Van Dam, being accustomed by this time to a certain obedience, lifted the girl up to the top of the fence, scrambled over it himself, and held up his arms to her. He was in another yard, much cleaner than the one he had just quit. There were trees and flowers in it, and looking down on them were shuttered windows which seemed empty. As she surrendered her weight to him he gave rein to the license which was in his blood and pressed a warm kiss back of her mask where the hair lay in wispy ringlets against her neck.

"Mon Dieu! What a man!" she laughed, struggling gently to free herself. "You had better put on your mask. We haven't far to go, but there may be observing eyes."

"Am—I—er—quite the person you pictured?" he queried, as he adjusted the false face.

"Not at all."

"You have never seen me before to-day?"

"Of course not! How could I?"

"I have seen you often."

"Impossible! Where?"

"Dreams!" said Van Dam, vaguely, yet with some degree of truth. "This all seems like a dream, as a matter of fact. I'm afraid I'll turn over, and you'll change into an old lady with hoop-skirts, or a flock of purple snowbirds, or a friendly crocodile with gold spectacles."

She pondered this for a moment as they made their way across the yard, being careful in the mean while to see if they were observed. After a moment she halted.

"Wait!" she said. "I—am not sure we dare risk going farther, for the streets are alarmed and the Wolf is in the neighborhood with all his pack. I had thought to take you straight home, but now they will be watching. It would be madness to try it." Again she fell silent, only to exclaim: "I have an idea. Come!" She turned abruptly to the right.

"Where are we going now?" he inquired, mildly.

She pointed to a house the back yard of which abutted upon the one that they were crossing. "Yonder is your cousin Alfred's house. He is away at business, the servants are out watching the carnival, and so it is empty. Do you dare venture it?"

"Just the thing!" he said, amiably. "I owe Alfred a call."

The girl laughed shortly. "Ah! He would die of rage—or fright—if he knew; but you can wait there while I go—"

"Oh, I say! You're not going to leave me?" queried Roly in genuine alarm.

"Of course, silly! Some one must bring her."

Van Dam fell silent, speculating upon this last remark. After a moment he said, "You're sure Alfred won't return?"

"Who knows? We must run some hazards. The key will be under the step, I think. Come!"

They gained ingress to the next inclosure through a cedar hedge. Then, as they neared the back door, a distant commotion sounded from the stable-yard, warning them that the Spider's friends had stumbled upon him. But the girl's ready fingers found the key where it was hidden, and an instant later they were in a spotless creole kitchen ornamented with shining pots and pans. A cat rose from a sleepy window-ledge, arched its back, and stretched.

With a warning gesture Van Dam's guide bade him wait, then disappeared, returning in a moment.

"It is as I thought—the house is empty." She beckoned him, and he followed her past a pantry, down a hall, and into a study furnished with a considerable degree of elegance. Drawn blinds shut out the glaring heat; it was dim and cool and restful.

The maiden heaved a sigh of relief and steadied herself against one of the massive mahogany chairs, showing by her attitude that the recent strain had told upon her.

"Heaven be praised! You are safe here, for a time at least," she managed to say.

"Nice, comfy place, this," remarked Van Dam, with an appreciative glance at the surroundings. "We can sit here and—and get acquainted—eh?"

"Hm-m! I think I have learned to know you quite well in the past half-hour," she laughed.

"True! But we've had very little chance to talk calmly and rationally; now, have we? Of course you're accustomed to such things, perhaps; but it has been a trifle strenuous for a person of my easy ways. I don't mind telling you that I'm positively winded. Let's rest a bit before you leave."

But the girl shook her head at his suggestion. "You forget how she has waited and longed for this hour. She has been very ill; nothing seemed to interest her until you promised to come on the last day of the fiesta. Since then she has been like another woman. She is counting the moments now until she feels your arms about her."

Roly stirred uncomfortably, for here was something he had not counted upon. One woman at a time was ample; he had no desire to hold another to his breast. He was shocked, too, that this girl should suggest such a thing after what had passed between them. It was unseemly. He felt tempted to confess his deception and to demand an explanation of the whole affair, but some sense of shame held him back. Besides, his companion was undoubtedly sincere, and he could not bring himself to cause her dismay.

