  TAYLOR walked briskly across the hall and threw open the door of the room in which his subordinates were guarding their prisoner. “Duncan,” he called, “and Gibbs, come here.” When they had come in with Ethel Cartwright, he turned to them impressively. “Boys,” he declared, “it was all a mistake.” “What!” cried his men. “Thank God!” the girl cried softly. “Our dope was phoney. We were tipped off wrong by someone, out of mischief or malice—I’ll have to look into that—and we’re all in wrong. It was a case of mistaken identity, but Mr. Denby’s been very nice about it, very nice, indeed. Let the lady go, Jim.” “I asked Mr. Taylor to send for you,” Denby explained, “because I thought it was due you, and I didn’t want any come-back. I want you all to understand the facts, if you don’t mind waiting, Miss Cartwright.” “Of course I’ll wait,” she said brightly. What had “Listen to him, boys,” Taylor counselled. “You see, he’s a bit anxious to straighten things out, so tell him all you know. Fire ahead, Mr. Denby.” Denby addressed himself to James Duncan. “You got a tip from Harlow that a Steven Denby had bought a necklace at Cartier’s?” “Yes, sir,” Duncan agreed. Denby now turned to Gibbs who assumed a character of importance. “Then you got a wireless that this Denby had sailed with Mrs. Michael Harrington and Mr. Montague Vaughan, which threw suspicion on the lady as a possible smuggler?” “That’s right, too,” Gibbs conceded, contentedly. “And yet,” Denby remarked with inquiry in his tone, “you let Denby slip through the Customs to-day, didn’t you?” Taylor’s satisfied expression had faded partially. “You see,” he explained, “we didn’t have any absolute evidence to arrest him on.” “Just what I was going to say,” Gibbs remarked. “But after he got through,” Denby went on, “you received an anonymous telegram late this afternoon Taylor advanced a step frowning. “What’s all this, anyway?” he demanded. “How do you know about that telegram?” “I found it out to-night,” Denby said pleasantly. “That’s a private Government matter,” Taylor blustered. Denby looked at him in surprise. “Surely,” he said, “you don’t object to my making things clear? I was pretty nice to you, Mr. Taylor.” Taylor’s fingers nestled tenderly about the crackling notes in his pocket. “All right,” he assented, “go ahead.” Denby turned on the expectant Gibbs. “You knew about that tip in the telegram?” “First I ever heard about it,” Gibbs returned, open-eyed. “Then you didn’t tell them?” Denby observed, looking toward their chief. “That was my own business,” Taylor said impatiently. He wished this fool cross-examination over, and himself out of Long Island. “Did it ever occur to you boys that it was rather peculiar that this supposed smuggler wasn’t searched—that he got through without the slightest trouble? “Why, the Chief didn’t want to get in any mix-up with the Harringtons in case he was wrong about Denby,” Gibbs elucidated. “Oh, I see,” Denby remarked, as though the whole thing were now perfectly straightforward. “He told you that, did he?” “He sure did,” Duncan agreed readily. “Don’t you boys see,” Denby said seriously, “that this whole job looks very much as if the scheme was to let Denby slip through and then blackmail him?” “I never thought of that,” Duncan returned. “Me, neither,” the ingenuous Gibbs added. “Wait a minute,” Taylor said irritably. “What’s all this got to do with you? I admit we made a mistake—I’ll take the blame for it—and we’re sorry. We can’t remedy it by talking any more. Come on, boys.” “Wait just a minute,” Denby exclaimed. “Don’t you know,” he went on, addressing himself to the two subordinate officials, “that it’s rather a dangerous thing to monkey with the United States Government? It’s a pretty big thing to fool with. You might have got into serious trouble arresting the wrong man.” “I haven’t been monkeying with the Government,” Gibbs said nervously. All his official carelessness recurred “Neither have I,” Duncan made eager reply. Taylor took a hand in the conversation. “That’s all settled,” he said, with an air of finality. “We all know Mr. Denby never had a necklace.” “That’s clearly understood, is it?” Denby returned. “What I say is right,” Taylor retorted, and glared at his underlings. “What the Chief says is right,” Gibbs admitted with eagerness. “What the Chief says is wrong,” Denby cried in a different voice. “I did smuggle a necklace in through the Customs to-day. Here it is.” They looked at it in consternation. “What!” they ejaculated. Taylor had owed his safety ere this to rapid thinking. “Then you’re under arrest!” he cried. “Oh, no I’m not,” Denby rejoined, turning to the startled men. “Your chief caught me with the goods and I paid him thirty thousand dollars to square it.” Taylor came at him with upraised fist. “Why, you—” he roared, “I’ll—” Denby seized the clenched fist and thrust it aside. “You won’t,” he said calmly; “you’re only a bully “Aw, quit your bluffing,” Taylor jeered; “you can’t arrest me, Denby.” “The man who’ll arrest you is named Jones,” Denby remarked. “Who the hell is he?” Taylor cried. “Ah, yes,” Denby admitted. “I forgot that you hadn’t met him officially and that the boys don’t know who he is either. Here’s my commission.” Gibbs stared at the document ravenously. “And that’s my photograph,” Denby added. “A pretty good likeness it’s usually considered.” Duncan was now at his comrade’s