"By all means," she said, "and with your permission I'll leave you gentlemen alone a few moments. I have a letter to finish. It must go tonight to catch the boat."

"It's to your husband, I wager," said Keralio, with a sardonic smile.

"An easy guess," she retorted. "I write him every day."

The fencing master gave a sigh as he exclaimed:

"Ah, such devotion is truly beautiful! Why have I never known such love as that?"

"Perhaps you never deserved it!" she retorted.

Mr. Parker chuckled.

"That's what we in the American vernacular call 'a knock-out.'"

Helen laughed lightly. There was a swish of silken petticoats, and she disappeared in an alcove, where she sat down at a desk. Keralio looked after her with undisguised admiration and puffed his cigar in silence for a few moments. Then he said:

"It's a big job which you and Traynor are doing out there in South Africa. I see by the papers that you've already made some valuable finds."

He appeared unconcerned, and looked narrowly at his vis a vis to see what effect his words had on him, possibly to draw him out. But Mr. Parker was too old a bird to be caught napping, even by a clever adventurer. Instantly on his guard, he said carelessly:

"The outlook is very bright, very promising indeed. Our stockholders are quite satisfied, and it is likely that we shall make good money. But of course everything is in the experimental stage as yet."

"But you have found diamonds—big diamonds?"

"Oh, yes," replied the president with affected carelessness; "we have picked up a few stones. As I told you, the prospects are very promising."

"But haven't you recently made some extraordinary finds?"

Mr. Parker shook his head.

"No—nothing worth mentioning.'"

Keralio smiled skeptically.

"Isn't your memory somewhat at fault, cher monsieur? Surely you haven't forgotten the two stones of enormous size just picked up—finds of sensational importance. The newspapers have been full of the story."

Mr. Parker made a deprecatory gesture.

"Pshaw! My dear sir, you ought to know what newspaper talk is worth! No yarn is too fantastic to print so long as it sells their papers. We found two stones of fair size, it is true, but to say that they are of priceless value is a gross exaggeration."

The Italian eyed his companion closely. Significantly he said:

"They're valuable enough, however, to justify you in refusing to trust their shipment to ordinary channels and in going to the expense of sending to South Africa one of your officers to whom is confided the task of bringing the gems home."

"How did you know that?" demanded Mr. Parker, surprised.

"There is very little I do not know," smiled Keralio ironically, as he blew a ring of cigar smoke up to the ceiling.

His curiosity aroused, the president of the A. A. M. Co. was about to question his companion farther, but at that moment Helen rose from the desk and came toward them.

"I'm not in the humor to write now," she said. "I'd rather talk." Sitting in a chair near them, she added quickly: "Won't you let me get you some tea?"

Both men shook their heads. Mr. Parker rose. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he said:

"I'll go over to the others and take a hand at bridge. I want to make some money, Signor—I'll leave you to entertain Mrs. Traynor."

With a courteous salutation to his hostess, a graceful act of chivalrous politeness of which he was a past master, Mr. Parker crossed the room in the direction of the card table.



CHAPTER VI

An awkward silence followed the president's departure. Helen would have detained him had she dared. Being alone with Keralio was very distasteful to her. Ill at ease in such close proximity to this man, whom she feared even more than she disliked, she sat still without saying a word. Presently between puffs of his cigar, he said:

"You really don't mind my smoking?"

"Oh, not at all."

He bowed and again relapsed into silence. She looked at him sideways and wondered why this foreigner had always inspired her with such dislike. His manner was courteous, and he was decidedly handsome. He had white teeth and fine eyes. They were bold eyes, but so were the eyes of other men. They had a habit of looking a woman through and through. She always felt embarrassed under his close scrutiny. It seemed to her as if he were undressing her mentally and took pleasure in surveying critically and admirably every part of her as a connoisseur examines a statue. She had an uncomfortable feeling when near him. She was afraid to look straight in his eyes, afraid that possibly he might be able to throw some spell over her, exert some hypnotic influence that she would not be able to resist. She considered him a seductive, dangerous man, the kind of man every pure woman, every wife who wishes to remain faithful to her marriage vows should avoid.

Suddenly while she was looking at him, he turned his head toward her. Before she could prevent it their eyes met.

He did not avert his gaze, but kept his eyes fixed on hers as if trying to awaken in her some of his own ardor. She tried to look away, but she could not. He seemed to hold her there by sheer force of will power. Frightened, she started to tremble in every limb. Yet, to her astonishment, she had no feeling of anger or resentment. It seemed quite natural that this man should gaze at her in this intimate, caressing way. She found herself taking pleasure in it. Her vanity was gratified. If he looked at her so persistently, it must be that he thought her pretty. Her face began to burn, her bosom heaved, a strange sensation that heretofore only her husband had been able to arouse, came over her. And still his eyes were on hers, caressing, voluptuous.

At the other end of this room the game of bridge was still in progress. Ray was winning, as usual, and amusing the men with her wit and vivaciousness. Mr. Steell had glanced over in their direction several times, and he saw enough to convince him that the attentions of the fencing master were unwelcome to their hostess. Had he caught Helen's eye, had she made the slightest sign that she was being annoyed, he would have instantly left the game and gone over to the window, if only to break up the tete-a-tete, but she did not once look up. Suddenly he remembered what had been suggested on the boat. It was an idea. Ray at that moment got up to get some tea, and, profiting by the opportunity, the lawyer leaned over and whispered:

"Say, Dick, you see that chap over there."

The young man looked up.

"Who—the signor?"

"Yes. What do you know about him?"

"Nothing good—although nothing very bad for that matter. He's a dark horse—keeps pretty much to himself. He's well known in the gay resorts, in the gambling houses and where they play the ponies."

"What's his reputation?"

"He's known as a liberal spender. He's always flashing big rolls of money——"

"Where does he get it—not from the fencing school?"

"No—that's only a blind."

The lawyer lowered his voice.

"Dick, my boy, that fellow will bear watching, and you're the man to do it."

"You want him shadowed?"

"Yes—find out where he goes, who he knows. My opinion is that he belongs to an international band of crooks—possibly counterfeiters, smugglers, or blackmailers. If you land him behind the bars you'll deserve well of your country."

Dick glanced once or twice in the direction of the object of their conversation, who, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was still talking earnestly to Helen. The young man smiled, his chest expanded with satisfaction, and grimly he said:

"Leave him to me."

Quite unconscious of the attention he attracted, the Italian turned to Helen.

"You miss your husband very much?"

"Yes—terribly."

"It must be lonely for you."

"It is," she sighed.

"Yet you have your sister."

"Can a sister replace a husband?"

He gave a low, musical laugh.

"No—not a sister. A lover is preferable."

Quickly she retorted:

"My husband is my lover—-my lover is my husband."

He laughed, as he said:

"It sounds very pretty, but you must admit that it is rather banal."

"In what way?"

He flecked the ash from his cigar.

"You are too pretty, too charming a woman to be commonplace. Really it spoils you——"

Ignoring his compliments, she persisted.

"Do you mean I am commonplace because I call Kenneth my lover. What other lover should I or any other woman happily married have? I am faithful to him—he is loyal to me."

He gave a little mocking laugh, and was silent. How she hated him for that laugh! After a pause he said quietly and suggestively:

"I am sure you are faithful to him——"

For a moment she looked at him without speaking, eager to resent the implied imputation on her husband, yet unwilling to give the slanderer the satisfaction of seeing that his thrust had carried home. Concealing as best she could her growing irritation, she said calmly:

"Don't you suppose he also is faithful to me?"

Again that horrible, cynical smile. Fixing her with his piercing dark eyes, and, in a manner, the significance of which could not escape her, he said:

"Don't seek to know too much, Madam. To paraphrase a famous saying: 'It's a wise woman who knows her own husband.'"

Coloring with anger, she said:

"You mean——"

"Just what I say—that a woman, a wife cannot possibly be sure of her husband's fidelity. Think how different are the conditions. The wife, no matter if her temperament be warm or cold, is always at home, surrounded by prying eyes, rarely beset by temptation. The husband is often away, he goes on business journeys that free him temporarily from the chains which keep him in good behavior. If he is good looking, the women look at him, flirt with him. It is inevitable. The chances are that he succumbs to the first adventure—no matter how exemplary a husband he may be at home. If he is a man—of unusual character, he passes through the fire unscathed; if he is—just a man, he is attracted to the candle like the proverbial moth and sometimes singes his wings——"

She looked at him keenly for a moment as if trying to read on his sphinx-like face if he knew more about Kenneth than he admitted, and then with forced calmness she said:

"In your opinion, Signor Keralio—is my husband a man—of unusual character, or is he—just a man?"

The Italian shrugged his shoulders as he replied deprecatingly:

"My dear madam, just stop and think a moment. Isn't that a rather indiscreet question to put to a man—a man who is a friend of your husband——"

Hotly she turned on him.