Another reason that urged him to hold his tongue and to let the adventure run its course was that as yet he had not seen her face. The desire to do so was becoming insufferable. He was about to claim the privilege when she changed the current of his thoughts.

"You must not be shocked if she does not recognize you. She has been ill, very ill, since you—proved so great a—trial to her. You understand?"

"Perfectly!" he said, thankful that she could not detect his signs of bewilderment.

"Very well, then. You will make free of your cousin Alfred's hospitality while I am gone." She laughed nervously. "La! There is irony for you."

"Suppose he should return in the mean time?"

She shrugged. "You seem quite capable of caring for yourself, m'sieu'. I should not wish to be in his shoes, that is all. But there is little danger. And now I must leave you."

"Just a moment," he said, taking her two hands in his. "You have seen my face. Don't you think I wish to see yours?"

Her breath caught at the tone of his voice. "Not yet. Please! When I return—when you have held her in your arms and made your peace. Then, perhaps, if you wish—but not until then." She pressed his fingers meaningly, and he thrilled.

"You haven't spoken my name, either," said he. "Won't you tell me that you—like me?"

"I—like you, Cousin Emile," said she; then, in a voice that told him she was blushing rosily, "and what name do you give to me?"

Roly's wits came to his rescue barely in time; with an air of deepest tenderness, that was not all assumed, he said: "I haven't dared acknowledge the name my heart has given you, even to myself. It is—"

"No, no!" she laughed, tremulously. "Call me Madelon."

"Madelon, Desire of my Dreams." He raised her hand to his lips. "Until you give me leave to lift your mask I kiss these dimpled fingers."

It was plain that his boldness did not altogether displease her, for she paused reluctantly upon the threshold. Her eyes were shining, although her mask smiled at him vacuously as she said:

"You are a most unusual young man. You awaken something strange within me. I cannot despise you as I should, for you have taken away my reason. That is disturbing, is it not? Now, then, avail yourself of the hospitality of the man who has robbed you. I shall return as fast as ever my feet will bring me." She waved him a kiss and was gone.

He heard the front door close. Then he endeavored to piece out some theory as to the cause of this situation, but the more he considered the clues in his possession the more bewildered he became. One thing only stood out with alarming certainty—his cousin Madelon had gone to fetch a woman who loved him. So long as the adventure had concerned him only with the masked girl herself he had been eager to continue it. Now that it threatened to involve a second woman, he decided it was time to go.

She would return and find him gone. It would be a disappointment, perhaps, but not so great as his own at parting from her and leaving this mystery unsolved. He was somewhat proud of his exploits thus far, for in an hour's time he had met and bested two of his enemies and had changed a maiden's heart. No mean accomplishment for an idler! But why did she feel that she ought to despise him? Why had she risked so much for a man beloved by another? Why, under these circumstances, had she welcomed his advances and promised him a sight of her face—a kiss, perhaps? Above all, who were the Black Wolf, the Spider, and Cousin Alfred? He gave up puzzling over the affair and determined to get out of this stranger's house without delay.

It was evident that Cousin Alfred was a person of substance, for the study was furnished in rich old Santo Domingo mahogany, blood-red and flaming where the light struck it; the books were bound in uniform levant; the paintings were valuable; the bric-À-brac in irreproachable taste. An inlaid ivory humidor was filled with coronas at exactly the right degree of moisture. He removed the ground-glass stopper from an etched decanter and sniffed of the contents. The aroma brought a smile to his face, and, reflecting that the owner had robbed him, he took time to pour out a drink and to light a fragrant cigar. All gentlemanly housebreakers did the like, he reflected. Then he yielded to a whimsical notion and fumbled in his pocket, thinking to leave the price of his refreshments on the tray.

Midway in this purpose he paused. The breath hung in his throat, the hair at the back of his neck seemed to rise. He had heard no one enter the house, there had been no faintest stir since Madelon had left, he detected no sound whatever, and yet he was positive that eyes were boring into his back—that he was no longer alone. It was ridiculous, and yet—A gentle cough sounded behind him!

