WHEN Monty had gone, Denby took out the pouch and placed it conspicuously on the floor so that anyone descending the stairs must inevitably catch sight of it. Then, as though thinking better of it, he picked it up and placed it on one of the small tables on which was an electric shaded lamp. After looking about him for a hiding-place from which he could command a view of it and yet remain undiscovered, he decided upon a door at the left of the hall.

He had waited there only a few seconds when Ethel Cartwright’s steps were heard descending.

“Oh, Mr. Denby,” she called, “you were right, the fan was in my room after all.” Then, as she became conscious that the room was empty, she paused and looked about her closely. Presently her eyes fell on the precious pouch so carelessly left. For a moment the excitement bereft her of ability to move. Here, only a few yards from her, was what would earn her sister’s safety and her release from Taylor’s power.

But she was no fool and collecting her thoughts wondered how it was possible so precious a thing could be left open to view. Perhaps it was a trap. Perhaps in the big hall behind one of its many doors or portiÈres she was even now being watched. Denby had looked at her in a stern, odd manner, wholly different from his former way and Mr. Vaughan, of whom she had heard often enough as a pleasant, amiable fellow, had stared at her searchingly and harshly. An instinct of danger came to her aid and she glanced over to the door behind her which was slightly ajar. She remembered certainly that it was closed when she had gone upstairs for her supposititious fan.

As calmly as she could she walked to the wall and touched the bell that would summon a servant. In a few seconds Lambart entered.

“Please find Mr. Denby,” she said, “and say that I am here.”

Before he could turn to go, she affected to discover the leathern pouch.

“Oh, Lambart,” she exclaimed, “here’s Mr. Denby’s tobacco; he must have forgotten it.”

The man took up the pouch, assuming from her manner that she desired him to carry it to the owner. “No, I’ll take it,” she said, and reached for it. Lambart only saw what was to him an inexcusably clumsy gesture which dislodged it from his hand and sent it to the floor, in such a manner that it opened and the tobacco tumbled out. But the girl’s gesture was cleverer than he knew for in that brief moment she had satisfied herself it was empty.

“Oh, Lambart,” she said reprovingly, “how careless of you! Have you spilt it all?”

Lambart examined its interior with a butler’s gravity.

“I’m afraid I have, miss,” he admitted.

“I think Mr. Denby went into the library,” she said, knowing that the door behind which someone—probably he—was hiding, led to that room.

Hearing her, Denby knew he must not be discovered and retreated through the empty library into a small smoking-room into which Lambart did not penetrate. The man returned to Miss Cartwright, his errand unaccomplished. “Mr. Denby is not there,” he said.

“Then I will give him the pouch when I see him,” she said, “and, Lambart, you need not tell him I am here.”

As soon as he was gone, she ran to the window, her face no longer strained but almost joyous, and when she was assured that none watched her, lowered the curtain as a signal.

Taylor must have been close at hand, so promptly did he respond to her summons.

“Well, have you got him?” he cried sharply as he entered. “Where is he—where’s the necklace?”

“You were wrong,” she said triumphantly, “there is no necklace. I knew I was right.”

“You’re crazy,” he retorted brutally.

“You said it was in the tobacco-pouch,” she reminded him, “and I’ve searched and it isn’t there at all.”

“You’re trying to protect him,” Taylor snarled. “You’re stuck on him, but you can’t lie to me and get away with it.”

“No, no, no,” she protested. “Look, here’s the very pouch, and there’s no necklace in it.”

“How did you get hold of it?” he snapped.

It was a moment of bitter failure for the deputy-surveyor. The sign for which he had waited patiently, and eagerly, too, despite his impassive face, was, after all, nothing but a token of disappointment. He had hoped, now that events had given him a hold over Miss Cartwright, to find her well-fitted for a sort of work that would have been peculiarly useful to his service. But her ready credulity in another man’s honesty proved one of two things. Either that she lacked the intuitive knowledge to be a useful tool or else that she was deliberately trying to deceive him. But none had seen Daniel Taylor show that he realized himself in danger of being beaten.

“He left it lying on the table,” she assured him eagerly.

Taylor’s sneer was not pleasant to see.

