLADIATOR

She was waiting, when Armitage, who was leaning back in his seat in the most professional manner, shut off power under the porte cochere and glanced at her for directions.

"To Mrs. Van Valkenberg's," she said. "Do you know where she lives?"

"No, I don't, Miss Wellington."

"No matter, I 'll direct you."

As they entered the Ocean Drive through an archway of privet, Miss Wellington indicated a road which dived among the hills and disappeared.

"Drive quite slowly," she said.

It was a beautiful road, dipping and rising, but hidden at all times by hills, resplendent with black and yellow and purple gorse, or great gray bowlders, so that impressions of Scotch moorlands alternated with those of an Arizona desert. The tang of September was in the breeze; from the moorlands which overlooked the jagged Brenton reefs came the faint aroma of burning sedge; from the wet distant cliff a saline exhalation was wafted. It was such a morning as one can see and feel only on the island of Newport.

As an additional charm to Anne Wellington, there was the tone of time about it all. From childhood she had absorbed all these impressions of late Summer in Newport; they had grown, so to speak, into her life, had become a part of her nature. She drew a deep breath and leaned forward.

"Stop here a moment, will you please."

They were at the bottom of a hollow with no sign of habitation about, save the roof of a villa which perched upon a rocky eminence, half a mile to one side.

"Will you get out and lift the radiator cover and pretend to be fixing something, McCall? I want to talk to you."

Without a word, Jack left his seat, went to the tool box and was soon viewing the internal economy of the car, simulating search for an electrical hiatus with some fair degree of accuracy.

The girl bent forward, her cheek suffused but a humorous smile playing about her face.

"McCall," she said, "I feel I should assure you at the outset that I am quite aware of certain things."

Armitage glanced at her and then quickly lowered his eyes. She gazed admiringly at his strong, clean face and the figure sharply defined by the close-fitting livery.

"Your name is not McCall and I have not the slightest idea that you are by profession a physical instructor, or a driver either."

Armitage unscrewed a wrench and then screwed the jaws back into their place.

"We are what conditions make us, Miss Wellington," he said.

"Yes, that is true," she replied, "but tell me truthfully. Did you seek employment here only because of my—of my interest in—I mean, because of the note I wrote, or did you come because my note put you in the way of obtaining a needed position?"

Armitage started to speak and then stopped short. "Oh," he said finally, "I really needed the position."

The girl gazed at him a moment. Armitage, bending low, could see a patent leather pump protruding from the scalloped edge of her skirt, tapping the half-opened door of the tonneau.

"You will then pardon me," she said, "if I call to your mind the fact that you are now employed as driver of my car: I feel I have the right to ask you who you really are."

"Your mother—Mrs. Wellington, catechised me quite fully and I don't think I could add anything to what I told her."

"And what was that? I was not present during the inquisition," said the girl.

Armitage laughed.

"Why, I told her I was Jack McCall, that I came from Louisville, that I had trained the Navy eleven of 19—."

An exclamation from the girl interrupted him and he looked up. She was staring at him vacantly, as though ransacking the depths of memory.

"The Navy eleven of 19—," she said thoughtfully. Then she smiled. "McCall, you are so clever, really."

Armitage's eyes fell and he fumbled with the wrench.

"Thank you," he said, dubiously.

"Not at all, McCall," she said sweetly. "Listen," speaking rapidly, "I have always been crazy over football. Father was at Yale, '79, you know." She studied his face again, and then nodded. "When I was a girl, still in short dresses, father took a party of girls in Miss Ellis's school to Annapolis in his private car to see a Harvard-Navy game. A cousin of mine, Phil Disosway, was on the Harvard team. They were much heavier than Annapolis; but the score was very close, particularly because of the fine work of one of the Navy players who seemed to be in all parts of the field at once. I have forgotten his name,"—Miss Wellington gazed dreamily over the hills,—"but I can see him now, diving time after time into the interference and bringing down his man; catching punts and running—it was all such a hopeless fight, but such a brave, determined one." She shrugged her shoulders. "Really, I was quite carried away. As girls will, I—we, all of us—wove all sort of romantic theories concerning him. Toward the end of the game we could see him giving in under the strain and at last some coaches took him out. He walked tottering down the side lines past our stand, his face drawn and streaked with blood and dirt. I snapshotted that player. It was a good picture. I had it enlarged and have always kept it in my room. 'The Dying Gladiator,' I have called it. I wonder if you have any idea who that girlhood hero of mine was?"

"Was he a hero?" Armitage was bending over the carburetor. He waited a moment and then as Miss Wellington did not reply he added; "Now that you have placed me, I trust I shan't lose my position."

"I always knew I should see you again," said the girl as though she had not heard Armitage's banality. "I know now why I spoke to you on the General and why I wrote you that note in church." Her slipper beat an impatient tattoo on the door. "But why," she began, "why are you willing to enter service as a physical instructor, or motor car driver? I don't un—"

Armitage interrupted.

"Your mother asked me if I had been in college. I told her I had, but that I preferred not to say where, or why I left."

"Oh!" she said, and her eyes suffused with pity. "I am so sorry. But you must tell me one thing now. Was your leaving because of—of anything—that would make me sorry I had found—" she smiled, but looked at him eagerly—"the subject of the Dying Gladiator?"

"I hope not."

"You are not certain?"

"Miss Wellington, there are certain reasons why the position you helped me to obtain was vitally necessary. I am a dependant in your house. I can assure you that you will never find anything half so grievous against me as that which you have already found—your 'Dying Gladiator' a servant. You must think of that."