With a swift gesture he settled his mask back in place and, whirling around, beheld the most evil-appearing human being he had ever seen. The man was little and stooped and undersized, all but his head, which was unusually large. His face was fleshless and covered with a tight skin of unusual pallor. He was bowing at Van Dam, but his smile was mocking and his eyes glittered malignantly.

"Good day, Monsieur Black Wolf," said the stranger, harshly. "Making yourself at home with my wines, as usual, eh?"

Van Dam felt the cold sweat leap out upon his body; he cursed the deliberation that had betrayed him. With an assumption of indifference he mumbled something and waved his cigar carelessly.

"How often must I tell you to come here only at night?" snarled the old man. "Already the police are suspicious. Fortunately, it is carnival day—I dare say no one suspected you in that disguise."

The speaker deposited his hat upon the table with a sour glance; then, when his caller said nothing, he snapped:

"Well, well? What is it?"

Van Dam was at a loss for words; he was panic-stricken; but swift upon his consternation came a reckless determination to take advantage of the old gentleman's first mistake and to try to brazen the matter through. There was nothing to be gained by explanation; no one would believe his story. He spoke out boldly.

"The Wolf is hurt, and the Spider, I think, has his neck very neatly broken. I came to tell you that your cousin Emile is in the city."

The effect of these words was amazing, electric. Cousin Alfred turned a corpselike green; he froze in his tracks; his eyes rolled in their sockets.

"Emile! Here!" His teeth chattered, he plucked at his collar as if he were strangling. "Then—you? Who are you?"

Roly shrugged. "I am one of the others. I was sent to warn you." He recognized now the character of the old fellow's emotion. It was cowardice, terror, but of such utter foulness as to be disgusting.

Evidently this Emile, whoever he was, had a reputation. Roly multiplied his host's discomfiture by adding:

"Yes; he struck down the Wolf in the street; then dropped the Spider on his head from the top of a staircase."

"God help us!" stammered Cousin Alfred. "He will take me next! Oh, he has threatened me—" He cast a frightened glance over his shoulder, as if expecting the sanguinary Emile to appear at any moment. Then he began to whine: "I know him, I know him. And the servants gone! I—I am an old man; he would like nothing better than to find me alone. But how—how dared he come? Wait! It was FÉlice. Ho! I'll wager she sent for him; and he would not refuse, the scoundrel!" The speaker's lips were wet and loose, his gaze was very evil as he mumbled along.

FÉlice must be the other girl, the one for whom Madelon had gone, Roly decided. In view of Alfred's evident hatred, it did not seem right to allow Madelon to bring the other girl without some warning. One glance at those working features convinced the young man that such a meeting would be dangerous; and yet he was quite at a loss how to prevent it. His host was running on.

"It was only yesterday that she appealed to me, she and Madelon, and all the time they knew he was coming." He ground his teeth. "I have been a fool to spare them so long."

"This FÉlice," Van Dam ventured, groping blindly for some clue, "your cousin Emile is fond of her, I judge."

"Damnation! He would pass through fire for her. And she would sacrifice her soul for him." Alfred poured himself a drink with shaking hand. The glass rattled against the decanter; he spilled the wine over his waistcoat as he gulped it.

"So they planned to catch me napping, eh? But we shall see. Yes, yes! We shall see." After a moment, during which he pulled himself together, he continued: "You shall remain here with me. When he comes we shall afford him a surprise." He slid open a drawer in the big desk and took from it a revolver, at which Roly exclaimed:

"I say—whatever makes you think he'll come here?"

"Oh, he will come! There is no doubt of it. He has promised me that much. Those were his last words—"

"Er—why don't you clear out? You don't have to stay and see him."

But the old man's eyes were red and vindictive as he shook his head. "You don't understand. So long as he lives we are none of us safe, not even you. Besides, he would return again; he hangs upon me like a leech. I—I dream about him."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"If I—if I should kill him, the law would say nothing. I could kill him very easily and nothing would be said. You understand?" Cousin Alfred's lips were watery; little drops of moisture gleamed upon his sallow face; he eyed the pistol with a shrinking fascination. "I—I—" He fell to trembling weakly, as his first desperation cooled.