side, poring over it. “It sure is,” he agreed. “This thing,” said Gibbs the discoverer, “is made out in the name of Richard Jones!” “Well, do you get the initials?” Denby queried. “R. J.,” Gibbs read out as one might mystic things without meaning. “That’s me,” Denby smiled, “R. J. of the secret service. That’s the name I’m known by.” Gibbs offered his hand. “If you’re R. J.,” he said “I’m afraid I am,” the other admitted. “It’s a lie,” Taylor shouted. Denby pointed to the paper. “You can’t get away from that signature. It’s signed by the President of the United States.” “I tell you it’s a fake,” the man cried angrily. “They don’t seem to think so,” Denby remarked equably. “This is on the level, all right,” Duncan announced after prolonged scrutiny. Denby turned to the deputy-surveyor. “Taylor,” he said gravely, “for three years the Government has been trying to land the big blackmailer in the Customs. They brought me into it and I set a trap with a necklace as a bait. The whole thing was a plant from Harlow’s tip, the telegram I sent myself this afternoon, to the accidental dropping of the pearls, so that you could see them through the screen. You walked right into it, Taylor. Twice before you came and looked into other traps and had some sort of intuition and kept out of them. This time, Taylor, it worked.” “You can’t get away with that,” Taylor said threateningly. “I’m not going to listen to this. “Wait a minute,” Denby advised him. “You’ve been in the service long enough to know that the rough stuff won’t go. You’d only get the worst of it; so take things easily.” He smiled pleasantly at the other men. “I’m glad to find you boys weren’t in on this. Take him along with you, and this, too.” He tossed the necklace on the table from which it slid to the floor at Gibbs’ feet. Gibbs made a quick step forward to recover it, but trod on part of the string and crushed many of the stones. Poor Gibbs looked at the damage he had done aghast. If the thing were worth two hundred thousand dollars, a ponderous calculation forced the dreadful knowledge upon him that he had destroyed possibly a quarter of them. Fifty thousand dollars! Tears came to his eyes. “Honest to goodness,” he groaned, looking imploringly at the august R. J., “I couldn’t help it.” “Don’t worry,” Denby laughed. “They’re fakes. Take what’s left as Exhibit A.” Gibbs recovered his ease of manner quickly and took a few steps nearer the fallen Chief. “And to think I’ve been working for a crook two years and never knew it,” he said, with a childlike air of wonder. Taylor looked at Denby with rage and despair. “Damn you,” he exploded, “you’ve got me all Even in his fury he remarked that this threat did not disturb the man in the least. He saw the girl blanch and hide her face, but this cursed meddling R. J., as he called himself, only smiled. “I think not,” Denby returned. “You forget that Mr. Harrington is vice-president of the New York Burglar Insurance Company and a friend of the late Mr. Vernon Cartwright. I hardly think he will allow a little matter like that to come into public notice. In fact, I’ve seen him about it already.” “Oh, get me out of this,” Taylor cried in disgust. “Just a minute,” Denby commanded. “I’ll trouble you for that thirty thousand dollars.” “You think of everything, don’t you?” Taylor snarled, handing it back. “Is that a fake, too?” “Oh, no,” he was told, “I borrowed that from Monty, who’s been a great help to me in this little scheme as an amateur partner.” He put the bills in his pocket and took out the cigar Taylor had given him. “Here’s your cigar,” he said. Taylor snatched it from him, and biting off the end, stuck it in his mouth. He assumed a brazen air of “I don’t think they’ll help you this time,” Denby said. “I believe you’ll still enjoy that winter climate.” “Aw, come on, you dirty grafter,” Gibbs cried contemptuously, and with his partner led the broken man away. Ethel came to his side when they were alone. “Did you really mean it about arranging with Mr. Harrington?” she cried. He looked down at her tenderly. “Yes,” he said. “We’ve saved her.” “And you are really R. J.?” she exclaimed wonderingly. “I really am,” he returned. “Can’t you guess how much I wanted to tell you before? But I couldn’t you know, at first, because I thought you might be Taylor’s accomplice. And later, I still dared not, because I was under orders with my duty toward my Government. Can you forgive me for making you suffer like that? “Forgive you?” she whispered tenderly. “Haven’t I said I love you?” He took her in his arms and kissed her. “And everything’s all right now, isn’t it?” she sighed happily. He looked at her whimsically. “Except that I’m hungry—are you hungry?” “Starved,” she cried. “Let’s ask for some food,” he suggested. “Nothing would gratify Lambart so much. But I don’t think I’ve been so hungry since I was in Paris.” “I wish it were Paris,” she said. “Dear Paris, where I first found R. J.” “It shall be, whenever you say,” he answered, “and I’ll tell you all about R. J. and the lonely life he led till he saw you.” “And to think I could believe for a moment you were a criminal!” she said, self-reproach in her voice, “and even try to trap you!” “But you’ve caught me,” he said proudly. “Have I really got you, Steve?” she asked, softly, holding out her arms to him. THE END
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