"But I am not so deluded as to think you cannot explain that" cried the girl. "How foolish! You are not a servant, never were, and I am sure never will be one. And I know you have n't sneaked in as a yellow newspaper reporter, or magazine writer," tentatively. "You are not a sneak."

"No, I have not the intention, nor the ability, to make copy of my experiences," said Armitage.

"Intention!" echoed the girl. "Well, since you suggest the word, just what was, or is, your intention then?—if I may ask."

Armitage straightened and looked full at the girl.

"Suppose I should say that ever since that morning on the General I had—" Armitage hesitated. "I reckon I 'd rather not say that," he added.

"No, I reckon you had better not," she said placidly. "In the meantime, how long do you intend staying with us before giving notice?"

Armitage did not reply immediately. He stood for a moment in deep thought. When he looked up his face was serious.

"Miss Wellington, I have neither done nor said anything that would lead you to believe that, whatever I may have been, I am now in any way above what I appear to be, with the Wellington livery on my back. I say this in justice to you. I say it because I am grateful to you. You may regard it as a warning, if you will."

For a moment she did not reply, sitting rigidly thoughtful, while Armitage, abandoning all pretence at work, stood watching her.

"Very well," she said at length, and her voice was coldly conventional. "If you have finished your repairs, will you drive me to Mrs. Van Valkenberg's? Follow this road through; turn to your left, and I 'll tell you when to stop."

Sara Van Valkenberg was one of the most popular of the younger matrons of Newport and New York. As Sara Malalieu, daughter of a prime old family, Billy Van Valkenberg had discovered her, and their wedding had been an event from which many good people in her native city dated things. Van Valkenberg was immensely wealthy and immensely wicked. Sara had not sounded the black depths of his character when he was killed in a drunken automobile ride two years before, but she had learned enough to appreciate the kindness of an intervening fate.

Now she lived in an Elizabethan cottage sequestered among the rocks a short distance inland from the Ocean Drive. She was very good to look at, very worldly wise, and very, very popular. She was thirty years old, an age not to be despised in a woman.

When Miss Wellington's car arrived at the cottage, Tommy Osgood's motor was in front of the door, which was but a few feet from the road. With an expression of annoyance, Anne ran up the steps and rang the bell. The footman was about to take her card when Mrs. Van Valkenberg's voice sounded from the library.

"Come in, Anne, we saw you coming."

Anne entered the apartment and found her friend reclining in all her supple ease, watching flushed-face Tommy, who had been attempting to summon his nerve to tell her how little he cared to continue his course through the world without her, which was just what she did not wish to have him do, because Tommy was a manly, likable, unassuming chap and had much yet to learn, being several years her junior.

"Oh, Tommy," said Anne, "I wanted to speak to Sara alone for a moment."

"Tommy was on his way to the polo field," said Mrs. Van Valkenberg, suggestively. "Now he need have no further excuse for being civil to an old lady."

"By George," said Tommy, "that's so, I must be on my way." And he went, not without some confusion.

Sara watched him through the window as he walked to his car.

"Poor, dear boy," she said. She turned to Anne with a bright smile. "What is it, dear?"

"Prince Koltsoff is with us, as you know. I think mother would be pleased if I married him. I don't know that I am not inclined to gratify her. I have n't talked to father yet."

"Then he has not told you about the Russian railroad thingamajigs he is gunning for?" asked Mrs. Van Valkenberg.

"Really!" Anne's eyes were very wide.

"Oh, I don't know anything about it," said Sara hastily. "Only—the men were speaking of it at the Van Antwerps', the other night. And how about Koltsoff?"

"His intentions are distressingly clear," said Anne.

Mrs. Van Valkenberg whistled.

"Congratulations," she said with an upward inflection. "You 've no idea—"

"Oh, sh's'sh!" exclaimed Anne. "Don't try to be enthusiastic if you find it so difficult. Anyway, there will be nothing to justify enthusiasm if I can help it."

"Really!" Sara regarded the girl narrowly. "If you can help it! What do you mean?"

"I don't know exactly what I do mean," Anne laughed nervously. "He is so thrillingly dominant. He had not been in the house much more than thirty hours before he had lectured me on the narrowness of my life, indicated a more alluring future, kissed my hand, and reposed in me a trust upon which he said his future depended. And through all I have been as a school girl. He 's fascinating, Sara." She leaned forward and placed her hand upon her friend's knee. "Sara—now don't laugh, I 'm serious—"

"I'm not going to laugh, dear; go on."

"Sara, you know the world. . . . I thought I did, don't you know. But I 'm a child, a perfect simpleton. I said Prince Koltsoff was fascinating; I meant he fascinates me. He does really. Some time when he gets under full headway he is going to take me in his arms—that's the feeling; also that I shall let him, although the idea now fills me with dread."

"Why, Anne!"

"I know," continued the girl, "isn't it too absurd for words! But I am baring my soul. Do you marry a man because his eyes seem to draw you into them?—whose hand pressure seems to melt your will? Is that love?"

Sara regarded the girl for a few minutes without speaking. Then she lifted her brows.

"Is it love?" she said. "Ask yourself."

Anne shrugged her shoulders and grimaced helplessly.

"It might be, after all," she said. "I am sure I don't know."

"Yes, it might be," smiled Sara; "it's a question in which you must consider the personal equation. I am rather finicky about men who exude what seems to pass for love. They don't make good husbands. The best husband is the one who wins you, not takes you. For heaven's sake, Anne, when you marry, let your romance be clean, wholesome, natural; not a demonstration in psychic phenomena, to use a polite term."

Anne smiled.