“Oh, he left it on the table, did he?” he scoffed. “Well, of course there’s no necklace in it then. Don’t you see you’ve let him suspect you, and he’s just trying to bluff you.”

“It isn’t that,” she asserted. “He hasn’t got it, I tell you.”

“I know he has,” the implacable Taylor retorted, “and you’ve got to find out this very night where it is. You’ll probably have to search his room.”

She shrank back at the very thought of it. “I couldn’t,” she cried. “Oh, I couldn’t!”

“Yes you could, and you will,” he said, in his truculent tone. “And if you land him, use the same signal, pull down the shade in his room. We’ll be watching, and I’ve found a way to get there from the balcony.”

“I can’t,” the girl cried in desperation. “I’ve done what you asked. I won’t try to trap an innocent man.”

He looked at her threateningly. “Oh, you won’t, eh? Well, you will. I’ve been pretty nice to you, but I’m sick of it. You’ll go through for me, and you’ll go through right. I’ve had your sister followed—see here, look at this—” He showed her the fake warrant Duncan had prepared at his bidding. “This is a warrant for her arrest, and unless you land that necklace to-night, she’ll be in the Tombs in the morning.”

“Not that, not that?” she begged, covering her face with her hands.

“It’s up to you,” he retorted, a smile of satisfaction lighting up his face. He could see that he would be able to hold Amy’s warrant over her head whenever he chose. She was beaten.

“But what can I do?” she said piteously. “What can I do?”

“I’ll tell you,” he said less harshly, “you’re a good-looking girl; well, make use of your good looks—get around him, jolly him, get him stuck on you. Make him take you into his confidence. He’ll fall for it. The wisest guys are easy when you know the way.”

“Very well,” she said, brightening. It seemed to her that no better way could be devised than to convince Taylor he was wrong. “I will get around him; I will get his confidence. I’ll prove it to you, and I’ll save him.”

“But you don’t have to give him your confidence, remember,” Taylor warned her. “Don’t give him the least tip-off, understand. If you can get him out in the garden, I’ll take a chance he has the necklace on him. We’ll nail him there. And don’t forget,” he added significantly, “that I’ve got a little document here with your sister’s name on it. There’s somebody coming,” he whispered, and silently let himself out into the garden.

It was Denby who came in. “Hello,” he said, “not dancing, then?”

“Hello,” she said, in answer to his greeting. “I don’t like dancing in August.”

“I’m fortunate to find you alone,” he said. “You can’t imagine how delightful it is to see you again.”

Her manner was particularly charming, he thought, and it gave him a pang when a suspicion of its cause passed over his mind. There had been other women who had sought to wheedle from him secrets that other men desired to know, but they were other women—and this was Ethel Cartwright.

“You don’t look as though it is,” she said provocatively.

He made an effort to appear as light-hearted as she.

“But I am,” he assured her. “It is delightful to see you again.”

“It’s no more delightful than for me to see you,” she returned.

“Really?” he returned. “Isn’t it curious that when you like people you may not see them for a year, but when you do, you begin just where you left off.”

“Where did we leave off?” she demanded with a smile.

“Why—in Paris,” he said with a trace of embarrassment. “You don’t want to forget our Paris, I hope?”

“Never,” she cried, enthusiastically. “It was there we found that we really were congenial. We are, aren’t we?”

“Congenial?” he repeated. “We’re more than that—we’re—”

She interrupted him. “And yet, somehow, you’ve changed a lot since Paris.”

“For better or for worse?” he asked.

She shook her head. “For worse.”

He looked at her reproachfully. “Oh, come now, Miss Cartwright, be fair!”

“In Paris you used to trust me,” she said.

“And you think I don’t now?” he returned.

“I’m quite sure you don’t,” she told him.

“Why do you say that?” Denby inquired.

“There are lots of things,” she answered. “One is that when I asked you why you were here in America, you put me off with some playful excuse about being just an idler.” She looked at him with a vivacious air.

“Now didn’t you really come over on an important mission?”

