At ten o’clock next morning a taxicab carrying three fares drew out of the Fifth Avenue “pass” and stopped before the Sturgis house. A woman and one of the men alighted. The second remained seated, his waiting rÔle evidently prearranged, as the pair did not so much as nod back at him. Ascending the stone flight, they rang the front bell, as strangers might. In due time the door swung open.

“Miss Jane—thank Heaven you’re alive and back again!” Jasper’s exclamation was fervent beyond all rules of butlership. “Mr. Pape, good morning, sir. Your arrival is timely, too. They have been telephoning in all directions to locate you. Such excitement, Miss Jane, as we’ve been suffering!”

“They, Jasper?” The girl faced about in the vestibule.

“The madame, Mrs. Sturgis, and Judge Allen. He has had a fall and broken his shoulder, we fear. Mr. Harford, also, was in some sort of accident. An automobile struck him, I believe.”

“Accidents all round, eh?” Pape enquired. “Ain’t that odd?”

“Indeed, yes, sir—odd and unfortunate.”

Distressed as he looked, Jasper might have joined in the exchanged smile of the younger pair, had he known how fortuitous, if odd, was this gathering of those persons concerned in the pending crock’s-bottom settlement. Indeed, since the lid had been lifted from the bean pot of fabulous store, circumstances had worked with them.

Their exit from the block-house and the park had been shared with that of the many young couples driven from Eden at the strokes of midnight. With the crock between them wrapped in Pape’s coat, they had sauntered out Pioneers Gate unmolested by the law so lately hot at their heels. Straight to the yellow brick on East Sixty-third they had whirred themselves and their find; had seen triumph complete in a pair of outward-blinded eyes which could reflect glad sights from within.

Only an hour off after breakfast did Pape ask for the rescue of his equine pal from the granite-spiked corral that flanks the mid-park stables. This was effected by a ransom payment insignificant as compared with the paint-pony’s joy. He was then ready for the business of this first day of real togethership with his self-selected—she who admittedly herself had selected him.

Of the quartette in the luxurious living-room upstairs, Irene Sturgis was the first to exclaim their unannounced entry.

“Jane—and still with him—the impossible person!”

The histrionic horror in her voice brought Mills Harford to his feet; contrary-wise, sank Mrs. Sturgis into the depths of a wing-chair; broke up the council of war under way beside the couch on which lay the wounded little judge.

“Good morning, one and all!”

The cheer of Jane’s greeting was not reflected in the faces of those addressed.

“We hardly hoped to find you bunched up and waiting for us like this,” Pape added with something of a flourish. “Saves sending for you.”

The matron straightened on the edge of her chair and, with a precise expression, inspected first him, then her niece. “You two spent the night together, I assume?”

“Most of it, auntie, at a spiritualistic seance in Central Park.”

Pape chuckled. “The most inspiring I ever attended.”

“Jane—and you the girl I counted on as so reliable! My Irene is steady by contrast. You pretend to go visiting friends and only let us know your whereabouts when you get arrested. One night in a police station-house and the next—I presume—at least, I hope, for all our sakes, that you thought to marry this—this young man before bringing him here.”

“Marry, mother—that brute?” Irene slithered from her seat on the arm of the chair recently vacated by the handsome real-estater. Throwing herself upon her cousin’s neck with a freshet of real tears, she wailed: “Oh, my poor dar-rling—our poor old Janie! No matter what your mistakes, you are more to be pitied than punished. Don’t lay your neck on the altar of matrimony for this outlaw. I am sure there’s a good man and true somewhere in the world for you, even though he does seem a long time showing up. Don’t be overcome by this Wild West stuff. I know full well that he has his fatal fascinations. I was once but a bird held in his snake-like spell, until my Harfy saved me from the high seas of his tyranny and the burning blast of his——”

“Enough, Rene. Loose me. You’ll drown me with brine if you don’t smother me first,” begged the object of her anxiety.

The more Jane struggled, however, the tighter did the bob-haired cousin cling.

“But, you poor thing, I know he’ll turn on you one day and beat you up! You saw how he treated my Harfy—a man and his superior in every way—how he rained blow after blow on his priceless pate. What wouldn’t he do to a weak woman in his power? Don’t you go and get desperate just because—Luck in love always seems to run my way, don’t you think so—or do you? Harfy was so nice-nice when he was coming to and so suppressed. I dote on suppression. Do you—or don’t you? He just gazed at me with all his soul when I asked the question I knew he was too used up to ask me. And we’re going to have the biggest church wedding of any girl in my set, with all the trimmings, just as soon as mother can manage it. Aren’t we, dar-rling?”

“It seems—that we are.”

In the admission, her challenged fiancÉ looked neither into the black eyes of his perquisitory young lady of to-day nor the blue ones of her upon whom he had pressed his heart and hand on every available occasion in their near past. His expression was that of one who acknowledges himself vanquished—and by a victor fairer than the fight.