"Oh, it is n't as bad as that. I—I—oh, I don't know what to say, Sara. His family, don't you know, are really high in Russia, and Koltsoff himself is close to the reigning family, as his father and grandfather were before him. It is rather exciting to think of the opportunity—" Anne paused and gazed at the older woman with feverish eyes. "And yet," she added, "I never before thought of things in this way. I have always been quite content that coronets and jewelled court gowns and kings and emperors and dukes and," she smiled, "princes, should fall to the lot of other women. I am afraid I have been too much of an American—in spite of mother—"

"Who really underneath is a better American than any of us," said Mrs. Van Valkenberg. She had arisen and was standing looking out of the window, toying with the silken fringe of the curtain. "There's hope for you, Anne. . . . Of course I shan't advise you. I could n't, don't you know, not knowing Prince Koltsoff." She paused and gazed eagerly in the direction of Anne's car. Her lips framed an exclamation, but she checked it. "By-the-bye, Anne," she said, "I see you have a new driver."

Anne nodded absently.

"Yes. Mother employed him this morning as physical instructor to the boys and I commandeered him—I believe that's the word—because Rimini is in New York and Benoir tried to knock down a telegraph pole and is in the hospital."

"What a find!" observed Mrs. Van Valkenberg. "And yet how curious!" Suddenly she turned to the girl.

"Anne, I am going to be dreadful and you must be honest with me. You know you asked me to go to you the middle of the week to stay over the fete. May I come now—today? I cannot tell you why I ask now, but when I do you will be interested. May I? I know I am preposterous."

"Preposterous! How absurd! Certainly, you may. You will do nicely as a chaperon. Mother, I am afraid, is going to insist upon all the conventions. You must know how delighted I am." She kissed her enthusiastically. "We will expect you at dinner?" she said tentatively. "Or will you come with me now?" She thought a second. "I don't know whether I told you I was to take Prince Koltsoff motoring this afternoon—unchaperoned."

"Why, Anne, if you are going to bother about me that way, I 'll withdraw my request. Please don't let me interfere in any way. I couldn't possibly go before late in the afternoon, in any event."

"That will be fine then," said Anne, holding out her hand. "Au revoir. I 'll send the car for you after we return."

After she had gone, Mrs. Van Valkenberg stood watching the car until it disappeared, and then snatching her bright-eyed Pomeranian, she ran her fingers absently through his soft hair.

"How ridiculous," she said, "how absolutely ridiculous!"



CHAPTER XII

MISS HATCH SHOWS SHE LOVES A LOVER

When Armitage entered the servants' dining-room he found the head footman, who presided, in something of a quandary as to where he should place him. Emilia, Miss Wellington's maid, had of course lost no time in imparting to all with whom she was on terms of confidence, that the new chauffeur was the same with whom her mistress had flirted on the General. Consequently, Armitage was at once the object of interest, suspicion, respect, and jealousy. But the head footman greeted him cordially enough and after shifting and rearranging seats, indicated a chair near the lower end of the table, which Armitage accepted with a nod. He was immensely interested.

The talk was of cricket. Some of the cottagers whose main object in life was aping the ways of the English, had organized a cricket team, and as there were not enough of them for an opposing eight, they had been compelled to resort to the grooms. There were weekly matches in which the hirelings invariably triumphed. One of the Wellington grooms, an alert young cockney, was the bowler, and his success, as well as the distinguished social station of his opponents, appeared to Armitage to have quite turned his pert little head.

There was a pretty Irish chambermaid at Jack's elbow whose eyes were as gray as the stones in the Giants' Causeway, but glittering now with scorn. For heretofore, Henry Phipps had been an humble worshipper. She permitted several of his condescending remarks to pass without notice, but finally when he answered a question put by another groom with a bored monosyllable, the girl flew to the latter's defence.

"'Yes' and 'no,' is it?" she blazed. "Henry Phipps, ye 're like the ass in the colored skin—not half as proud as ye 're painted. A bowler, ye are! But ye take yer hat off after the game, just the same, and bowl out yer masters with a 'thank ye, sur; my misthake!' Ye grovellin' thing, ya!"

"Really," yawned Henry in his rich dialect.

"Really!" mocked the girl. "I could give ye talk about a real Prince—none of yer Rensselaers or Van Antwerps and the like—had I—"

Armitage leaned forward, but anything more the maid might have been tempted to say was interrupted by a footman from the superintendent's table.

"Mr. Dawson says you 're to come to his table," he said nodding to Armitage, who arose with real reluctance, not because of any desire for intimate knowledge of the servants' hall, but because he had decided he could use the Irish maid to the ends he had in view. Now that lead was closed for the time at least and he took his place at the side of the decorous butler, uncheered by Mr. Dawson's announcement that Miss Wellington had ordered his promotion.

"It was very good of Miss Wellington," he said in a perfunctory manner.

"Oh, not at all," replied the butler. "Frequently the chauffeur sits at our table." He shrugged his shoulders. "It depends upon the manner of men. They are of all sorts and constantly changing."

Armitage glanced at Buchan and grinned.

"Thanks," he said.

The butler nodded and then apropos of some thought passing through his mind he glanced tentatively at the housekeeper.

"We 'll wake up, I suppose, with the Prince here. I hope so. I have never seen everybody in Newport so quiet."

"Yes, I imagine so," replied Mrs. Stetson. "Several are coming the middle of the week and of course you know of the Flower Ball for Friday night."

"Of course," said the butler, who a second later belied his assumption of knowledge by muttering, "Flower Ball, eh! Gracious, I wonder what won't Mrs. Wellington be up to next!"

"I don't think I like Prince Koltsoff," said Miss Hatch.

