ON the way to her room Ethel Cartwright met Michael Harrington, a box of cigars in his hand, coming toward the head of the stairway.

“Whither away?” he demanded.

“To bed,” she returned. “The excitement’s been too much for me.”

“This box,” he said, lovingly caressing it, “contains what I think are the best that can be smoked.” He opened and showed what seemed to her cigars of a very large size. “I’m going to give the boys one apiece as a reward for bravery.” He laughed with glee. “And as Lambart is going to be one of the search party, I’m going to give him one, too. He’ll either leave at my temerity in offering him the same kind of weed his employer smokes, or else he’ll have it framed.”

“A search party?” she said. “What do you mean?”

“We’re going to beat the bushes for tramps,” he said. “I am directing operations from the balcony outside my room. The general in command,” he explained, “never gets on the firing-line in modern warfare.”

“Is Mr. Denby going?” she asked.

“No, no,” he said. “I can’t expect my guests to expose themselves to the risk of being shot. Don’t you be alarmed,” he said solicitously, “I shall be at hand in case of trouble.”

When she reached her room she sat motionless for a few moments on the edge of the bed. Then suddenly, she rose and walked along a corridor and knocked at the door of the room she knew was Alice Harrington’s.

“Alice,” she said nervously, and there was no doubt in the elder woman’s mind that the girl was thoroughly upset, “I’m nervous of sleeping in the room you’ve given me. Can’t I sleep somewhere near people? Let me have that room I had the last time I was here.”

“Why, my dear girl, of course, if you want it,” Alice said sympathetically. “But it isn’t as pretty, and I especially had this bigger room for you. Don’t be a silly little girl; you’ll be asleep in five minutes. Better still, I’ll come and read till you’re drowsy.”

“Please humor me,” the other pleaded. “I’d rather be where, if I scream, someone can hear, and the men are sleeping down there, and one after all does depend on them in emergencies.”

“All right,” Alice said good-humoredly, “I’ll ring for the servants to take your things in.”

“We can do it,” Ethel said eagerly. “I’ve only one cabin trunk, and it weighs nothing. Why disturb them?”

When they had moved the baggage down the halls to the smaller room, there was no key to lock the door which led to a connecting room.

“Whose is that?” Ethel demanded.

“Mr. Denby’s,” she was told. “I always give men big rooms, because they’re so untidy. Michael will know where the key is. He has every one of the hundred keys with a neat label on it. He’s so methodical in some things. By the time you’re ready for bed I’ll have it.”

A few minutes later the intervening door was safely locked and Mrs. Harrington had left the girl, feeling that perhaps she, too, would be nervous if she had not her Michael close at hand.

Directly the girl was alone she sprang out of bed and hurriedly put on a white silk negligÉe. So far her plans had prospered admirably. The bedroom from which she had moved was so situated that if she were to undertake the search of Denby’s room, she must pass the rooms of her host and hostess and also that of Nora Rutledge. And this search was imperative. Out in the darkness Taylor and his men were waiting impatiently. Presently a band of men, armed in all probability, would sally forth from the house and might just as likely capture the Customs officers. Supposing Taylor took this as treachery on her part and denounced her before the Harringtons? Nothing would save Amy then.

If only she could discover the necklace and give the signal in time so that the deputy-surveyor could come legitimately into the house! She told herself that she must control this growing nervousness; that her movements must be swift and sure, and that she must banish all thought of the man she had met in Paris, or the punishment that would be his.

Fortunately his guests could not escape Michael and his big cigars; and cigars, as she knew from her father’s use of them, are not consumed as a cigarette may be and thrown quickly away.

The key turned in the lock stiffly and it seemed to her, waiting breathless, that the sound must be audible everywhere. But as quiet still ruled outside in the corridors, she pushed the door half-open and peered into the room. It was dark save for the moonlight, but she could see to make her way to a writing-table, on which was an electric lamp.

She turned it on and then looked about her nervously. It was a large, well-furnished room, and to the right of her a big alcove with a bed in it. There was a large French window leading to the balcony which Taylor had noted and proposed to use if she were successful in her search.

She did not dare to look out, for fear the search party might see her, so she centered her attention upon the locked drawer in which the necklace was awaiting her. There was a brass paper-knife lying on the table, heavy enough she judged, to pry open any ordinary lock. Very cautiously she set about her work. It called for more strength than she had supposed, but the lock seemed to be yielding gradually when there fell upon her anxious ear sounds of footsteps coming down the corridor.