“Since, madame, you approve and even urge my suit for your niece’s hand”—and Pape frowned deeply before the disdainful matron—“I’ll go one better than Harfy by admitting without being told to that I have assented. Although we aren’t married yet-yet, Irene, we’re going to be right soon-soon. That was as unalterable from the first as the laws of gravity—or of levity. By way of trimmings, we have a score or two to settle first with three of you folks, which is why we came.”

“Ah!”

The pudgy jurist had risen painfully on one elbow and now sent the warning word in company with a look—same sort—Mrs. Sturgis’ way.

“Thank God we are not too late, Helen,” he added after a throat-clearance, “to save dear Jane from this schemer. As I hoped, the formalities of our marriage law have not been complied with. This leaves you free to act as the foolish girl’s nearest of kin. It will be easy to secure an order from one of my friends at court restraining her further activities by committing her into your care.”

“It will take more than an order from such friends at court as you will have after to-day to restrain Jane,” Pape suggested pleasantly.

“Clearly she has acted under undue influence from you so far, young man,” Allen continued with impressment. “Were you half as clever as conspicuous you’d have got the ceremony over before coming here to threaten her family. As the husband of an orphaned young woman you might have had something to say, but——”

“Orphaned?”

With the interruption Pape crossed to one of the Fifth Avenue windows and there busied himself with a quite unnecessary readjustment of the shade.

The lady of the house was apparently too disturbed to resent this new impertinence.

“You know how I dread the courts, Samuel. Let me first try suasion.” In emotionful appeal she turned to Jane. “For sake of the dear, dead sister who was your mother, I beg you, as one who has tried to take a mother’s place, to give up this ill-timed attack of folly and this impossible man. Perhaps you inherited the tendency, for she also made a sad mistake in choosing her mate.”

“She did?” the “orphan” asked quietly, her eyes on the velvet hangings of the hall door.

“In marrying a Lauderdale—practically a pauper despite the family obsession of their claim to vast estates in the Borough of the Bronx—she ruined her life. She, too, became obsessed through his power to control her thoughts. Her life, as well as his, was one long nightmare of crown-grants, wills, deeds, what-nots. She died of it, dear, just as your father afterwards went down under disgrace and gloom. Now you, child, stain your white hands with this black magic. Excited by the craze for adventure of this person, you let yourself be led into indiscretions that bid fair to ruin you. Why not give him up now—this morning? I’ll stand by you no matter what is said.”

“Me, too, dar-rling,” chimed in Irene. “I’ll soon be a matron, you know, and I’ll find you some adequate male, up-to-date though honest, whom we’ll persuade to forget and forgive.”

Aunt Helene, her breath regained, pleaded further: “Listen to this before you leap, my child. Despite what your grandfather left in the way of puzzle-charts, Judge Allen and I, acting in your interest, have at last satisfied ourselves that there is nothing—quite nothing of the slightest material value to you buried in Central Park. We didn’t intend to tell you so soon, but all last night the judge had a crew of men working at a spot indicated in the cryptogram.”

“And how did he get the instructions of the cryptogram?” Jane enquired. “No one saw it before it was stolen but me.”

“Jane, that you should speak to me in that suspicious tone! Had I been given opportunity, I should have told you that yesterday the contents of your antique snuff-box were secretly exchanged for the large reward which I offered in your name, presumedly by the thief who stole it from my safe.”

“You don’t say, ma’am? So! It was, eh?” The Westerner was rather explosive from acute interest.

The matron ignored him. “The judge, Jane, followed directions and discovered a crock—large and open topped, like the sort dill pickles are made in. But, alas, it contained nothing but a half-witted old man’s keepsakes—scraps of his unutterable poetry, ribbon-tied parcels of yellowed love-letters, pressed flowers and a wisp of some woman’s hair. Were your father alive, I’d feel I should take some of my own fortune and make restitution of his frauds upon the collateral heirs. But since he’s dead and gone, I don’t exactly feel——”

“Not altogether gone, Helene, yet not in need of your restitution!”

At the voice, Mrs. Sturgis smothered a scream; turned; stared.

Through the portiÈres that closed off the hall stepped Curtis Lauderdale, led from the taxi by the driver thereof in answer to Pape’s signal from the window.

Verily an apparition did he look to the four who had accepted the report of his death. Mrs. Sturgis, with hands grasping behind her, was backing as though from a ghost. The little jurist did not move, but all the apple color had departed his cheeks. Irene’s red-rouged lips could not pale, but at least her mouth was agape. Harford stiffened, as though preparing for attack.

One on either side, Jane and Pape crossed to the latecomer and lined up the triumvirate. Accurately the blind eyes fixed on Allen. In direct address the long unheard lips began to speak.

“We meet again, Sam, my trusted counsellor and cherished friend. With your mask torn off, you look more changed to me than I possibly can to you. Oh, don’t waste time with denials! I’d need to be blinder than mustard gas could make me not to see you as you are. For years you traded upon the gullibility of my father. You persuaded him that fortune would build bigger and faster if he withheld proof of title to our Bronx estates and let the Guarantee Investors develop a property that has belonged to the Lauderdales since the grant of King James. You overcame his needs and his children’s needs with false promises of rich reward when he eventually would claim the improved acreage. And after letting him die in half-crazed poverty, with his mysterious instructions unfound and our title proofs buried with them, you advised me to raise money from the collateral heirs and institute a court fight to establish our rights. And it was you, I feel sure, who brought these heirs before the Grand Jury that indicted me for fraud just after I had sailed for Somewhere in France.”