"Well," agreed the superintendent, "he's a Russian."

"Oh, I don't care about that," replied the young woman. "He is going to marry Miss Wellington—and he 's not the man for her. He 's not the man for any girl as nice as Anne Wellington. Think of it. Ugh!"

"So!" interjected the tutor, Dumois, who had turned many a dollar supplying the newspapers with information, for which they had been willing to pay liberally. "International alliance! How interesting. The latest, eh?"

"No, it's not the latest," replied the secretary. "If it were, I should have said nothing. It's only a baseless fear; but a potent one."

"Oh," Dumois turned ruefully to his plate.

"He attracts her," resumed the secretary.

"That is to be seen plainly—and she attracts him. That is as far as it has gone."

"That is quite far," observed the tutor, glancing up hopefully.

"Oh, no," said Armitage warmly. He paused, and then finding every one looking at him he applied himself to his luncheon not without confusion.

"I wish I could agree with you," sighed Miss Hatch. "She is a dear girl. But you don't understand girls of her class. They have the queerest ideas."

"Oh, I don't think they differ from other girls," said Mrs. Stetson. "It is merely that they have the actual opportunity for realizing what to other girls are mere dreams. I can imagine what my daughter would have done if a foreign nobleman had paid court to her. I will say this for Miss Wellington though; she would marry her chauffeur if she took the whim."

Armitage, caught off his guard, looked up quickly.

"You don't say!" he exclaimed, whereat every one laughed and Dawson shook his head in mock seriousness at him.

"See here, young man, if you make an attempt to demonstrate Mrs. Stetson's theory, Ronald Wellington will drive you out of the country."

Armitage laughed.

"Well," he said, "I 'll pick Vienna."

As they were leaving the table, Miss Hatch caught Armitage's eye. She had lingered behind the rest, bending over some ferns which showed signs of languishing. Her eyeglasses glittered humorously at Armitage as he sauntered carelessly to her side.

"It is all right, Mr. McCall," she said.

"All right?"

"I mean the incident in the garage. Master Ronald applied vigorously for your discharge."

Armitage smiled.

"I imagined he would. The application was not sustained?"

"Hardly. At first, of course, Mrs. Wellington was quite indignant. Then Miss Wellington came in and really she was a perfect fury in your behalf. She made Master Ronald confess he had been smoking and showed quite clearly that you were right."

"Bully for her! As a matter of fact, I don't think it was any of my business. But that chap got on my nerves."

"He gets on all our nerves. But I 'm quite sure he 's all right at heart. It's a disagreeable age in a boy." She paused and gazed steadily at Armitage for a second. "I cannot imagine why you are here, Mr. McCall. And yet—and yet, I wonder." She shrugged her shoulders. "Pray don't think me rude," she said and smiled, "but I really am—hoping. I can read Anne Wellington at times, and you—oh, I am rude—but I seem to read you like an open book."

Armitage was looking at her curiously, but obviously he was not offended. She stepped towards him impulsively.

"Oh, Mr. Arm—McCall—-" she stopped, blushing confusedly.

The break was too much even for Armitage's presence of mind. He jerked his head upward, then collecting himself resumed his expression of amused interest. The secretary made no attempt to dissemble her agitation.

"I am so sorry," she said, "but you must know now that I know whom you are."

Never in his life had Jack felt quite so ill at ease, or so utterly foolish.

"Who else knows?" he asked lamely.

"Only one, beside myself—Mrs. Wellington."

"Mrs. Wellington!"

"Naturally," said Miss Hatch placidly. "Did you suppose for a moment you could successfully hide anything from her? Chief Roberts was in the house an hour after you were employed."

"Oh!" A great white light illumined Jack's mind. He turned to the woman eagerly. "Do you know what Roberts told her?"

"Why, everything, I imagine," said Miss Hatch, laughing.

"Everything! But what?" Armitage gestured impatiently. "Please don't think me inquisitive, but I must know—it will depend upon what our loquacious chief said, whether I stay here one more minute."

"The chief was not loquacious," smiled Miss Hatch. "He was quite the reverse. You would have enjoyed the grilling Mrs. Wellington gave him. He was no willing witness, but finally admitted you were a naval officer, a son of Senator Armitage, and that you were here to observe the actions of one of the grooms, formerly in the Navy, whom the Government thought needed watching."

Inwardly relieved, Armitage grinned broadly.

"I like that chief," he said. "He is so secretive. But Mrs. Wellington can't be pleased at having a Navy man masquerading about. Why hasn't she discharged me?"

"I can't imagine," said Miss Hatch frankly, "unless—yes, I think she has taken a liking to you. Then, for a woman of her mental processes, discharging you off-hand, come to think of it, would be the one thing she would not do. I think she is interested in awaiting developments. I am sure of it, for she commanded me to speak to no one concerning your identity."

"Miss Wellington?" Armitage looked at the woman quickly.

"Her daughter was very particularly included in the orders Mrs. Wellington gave."

Armitage made no attempt to conceal the pleasure this statement gave him. Then a thought occurred to him.

"By the way," he said, looking at Miss Hatch keenly, "if I recall, you said you could not imagine why I am here. In view of all you have told me, why could n't you?"

Miss Hatch turned and walked toward the door. At the sill she glanced back over her shoulder and smiled significantly.

"Oh, that was an introductory figure of speech," she said. "I think, I think I can—imagine."

Then she turned and walking along the hall, with Armitage following, she sang as though to herself:

"In days of old when knights were bold And barons held their sway, A warrior bold with spurs of gold Sang merrily his lay. 'Oh, what care I though death be nigh, For love—'"

But Armitage had disappeared.

