FOR the death, disappearance, or capture of Sir Montrose Veyze, of Veyze Holdings, Hampshire, England, Darcy was duly prepared, in a spirit of Christian fortitude and resignation. That fame might mark him' out, thus forcing the issue for her, was wholly unforeseen. It took her completely aback. The Darcy of a year before would have collapsed miserably under it. But this was a different Darcy. She faced the accuser with a quiet smile, back of which her thoughts ran desperately around in circles, like a bevy of little rabbits cut off from cover.

“You've read what it says in the newspaper?” said Maud, in the accents of a cross-examining counsel.

“Yes. Oh, certainly!”

“Then perhaps you can explain.”

Darcy shot a swift glance at the bogus Sir Montrose. He also was smiling. Most illogically Darcy's heart began to sing a little private Hymn of Hate of its own. What did he mean by standing there with a sickly grin on his silly face when the whole fabric of their mutual pretense was being riddled?

(Herein she was ungrateful as well as illogical. The face was silly because she had compelled him to make it so. As for the rest, the smile was good enough of its kind. He was not smiling because he felt like it, but to conceal the fact that he was doing some high-pressure thinking of his own.)

From the smirking countenance of her ally, Darcy turned to the lowering front of the enemy.

“Well, you see,” she said with an air of great candor, after deliberately tearing out the paragraph, “it's rather an involved matter.”

“I don't see anything involved about it,” returned the lofty and determined Maud. “Who is this man?”

“Yes; who is he?” echoed Helen, coming mildly to her support.

From the corner of her eye the badgered girl could see the object of the inquiry. Still smiling! It was too much. Then and there Darcy committed that ignoble act known and reprehended in the higher sporting circles, wherein Andy Dunne moves, as “passing the buck.”

“You tell them, Monty,” she said sweetly.

Of a great statesman, now dead, it has been written:

Thus with Mr. Jacob Remsen alias Sir Montrose Veyze. Out of conscious nothing he had, in that precious moment's respite, evoked an instantaneous and full-fledged plan to meet the crisis.

Fixing upon Maud as the more formidable antagonist, he impaled her on the beam of his monocle.

“Haw!” he ejaculated. “You've heard about the Veyze Succession, I assume.”

“Never,” said Maud stoutly.

“What? Nevah heard of the King's Judgment? Why, my deah lady, we're as well known as the Tower of London or the—the Crystal Palace.”

“In America, you see,” explained the more pacific Helen, “these things don't get to us.”

“But I assuah you,” cried the other, turning his glassy regard upon her, “your atrocious American press has been quite full of it from time to time. Come, now! You're spoofing me. You must have read of the Veyze divided title. What?”

Hypnotized by the glare of the monocle, Helen's imagination inspired her to confess that she did vaguely recall something about it, which was the more gratifying to the representative of the Veyzes in that he had introduced the press feature on the inspiration of the moment.

The less impressionable Maud was not to be diverted from the main issue.

“Even if we knew all about your family, it would not explain Sir Montrose Veyze being here in America at the same time that he is being received by the King in London.”

“Wearing two swords. Doesn't the press report mention that? It should,” put in the Veyze representative conscientiously piling up picturesque detail to embellish and fortify his case. “Don't forget that, please. It's a Veyze prerogative.”

“Is it a Veyze prerogative to be in two places at once?” queried the cross-examiner. “Or—there aren't two of you, I suppose.”

“Of cawse!”

The accused delivered the answer in a tone of calm and wondering contempt. Obviously he was incredulous that such ignorance as his interrogator displayed could exist in a Christian country.

“Two Sir Montrose Veyzes? Of the same name and title?” Maud was glaring, now.

“Of cawse! The famous Veyze twins. Though we're not rahlly twins any more, you understand.”

Under the calm and steady beam of the monocle, Maud weakened. “What are you famous for?” she asked, more amenably.

“Because there are two of us to the divided title. Bally hard for an American to understand, I'm afraid. It begins back in the early days of the title, quite before Columbus landed the Puritans at Bunker Hill, you know.”

“Columbus wasn't a Puritan, dear,” corrected Darcy.

“No? Nevah heard anything against the man's morals, that I can recall.”

“Never mind Columbus,” said the interested Helen. “Do tell us about the Veyzes.”

“Right-o! Two brothers were born—twins, d' you see? There was some natural confusion. Which was the heir—born first, you know? Nobody could tell. The King was stayin' at Veyze Holdings then for the shootin'; very famous shootin'. The family referred it to him. Would he play the part of Solomon and decide? His Majesty graciously acceded to the request. He decreed that the title should thenceforth be a dual one. It's remained so ever since. We don't produce twins any more, but the two eldest sons of the line inherit title and property jointly, and each carries two swords at court. There's Sir Montrose and Sir Montrose II. I'm II.”