She sprang to her feet and listened intently, and was satisfied herself that she was in imminent danger. Putting out the light she turned to run to her room, and in doing so knocked the paper-knife to the floor. To her excited fancy it clattered hideously as it fell, but she reached her room safely and locked the door.

She was hardly in shelter before Denby came into his room and switched on the light. He was still smoking the first third of his host’s famous cigar. He sauntered to the window and looked over the lawn and wondered what luck the searchers would have. He had permitted himself to be urged by Harrington to a course of inactivity. It was not his wish to be brought face to face with his enemy while he had the jewels in a place they would instantly detect. He took the pearls from their hiding-place and threw them carelessly on the table. Then seeing the paper-knife on the floor he stooped to pick it up. But lying near it were little splinters of white wood that instantly arrested his attention. He knelt down, lit a match, and examined them without disturbing them in any way. And then his eyes travelled upward, until the scratches by the lock were plain.

Experience told him plainly that the drawer had been attempted and that recently, in fact, within a half-hour since Monty had placed his pouch there with the pearls as he supposed in it.

While he was standing there motionless, sounds in the hall outside disturbed him. Presently a knock sounded on the door. Before answering he picked up the pearls and placed them in his pocket. Then he called out: “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” came Monty’s voice in answer.

“Come in,” he called.

Monty entered nervously. “Everything all right?” he demanded.

“Yes,” his friend said, and then looked at him. Monty’s appearance was slightly dishevelled. “What’s happened?” he asked.

Monty ignored the question. “I was afraid everything might be all wrong,” he cried. “This is the first time I’ve been able to swallow comfortably for an hour. I thought my heart was permanently dislocated.”

“What’s been happening downstairs?” Denby inquired.

“Nothing,” Monty told him, “and it’s the limit to have nothing happen.”

“I thought Harrington was organizing a search party.”

“Oh, we searched,” Monty admitted. “I was nominally in charge, but Lambart was the directing genius. He was an officer’s orderly in his youth and is some tactician, believe me.” Monty pointed to his muddied knees. “He stretched clothes-lines over the paths to catch the tramps, and I was the first victim. We looked everywhere, all of us, Lambart, the under-butler, two chauffeurs and I, and we didn’t even flush a cat.”

“That’s odd,” his listener commented. “They’ll be back. They’re not frightened away by you fellows with lanterns. They’ll be back.”

“I bet they will,” Monty grumbled, “and with the militia.”

“Don’t lose your nerve now, old man,” Denby counselled.

“I wish I could,” Monty cried. “This certainly is getting on it. It’s a lesson not to get discontented with my lot. I’ve got that creepy feeling all the time that they’re coming closer to us.”

“But that’s the real sport of it,” Denby pointed out.

“Sport be damned,” he said crossly. “Your ideas about foxes and mine don’t coincide. I don’t think he likes being hunted. And at that he’s got something on us; he knows who’s chasing him.”

“So shall we soon,” he was reminded.

“Yes,” Monty grumbled, “when we’re shot full of holes.”

“Don’t be afraid of getting shot at,” Denby said smiling. “You amateurs have no idea how few shots hit the mark even at short range. I’ve been shot at three times and I’ve not a scar to show.”

“Job must be your favorite author,” Monty commented sourly. “I hate the noise. I’m scared to death; I thought I wanted excitement, but life on a farm for me hereafter.”

“But, my dear boy,” Denby said more seriously, “you are not in this. They’re after me and this.” He held up the necklace. “You’re a spectator merely.”

“Rot!” Monty cried. “I’m what they call an accessory and if you think I’m going to clear out now, all I can say is you ought to know me better than that. I want to be doing something; it’s the talking that gets on my nerves. They’ll be here soon, you may bet on that. They’re going to search this room.”

“Somebody’s done that already,” he was told.

“Who?” Monty cried anxiously. “That girl?”

“I think not. Her room is in the other wing, as I found out indirectly. To come here she’d have to run an awful risk. If she comes it will be later, when everyone is asleep.”

“Then who could it have been?” Monty demanded. He turned suddenly on his heel.

There was someone even now listening at the door. Then there was a faint, discreet knock. He dropped into the nearest chair and looked at the other man with a blanched face.

“Pinched!” he cried.

“Hsh!” the other commanded softly, and then louder: “Come in.”