"If you are his friend, why do you vilify and slander him behind his back?"

Keralio lifted up his long slender hands in pious protest.

"I vilify—my best friend—— Oh, my dear Mrs. Traynor—you have quite misunderstood me. I am a foreigner. Perhaps it is that I express myself ill."

She shook her head skeptically. Firmly she said:

"No, Signor Keralio—you express yourself quite plainly. Now, I'll be equally frank with you. I confess there is one thing I do not understand. I have never understood it. I do not understand why my husband, a man so honorable, so straightforward in his dealings, a man so free from intrigue or reckless adventures, so regular, methodical and temperate in his habits, a man so entirely apart from the reckless, immoral kind of life you hint at, should have made a friend of you——"

The Italian raised his eyebrows, but there was only an amused smile on his bloodless lips as he said with a mock bow:

"Thank you, madam. You are very flattering."

"No—I mean it. I don't want to seem unkind, but your temperament and my husband's are as wide apart as the poles."

He opened wide his eyes as he asked,

"In what particular, s'il vous plait?"

"Kenneth is frank, outspoken. He is not the type of man who takes rash risks. He is very conservative, scrupulously honest. He has fine ideals. While you——"

He laughed loudly.

"I? I am secretive, cunning, reckless, materialistic—is that it, madam?"

"I did not say so, but since you draw your portrait so well——"

He bit his lip. This girl with the flaxen hair and large lustrous eyes was more than a match for him in a battle of wits. He was making no headway at all. It was time to play his trump card. Softly he said:

"You said your husband was judicious, conservative——"

"So he is."

"That is a matter of opinion. Some might think otherwise. Of course, it is difficult for a woman when she is blinded by love——"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that your husband is far from being the conservative, afraid-to-take-risks type of man you picture him. You women think you know your husbands. You know only such part of them as they themselves care to reveal. Perhaps if you knew to what extent your husband was involved in Wall Street, it would surprise you! Oh, everything is perfectly regular, of course. As treasurer of the Americo-African Mining Company, he has at his disposal large sums of money. He is also trustee of several large and valuable estates. All of this money he is supposed to invest—conservatively. He certainly invests it. Whether conservatively or not, I leave others to judge."

"Do you mean that he is using other people's money in Wall Street?"

"I mean, my dear lady, that he has the get-rich-quick fever. He has a rage for stock gambling—he is already heavily involved. I have often warned him to go slower, to be more prudent, but he won't heed my counsel. You know, he is very headstrong—your husband. As long as everything goes well he is all right. If anything goes wrong, he might find himself in an unpleasant predicament. Hasn't he spoken to you of these matters? Why should he worry you? It is as I told you. Husbands don't tell their wives everything—God forbid!"

Helen raised her hand. There was the ring of scorn in her voice as she exclaimed:

"Don't blaspheme, Signor Keralio. It sounds incongruous to hear the name of the Almighty on the lips of a man of your opinions and tastes. You think you live, but you don't. You go through life, seeking only to gratify your appetites, attracted only by material sensual pleasures. You ignore the best part of life—the pursuit of an ideal, a noble ambition, unselfishness, self-sacrifice. Really, Signor, I pity you—with all my heart."

He made no answer, but sat in silence watching her. Presently he said:

"Mrs. Traynor—do you know that you are an extraordinary woman?"

"In what way?" she demanded, elevating her eyebrows in surprise.

"You are either the cleverest or the most unsophisticated woman I have ever met. You are attractive enough to send a saint to perdition, yet you are quite indifferent to the power of your beauty and the tumult it arouses in the men who chance to cross your path. You seem to be absolutely without feeling. Yet I don't believe you devoid of temperament. I think I know women. I have met a good many. You do not belong to the type of cold, passionless women."

Again his eyes sought hers and found them. Again she tried to avoid his gaze and could not. There was something in his manner, his gestures, the tone of his voice, that conveyed to her more his real meaning than his actual words, yet, to her surprise, she was not aroused to anger. Sure of herself, she found herself listening, wondering what he would say next, ready to flee at the first warning of peril, but playing a dangerous game like the moth in the flame. As she sat back on the sofa, her head in the sofa cushions, he leaned nearer to her, and in those low, musical tones which held her under a kind of spell, he murmured:

"You are the cleverest woman I ever met."

She smiled in spite of herself, and he, mistaking the motive, thought she intended it as an encouragement. He glanced round to see if anyone was watching them, but Mr. Parker was peacefully dozing in a deep armchair a dozen yards away, and at the far end of the room Ray, Steell and Reynolds were engrossed in an exciting game of cards. Leaning quickly over, he seized her hand. His voice vibrating with passion, he said:

"Not only the cleverest, but the most desirable of women. Don't you see that you've set me afire? I'm mad for you! Helen—I want you!"

For a moment she was too stunned by his insolent daring to withdraw her hand, which he continued to press in his. His eyes flashing, he went on:

"Haven't you seen all along that I love you—desperately, passionately. You've set me afire. I'm mad for you. Let me awaken that love that's in your breast, but which your husband has never awakened. Let me——"

He did not finish, for that moment a small, jeweled hand, suddenly torn from his grasp, struck him full on the mouth. Rising and trying with difficulty to control the emotion in her voice, she said quickly:

"You'd better go now—so as to prevent a scandal. If they knew, it might be awkward for you. Of course, you must never come here again."

That was all. She swept away from him with the dignity of an offended queen. The silence was deadly. All one heard was the silk rustle of her gown as she moved across the floor.

"It's my say," exclaimed Ray.

"I lead with trumps," said Steell.

"Signor Keralio has to go. Isn't it too bad!"

Mr. Steell and Dick rose and bowed politely.

There was nothing to be done. He was ignominiously dismissed like a lackey caught pilfering. But there was black wrath in his heart as he picked himself up, and turning to the others, he bowed and said:

"Good night."



CHAPTER VII

Dawn broke over the desert region of the Kalihari. The gray mists of the South African night slowly dissolved on the approach of the rising sun, until the crimson glow of the coming day, spreading high in the eastern heavens, tipped with gold the snow-clad peaks of the Drachenberg, and then, swiftly inundating the valley like a flood, chased away the shadows and filled the undulating plains with warmth and light.

Stretched out near the flickering embers of an expiring camp fire, not half a day's trek from the Vaal River, lay what, at first view, appeared to be bundles of rags. A closer inspection showed them to be the prostrate forms of two men, asleep. Huddled close together, as if seeking all possible protection from the keen air of the open veldt, they appeared grateful even for the little warmth that still came from the dying fire. Every now and again a tiny flame, bursting from one of the smouldering logs, would light up the recumbent figures, revealing a brief glimpse of the sleepers.

Both bore traces of desperate need. The rags they wore were filthy, and gave only scant protection from the weather, their emaciated faces and hollowed cheeks told eloquently of many days of fatigue and hunger; their feet, long since without shoes, were clumsily protected from the rocky veldt by pieces of coarse sacking. For weeks they had tramped across the great, merciless desert, guided only by the stars, often losing the trail, begging their way from farm to farm, glad to do little jobs for friendly Boers in return for a meal, always in peril of attack by hostile Kaffirs, yet never halting, trudging ever onward in their anxiety to reach the coast. That was the haven they painfully sought—the open sea where at least there was a chance to die among their fellows and not perish miserably like dogs on the lonely. God-forsaken plains, with only the howling jackal and the screaming vulture to pick their bones.

They had tried and they had lost in the great gamble. Like thousands of other reckless adventurers attracted to the newly discovered diamond country, they had rushed out there from England, confident that they, too, could wrest from nature that wonderful gem, ever associated with tragedy and romance, mystery and crime, for the possession of which, since history began, men have been ready to give up their lives. Confident of their success, they had risked all on a turn of the wheel, and Fortune, mocking their puny efforts, had first ruined and then degraded them, afterward sending them back home to die.

It was now quite light. The fire, which had flickered up fitfully at intervals, was entirely extinguished. A chilly wind had started to blow from the plateau on the north. The strangers stirred uneasily in their sleep and awoke almost simultaneously. Sitting up with a start, they yawned and rubbed their eyes.

"What show o' gettin' some breakfast, Handsome?" asked the smaller of the two.

"Damned little!" was the profane and laconic rejoinder.

They were men still in the early thirties. One was short and stocky, his face slightly pock-marked. Pictures of a mermaid and anchor clumsily tattooed in indigo on his wrist showed him to be a sailor. In fact, Dick Hickey, boatswain on H. H. S. Tartar, having taken French leave of his ship, as she lay in Cape Town Harbor, ran a very good chance of being taken back to England in irons as a deserter. Just now he was serenely indifferent as to what happened to him. Half dead from exposure and lack of nourishment, he would have gladly welcomed ship's officers or anybody else so long as there was some relief from his present sufferings. Meantime he spent what little breath he had left in cursing his hard luck, and blaming his companion as being solely responsible for his misfortune.