Poor Denby, who had been telling himself that Monty’s suspicions were without justification, and that this girl’s good faith could not be doubted even if several circumstances were beyond his power to explain, groaned inwardly. Here she was, trying, he felt certain, to gain his confidence to satisfy the men who were even now investing the house.

But he was far from giving in yet. How could she, one of Vernon Cartwright’s daughters, reared in an atmosphere wholly different from this sordid business, be engaged in trying to betray him?

“Well,” he said, “suppose I did come over on something more than pleasure, what do you want to know concerning it? And why do you want to know?”

“Shall we say feminine curiosity?” she returned.

He shook his head. “I think not. There must be something more vital than a mere whim.”

“Perhaps there is,” she conceded, leaning forward, “I want us to be friends, really good friends; I regard it as a test of friendship. Why won’t you tell me?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Shall we say man’s intuition? Oh, I know it’s not supposed to be as good as a woman’s, but sometimes it’s much more accurate.”

“So you can’t trust me?” she said, steadily trying to read his thoughts.

“Can I?” he asked, gazing back at her just as steadily.

“Don’t you think you can?” she fenced adroitly.

“If you do,” he said meaningly.

“But aren’t we friends,” she asked him, “pledged that night under the moon in the Bois? You see I, too, have memories of Paris.”

“Then you put it,” he said quietly, “to a test of friendship.”

“Yes,” she answered readily.

He thought for a moment. Well, here was the opportunity to find out whether Monty was right or whether the woman he cared for was merely a spy set upon him, a woman whose kindnesses and smiles were part of her training.

“Very well,” he said, “then so do I. You are right. I did not come to America idly—I came to smuggle a necklace of pearls through the Customs. I did it to-day.”

The girl rose from her seat by the little table where she had sat facing him and looked at him, all the brightness gone from her face.

“You didn’t, you didn’t!”

“I did,” he assured her.

She turned her face away from him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I’m sorry.”

Denby looked at her keenly. He was puzzled at the manner in which she took it.

“But I fooled ’em,” he boasted.

She looked about her nervously as though she feared Taylor might have listened to his frank admission and be ready to spring upon them.

“You can’t tell that,” she said in a lower-keyed voice. “How can you be sure they didn’t suspect?”

“Because I’m comfortably settled here, and there are no detectives after me. And if there were,” he confided in her triumphantly, “they’d never suspect I carry the necklace in my tobacco-pouch.”

“But your pouch was empty,” she cried.

“How do you know that?” he demanded quickly.

“I was here when Lambart spilt it,” she explained hastily. “There it is on the mantel, I meant to have given it to you.”

“I don’t need it,” he said, taking one similar in shape and color from his pocket.

“Two pouches!” she cried aghast. “Two?”

“An unnecessary precaution,” he said carelessly, “one would have done; as it is they haven’t suspected me a bit.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” she insisted. “If they found out they’d put you in prison.”

“And would you care?” he demanded.

“Why, of course I would,” she responded. “Aren’t we friends?”

He had that same steady look in his eyes as he asked: “Are we?”

It was a gaze she could not bring herself to meet. Assuredly, she groaned, she was not of the stuff from which the successful adventuress was made.

“Of course,” she murmured in reply. “But what are you going to do?”

“I’ve made my plans,” he told her. “I’ve been very careful. I’ve given my confidence to two people only, both of whom I trust absolutely—Monty Vaughan and”—he looked keenly at her,—“and you. I shan’t be caught. I won’t give in, and I’ll stop at nothing, no matter what it costs, or whom it hurts. I’ve got to win.”

It seemed to him she made an ejaculation of distress. “What is it?” he cried.

“Nothing much,” she said nervously, “it’s the heat, I suppose. That’s why I wouldn’t dance, you know. Won’t you take me into the garden and we’ll look at the moon—it’s the same moon,” she said, with a desperate air of trying to conceal from him her agitation, “that shines in Paris. It’s gorgeous,” she added, looking across the room where no moon was.

“Surely,” he said. “It is rather stuffy indoors on a night like this.” He moved leisurely over to the French windows. But she called him back. She was not yet keyed up to this supreme act of treachery.

“No, no,” she called again, “don’t let’s go, after all.”

“Why not?” he demanded, bewildered at her fitful mood.