Van Dam watched him curiously. He looked up, at length, to meet Roly's gaze. His own eyes were wavering; his face was distorted with mingled fear and eagerness. He stretched his neck, as if he already felt on it the fingers of his cousin Emile. When Van Dam did not offer to help him he whined: "He has always intended to even up the score; but I am an old man. My hand is unsteady. Perhaps you—It would be worth something to escape those dreams! I could afford to pay well, as you know. You are a strong man. You have no nerves; your hand is sure—" The old villain's expression was crafty; he was gnawed by a fierce desire that he was loath to put into words.

"You mean you'd like to have me make away with him?" queried Van Dam, as if in a dream.

"Yes, yes! The law would say nothing."

"How so? It's not so easy to kill a man and—"

"But the reward—two thousand dollars! You would get that. I will double it. Eh? Come now, is it a bargain?" The speaker was trembling, but when he received no answer he went on: "I will take the blame upon myself. I will say that I did it; and you will get the money—four thousand dollars. Let us say five thousand, eh? A tidy sum for a moment's work with no risk. We are alone in the house. No one but the Wolf knows you are here. Even I don't know—By the way, I—I haven't seen you yet."

"Under the circumstances, I think I'll keep my mask on," Van Dam answered. "Perhaps the less you know about me, the better."

"Then you agree?" queried the other, all ashake.

Roly declined with a gesture.

"Eh, God! Five thousand dollars! A fortune, indeed! Think of it! Heaven knows I am not a Cr[oe]sus, and yet—I might increase even that a little. What do you say? Six thousand, then, all cash?"

"This is the money you stole from Emile, I believe," said Van Dam. "You could afford even more—"

"Seven thousand five hundred!" chattered Alfred. "Not another cent, or I shall do it myself."

"Good! You do it!" Roly exclaimed; whereat the tempter writhed and shivered in an ague of fear. With a wail that came like a sob and with a final wrench of his miserly soul, he exclaimed:

"Wait, then! I will pay you ten thousand dollars if you kill him. The money is there. It will bankrupt me; but—God above! Ten thousand dollars! It is scarcely worth it—such a little job!"

"How do I know you'd make good?" inquired the young man. "You robbed him. You might rob me."

"I have promised! It is there—in the safe. The moment he is dead—"

"Bah!" Mr. Van Dam managed a mocking laugh, although his heart was pounding. "Your word is worth nothing to me."

Alfred made answer by slipping across the room and kneeling before the steel safe. He spun the knob swiftly to right and to left, then gave a wrench, and the massive door opened.

"Come here!"

Van Dam obeyed.

"Look!"

He saw legal documents, deeds, mortgages, and blue envelopes, all neatly marked, then a cash-drawer crowded full of symmetrical packages of crisp, new ten-dollar bills, each with its bank band plainly labeled "$1000."

"Eh? Are you satisfied?" The owner was staring craftily up at him, careful to keep his body between Van Dam and the treasure.

"Jove!" Roly exclaimed in astonishment. "You'll be robbed some night."

"Is it a bargain?"

"I'm no business man." The masker hesitated with an air of extreme suspicion. "Will you pay in advance?"

At this, Cousin Alfred uttered a bleat of dismay, but Roly was firm.

"I'm not sure you'd open the safe again, don't you see? Besides, it would take time, and—I'd prefer not to wait; really I would, for I'm always a bit nervous after a job of this kind."

"Listen, then," exclaimed the old man. "I will close the safe, but I will leave the combination off. See! We must each run some risk in this matter, I suppose; but—I trust you. Once it is over, there will be no delay. A moment and you can be away with ten thousand dollars in your pocket—and with me to do the explaining."

Why he had allowed the affair to run to so extraordinary a length Van Dam hardly knew, except that he wished to gain time. He had no idea that the mysterious Emile would really come to the house, for Madelon had as much as told him that a far different reason lay behind the young man's presence in the city.