The latter was some few years his senior, stalwart and clean-limbed. He appeared to be over six feet in height and a man of splendid physique. At first glance it was evident that he came of superior stock. His shapely hands were grimy, his eyes of a peculiarly light shade of blue were hollow and haggard looking. His face, emaciated and ghastly, was almost livid. A clean-cut chin was covered with several weeks' growth of beard. Yet, underneath all these repellant externals, there was in his every attitude that indefinable refinement of manner which the world always associates with a gentleman. His dark hair, disheveled and matted, was unusually thick and bushy, with the exception of one spot, in the center of his forehead, where there was a single white lock, a capillary phenomenon, which imparted at once to his face from its very unusualness an individuality quite its own.

No one knew who he was or where he came from. They called him "Handsome Jack," partly because of his good looks and also on account of his reckless liberality with his cronies when flush. What his real name was no one knew or cared. It was a time when no one asked questions. As soon as the news of the astonishing diamond discoveries reached Europe, men began to flock to South Africa. Adventurers from all over the world gathered in Cape Town, a motley crew of incompetents and blacklegs, an investigation into the antecedents of any of whom was apt to have unpleasant results. That he was a professional gambler, he made no attempt to conceal, and that he had knocked about the world a good deal was also to be inferred from his wide knowledge of men and places. A man of aggressive, domineering personality, he was not without a certain following, attracted by his skill with cards and dice, but he was more feared than liked, and his reputation as a dangerous gunman kept inquisitive strangers at a safe distance. He was well known in every den frequented by the criminal and vicious, and it was in one of these resorts that Hickey had met him. The sailor had lost all his savings at faro. Dead broke, he was ready for anything which promised to recoup his fortunes. Handsome Jack laid before him a scheme which would make them both rich beyond the dreams of avarice. The recent discoveries on the Vaal had startled the world. A native had picked up a stone weighing over 80 carats. They might be equally lucky. All that was needed was pluck and patience. The plan was to make their way as best they could to the Vaal fields, jump a claim, and dig for diamonds.

They set out secretly, avoiding the larger caravans, making the long trek across the great plateau, partly by ox wagon, partly on foot. The trail led through a wild, desolate country, and gradually they left civilization hundreds of miles behind them. As far as the eye could reach in every direction was a monotonous desert of stone and sand, broken every now and then by small kopjies, the sides and summits of which were sparsely covered with thick brush and coarse grass. Scattered here and there, some twenty miles apart, were the homesteads of the Boer farmers and the thatched kraals of the dark-skinned Kaffirs. Over this lonely waste sheep and cattle wandered undisturbed by springbok, ostriches, crocodiles, mountain lions and other wild animals.

In this barren spot Nature had concealed her treasures. A child's cry of joy over a pretty pebble led to their discovery. The little son of a Boer farmer was playing one day in the fields near the homestead when his eye was attracted by something glittering at his feet. Stooping, he picked up a stone unlike any other he had ever seen. Interested, he began to look for others and found a number of them, which with great glee he carried home to show his mother. The worthy woman paid little heed to what, in her ignorance, she regarded merely as pretty stones, but she happened to speak about them to a neighboring farmer, who asked to look at them. Already tired of his new plaything, the child had thrown the stones away, but one was found in the field close by, and the neighbor, a shrewd Dutchman, who had heard of certain stones picked up in that locality having a certain value, offered to buy it. The good woman laughed at the idea of selling a stone, and made him a present of it. The farmer took it to the nearest town, where experts declared it to be a twenty-one carat diamond, worth $2,500. Round the world the telegraph flashed this remarkable story, and the rush to South Africa began. That was in 1870. In May of that year there were about a hundred men at the diggings in the Vaal fields. Before the next month had closed there were seven hundred. By April of the following year five thousand men were digging frantically in the mud along the Vaal and Orange rivers.

It was a rough, lawless gathering of men of every nationality under the sun, the criminal and the vicious, the idle and the worthless. The region being inside the border lines of the waste territory that lay between the Boers and the Hottentots, it was therefore No Man's Land, and beyond the pale of established law and order. The miners, compelled, in self-protection, to institute laws of their own, appointed committees to issue licenses, keep the peace, and punish offenders. Natives were whipped; white men were banished, and from this rough-and-ready justice there was no appeal.

When Handsome and Hickey arrived at the diggings, the fever was still at its height, and having secured a claim, they went to work with a will. Claims were thirty feet square, and to prevent speculation in them the owner, in order to hold title, was compelled to toil incessantly. It was hard work, harder work than Handsome had ever been put to in all his life. At the end of a few days, the skin was scraped off his hands from shoveling, and he had such a kink in his back that he couldn't straighten up. But he had come to stay, and a little; discomfort was not going to scare him. Their implements, purchased at the diggings, consisted of pick, shovel and rocker, this last being a box arranged on rockers like a baby's cradle. It was a clumsy yet useful contrivance, in which were fastened, one above the other, wire screens of varying fineness, the coarsest being on top. As Handsome dug the yellow earth out of the hole he shoveled it into the top screen. When it was full Hickey poured in water while he rocked. The water washed the dirt through the holes, leaving the stones. These were taken out, emptied onto a sorting table, where Handsome scraped off the worthless peddles [Transcriber's note: pebbles?], saving anything that seemed of value. As a rule, and much to Hickey's disgust, the table was scraped clean. Sometimes the sailor would make a joyful exclamation on seeing some glittering pieces of rock crystal, thinking he had found a prize, only to be disappointed a moment later when a more experienced miner assured him it was worthless. Both soon learned, however, to recognize at sight the precious gems, and, although few came their way, they saw many brought to the surface by luckier neighbors. One day sounds of great rejoicing was heard in their tent. They had worked hard for over a month without finding anything, and were feeling greatly discouraged and dejected, when all at once something happened. Handsome had been rocking the cradle in a listless sort of way, and Hickey was sorting the residue, when suddenly the sailor gave a wild whoop of delight. Darting forward, he held up a glittering stone. Examination proved it to be a genuine diamond, weighing about ten carats, and valued at about $1,000. It was not much of a find, but it was enough to turn their heads. Dropping all work, they both proceeded to have "a good time," going on a drunken orgie, which lasted just as long as the money held out. When they came to their senses they were worse off than before. Weakened by prolonged debauch, they were in no mood for digging, and to complicate matters some one had jumped their claim during their absence. Even their tools had disappeared. Without resource or credit, they could not procure others. Yet work they must to keep the wolf from the door, so, cursing others when they had only themselves to blame, Handsome secured employment, digging for another miner, while the sailor performed such occasional odd jobs as he could pick up.

Broken in spirit, enraged at the long spell of ill luck, Handsome began to drink heavily. Every cent he made went to the grog shop, and Hickey, never over fond of work at any time, was only too glad of an excuse to drink with him. The two cronies filled themselves with rum until their reason tottered, and they became beasts, refusing to work, growing ugly, even menacing, preferring to beg the food their empty stomachs craved for rather than toil, as before. At last they made themselves such a nuisance that the attention of the vigilance committee was called to their particular case. In short order they were hauled up and ordered to leave camp. There was no alternative but to obey, and thus began the dreary trek homeward of the two broken and miserable outcasts.

"We cawn't go on much longer like this," moaned Hickey.

He made a painful effort to get up, but his joints, stiff from the all-night exposure, refused to obey his will, and he fell back with a groan. Handsome, more successful, had already risen, and was scanning the horizon on every side. Except for the kopjies, which in places obstructed the view, there was a clear range for ten miles or more. If anything alive moved within the field of vision, they could not help seeing it, but nothing greeted their eyes. There was neither man or beast to be seen; seemingly they were still many weary miles from the nearest homestead.

"We must go on," replied Handsome determinedly. Impatiently he added: "What do you want to do—stay here and let the jackals gnaw your bones?"

Hickey, too weak to argue, shook his head despondently.

"You go on, Handsome. Leave me here. I cawn't go any further, s' help me Gawd! My feet hurt somethin' awful. I'm all in. If ye get 'ome safe, go and see the old folks, will ye, and tell 'em I put up a good fight?"

"Hell!" retorted the other savagely. "Don't squat there crying like a baby. Be a man. Get up and let's hike it to the nearest homestead." Shading his eyes as he gazed earnestly over the plain, he added: "I see smoke in the distance. It can't be far off. Come——"

Suddenly, to his astonishment, Hickey leaped to his feet, with an agility unheard of in one so nearly dying. Pointing to the nearest kopjie, he shouted hoarsely:

"Look! There's a man—near that kopjie—he's coming this way!"

It was no dream. A man, unarmed and unaccompanied, was advancing toward them. From his dress and manner, it was easy to see that he was not a Boer farmer. He looked more like an Englishman or an American.

Scarcely able to believe the evidence of his own eyes, Handsome watched his progress.