The smiling face of Michael Harrington beamed upon them. In his hands he carried a tray whereon two generous highballs reposed.

“Hello, boys,” he cried genially, “I’ve brought up those two nightcaps I promised you. Nothing like ’em after excitement such as we’ve had.”

“You never looked so good to me, Michael,” Monty cried affectionately.

“Now, Denby,” Michael said, handing him the glass in Lambart’s best manner.

“Thanks, all the same,” his guest returned, “but I don’t think I will—not yet at any rate.”

“Good!” Michael cried. “Luck’s with me.” He drained the glass with the deepest satisfaction. “Ah, that was needed. Now, Monty, after your exertions you won’t disappoint me?”

“Not for me, either,” Monty exclaimed.

“Splendid,” said the gratified Michael. “At your age I would have refused it absolutely.” He looked at the glass affectionately. “I’ll take the encore in a few minutes. Alice does cut me down so dreadfully. Just one light one before dinner—mostly Vermouth—and one drink afterward. I welcome any extra excitement like this.”

“Aren’t you master in your own house?” Denby asked smiling. He had fathomed the secret of the happy relations of his host and hostess, and was not deceived by Harrington when he represented himself the sport of circumstances.

“You bet I’m not,” said Michael, without resentment. “By the way,” he added, “if you want your nightcaps later, ring for Lambart. He’s used to being summoned at any hour.”

“I won’t forget,” Denby returned.

“I hope you won’t,” his host assured him. “I’d hate to think of Lambart having a really good night’s rest.” He pointed to an alarm on the wall by the door. “But don’t get up half asleep and push that red thing over there.”

“What on earth is it?” Monty asked. “It looks like a hotel fire-alarm—‘Break the glass in case of fire.’”

“It’s a burglar-alarm that wakes the whole house.”

“What?” Denby cried, suddenly interested. “You don’t really expect burglars?”

“I know it’s funny,” Michael said, “and a bit old maidish, but I happen to be vice-president of the New York Burglar Insurance Company, and I’ve got to have their beastly patents in the house to show my faith in ’em.”

“I’ll keep away from it,” Denby assured him, looking at it curiously.

“The last man who had this room sent it off by mistake. Said a mosquito worried him so much that he threw a shoe at it. He missed the mosquito—between you and me,” Michael said confidentially, “we haven’t any out here at Westbury—but he hit the alarm. I’m afraid Hazen had been putting too many nightcaps on his head and couldn’t see straight. Mrs. Harrington made me search the whole house. Of course there wasn’t anyone there and Alice seemed sorry that I’d had my hunt in vain. The beauty of these things,” the vice-president commented, “is that they warn the burglars to get out and so you don’t get shot as you might if you hadn’t told ’em you were coming.”

Michael took up the second glass and had barely taken a sip when quick, light footfalls approached.

“Good Lord,” said he, “my wife! Here, Monty, quick,” placing the half-emptied glass in Denby’s hand and the one from which he had first drunk in Monty’s, “I count on you, boys,” he whispered, and then strode to the door and flung it open.

“Are we intruders?” his wife asked.

“You are delightfully welcome,” Denby cried. “Please come in.”

“We thought you’d still be up,” Nora explained. “Michael said he was bringing you up some highballs.”

“Great stuff,” Monty said, taking his cue, “best whiskey I ever tasted. Nothing like really old Bourbon after all.”

Michael shot a glance of agonized reproach at the man who could make such a stupid mistake. “Monty,” he explained to his wife, who had caught this ingenuous remark and had looked at him inquiringly, “is still so filled with excitement that he doesn’t know old Scotch when he tastes it.”

“Your husband is a noble abstainer,” Denby said quickly, to help them out, “we place temptation right before him and he resists.”

“That’s my wife’s training,” said Harrington, smiling complacently.

“I’m not so sure,” she returned. “Putting temptation before Michael, Mr. Denby, shows him just like old Adam—only Michael’s weakness is for grapes, not apples.”

“We’ve come,” Nora reminded them, “to get a fourth at auction. We’re all too much excited to sleep. Mr. Denby, I’m sure you’re a wonderful player. Surely you must shine at something.”

“Among my other deficiencies,” he confessed, “I don’t play bridge.”

Nora sighed. “There remains only Monty. Monty,” she commanded, “you must play.”

“Glad to!” he cried. “I like company, and I’m not tired either.”