A moment Lauderdale paused in the controlled fury of his accusation, brushed a hand across his eye-lids and moistened his lips.

“But the crookedest lane has its end, Sam Allen. My chief treasure you could not take from me—a glorious girl child born to retribution. To her aid came this real-man sample from out the West. Working together they have recovered every necessary document, even to my parent’s last will and testament. We are ready and able now to right the most grievous wrong ever perpetrated in the medium of New York real estate—to force your company to turn over a thousand acres in the heart of the Bronx and to make restitution, under your guarantee, to innocent purchasers, even if it breaks you as you would have broken——”

He was stopped by the grasp which Pape had put on his arm.

“Don’t dump all the onus on the judge, Mr. Lauderdale,” he advised. “We mustn’t forget that he is a lawyer, hence full of wriggles. Best leave his punishment to me and that more easily proved charge of the Montana Gusher oil-stock fraud. There is one among those present, to approach the subject guardedly, who is more directly responsible for the Bronx realty steal than His Honor.”

Even Jane, close as she had been to the queer questioner throughout recent developments, was startled by his statement. What sort of a lone hand was he playing?

Allen’s pudgy palms clasped. Aunt Helene eyed one, then another of the group, as though bewildered.

Only Pape’s gaze did not wander. It turned from the blind man’s face to fix upon that of Mills Harford. At the silent accusation, Irene sprang toward him, no longer a kitten, but a flare-eyed mother-cat in defense of her own.

“Don’t you dare accuse my Harfy, you cave-brute!” she cried. “Just because he makes money out of real-estate isn’t any reason to jump at the conclusion that he——”

“Right, Rene.” Pape had a sympathetic grin for her vehemence. “I was only considering your Harfy as a possible witness to the truth. Cross my heart, I ain’t got a thing against him personally, now that he has consented to take you instead of——”

“You horrid, hateful thing!” she screamed. “What do you mean by ‘consented to’——”

“Stand corrected, miss, soon to be madame. Now that you have consented to take him instead of aspiring to me.”

“Beast! However could I have thought you nice-nice?”

“Can’t say, unless it is that I am—sometimes.”

Jane broke up their sprightly exchange with the serious demand: “But the some one more directly responsible?”

“Be done with innuendo, young man!” Mrs. Sturgis rose to her feet, with every inch of her scant height counting. “A gentleman—one of whom we say ‘to the manner born’—makes no accusation without proof.”

“I don’t need to make accusation or present proof to you, madam.”

“You’re not trying to insinuate——”

Many lights had Pape seen in women’s eyes, but never one as startled, angry and afraid as that flashed him by Aunt Helene. Next moment she attempted a light laugh that ended with a nervous crescendo.

“You, too, must be mad.”

“At least that,” he admitted cheerfully. “You’ve known why for several minutes past. You acknowledge the judge here as your advisor, don’t you?”

“I certainly do.”

“Better ask his advice, then, without further delay. I’ve an idea he’ll tell you to come across clean—admit that you are The Guarantee Investors, Incorporated, who have been trying to grab off the Lauderdales’ Bronx ranch and put Jane here out of the heiress class. Come, madam! Any woman who can rob her own safe and give the alarm and play-act the grief of a whole wake afterwards certainly ought to get a great deal out of a confession scene. Suppose you take your family-friend tool and your in-law-to-be into the library for a conference. Just possibly I—the outlaw-that-was—can show Mr. and Miss Lauderdale reasons why they should listen to a plea for mercy.”

Before Pape had finished, the small jurist was on his feet in acceptance of the suggestion. The wilt of guilt drooped the matron into the arms of her child. As one woman they were supported toward the door by Mills Harford.

“It was all my poor husband’s idea, not my own,” Aunt Helene was heard to defend to an interlude of sobs. “And with him, as with me, it was all because we did so want our poor Irene to have the fortune her beauty deserves. We knew how impractical the Lauderdales were. He didn’t believe they ever could make good their claim to the Bronx estate. We both thought it would be better for our own dear child to have it than some outsider. When he realized that he couldn’t live to see the plan through he charged me to carry it out. Of course I meant to make proper provision for Jane if——”

The door closed behind them.

When the triumvirate stood alone, low-voiced and happier exchanges passed.

“How did you know, son?”

“Didn’t know. Aunt Helene seemed too good to be true, so I just stayed on a busted flush and finished a winner. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” Jane showed sufficient knowledge of the game to pay over what was due the taker of the pot.

“Welcomed at last to Lonesome Town—welcomed with open arms!” exulted he who so recently had had to welcome himself.

And that very night Broadway saw new reason to believe in its signs. Out over Times CaÑon winked a re-lettered electric message that lit the imagination as does every such happy ending and happier start:

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