As he came nearer, he waved his hand to show that he saw them, and he walked faster, as if afraid that they might disappear before he could reach them. Hickey, unable to restrain himself, had run forward, and in a few minutes they met.

"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, whose face, shaded as it was by a big canvas helmet, it was difficult to see.

"Miners from the Vaal," answered Hickey. "Who are you?"

"I am a Frenchman—Francois Chalat. I am ze valet of an American gentleman. Our party not know ze road. We has wandered from what you call ze trail. Will you show ze way to us?"

"Where's your party?" demanded Hickey.

Francois pointed to a kopjie about three miles distant.

"There! Behind zat hill."

Just at that moment, Handsome came lumbering up almost on the run, anxious to know what it was all about.

"Have you any whiskey?" was his first breathless ejaculation. "We're starving."

The valet made no answer. He was too startled to speak. Drawing back a few steps, he stared blankly at the big fellow. For several minutes he stood as if struck dumb. Presently, when he found his speech, he asked in awed tones:

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"What business is it of yours?" snapped Handsome, with some show of irritation. "Have you any food or whiskey? We're starving."

The valet made no answer, but just stared in astonished silence at the big six-footer who towered above him. For a moment he had thought it a trick that his master had played upon him. By walking quickly he had got there before him, and dressed up in these rags just to have fun with him. But that matted hair and that chin, with its weeks of growth of beard. He could not be deceived in that. No, this man was not his employer. Could it be possible, was it—his twin brother long since given up for dead? The same physique, the same features, the same eyes, the same thick, bushy hair with the single lock of white hair in the center of the forehead. There was no room for doubt. It was his employer's brother. It was just as well to make friends. Drawing a flask from his pocket and holding it out, he said:

"Here, take a drink. You need it."

Eagerly, Handsome snatched it out of his hand.

"You bet we do."

He took a deep gulp and handed it to Hickey, whose bleary eyes had watered at the very sight of the flask. Francois turned to Handsome.

"Where is ze trail?" he asked.

"Over yonder," growled the big fellow in surly tones and making a sweeping gesture with his arm which embraced every quarter of the compass.

"Rather indefinite, I should say," smiled the valet. "Where you go? Are you on ze way to ze mines?"

Handsome Jack took another pull at the flask. His good humor returning in proportion as he felt warmed up by the spirits, he said more amiably:

"I guess not. My pal and I have enough of the cursed place—ain't we, Hickey?"

The sailor man glanced dolefully at his limping foot, and nodded his head in acquiescence.

"You show us the trail home. My boss is very rich man," interrupted Francois quickly. "He pay anything."

Handsome pricked up his ears.

"Oh, he's rich, is he?"

The valet laughed as he replied:

"All Americans rich—tres riches. Did you ever hear of poor Americans?"

Hickey took another drink and snickered. Handsome looked thoughtful. After a pause, he said:

"What your boss' name?"

"Monsieur Traynor of the Americo-African Mining Co."

Handsome started.

"What? Kenneth Traynor, of the Americo-African Mining Company—the people who made those sensational finds."

"Yes—he's vice-president of the company."

Handsome gave a low, expressive whistle.

"He's rich—all right! Do you know what those stones are worth?"

"Over a million dollairs."

"And he came out here to——"

The valet nodded.

"Oui—zat's it—to get ze big diamonds. We're on our way back from ze mines now. He has ze stones in his possession."

"And taking them to New York?" gasped Handsome; "a million dollars' worth?"

"Yes—taking zem to New York. That's what he came out for. We want to reach ze coast as soon as possible. Again I ask. Will you guide us back to ze trail?"

For a few moments Handsome made no answer. The thoughtful expression on his pale, care-worn face showed that he was thinking hard. What was passing in his mind no one knew, but whatever it was it caused the lines about his strong mouth to tighten and the steely blue eyes to flash. A million dollars? God! What will a man not do for a million dollars? Turning to the valet, he said hastily:

"Yes, I'm on. Take me to your party. I'll show you the trail. Quick, lead the way."



CHAPTER VIII

Traveling to and from the diamond fields in the days immediately following the first rush was not an unmixed joy. Express wagons drawn by eight horses or mules and running from Cape Town to Klipdrift once a week charged passengers sixty dollars a head, the journey across the plains taking about eight days. Travelers whose business was so urgent that they could not wait for the regular stage had to hire a team of their own at a much higher expense.

Kenneth did not mind the cost, if only he was able to make good time. The trip to the mines had been accomplished without mishap. Everything had gone as well as could be desired. He had been successful in securing valuable land options for the company, and at last the two precious stones were in his possession. That it was a big responsibility, he fully realized. The very knowledge that he had on his person gems worth over a million dollars, and this in a wild, uncivilized country where at any moment he might be followed, ambushed and killed, and no one the wiser, was not calculated to calm his nerves. But Kenneth Traynor had never known the meaning of the word fear. He was ready for any emergency and he went about unarmed, cool and unruffled. From his demeanor at least no one could guess that he ever gave a thought to the valuable consignment of which he was the guardian. Of course, it had been impossible to keep the thing secret. Everybody at the mines knew he had come out for the purpose of taking the big stones to America. Even his drivers knew, and so did Francois. The news was public property and was eagerly discussed over every camp fire as one of the sensations of the day. All this publicity did not tend to lessen the risk, and that was why he was so anxious to reach Cape Town without the least possible delay. He had timed his departure from the mines so as to just catch the steamer for England, and now, after all his trouble and careful calculation, the fool mule drivers had gone and lost the trail. It was most exasperating.

The wagon had come to a halt the night before under shelter of a fair-sized kopjie. The mules, tormented by the deadly tetse fly, stood whisking their tails and biting savagely at their hereditary enemy; the drivers, indifferent and stolid, sat on the ground smoking their pipes, while Kenneth, fuming at this unlooked for mishap which threatened an even more serious delay, strode up and down the veldt, swearing at the mules, the stolid drivers and everything else in sight.

Francois, who had left camp for assistance long before sunrise, had not yet returned. Unless help came soon they'd be held there another night. There was no use trying to proceed without a guide, for they might find themselves going round and round in a circle. There was nothing to do but wait until help came.

Sitting down on the stump of a tree near the fire, he tried to possess his soul in patience while one of the teamsters, who also officiated as cook, busied himself getting breakfast. It was now broad daylight; the weather clear and cold. As he sat there idly and smoked reflectively, his thoughts wandered homeward, four thousand miles across the seas. He wondered what Helen was doing, if little Dorothy was well, if everything was all right. Only now he realized what the word home meant to him, and a chill ran through him as he thought of all the things that could happen. Yet how foolish it was to worry. What could happen? Helen had her sister constantly with her, and she was well looked after by Mr. Parker and Wilbur Steell. It was absurd to have any anxiety on that score. Besides, if anything had gone wrong, they would certainly have called him. He had had several letters from Helen, all of them saying she and baby were well and waiting eagerly for his return. Yes, he would soon be home now. In another two days he would reach Cape Town. From there to Southampton was only a fortnight's sail, and in another week he would be in New York.

These and kindred thoughts of home ran through his mind as he sat before the camp fire and tranquilly smoked his pipe. The drivers were busying themselves cleaning the harness, the mules were docilely browsing, the air was filled by a fragrant odor of coffee. His memories went back to his boyhood days. He recalled what the old nurse had told him about a twin brother. How strange it would be if he ever turned up. Such things were possible, of course, but hardly probable. No, the chances were that he was dead. If he had lived, how different everything might have been. He would have inherited half their father's money. What had been enough to start one so well in life would only have been a meagre provision for two. Yet it might have been an advantage, forced him to still greater effort. He might have got even farther than he had—who knows?

At that moment his reflections were interrupted by the sound of voices in the distance. He heard some one running. One of the teamsters came up hurriedly and exclaimed breathlessly:

"He's found some one, sir; he's got two men with him. They're coming now."

Kenneth jumped up and, shading his eyes, looked out across the yellow waste of stones and gravel. About a mile away he saw Francois, accompanied by two strangers, who looked like miners. They were tattered and miserable looking, as if down on their luck. One of them was limping as if lame; the other, much taller, although ragged and forlorn, had a soldierly bearing and the appearance of a gentleman. The valet, who had been walking faster than his companions, came up at that instant.

"Who have you got there?" demanded Kenneth.

"Two miners, monsieur. I found zem several miles away on ze veldt. They have tramped for days without food; they are starving."

"Do they know the trail?"

"Yes, monsieur. Ze big man knows ze trail. He will show ze way—for a consideration."

"Good! First give them some breakfast and then we'll go."