What did concern Roly, however, the more he considered it, was the possible consequence if the two girls returned. Thus far he had been able to meet each new surprise, each fresh situation, with a resource that amazed himself, but if they came face to face with him and Alfred, his own masquerade would end at once and disastrous explanations would certainly follow. Nevertheless, he could not run away and leave them in an awkward position. As he looked back over the fantastic occurrences of the past hour or more it amused and amazed him to realize how nicely he had fitted into the puzzle—and puzzle it surely was; for the whole sequence of events that had followed the purchase of the white gardenia that lay above his heart was now more bewildering than ever.

That there was something more than mere roguery afoot he had ample proof. He felt himself groping along the edge of something vague and black and sinister. But what it was, what were the issues, or who were the people involved, he had not the slightest conception. Of one thing only was he sure, Madelon had no place in this elaborate web and woof of crime. She had impressed him more deeply even than he had realized, and his main anxiety now, outside of a desire to protect her from the venom of this poisonous old man, was to see her face, to lift with his own fingers the mask that had so tantalized him.

The owner of the house was busily arranging the plans for Emile's destruction when the doorbell rang. He clutched his guest nervously by the arm and thrust the revolver into his hand, whispering:

"It is he! The scoundrel has arrived! Quickly now—behind the door!"

But Roly stepped to a front window and, cautiously drawing the curtain aside, peered out. He saw what he had feared—the figure of a petite Norman maid, and beside it that of a masked woman in a long, dark robe.

"Well, now! Who can it be?" he heard Alfred whisper, and discovered the senile villain peering past his shoulder.

"It is Madelon and FÉlice," Roly explained.

"They! Here? Wait! I will give them a cursing to remember." But before the speaker could move he found his arms pinioned behind him and his own weapon pointed at his head. He uttered a squeak of amazement and terror. "Mon Dieu! What is this?"

"Shut up!" Roly dragged the old man from the window, stripped a thick curtain cord from its hook, and knotted his wrists together.

Alfred offered no resistance; a horrible fear had him by the throat; he hung like a sack in the younger man's grasp. His eyes alone retained their activity. These followed Van Dam in a horrified stare; they seemed about to emerge from their sockets.

Roly deposited his limp captive in a chair and, stepping to the window, tapped sharply. When Madelon looked up he signaled her to wait. The hall portiÈres furnished another cord for Cousin Alfred's ankles, and a handkerchief served as a gag. As this was being adjusted, however, the captive quavered, hoarsely:

"Who—are you?"

"I?" Roly laughed. "Why, I am your cousin Emile!"

The householder voiced a thin shriek and began to plead for his life. Then the remnants of his strength escaped, leaving him a spineless heap in the great leather chair.

Van Dam bore him in his arms down the hall, searching for a place of concealment. This he found in a closet, the door of which he closed. Then he hastened back to the front entrance.

"You kept us waiting sufficiently," Madelon said, as he stepped aside for the two women to enter.

Roly's eyes were glued upon the taller of the two figures, but FÉlice seemed to take no heed of him. He heard her murmuring in a sick, eager voice:

"Emile! My own beloved! Emile!"

Madelon raised her hand in a warning gesture and the young man shrank closer into the shadows.

"Courage, dear!" she said to her companion. "We have arrived at last. A moment now and he will come." She half led, half supported the taller woman into the library. The next instant she was back at Van Dam's side. Drawing him into the parlor, across the hall, she exclaimed in a voice which showed that tears were in her eyes: "Thank Heaven, no one recognized us! But I was weak with fright. Oh! It was pitiful! I have wept at every step. She has been calling you like that, night and day. Go—quickly!" She removed his mask and thrust him into the hall.

This was the most embarrassing moment Van Dam had experienced thus far. He had been prepared to face eventual discovery, and had decided to make a clean breast of his part in this comedy when the necessary moment arrived, but—this was altogether different. FÉlice was ill, half-demented. What might be the effect upon her of this disclosure? There was nothing to do, however, but to face it out and to make the truth known as quickly and as gently as possible.

But as he entered the study he received a surprise that robbed the adventure of all its entertainment, that changed this comedy into a tragedy and humbled the man's reckless spirit.

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