“How romantic!” breathed Helen.

“Rah-ther. We pride ourselves on that sort of thing, we Veyzes.”

As the glory of his performance developed before her enraptured mind, the Hymn of Hate died out within Darcy, to be succeeded by a PÆan of Praise.

“And now,” said she severely, “I should think you girls might have the decency to apologize to Sir Montrose.”

“Rah-ther!” confirmed her ally.

“I'm awfully sorry,” said Helen contritely. “I'll apologize when I'm proved wrong,” returned Mrs. Lee dubiously. “We'll know soon enough.”

“Yes? And how?”

“Mr. Wood is trying to get the British Embassy on long-distance'phone.”

“My respects to Lord Wyncombe,” said the undisturbed suspect. “But why go to so much trouble? Surely there's a simpler way.”

“How?” asked Darcy, wondering what fresh audacity was developing in that fertile brain.

“Don't you have—er—public libraries in your American towns?”

“Certainly.”

“Then perhaps there is one at Center Harbor.”

“There is,” answered Helen, so promptly that Darcy shot a glance of suspicion at her.

“What more easy than to drive over there at once,” observed the suspect blandly, “and consult their Burke.”

“Burke's Peerage, you mean?” said Darcy. “Perhaps they haven't one.”

“They haven't,” blurted Maud, and stopped, reddening.

“Apparently you've tried,” remarked Darcy witheringly. “We appreciate your interest.” But Sir Montrose II was painfully shocked. “Not got a Burke!” he exclaimed. “Unbelievable! What a country! I'll send for one, at once.”

Impressed, despite herself, Maud Lee hesitated, looking from Darcy to her fiancÉ.

“It may be all right,” she admitted. “I don't say that it isn't. But until it is cleared up beyond a doubt, don't you think, Darcy, you ought to come and stay with us?”

“I think not,” put in Darcy's escort quietly. “I'm taking Miss Cole back to the Farm. If you've nothing further to add—”

“Nothing—now,” answered the baffled Mrs. Lee.

“Then we'll bid you good-day.”

Safely around the curve they stopped and faced each other.

“You wonderful person!” giggled Darcy hysterically. “How did you ever think of it!” Assuming a grandiose pose he declaimed:

“To get down to prose, how long will it cling?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Allowing for inevitable official red tape, I should say anywhere from twenty-four hours to a month.”

“Paul Wood has a cousin in the State Department.”

“In that case, nearer the twenty-four hours than the month.”

Darcy seated herself on a boulder and took her chin into her cupped hands. “Let me think,” she murmured.

Remsen watched her as she considered and would have given much to be able to read her mind. Presently she looked up.

“Do you mind leaving me here?” she inquired.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“I always mind leaving you. It gives me a lost feeling.”

She nodded. “Yes; I know what you mean. I feel it, too.”

“Do you?” he cried eagerly.

“You've been so wonderfully good to me all through this queer mess,” she supplemented, a little hurriedly.

He disregarded this. “Besides,” he said, “I'm afraid this is going to be our last walk.” She looked her startled question.

“What I'd like, of course,” he pursued, “is to stay here and face it through with you. But that's going to be worse for you than if I went, isn't it?”

“I'm afraid it is.”

“Then it's up to me to leave.”

“But what if they find you and take you back to New York?”

“I've got to take the risk. They're pretty likely to find out about me here if they undertake a Veyze investigation.”

“That's true,” she cried. “I've made this place impossible for you as a refuge.”

“Not you. I did it myself. I'd do it again—a thousand times—for these last four days.”

“When would you go?”

“To-night. Eleven o'clock. Meredith.”

“Wait till to-morrow.”

His heart leaped. “We're to have this evening together?”

“No,” she said gently. “I want this evening to myself. I have to think.”

“I'm a marvelous stimulus to thought,” he pleaded.

She shook an obstinate head.

“Might I walk back to the Farm with you?”

“No; please. I'd rather you didn't.” She rose and laid her hand in his. “You've been a very parfait, gentil knight,” she said.

“Darcy!”

But she was already swinging up the hill with that free, lithe, rhythmic pace of hers. At the summit she turned and waved. For one brief second he saw her sweet, flushed profile clear against the sweet, flushed sky. It disappeared leaving earth and heaven dim and void.

Remsen turned blindly homeward. He knew, at last, what had happened to him.