"Oh, the little more and how much it is, And the little less and what worlds away."



CHAPTER XIII

ANNE EXHIBITS THE PRINCE

Prince Koltsoff had enjoyed his luncheon, as only an exacting gourmet whose every canon of taste has been satisfied, can. His appetite was a many-stringed instrument upon which only the most gifted culinary artist could play. Now as he sat dallying daintily with his compote of pears it was patent that Rambon, the Wellington chef, had achieved a dietary symphony.

"Mrs. Wellington," he said at length, "you have a saucier par excellence. That sauce de cavitar! If I may say so, it lingers. Who is he? It seems almost—yet it cannot be true—that I recognize the genius of Jules Rambon."

"Very well done, Prince Koltsoff," replied Mrs. Wellington, employing phraseology more noncommittal than Koltsoff realized.

Anne, who had been gazing languidly out a window giving on Brenton's Reef lightship, where several black torpedo boats and destroyers were manoeuvring, smiled and glanced at the Prince.

"You have the instincts of a virtuoso. That was really clever of you. The Duchess d'Izes sent him to mother two years ago. You must speak to him. I 'm afraid he feels he is not altogether appreciated here."

The Prince raised his hands.

"What a fate!" he exclaimed. "When Rambon was chef for President Carnot, kings and emperors bestowed upon him decorations. I recall that when he created the Parfait Rambon—ah!—the governor of his Province set aside a day of celebration. Rambon unappreciated—it is to say that genius is unappreciated!" He turned apologetically to Mrs. Wellington. "America—what would you?"

Mrs. Wellington sniffed ever so slightly. She had become a bit weary of the Russian's assumption of European superiority. She recognized that in Prince Koltsoff she had a guest, her possession of whom had excited among the cottage colony the envy of all those whose envy she desired. So far as she was concerned, that was all she wanted. Now that Anne and the Prince appeared to be hitting it off, she was content to let that matter take its course as might be, with, however, a pretty well defined conviction that her daughter was thoroughly alive to the desirability, not to say convenience, of such an alliance. In her secret heart, however, she rather marvelled at Anne's open interest in the Koltsoff. To be frank, the Prince was boring her and she had come to admit that she, personally, had far rather contemplate the noble guest as a far-distant son-in-law, than as a husband, assuming that her age and position were eligible.

So—she sniffed.

"My dear Prince," she said, "I will take you to a hundred tables in Newport and—I was going to say ten thousand—a thousand in New York, where the food is better cooked than in any private house in Europe."

Touched upon a spot peculiarly tender, Koltsoff all but exploded.

"Pouf!" he cried. Then he laughed heartily. "You jest, surely, my dear madame."

"No, I fancy not," replied Mrs. Wellington placidly.

"Oh, but how can you know! Where is it that the writings of Careme are studied and known? Where is it that the memory of Beauvilliers and the reputations of Ranhofer and Casimir and Mollard are preserved? In Europe—"

"In Paris," corrected Mrs. Wellington.

"Well. And from Paris disseminated glowingly throughout Europe—'"

"And the United States."

Koltsoff struggled with himself for a moment.

"Pardon," he said, "but, bah! It cannot be."

"Naturally, you are at the disadvantage of not having had the experience at American tables that I have had abroad," observed Mrs. Wellington rising. "But we shall hope to correct that while you are here. . . . As for the sauce you praised, it was not by Rambon—who is out to-day—but by Takakika, his assistant, a Japanese whom Mr. Wellington brought on from the Bohemian Club, I think, in San Francisco."

If Koltsoff did not catch Mrs. Wellington's intimation that he must have learned of the presence of Rambon in her kitchen,—which might have been more accurately described as a laboratory,—Anne Wellington did, and she hastened to intervene.

"Oh, Prince Koltsoff," she said, "I have been so interested in those torpedo boats out there. They 've been dashing about the lightship all through lunch. What is the idea, do you know?"

The Prince glanced out of the window.

"I cannot imagine." He gazed over the ocean in silence for several minutes. "Have you a telescope?" he said at length.

Anne nodded.

"The large glass is on that veranda. And you 'll excuse me until half after three, won't you?"

"Until half after three," said the Prince, still rather ruffled as the result of his duel with the mother.

Then he went out on the porch and for an hour had the torpedo boats under his almost continuous gaze.

"Nothing but hide and seek," he muttered as he finally snapped the shutter of the glass and went to his room to dress.

He had quite recovered his spirits when he handed Anne Wellington into the motor car. Armitage had half turned and she caught his eyes. Just the faintest suspicion of a smile appeared on her face as she leaned forward.

"Along the Ocean Drive, McCall, down Bellevue Avenue, past Easton's Beach, and out through Paradise. Drive slowly, please."

Armitage touched his cap and the car was soon rolling along the Ocean Drive. They had not turned Bateman's Point when Anne had proof of the interest which the advent of the Prince had excited among her set. The Wadsworth girls with young Pembroke, Delaney Drew on horseback, and several others were gathered on the grass of the Point, watching the finish of the race for the Astor cups off Brenton's Reef. As the Wellington car rolled slowly by, every one withdrew attention from the exciting finish which three of the yachts were making, and gazed so hard at the Prince that some of them forgot to return Anne's nod. But the girl understood and smiled inwardly, not altogether without pride.

On Bellevue Avenue old Mrs. Cunningham-Jones all but fell out of her carriage, while Minnie Rensselaer, who had been cool lately, was all smiles. And the entrance to the Casino, as Miss Wellington afterward described it, might have been pictured as one great staring eye.