He waved his hand in the direction of the cook's mess, where the coffee was already steaming on the fire, and, turning away, began to gather his things together, preparatory to departure. There was no reason why he should have anything to say to the strangers. In fact, it would be better if they did not see him, or know who he was. It was possible that they had been at the mines when he arrived, in which case they would instantly recognize him as the American who had come to take the big diamonds to New York. Besides, they were not particularly attractive objects. What did their adventures and mishaps matter to him? He had troubles of his own. Francois could look after their wants. The main thing was to find the trail and get started back toward Cape Town as soon as possible. When the strangers had been fed they would set out, and, the trail once found, he would give them a lift on their way and a few sovereigns into the bargain. That would more than compensate them for all their trouble.

Meanwhile he thought he would take a quiet walk. His legs were stiff from sitting so long. A little exercise would do him the world of good. So, without a word to anybody, he slipped out of camp unobserved and started off at a brisk gait.

The region where they had halted seemed to be the center of Nowhere, a land where had reigned for all time the abomination of desolation spoken of by all the prophets. Knocking about the world, as he had done for a lifetime, Kenneth had seen some queer spots in the world, but never had he come across so savagely repellent a spot as this. It was Nature in her harshest mood—not a vestige in any direction of human or animal life. There was not a farm, not a Boer or Kaffir, not even a tree to be seen. Nothing in every direction but a monotonous waste of yellow sand, rough stones and stunted grass. An unnatural stillness filled the air, making the silence oppressive, and uncanny. The soil was so poor that cultivation was impossible. The ground, strewn with broken rocks and sharp stones which cut the shoes and hurt the feet, suggested that in prehistoric times the plateau had been swept by a volcanic tempest. The slopes of the few scattered kopjies were sparsely covered with verdure and as he strode along, he passed here and there clumps of trees, veritable oases in the desert, or deep water holes under overhanging rocks where under cover of night, strange beasts came to drink. Apart from these few oases, it was a dreary monotonous waste of rock and sand, where neither beast or man could find food or shelter.

He had walked about three miles and was just passing a kopjie where a group of stunted trees offered a little shelter from the glare of the sun on the yellow gravel when he began to feel tired. Sitting down on a decayed tree stump, he took out his pipe, removed his helmet, and laying lazily back, closed his eyes, a favorite trick of his when he wished to concentrate his thoughts.

The trip, tiresome as it was, had certainly been worth while. His ambitious dreams had been more than realized. He could scarcely wait for his arrival to tell Helen the good news. He had secured signatures to a plan of consolidation of practically all the mining companies operating in South Africa. Until now, these companies had been engaged in a fierce and disastrous competition, which cut into each other's profits and cheapened the market price of stones. He had suggested a scheme of amalgamation which would put all the mines under one management, and fix arbitrary prices for diamonds which henceforth could not be sold under a certain figure agreed upon by the Syndicate. This plan, which had the general approval of the mining companies, practically gave Kenneth Traynor control of the diamond industry of the world, an industry which in South Africa alone had already produced 100,000,000 carats estimated to be worth $750,000,000. Overnight, Kenneth found himself many times a millionaire.

It had come at last—what he waited for all these years. This new consolidation deal meant great wealth to its promoters. What would he do with it? Most men need only enough for their actual needs, but he had higher aims. An ardent socialist he would use his money for the cause. Not, however, in the way others did, but to buy influence, power. He would fight Capitalism, in his own way. He would go into politics, run for public office, try and remedy some of the economic abuses from which people of the United States were now suffering. He would wage warfare on the high cost of living, on Greed and Graft. He would attack the Plutocracy in its stronghold, lay bare the inner workings of the System, the concentration of the wealth of the entire country in the hands of a few, by which the rich each year were becoming richer and the poor each year poorer. It would not be the first time a multi-millionaire had espoused the cause of the proletariat, but he would carry on the fight more vigorously than anyone had done. He would force an issue, make Greed disgorge its ill-gotten gains and accord to Labor its rightful place in the sun, its proper share of the world's production of wealth. His sympathies in the bitter struggle between the capitalists and the wage earners were wholly with the people who under the present wage system, had little chance to raise themselves from the mire. But he was intelligent enough to realize that the faults were not all on the side of Capital. Labor, too, needed the curb at times. Too ready to listen to the reckless harangues of irresponsible professional demagogues, wage earners were often as tyrannical as capitalists, insisting on impossible demands, rejecting sober compromise which, in the end, must be the basis of all amicable relations between employer and employed.

For some time he sat there, giving free rein to his imagination, when suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of heavy footsteps crunching on the hard sand. Raising his head he looked quickly round but seeing no one, concluded he was mistaken. Looking at his watch, he was amazed to find that he had been away from camp a whole hour. There was no time to be lost. The men had certainly finished eating by now; they could start at once. Jumping up he turned round to retrace his steps the same way he had come, when, suddenly, a shadow fell between him and the white road. Looking up, he was startled to see himself reflected as in a mirror against the green background of the kopjie.

At first he thought he must be ill. The walk, the sun, the exposure had no doubt overstimulated him and made him excited and feverish. He was seeing things. His success with the diamond deal had affected his brain. Of course, it was only an hallucination. The next time he looked this fantastic creation of his disordered mind would be gone. Again he glanced up in the direction of the kopjie. The apparition was still there, a horrible, monstrous, distortion of himself, standing still, speechless, staring at him. That it was only a mirage there could be no doubt. He had heard of such mirages at sea and also in the Sahara where wandering Arabs have beheld long caravans journeying in the skies. But he had never heard of a mirage lasting as long as this one. Would it never disappear? It must be a nightmare which still obsessed him. That was it. He had fallen asleep on the tree and was not yet awake. With an effort he made a step forward and tried to articulate, but the words stuck in his throat. Suddenly the spell was broken by the apparition itself, which moved and spoke. He recognized who it was now—one of the strangers brought in by Francois—but that astonishing likeness of himself—

Judging by the astonished expression on his face, Handsome was just as much surprised as Kenneth at the encounter. After satisfying his hunger he, too, had strayed away from the camp, unable to control his impatience while the teamsters were harnessing the mule team. He had left Hickey to gorge still more while he strutted on by himself, cogitating on what the valet had told him in regard to the diamonds. This sudden meeting with the very man who had been uppermost in his thoughts was surprising enough, and instantly he, also, was struck with the extraordinary resemblance between them.

"Who the devil are you?" he demanded in surly tones.

Thus rudely aroused to the reality, and seeing that it was really a creature of flesh and blood he had to deal with and not a creature of another world, Kenneth answered haughtily:

"I'm not accustomed to being addressed in that manner."

Handsome laughed mockingly. With affected politeness he retorted:

"Your lordship's servant! What is his lordship's pleasure?"

Kenneth did not hear the taunting reply or heed the sneer. He was still staring at this counterpart of himself, this very image yet who was not himself, but a human derelict, a wretched, sodden outcast. All at once, an overwhelming, horrible suggestion rushed across his brain. Could it be, was it—his long lost twin brother? Almost gasping, he demanded:

"Who are you?"

Handsome chuckled.

"I don't know."

"What is your name?"

The man chuckled.

"They call me Handsome. That's because I'm a good looker. I have had a good many other names, but I've forgotten what they are. The police know. It's all in the records."

"My God—a police record!"

"What of it?" Bitterly he added: "We can't all be fine gentlemen and millionaires."

"Where are you from?"

"Nowhere."

"Who were your parents?"

"Never had any that I know of."

Kenneth started forward and, seizing the man's left hand, closely examined it. Yes, there was the scar on the index finger of the left hand. No further doubt was possible. This was his brother. Handsome, meantime, had been watching the other's agitation with mingled interest and amusement.

Hoarsely, Kenneth cried:

"Where have you been all these years?"

Handsome stared as if he thought his interlocutor had gone crazy. Almost angrily he retorted:

"What d——d business is it of yours?"

Paying no heed to the miner's offensive attitude, and anxious only to learn something of his history, Kenneth approached him and held out his hand.

"I wish to be your friend."

Handsome drew back suspiciously. Always associated with evil himself, he looked for only evil from others. Bitterly he retorted:

"My friend—what do your kind care for poor devils like me?"

For answer, Kenneth removed his helmet, suddenly revealing the solitary lock of white hair. Handsome fell back in surprise. For the first time he realized the extraordinary resemblance. He had noticed a marked likeness before, but now the diamond promoter's helmet was off, it was positively startling. Hoarsely he exclaimed:

"The devil! Who are you? You look just like——"

Kenneth looked at him keenly for a moment. Then he said calmly:

"Yes—I look just like you. No wonder. You are—my brother!"



"Your brother?"

"Yes—my brother. We are twins. You were kidnapped by gypsies thirty-two years ago. Our old nurse told me the story for the first time the day before I sailed from New York. She also told me about that scar on your hand. You cut it badly when you were a year old and the scar has remained ever since. Everybody believed you dead. Where have you been all these years?"