“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “But let’s stay here. I’m nervous, I think.”

“Nonsense,” he said cheerily, trying to brace her up. “The moon is a great soother of nerves, and a friendly old chap, too. What is it?” he asked curiously. “You’re miles away from here, but I don’t think you’re in Paris, either. It’s your turn to tell me something. Where are you?”

He could not guess that her thoughts were in her home, where her poor, gentle, semi-invalid mother was probably now worrying over the sudden mood of depression which had fallen upon her younger girl. And it would be impossible for him to understand the threat of prison and disgrace which was even now hanging over Amy Cartwright’s head.

“I was thinking of my sister,” she told him slowly. “Come, let’s go.”

Before he could unfasten the French windows there was a sound of running feet outside, and Monty’s nervous face was seen looking in. Nora, breathless, was hanging on to his arm.

Quickly Denby opened the doors and let the two in, and then shut the doors again. “What is it?” he demanded quickly.

“Don’t go out there, Steve,” Monty cried, when he could get breath enough to speak.

“Why, what is it?” Ethel Cartwright asked nervously.

“Nora and I went for a walk in the garden, and suddenly two men jumped out on us from behind the pagoda. They had almost grabbed us when one man shouted to the other fellow, ‘We’re wrong,’ and Nora screamed and ran like the very devil, and I had to run after her of course.”

“It was dreadful,” said Nora gasping.

“What’s dreadful?” Alice Harrington demanded, coming on the scene followed by her husband. They had been disturbed by Nora’s screams.

“Won’t someone please explain?” Michael asked anxiously.

“It was frightful,” Nora cried.

“Let me tell it,” Monty protested.

“You’ll get it all wrong,” his companion asserted. “I wasn’t half as scared as you.”

“I was talking to Nora,” Monty explained, “and suddenly from the shrubbery—”

“Somebody stepped right out,” Nora added.

“One at a time,” Michael admonished them, “one at a time, please.”

“Why, you see, Monty and I went for a walk in the garden,” Nora began—

“And two men jumped out and started for us,” Monty broke in.

“Great Scott,” Michael cried, indignant that the privacy of his own estate should be invaded, “and here, too!”

“What did you do?” Alice asked eagerly.

“I just screamed and they ran away,” Nora told her a little proudly. “Wasn’t it exciting?” she added, drawing a deep breath. “Just like a book!”

“Michael,” his wife said, shocked, “they might have been killed.”

“What they need is a drink,” he said impressively; “I’ll ring for some brandy.”

“I’d be all right,” Monty stated emphatically, “if I could get one long breath.”

“You do look a bit shaken, old man,” Denby said sympathetically. “What you need is a comforting smoke. You left a pipe on the table in my room. Take my tobacco and light up.”

Monty looked at the pigskin pouch as his friend handed it to him. “Gee!” he said, regarding it as one might a poisonous reptile, “I don’t want that.”

“That’s all right,” Denby said. “I can spare it. And when you’re through with it, drop it in the drawer of the writing-table, will you? I always like to make myself one for coffee in the morning. I’ve smoked enough to-night.”

By this time Monty understood what was required of him. He took the pouch respectfully and crossed toward the stairs. “I’ll leave it in the drawer,” he called out as he ascended the stairs.

Michael had been looking through the glass doors with a pair of binoculars. “I see nothing,” he declared.

“But suppose they come back later, and break in here at night?” Alice cried.

“I shall organize the household servants and place Lambart at their head,” he said gravely. “He is an excellent shot. Then there are three able-bodied men here, so that we are prepared.”

“I’m sure you needn’t take any such elaborate precautions,” Denby told him. “No men, after once warning us, would break in here with so many servants. I imagine they were a couple of tramps who were attracted by Miss Rutledge’s rings and thought they could make a quick getaway.”

“This is a lesson to me to provide myself with a couple of Airedales,” Michael asserted. “Things are coming to a pretty pass when one invites one’s friends to come down to a week-end party and get robbed. It’s worse than a hotel on the Riviera.”

“Well, they didn’t get anything,” Nora cried. “You should have seen me run. I believe I flew, and I do believe I’ve lost weight!”