She did not attempt to deny to herself that she was enjoying all this. She was a normal girl with a normal girl's love of distinction and of things that thrill pleasurably. She left nothing undone to heighten the effect she and the Prince, or the Prince and she, were creating. Mrs. Rensselaer saw her gazing into the face of her guest with kindling eyes. "Old Lady" Cunningham-Jones saw her touch his arm to emphasize a remark.

Whatever may have been the exact degree of Koltsoff's attractions for Anne, it was certain that in the course of the drive, thus far, the situation and not the Russian's personality constituted the strong appeal. The girl was far from a snob and yet this—yes, public parading—of a man whose prospective sojourn in Newport had excited so many tea tables for the past fortnight, had furnished so much pabulum for the digestion of society journalists, involved many elements that appealed to her. Chiefly, it must be confessed, she saw the humor of it; otherwise pride might have obtained mastery—there was pride, of course. There was a whirl of things, in fact, and all enjoyable; also, perhaps, a trifle upsetting, inasmuch as her assumption of more than friendly interest in her guest was not altogether the part of wisdom.

The Prince was elated, exalted. It would not have taken a close observer to decide that in his devotion there was no element of the spurious and in his happiness, no flaw. As for Armitage, unseeing, but sensing clearly the drift of things, his eyes were grimly fixed ahead, the muscles of his jaws bulging in knots on either side. This chauffeur business, he felt, was fast becoming a bore.

As he started to turn the corner of the Casino block, Anne, seized by a sudden inspiration, ordered him to back around to the entrance.

"Would n't you like to stop in the Casino for a few minutes and meet a few people?" she asked, smiling at Koltsoff.

The Prince would be only too happy to do anything that Miss Wellington suggested, and so with a warning honk! honk! Armitage ran his car up to the curb. At their side the tide of motor cars, broughams, victorias, coaches, jaunting cars and what not swept unceasingly by. Three sight-seeing barges had paused in their "twelve miles for fifty cents" journey around the island. As the Prince and Anne alighted, a small body of curious loiterers moved forward, among them several photographers, seeing which, Anne lowered an opaque veil over her face, a precaution which the beautiful or famous or notorious of the Newport colony invariably find necessary when abroad.

The sight-seeing drivers, with whips poised eagerly, viewed the alighting couple and then turning to their convoy, announced in voices not too subdued:

"Miss Anne Wellington, daughter of Ronald Wellington, the great railroad magnate, and the Prince of Rooshia are just gettin' out," indicating the car with their whips. "They say they 're engaged to be married—so far only a rumor. Miss Wellington is the one who put little pinchin' crabs in Mrs. Minnie Rensselaer's finger bowls last year and made a coolness between these two great families."

Miss Wellington, whose cheeks felt as though they would burn her veil, saw Armitage's shoulders quivering with some emotion, as she hurried from the sidewalk into the doorway of the low, dark-shingled building and out into the circle of trim lawn and garden.

There were groups around a few of the tables in the two tiers of the encircling promenade, but Anne did not know any of them. They strolled on to a passageway under the structure leading to several acres of impeccable lawn, with seats under spreading trees and tennis courts on all sides. An orchestra was playing Handel's "Largo." The low hanging branches sheltered many groups, dotting the green with vivid color notes. A woman with gray veil thrown back and with a wonderful white gown held court under a spreading maple, half a dozen gallants in white flannels paying homage. All about were gowns of white, of pink, of blue, of light green, Dresden colors, tones of rare delicacy mingling with the emerald turf and the deeper green of the foliage. The spell of mid-summer was everywhere present. To Anne it seemed as if the Summer would last for always and that the Casino would never be deserted again, the grass sere and brown or piled with drifts of snow.

"Isn't it beautiful!" she exclaimed, as the Prince shook his head negatively at a red-coated page with an armful of camp chairs.

"The women," smiled the Prince, "they are superb! I concede freely the supremacy of the American girl." He paused, "It is beautiful. Yet certainly, what place would not be beautiful where you are, Miss Wellington! Do I say too much? Ah, how can I say less!" His eyes were suffused with his emotions.

"Don't, please, Prince Koltsoff," she said, lowering her eyes to the turf. "Not here—oh, I mean not—"

"Here! I would willingly kneel here and kiss the hem of your skirt. I should be proud that all should see, Anne. . . . Ah, let us not dissemble—"

Anne, thoroughly agitated, suddenly faced the Prince.

"Stop! I want you to," she interrupted. "You must. You must not say such things—" she paused, conscious that the eyes of many to whom she had purposed presenting the Prince were turned curiously upon them, although fortunately, from distances comparatively remote. She forced a vivacious smile for the benefit of observers and continued, "You must not say these things until I tell you you may. . . . Now, please!" as the Prince showed indications of disobeying her wishes.

He kept silence and as some manifestations of sulkiness, not inclined to encourage Anne in her intentions of introducing him generally, revealed themselves, she turned and led the way back to the car, where Armitage sat hunched, in no blithe mood himself.

In plying him with questions as to himself and his deeds, which developed a mood ardently vainglorious, Anne skilfully led Koltsoff's trend of thought from amatory channels. They stopped at Paradise and Anne and the Prince walked from the roadside across a stretch of gorse to a great crevice in the cliffs, known as the "Lover's Leap."

"Here," said the girl, imitating the manner of a guide, "legend says an Indian maiden, very beautiful, was walking with one of her suitors, when a rival accosted them. They drew their knives and were about to fight, when the girl interposed. Pointing to the chasm she declared she would marry the man who first jumped across it."