Handsome made no answer but fell back a few steps, and passed his hand over his brow as if bewildered. This astonishing revelation had been made so suddenly that it had left him dazed. A wild, improbable tale, it seemed, yet perhaps there was some truth in it. He had never known who his parents were and it had always seemed to him that he came of better stock than those with whom he associated. Then again, there was the ridiculous likeness. One had only to look at them both—it was the same face.

Slowly, gradually, as he looked more closely at Kenneth the conviction grew stronger that this, indeed, was his brother, his own flesh and blood, yet it aroused within him no emotion and left him entirely cold. No impulse seized him to throw himself into this man's arms and embrace him. His heart was steeled against the world. Human affection and sympathy had dried up in his breast years ago. What he saw was not a kinsman, a brother, but a man who had succeeded in life where he had failed, a man who was rich and happy while he was poor and miserable, a man who had everything while he had nothing. And if the tale were true, if indeed, he were this rich man's brother, it only made matters worse, for he had been robbed of his rightful inheritance. This rich man was enjoying wealth half of which rightfully belonged to him.

Again Kenneth demanded:

"Where have you been all these years?"

"Here, there, everywhere," was the sullen answer. "London, Paris, Brussels, Vienna, New York, Boston, Chicago, Havana, Buenos Ayres. I know them all and they know me—perhaps too well. My earliest recollection is of the Italian quarter in New York, a long narrow always dirty street, bordered on either side by dilapidated greasy tenements, ricketty fire escapes filled with biddy and garbage. Pietro lived there and kept his organ in the basement cellar. When Pietro went out with the organ he took me along to excite sympathy. Until I was fifteen years old I begged to support Pietro. One day he beat me and I ran away and shipped as cabin boy on a sailing vessel bound for Liverpool. I reached London and found employment as stable boy at Ascot. There I learned the fatal fascination of gambling. With what I saved from my wages I bet on the horses. I won and won again. I went back to London and frequented the gambling houses. I won, always won. One day there was a row. Someone complained I had cheated. The police arrested me. When I left jail I went to the continent and began gambling again. I have gambled ever since." Pointing in the direction of the mines he added bitterly:

"That was my last gamble and I lost. That's all I have to tell."

Kenneth listened with keen interest. When the other stopped speaking he asked:

"And now—what will you do?"

Handsome shrugged his shoulders and made no answer. Kenneth went on:

"You can't keep up the old life—that is impossible. You owe something to the blood that's running in your veins. There is only one thing for you to do. You must break off with the past for good, and come home with me. Are you known in New York?"

Handsome shook his head.

"No, I never returned there since I was a child."

"Your operations in America were confined to San Francisco, Chicago and St. Louis——"

"Yes."

Kenneth breathed more freely.

"That makes matters easier. No one in New York, therefore, has anything against you. There it will be possible to live down your past. You will cease being an outcast, a wanderer on the face of the earth. You will take the place in society for which Nature intended you."

Handsome smiled cynically. Grimly he replied:

"I guess Nature never expected much of me."

"You never can tell," said Kenneth quickly. "Your environments no doubt were responsible for your downfall. You have been a victim of circumstances."

Handsome was silent. This free roving life had come second nature to him. He looked with suspicion on any other. After a pause, he asked:

"What can I do in New York?"

"I will dress and house you like a gentleman. For a time you can make your home with us. If we find we can't agree, well—we'll part. I will find you employment——"

Handsome laughed. Mockingly he said:

"Then I am to be dependent on you——"

"No—not on me——. On your own efforts. There is no reason why, if given a chance, you will not make a success in the world. You are still young and energetic. I will give you a start in any line you wish to enter. I will make you a present of $10,000. It should be enough capital to start in any business."

Handsome shrugged his shoulders.

"Charity?" he exclaimed.

"No—not charity—brotherly affection."

His brother laughed mockingly. Bitterly he exclaimed:

"Maybe it's conscience money."

"What do you mean?"

"You inherited from our father, didn't you?"

"Yes—but I've increased it a hundred-fold by my own efforts."

"How much did he leave you?"

"Twenty thousand dollars."

"Why didn't he leave me some?"

"He believed you dead. The sum I offer you is the sum you would have inherited from our father had he known you were living. Do you accept?"

Handsome was silent. His brain was working fast. What this man offered him was the merest pittance. Put out at interest, it would give him the princely income of $10 a week. What did he care for the good opinion of the world? He had knocked about so long, roughing it everywhere, that he might as well end as he had begun—an adventurer. Suddenly there flashed across his brain a wild, audacious idea—a scheme so fantastic, so fraught with adventure and peril that the very thought gave him a thrill. It involved violence, possibly a crime. Well, what of it? He was not the kind to be deterred by trifles. This man was nothing to him. Brotherly love, family ties—these were simply phrases to one who had never known them. He knew and obeyed only one instinct—the fight for life, the survival of the fittest. Society had waged war on him; he would be merciless in his war on society. This man—this alleged brother, threw him a sop, insulted him by offering him charity. Why should he hesitate? It was his life or another's. There was a big prize to be won. Life was sweet when one has millions to enjoy it with. This man had now on his person diamonds worth over a million and he had more millions at home. Suppose something happened to this man here in South Africa and he went home in his stead to take his place in his household and enjoy his millions? Who would know the difference?

Impatient at the other's silence Kenneth demanded somewhat sharply:

"Well—what do you say? Do you accept?"

He looked straight at his vis-a-vis, but Handsome avoided his direct gaze. He was silent for another moment as if reflecting. Then, slowly, he said:

"Yes, I accept."



CHAPTER IX

The string orchestra, adroitly concealed behind a bank of graceful exotic plants, struck up a languorous waltz, and the couples, only too eager to respond to the invitation, began to turn and glide over the polished parquet floor.

Not since its master's departure for South Africa had the Traynor residence been the scene of so much life and gayety. Every window literally blazed with light. From the front door at the top of the high stoop down to the edge of the street curb, stretched a canvas awning to protect arriving guests from the inclemency of the weather.

It was a stormy night. The rain was falling in torrents, but no one cared. Everybody was out for a good time and they knew that this was the house to get it.

Helen's first impulse had been to postpone the affair, held really in celebration of Ray's birthday, until Kenneth's return, but as this idea had met with decided opposition from the younger element, she had reluctantly given way. Besides, there was no knowing when Kenneth would return. Nothing as yet had been heard from him excepting a brief cablegram announcing his safe arrival at Cape Town, and it was manifestly unfair to let her own inclinations stand in the way of the happiness of others. So, after due reflection, she had surrendered completely, giving Ray carte blanche to make what arrangements she chose. That young person did not stand on the order of going. She acted at once and sent out invitations to what proved to be one of the biggest soirees dansantes of the season. Everything was done on a most liberal scale. The house was decorated by Herly, three picturesque fiddlers were obtained from an agency, and Mazzoni, who provides delicacies for the "400," had charge of the catering.

Everybody who was anybody was invited, all Ray's personal friends besides a lot of people she did not know so well. A number of Helen's intimates were there and also some men friends of Mr. Steell and Dick Reynolds. The girls in their light gowns looked pretty as angels. The men were handsome, attentive and gallant. Altogether, everyone voted it one of the most enjoyable social affairs of the year.

Ray had danced her sixth waltz and at last utterly exhausted, unable to stand any more, she allowed Dick Reynolds to escort her to a sofa.

"Please get me an ice, will you? That's a dear boy," she gasped.

"Will I!" echoed the youth. "What wouldn't I do for you—fire and water—that's all!"

"As bad as that?" laughed the girl panting. "Please don't be silly. Go and get me an ice."

Obediently, he left her and forced his way through the throng to the buffet, while Ray, left alone, started to fan herself vigorously. As she sat there Helen passed on the arm of Mr. Parker. The President stopped short and quizzed the young girl.

"You here?" ejaculated the old gentleman in mock amazement. "Why aren't you dancing? This will never do."

Helen smiled.

"I expect she's tired out. This is the first time I've seen her sit down all evening."

Ray nodded.

"You've guessed right, sis. I'm nearly dead. I sent Dick for an ice."

"Did you ever see such a crowd?" remarked the president of the A. A. M. Company as he surveyed the throng that passed in and out of the rooms.

"Oh, Mrs. Traynor we're having such a jolly time," exclaimed a tall graceful girl, gracefully dressed in light blue empire gown with Grecian head dress.

"I'm so glad, dear," smiled the hostess amiably. Turning to Mr. Parker as the girl passed on she asked: "Do you know who that is?"

He shook his head.

"She's the granddaughter of John R. Rockerford, the money king. Fancy her saying this is jolly after the grandeur she is accustomed to!"

"No doubt she likes this better," retorted Ray. "Those very rich people don't do things any better than we—sometimes not so well. Their parties are too stiff and formal."

Suddenly Mr. Parker nudged his hostess.

"Here comes Mrs. Brewster-Curtis," he said in a stage whisper. "They say her husband's worth ten millions—all made from graft."