“But oughtn’t I to go out and see?” Michael asked a little weakly.

“Certainly not,” Alice commanded him firmly. “I can imagine nothing more useless than a dead husband.”

He took her hand affectionately. “How right you are,” he murmured gratefully. “I think, though, I ought to ask the police to keep a sharp watch.”

“That’s sensible,” his wife agreed. “Go and telephone.”

“Goodness,” Nora cried suddenly, “I haven’t any rings on. I must have left them on my dressing-table.”

Alice looked alarmed. “And I left all sorts of things on mine. Let’s go up together. And you, Ethel, have you left anything valuable about?”

“There’s nothing worth taking,” the girl answered.

“You look frightened to death, child,” Mrs. Harrington exclaimed, as she was passing her.

Ethel sat down on the fender seat with a smile of assurance. “Oh, not a bit,” she said. “There are three strong men to protect us, remember.”

“Yes—two men and Michael,” her hostess laughed, passing up the stairway out of view.

“The moon is still there, Miss Cartwright,” Denby observed quietly. “Surely you are not tired of moons yet?”

“But those men out there,” she protested.

“I’m sure they weren’t after me,” he returned. “They wouldn’t wait in the garden, and even if they are detectives, they wouldn’t get the necklace, it’s safe—now.”

Ethel Cartwright shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve got nerves like every other woman,” she confessed, “and the evening has been quite eventful enough as it is. I think I prefer to stay here.”

She glanced up to see Monty descending the stairs. All this talk of robbery and actual participation in a scene of violence had induced in Monty the desire for the company of his kind.

“I thought I’d rather be down here,” he stated naively.

“All right, old man,” Denby said smiling. “Glad to have you. Did you put the pouch where I said?”

“Yes,” Monty answered, handing him a key, “and I locked it up,” he explained.

“Good!” his friend exclaimed, putting the key in his pocket.

Miss Cartwright yawned daintily. “Excitement seems to make me sleepy,” she said. “I think I shall go.”

“You’re not going to leave us yet?” Denby said reproachfully.

“I was up very early,” she told him.

“I guess everything is safe now,” Monty assured her.

“Let’s hope so,” Denby said. “Still, the night isn’t half over yet. Pleasant dreams, Miss Cartwright.”

She paused on the half landing and looked down at the two men.

“I’m afraid they won’t be quite—that.”

Monty crept to the foot of the stairway and made certain she was passed out of hearing. “Steve,” he said earnestly, “she’s gone now to get into your room.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Denby protested, knowing he was lying.

Monty looked at his friend in wonderment. Usually Denby was quick of observation, but now he seemed uncommonly dull.

“Why, she never made a move to leave until she knew I’d put the pouch in the drawer. Then she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed. You must have noticed how she took in everything you said. She’s even taken to watching me, too. What makes you so blind, Steve?”

“I’m not blind,” Denby said, a trifle irritably. “It happens you are magnifying things, till everything you see is wrong.”

“Nonsense,” Monty returned bluntly. “If she gets that necklace it’s all up with us, and you needn’t pretend otherwise.”

“Make your mind easy,” Denby exclaimed, “she won’t get it.”

“May I ask what’s going to stop her?” Monty inquired, goaded into sarcasm. “Do you think she needs to know the combination of an ordinary lock like that top drawer?”

“The necklace isn’t there,” Denby said.

Monty looked at him piteously. “For Heaven’s sake don’t tell me I’ve got it somewhere on me!”

Denby drew it out of a false pocket under the right lapel of his coat and held the precious string up to the other’s view. “That’s why,” he observed.

“Then everything’s all right,” Monty cried with unrestrained joy.

“Everything’s all wrong,” Denby corrected.

“But, Steve,” Monty said reproachfully, “the necklace—”

“Oh, damn the necklace!” Denby interrupted viciously.

Monty shook his head mournfully. His friend’s aberrations were astounding.

“Steve,” he said slowly, “you’re a fool!”

“I guess I am,” the other admitted. “But,” he added, snapping his teeth together, “I’m not such a fool as to get caught, Monty, so pull yourself together, something’s bound to happen before long.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” sighed Monty.