"Ah, the time-worn lover's leap! They have them in England, Russia, Germany—everywhere. America not to be behind—" the Prince wrinkled his brows. "Let me see how closely the Indians followed their European originals. Did they leap?"

"They did," smiled the girl. "Both, I believe, were killed." She peered into the dark fissure where the waters wound among the crags fifty feet below. "Ugh! What a fall! Their love must have been wonderfully compelling."

"So," replied the Prince, gallantly, "and yet I should do it for a smile from you or at most for a—" he bowed low, seized her hand, and deftly bore it to his lips.

She drew it away hastily, a wave of irritation flushing her face, and a powerful revulsion from her former mood of exaltation took possession of her whole being.

"You have improved upon knights errant of old," she said slowly. "You seize your guerdon before paying your devoir." She pointed to the chasm, which was about eight feet across at the spot where they were standing. "Your lady waits, Sir Knight."

The Prince pushed his hand through his hair and laughed.

"Miss Wellington—indeed, indeed, I appreciate your humor. It is well caught. That is to say—ha, ha! Your father will enjoy your wit."

"I am waiting," said the girl, as though she had not heard. "Knights—and gentlemen do not take from women that which they are not willing to pay for."

"But—" the Prince glanced at the yawning hole. "You surely jest. Why, my dear lady!" The Prince involuntarily stepped backward.

Anne smiled maliciously. Her meaning was clear and the Prince flushed.

"What man would attempt it!" he exclaimed. "What man indeed," he added, "save one who would throw away his life to no purpose. Come, Miss Wellington, I am sure you do not seek my life."

"By no means," said the girl beginning to relent, but still enjoying the success of her coup. "But really that is a small leap for a man. My driver, I believe—" Her face suddenly lighted with a new inspiration. Hastily she walked to the top of the bluff. "McCall," she cried. "Will you come here a minute?"

As the two arrived at the chasm, she nodded to the opposite side.

"If you cleared that would it be a remarkable leap?"

Armitage surveyed the gap with his eye, looked behind him and studied the ground.

"Not especially, Miss Wellington, so far as distance is concerned." He had done his nineteen feet in the running broad jump.

"Ah, just so," broke in the Prince. "It is the condition which would follow a slip or mistake in judgment."

Anne shook her head impatiently at Koltsoff's obvious eagerness.

"I do not believe McCall thought of that; nervous systems vary in their intensity."

Some part of the situation Armitage grasped. It was clear that for some reason she had dared the Prince to make the jump and that he had declined. The ground upon which they were standing was a few feet above the rocks on the other side of the chasm and the three stood about a dozen feet from the mouth.

She turned to Armitage.

"Am I right, or do you share Prince Koltsoff's psychological views?"

Koltsoff, who from the beginning had chafed at the position in which she had placed him, pitting him against a servant, walked to one side with a low sibilant exclamation.

"Not at all," said Armitage, and without further words he drew back a few feet and started swiftly for the fissure. Anne, who had not intended that the incident should thus get away from her, acted upon flashing instinct, before the situation could formulate itself in her mind. She sprang at Armitage as he passed her, her hands tightly clasping about his neck, and pulled him backward with all her strength. Armitage half stumbling, stopped, and the girl, releasing her hands, stepped back with a sob of nervous anger.

"You—you—oh, you idiot!" she exclaimed. "How dare you frighten me so! Now—go back to the car!"

"I did not mean to frighten you, Miss Wellington," he replied, not altogether in the mild, impersonal tone of a servant. "It was a perfectly easy jump. I thought you—"

"Go to your car, please," interrupted the girl sternly.

As for Koltsoff, rankling with the knowledge that if he had taken her at her word and essayed to make the leap, she would have prevented him as she had her chauffeur, his mood was no enviable one. Lost opportunities of any sort are not conducive to mental equanimity. He maintained extreme taciturnity throughout the remainder of the drive and Miss Wellington, whose thoughts seemed also absorbing, made no attempt to restore his ardent spirits. When they entered the Wellington driveway, she glanced at Armitage's well-set back and shoulders and smiled.

"McCall," she said, as she stood on the veranda, "I want you to go to Mrs. Van Valkenberg's—where you were this morning—and bring her here. You may have to wait."



CHAPTER XIV

UNDERGROUND WIRES

Armitage was not obliged to wait, however. A tall, well-built young woman, heavily veiled, came down the winding path as he shut off power. When he leaned around to open the door of the tonneau, she threw back her veil and he caught sight of a full, dark, handsome face and eyes filled with a curious light. He slammed the door and turned quickly to the wheel.

"What is your name, my man?" The deep alto voice contained a note of mirth.

"McCall," replied Armitage gruffly, jerking his head a bit side-wise and then jerking it quickly back again.

"You are—not a very good driver," came the voice. "But I should like to employ you. . . . Would you consider leaving Miss Wellington?"

Armitage shook his head grouchily.

"For a consideration? Come, I won't use you as a chauffeur. I want you for a statue in my Japanese garden. I—"

Armitage suddenly pointed the car toward the ocean and stopped. Then he turned in his seat.

"Look here, Sara," he said, "if you don't let up, I 'll run you into the ocean."

Mrs. Van Valkenberg was rocking with laughter.

"Oh, Jack! Jack!" she cried. "This is too rich. What on earth are you up to?"

Armitage, who had not seen her since they had attended school together in Louisville, paid no attention to her question.

"I had no idea you were in Newport."

"I suppose I should expect more of one of my very oldest and best friends," she said.

"I was in the Philippines when you married; faint rumors of the event penetrated even there. I was too prostrated to write; besides, I didn't receive any cards." He paused a moment. "Van Valkenberg—that's so; I remember now. He—"

"I am a widow," said Sara soberly.