A handsome woman, blazing with diamonds, came up. Addressing Helen, she exclaimed gushingly:

"Oh, Mrs. Traynor, isn't this perfectly delightful? How do you do, Mr. Parker. Do you know I haven't enjoyed myself so much this season. What's the news from your dear husband?"

"No news as yet."

"Dear me—you poor thing! How interesting—so pretty and husband away. What an opportunity for some of our gay Lotharios!"

"They wouldn't have much chance with Helen!" laughed Ray.

Mrs. Brewster-Curtis turned, and putting up her gold lorgnon, stared at the unknown young woman who had been so bold to venture to express an opinion. Ray, meantime, was wondering what detained Dick. Here she was famishing with thirst and still no ice. Her partner had disappeared completely.

Addressing her hostess Mrs. Brewster said languidly:

"Your niece, I believe."

"No—my sister," corrected Helen with a smile. It was a mistake often made.

"Of course—of course, how silly of me. I might have known that. You look enough alike."

"Do you think so?" interrupted Ray hotly. "Helen is far prettier than I."

"You are no judge, my dear. You must let the men decide that."

"They do," said Ray, "and they all declare in favor of Helen."

"Not by the way Mr. Steell dodges [Transcriber's note: dogs?] your footsteps." Looking up she exclaimed: "There he is now."

"Oh, Mr. Steell," cried Helen, "don't forget our next waltz."

His face all smiles, the lawyer forced his way through the press of people.

"Have you seen Dick?" asked Ray. "I sent him to get me an ice."

Mr. Steell laughed outright.

"Oh, it was you who sent him. If I had known——"

"Why?" demanded Ray, opening wide her eyes. "Where is he? I want my ice."

"I'll get you an ice, dear," said Helen.

"No, let me go," exclaimed Mr. Parker.

"No—no one will get the ice but myself," said Mr. Steell. "It's my fault that the ice is not already forthcoming. It is only just that I suffer accordingly."

Mr. Parker laughed.

"The ice episode threatens to become a diplomatic incident."

"Why—whatever is the matter?" smiled Helen.

The lawyer was so much amused that he could hardly keep his face straight. With an effort he controlled himself, and said:

"Just now I was talking with a pretty girl and Dick suddenly forced his way through the crowd, going in the direction of the buffet. I had no idea on what a serious mission he was bound, of course, and so I called him to introduce him to the pretty girl, who had with her an aunt, a veritable witch, as hideous as a Medusa, and who, in addition, is afflicted with a wooden leg. Dick gave the aunt only a glance. That was enough, but he was all smiles for her pretty niece, who, I must admit, is somewhat of a flirt. Anyhow she rolled her eyes so eloquently at him that he forgot all about the important errand on which he was bound. Just at that moment the musicians struck up a schottische, and, on the spur of the moment, he asked the pretty girl to dance. She declined, with an arch smile, but, pointing to the old witch, said her aunt would be delighted. Poor Dick! There was no help for it. The Medusa got up, seized him in her claws, and, the last thing I saw of the poor youth, they were doing a sort of Bunny Hug, the wooden leg of his lady partner marking time on the waxed floor."

"Please stop! If you go on—I shall expire."

Ray was nearly in convulsions of laughter in which all joined. When Helen had somewhat regained her composure, she said:

"I think it's unkind to make fun of the poor woman. Who is she?"

"I haven't the least idea. Perhaps Dick will tell us."

At that moment the youth emerged from the throng and came towards them, his linen mussed, his hair dishevelled. But in one hand he held grimly a plate of ice cream. Looking shamelessly at Ray, he smiled:

"I've got it—at last."

"Where have you been all this time?" she demanded innocently.

"Oh, I've been having no end of a good time!"

Steell burst out laughing.

"Did she ask you to call, Dick?"

"If she had I'd have killed her."

"How did the artificial leg work?"

"She jammed it on my foot once. How it did hurt!"

Ray, by this time, was almost in hysterics, and Helen and the others, catching the contagion, the whole group were soon shaken by uncontrollable laughter.

The orchestra struck up a quadrille. A man came rushing up to Ray.

"My dance, I believe."

With a comical expression of resignation, the young girl allowed herself to be led away, while Helen and Mrs. Brewster-Curtis took seats to watch the figures.

"Come, Dick," said Steell in an undertone. "Let's go and smoke a cigar."

Leading the way he went into the smoking-room, where cigars and liquors were laid out. Turning to the youth, he inquired eagerly:

"Well—what about the Signor? What have you found out?"

Dick lit a cigarette and then calmly he said:

"Everything."

"What—to be specific."

"He's all and more than we expected."

"In other words—a crook?"

"Yes, and a dangerous one."

"What's his game?"

"Confidence man, bank robber, blackmailer."

"How did you find out?"

"Very easily. I found his record. The police haven't disturbed him because his clever disguise has deceived them. They have not recognized in the polished, suave Signor Keralio, the popular fencing master, the man they have been hunting for years. His real name is Richard Barton. His pals call him Baron Rapp. Five years ago he was convicted of robbing a bank out West and was sent up for ten years. He served a year in Joliet and then broke jail and he has been at liberty ever since."

"Good!" exclaimed the lawyer, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. "We've got him where we want him. What else?"

"He has managed to elude the police so far owing to the fact that he has not been operating of late, but from what I've been able to ferret out, he is preparing some big haul. Everything points that way. I don't know what it is, but it's the biggest thing in which he has yet been mixed up. He's affiliated with crooks who operate all over the country. Some of his men are disguised as servants and valets in rich houses. They spy on their masters and tell him if there is anything worth robbing. He is the master-mind that schemes the operations that others carry out. He tells his men what banks and homes to break into and instructs them how to do it. He receives all the stolen property. At this very moment his flat in the Bronx is full of stolen loot. I also suspect him of being engaged in counterfeiting."

The lawyer was lost in admiration.

"Dick, you're a wonder!"

The young man grinned with pride.

"Well—what's it to be—shall we tip off the police?"

"Not by a long shot. We'll have the gun loaded—all ready for use. If the Signor gets ugly we'll shoot—that's all. Not a word, do you hear. Leave everything to me. Come, let's go back or they'll think something's wrong."

In the ballroom, they were still dancing the quadrille, the pretty gowns of the girls and black coats of the men making a picturesque sight as they blended in the ever changing figures.

The gayety was at its height when the maid entered and whispered in her ear:

"There's a gentleman downstairs."

Helen looked at the girl in surprise.

"A gentleman? What's his name?"

"I don't know, m'm. He wouldn't say."

"Very well, I'll go down."

Slipping away unobserved, Helen made her way downstairs and throwing back the heavy tapestry portieres entered the drawing room which was almost in complete darkness. The maid had forgotten to switch on the electrolier and as the only light came from the distant dining-room, the big parlor was practically all in gloom. Before her eyes had become quite accustomed to the dark, a man advanced out of the shadow. It was Signor Keralio.

She recognized him instantly and instinctively she shrank back, alarmed. How had he dared come again to her house after what had occurred? He noticed the movement and asked:

"I see that I'm unwelcome. Do I frighten you so much?"

Coldly she answered:

"You do not frighten me. You surprise me. I did not expect this pleasure after what passed between us the last time you were here." Making a half turn, as if about to leave the room, she added quickly: "I have company upstairs. You must excuse me."

She walked away and had almost reached the door, when, with a quick stride, he intercepted her.

"Please don't go. I am here in your own interest. I want to talk to you—just a moment, about——"

She hesitated.

"About what?" she demanded haughtily.

"About your husband."

"My husband?" she echoed, turning and facing him.

"Yes—your husband. He is in danger. I want to help you and—him."

"Kenneth in danger?" she faltered. "What do you mean?"

He pointed to a chair.

"Won't you sit down. I won't keep you a moment. I will tell you everything——"

She sat down like one in a dream. Taking a seat near her, he began in his low, musical tones.

"Peril threatens your husband. It is known that he has gone to South Africa to bring home diamonds of almost inestimable value. A number of desperate men, who stop at nothing to accomplish their ends, have taken steps to secure the diamonds at any cost—even at the price of a human life."

A chill ran through her, but her voice was firm as she demanded scornfully:

"You know these men—these murderers?"

"Yes—I know them."

Instantly came the bitter retort:

"Maybe you are one of them!"

His eyes flashed in the darkness and his voice vibrated with passion as he answered:

"I know you think ill of me. You do me an injustice. I have no share in these men's operations, but I have great power over them. They must obey my command. They know that and so respect my orders. A word from me and your husband will be unmolested."

Like the drowning man who in his agony will grasp eagerly at a floating straw, Helen seized at the hope his words held out. That Kenneth was in peril she readily believed. It was a dangerous mission. She had scented danger from the outset. This man might be lying, and yet he might have the influence he boasted.

"You can avert the danger?"

He nodded.

"I can."

"How?"