"Oh," he was silent, not knowing what to say.

She hastened to relieve his embarrassment, smiling brightly.

"I was to go to see Anne later in the week, but when I saw you, I simply could n't wait another minute. I wanted a front seat at this little comedy. You see," she raised her eyes knowingly, "I have n't asked you why you are here in the Wellington livery and driving the Wellington car because—because I rather imagine I can guess the reason."

She glanced at Armitage, who did not reply.

"Fancy my missing this romance," she went on, laughing musically. "Jack, it's perfectly delightful. It's more than delightful, it's sublimely rich. You, you of all men! Come, won't you confide in me? Ah, go on." Her eyes were brimming with laughter.

Armitage frowned.

"Look here, Sara, you're on the wrong tack."

"Oh, is it possible! All right, you need n't confide in me if you don't wish to. All I ask is permission to view events—and you can't withhold that, you know. But seriously, Jack, can I be of any assistance? I approve, don't you know, awfully. And—she's worth every bit of it. But how are you going to win her in the guise of a chauffeur? I always knew you possessed a large amount of self-confidence, but allow me to inform you, sir, there are some things your natural qualifications can't overshadow. Come, Jack, do strip off your motley and court her as a naval officer—you see I, at least, have kept track of you—and a gentleman should; I don't like this way."

"I tell you, you are wrong. I can't say anything now. But wait—then you 'll know. And, Sara, please; not a word as to whom I am; promise me you 'll keep still until I give you the word."

She smiled enigmatically.

"Don't you admire Anne Wellington?"

"Come, Sara, promise; this is a serious matter with me."

"Don't you?" she persisted.

"Of course I do," he snapped. "She's a corker. Now promise."

"I promise nothing. I shall act as I think best for you."

Armitage gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment.

"You may trust me, Jack. I may be able to help you. I feel sure I shall. I want to help you—and Anne."

Armitage raised his hand warningly.

"Don't, Sara, please!"

"Very well." She smiled sweetly. "You may proceed to The Crags, McCall."

Anne met her at the doorway and Armitage took the car to the garage.

"Say," said Ryan, "there 's some one been calling you up for the past hour."

Armitage looked at the man excitedly.

"Who was it? Did he give his name?"

"No, would n't give it. He said he 'd call up again, though. He—there goes the bell now."

Armitage took up the receiver.

"Is this you, Jack?" came the voice. "This is Thornton. Say, they 've got Yeasky."

"Where?" Jack's voice was husky.

"In Boston."

"Did they find anything?"

"No; they went through everything. He had n't a thing except a note signed 'Vassili' something, and some Austrian army data."

"The family name of the man we 're gunning for," said Armitage. "Has he said anything?"

"Nothing. They have not told him what he was captured for either, although I guess he knows. They want your orders."

"All right," said Armitage. "Tell them to let him go, provided he leaves Boston by the first boat."

"What!"

"Turn him loose. Get shed of him. It 'll simplify matters. I 'm getting this thing in hand now. Push the thing through for me, will you, Joe? I'm busy as a pup here. Get Bill Rawlins on the long distance at the Boston Navy Yard, explain things to him, and get him to help. There 's nothing to do. Just have him seen on board the boat. That note was all I wanted. Have that sent to me. Now do it all nicely for me, won't you, old chap,—and a day or two will see the finish of the whole thing. Oh, say,—have them hold those papers."

"All right," said Thornton. "By the way, we are going to torpedo the Atlantic fleet tonight. The battleships are on their way down from Provincetown at last."

"Pshaw! The one thing I wanted to be in on!"

"Can't you get off and come along on the D'Estang? We shan't leave until eight o'clock. We 're going to try and do up the fleet off Point Jude. Come on, like a good chap."

"I 'd like to. I will if I can, you bet. I think I can work it. Now s'long and don't forget to have that Pole shunted out of the country on the jump."

"I won't. Don't worry; see you later then."

"Right-o, good-bye."

As Armitage hung up the receiver the bell of the house 'phone jingled and Armitage was summoned to bring out the car in a hurry. When he arrived under the porte cochere, Prince Koltsoff was still talking to Anne in a corner of the library.

"It is very necessary," he was saying. "The summons is important. It is even possible I shall not return all night." His agitation seemed momentarily increasing.

"But, Prince Koltsoff," said Anne, "is it so very important? I hardly know what to do. I have arranged a box party for the vaudeville at Freebody to-night—it's distressing."

Koltsoff bowed.

"And I! You cannot suppose I view lightly being away from you to-night!" He shrugged his shoulders. "The rose-strewn paths are not always for diplomats. You will know that better in good time, perhaps. But they are for that all the sweeter while we tread them." He moved very close to her and she, taking fire from his mood, did not step backward, looking him in the eyes, pulling slightly at the front of her skirt. In the very web of a mood which she felt bordered on surrender to the masculine personality of the man before her, she admitted a thrill, which she never before had recognized. The blood mounted swiftly to her temples and she straightened and threw her head back with lips parted and hot. His face came so close to hers that she felt his hot breath.

"Are you sorry for this afternoon?" he asked caressingly.

"Yes," her voice was a half whisper.

His arms were raising to take her, when the voice of Sara Van Valkenberg came to their ears, with an effect very much like a cold stream upon a bar of white hot steel.

"Anne, oh, Anne dearie, did you know the car was waiting for Prince Koltsoff?" She appeared in the doorway to find Anne turning over a magazine and the Prince adjusting his coat. "I beg pardon, but you said Prince Koltsoff was in a hurry. I thought you did n't know the car had arrived."