"I will give orders that he be unmolested."

"And they will obey you?"

"They will."

Her face brightened. More amiably she said:

"You'll do this, won't you?"

"Yes—for a price."

"What price?"

"That you recall what you said the other day and restore me to a place in your friendship."

There was no mistaking his true meaning. It was a price no self-respecting woman could pay. She rose indignantly, and haughtily she said:

"You have never had a place in my friendship, Signor Keralio, and you never will. I see through your motive and I despise you now all the more. My husband, who is an honorable man, would be the first to have done with me forever if I entered into any such bargain. He has mistaken your character. When he returns I will enlighten him, and he will tell you himself that his wife has no dealings with a scoundrel. As for your threats, and tale of mysterious danger, I don't believe a word you say. But I may think it worth while to cable my husband in order to put him on his guard and to inform the police. Good night!"

Before he could stop her, she had touched an electric bell and left the room. The next instant Roberts, the butler, appeared and threw open the front door. There was nothing to do but go.

She had defied him.



CHAPTER X

Eagerly, breathlessly, Helen tore open the cablegram.

It was late Saturday afternoon and she had been with Ray and Mr. Steell to see some paintings—a private view of a remarkable collection of old masters. After having tea at the Plaza they had taken a brisk walk through the Park, the lawyer insisting that the exercise would do them good.

"It's just come, m'm," said the maid, holding out the thin envelope.

"Oh, it's from Kenneth!" exclaimed Ray excitedly, throwing down her muff and running to look over her sister's shoulder.

For long, dreary weeks Helen had expected, and waited for, this message, and now it had come, she was almost afraid to read it. There were only a few words, cold and formal, the usual matter-of-fact, businesslike phraseology of the so-much-a-word telegram:

CAPE TOWN, Thursday (delay in transmission). Sail to-day on the Abyssinia. All's well. KEN.

"Is that all?" exclaimed Ray, disappointed.

Mr. Steell laughed.

"How much more do you expect at $2 a word?"

"Well, he might be a little more explicit," pouted Ray. "If I were his wife, that wouldn't satisfy me."

Helen laughed lightly. Her eyes sparkling, her usually pale cheeks filled with a ruddy color from her walk in the park, the lawyer thought he had never seen her looking so pretty.

"It satisfies me," she said, her face all lit up with joyous excitement. "All I want to know is that he is safe and on his way home. The cablegram is dated Thursday. Then he's already on the water three days! I wonder why we didn't hear before?"

Mr. Steell glanced over her shoulder.

"The dispatch has been delayed. Don't you see? It says, 'delayed in transmission.'"

Helen turned round, her face radiant.

"When ought he to get here?"

The lawyer was silent for a moment as if calculating. Then, looking up, he said:

"The Abyssinia is not a very fast boat. I suppose she is the best he could get. She's due at Southampton two weeks from to-day. A week after that, he ought to be in New York—providing nothing happens."

Helen, who was still reading and re-reading the cablegram, looked up quickly. With a note of alarm in her voice, she exclaimed:

"Providing nothing happens! What could happen?"

"Oh, nothing serious, of course. In these days of the wireless nothing ever happens to steamers. One is safer traveling on the sea than on land. I didn't mean anything serious, but merely that sometimes boats are delayed by bad weather or by fog. That prevents them arriving on schedule time."

Almost three months had slipped by since Kenneth's departure from New York. To Helen it had seemed so many years. She had tried to be contented and happy for Ray's sake. She entertained a good deal, giving dinner and theater parties, keeping open house, playing graciously the role of chatelaine in the absence of her lord, to all outward appearances as gay and light-hearted as ever. Only Ray and her immediate friends knew that the gayety was forced.

The poison had done its deadly work. The few words uttered by Signor Keralio that afternoon shortly after her husband's departure had burnt deep into her mind like letters of fire. Well she guessed the object of the wily Italian in speaking as he did. It availed him nothing, and she only despised him the more. It was cowardly, contemptible, and, from such a source, absolutely unworthy of belief. Yet secretly it worried her just the same. She had always considered Kenneth's life an open book. She thought she knew his every action, his every thought. The mere suggestion that her husband might have other interests, other attachments of which she knew nothing took her so by surprise that she was disarmed, powerless to answer. The innuendo that he might be unfaithful had gone through her heart like a knife. Of course it was quite ridiculous. He was not that kind of man. It was true he had often gone away on trips that seemed unnecessary, and now she came to think of it Kenneth's absences had of late been both frequent and mysterious. Then, too, she had no idea of the extent of his operations in Wall Street. She knew he bought and sold stocks sometimes. That is only what every investor does. But it was incredible that he was involved to the extent Keralio said he was. She knew he was ambitious to acquire wealth, but that he would take such fearful risks and jeopardize funds which, after all, belonged, not to him, but to the stockholders—that was impossible. It was a horrible libel.

Still another cause for worry was the health of her little daughter, Dorothy. Nothing ailed the child particularly, but she was not well. The doctor said nothing was the matter, but a slight temperature persisted, together with a cough which, naturally, alarmed the young mother out of all proportion to the seriousness of the case. The doctor also advised a change of air, so Helen at once made arrangements to send her little daughter to Philadelphia, where, in Aunt Carrie's beautiful house, she would have the best air and attention in the world. Aunt Carrie came to New York to fetch the child, and, as she stayed a couple of weeks sight-seeing and visiting friends that also helped to keep Helen busy.

"I do wish that I didn't have such a worrying disposition"—she laughed nervously after the lawyer had been at some pains to assure her about the sea-worthiness of the Abyssinia. "Really, it makes me so unhappy, but I simply can't help it. The other day it was baby who made me terribly anxious; now it is Kenneth's home-coming. I must seem very foolish to you all."

Ray quickly protested.

"You sweet thing—how could you look foolish? What an idea! Only please don't worry, dear. I never do."

Mr. Steell nodded sympathetically.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Traynor. It shows you have a fine, sensitive nature. It is only the grosser natures that are callous and unaffected by the anxieties of life."

Taking the remarks to herself, Ray threw up her head indignantly.

"I deny the imputation that I'm gross."

The lawyer laughed.

"You are far too healthy to worry. Moreover, you have nothing to worry about. If a man you loved were six thousand miles away——"

"Yes," interrupted Helen; "that's it. Only those who care for each other can understand——"

"Oh, of course!" retorted her sister, flaring up. "We spinsters, belonging, as we do, to the sisterhood of the Great Unloved, are quite incompetent to express an intelligent opinion on that or on any other matter. I grant that, but is Mr. Steell, a confirmed old bachelor, any more competent than I?"

"Hardly an old bachelor!" interrupted Helen reprovingly.

"No—middle-aged bachelor!" corrected Ray saucily. "He never cared for a woman in his life. He——"

"Who told you so?" inquired the lawyer quickly, with an amused twinkle in his eye.

Ray colored visibly.

"Oh, I judge so," she stammered. "You never speak of that sort of thing. One can only draw conclusions."

"The conclusions may be wrong," he replied gravely. "My life is a very busy one. I have had no time to think of anything outside my immediate work. Yet I am human. I sometimes yearn for the companionship of a good woman. A pretty face attracts me, as it does other men, but, in my opinion, any such attachment is too serious a matter to be treated lightly. When a man feels deeply he keeps his own confidence until the moment comes when he can unburden himself and say what is in his heart."

"I like that," said Helen, nodding her head approvingly.

Ray jumped up to conceal her embarrassment.

"Oh, how terribly serious you two are to-day!" she exclaimed. "I declare I'll run away unless you cheer up a bit. Suppose I get some tea?"

"Excellent idea!" laughed the lawyer.

Ray touched a bell, and went to clear a small side table, which she drew up near where they were sitting.

"There!" she exclaimed, smiling roguishly at the lawyer. "Don't you think I'm smart?"

"Of course we do." Lowering his voice he added significantly: "At least I do."

Apparently the compliment fell on deaf ears, for, turning her head away, she said quickly:

"Please don't be sarcastic."

More seriously, and in the same tone, that even Helen, who was only a short distance away, could not hear, he said:

"I'm never sarcastic. I think you are all a woman should be."

"Do you mean that?"

"I do. I have thought it for a long time."

"Really?"

"Really."

The young girl colored with pleasure. For all her sophisticated and independent manner she was still a child at heart. She had no thoughts of marriage, but it flattered her to think that she had the power to attract and interest this serious, brilliant man of the world. She said nothing more, relapsing into a meditative silence as she busied herself helping the maid to set out the tea table.

To Helen it was a source of keen satisfaction to notice the attention which the brilliant young lawyer was paying her sister. She had long recognized his sterling qualities. He was a man of whom any woman might well be proud. He could not but make a good husband. Next to Kenneth and her baby no one was dearer to her than Ray and, since their mother died, she had felt a certain sense of responsibility. To see her well and happily married was the one secret wish of her life.