Suddenly he caught sight of Denby’s face. His look plainly said, “Refuse.”

“In just a few minutes,” Monty stammered. “I was just figuring out something when you came in. How long will it take, Steve?”

“Hardly five minutes,” Denby said.

“It’s a gold-mine you see,” Monty explained laboriously, “and first it goes up, and then it goes down.”

“I always strike an average,” Michael told him. “It’s the easiest way.”

“Is it a good investment?” Alice demanded. She had a liking for taking small flutters with gold-mines.

“You wouldn’t know one if you saw it,” her husband said, laughing.

“I learnt what I know from you,” she reminded him.

“I’d rather dance than bridge it,” Nora said impatiently, doing some rather elaborate maxixe steps very gracefully and humming a popular tune meanwhile.

“Be quiet,” Alice warned her; “you’ll disturb Ethel.”

“Has Miss Cartwright gone to bed?” Denby asked her.

“She felt very tired,” Alice explained.

“It’s wrong to go to bed so early,” Nora exclaimed. “It can’t be much after two.”

She sang a few bars of another song much in vogue, but Alice stopped her again.

“Hush, Nora, don’t you understand Ethel’s in the next room asleep, or trying to?”

“I thought it was empty,” Nora said, in excuse for her burst of song.

“Ethel insisted on changing. She was very nervous and she wanted to be down near the men in case of trouble.”

“And I had to go through forty-seven bunches of keys to get one to fit that door,” her husband complained. Denby shot a swift glance toward Monty, who was wearing an “I told you so” expression. “She seemed positively afraid of you, Denby, from what my wife said,” Harrington concluded.

“You’re not drinking your highball, Mr. Denby,” Alice observed.

“I’m saving it,” he smiled.

“That’s a very obvious hint,” Nora cried. “Let’s leave them, Alice.” She sauntered to the door.

“Very well,” her hostess said, “and we’ll expect you in a few minutes, Monty. You’re coming, Michael?”

“In just a moment,” he returned. “I’ve got one more old wheeze I want to spring on Denby. He’s a capital audience for the elderly ones.”

“When Mr. Denby has recovered,” she commanded, “come down and play.”

“Certainly, my dear,” he said obediently.

“And, Michael,” she said smiling, “don’t think you’ve fooled me.”

“Fooled you,” he exclaimed innocently, “why, I’d never even dream of trying to!”

His wife moved toward Denby and took the half-finished highball from his hand.

“Michael,” she said, handing it to him, “here’s the rest of your drink.”

She went from the room still smiling at the deep knowledge she had of her Michael’s little ways.

Michael imbibed it gratefully.

“My wife’s a damned clever woman,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, as he trotted out obediently in her wake.

Directly he had gone Denby went quickly to the door and made sure it was closed tightly. “It was that girl, after all, Monty!” he said in a low, tense voice. “She tried to pry open the drawer with that paper-knife. You can see the marks. I found the knife on the floor, where she’d dropped it on hearing me at the door.”

Monty looked at him with sympathy in his eyes. “That’s pretty tough, old man,” he said softly.

“It’s hard to believe that she is the kind of woman to take advantage of our friendship to turn me over to the police,” he admitted. Then his face took on a harder, sterner look. “But it’s no use beating about the bush; that’s exactly what she did.”

“I’m sorry, mighty sorry,” Monty said, realizing as he had never done what this perfidy meant to his old friend.

“I don’t want to have to fight her,” Denby said. “The very idea seems unspeakable.”

“What can we do if you don’t?” Monty asked doubtfully.

“If she’ll only tell me who it is that sent her here—the man who’s after me—I’ll fight him, and leave her out of it.”

“But if she won’t do that?” Monty questioned.

“Then I’ll play her own game,” Denby answered, “only this time she follows my rules for it.” As he said this both of the men fancied they could hear a creaking in the next room.

“What’s that?” Monty demanded.

Denby motioned to him to remain silent, and then tiptoed his way to the door connecting the rooms.

“Is she there?” Monty felt himself compelled to whisper.

Denby nodded acquiescence and quietly withdrew to the centre of the room.

“Has she heard us?” asked his friend.

“I don’t think so. I heard her close the window and then come over to the door.”

He crossed to the desk and began to write very fast.

“What are you doing?” Monty inquired softly.

Denby, scribbling on, did not immediately answer him. Presently he handed the written page to Monty. “Here’s my plan,” he said, “read it.”

While Monty was studying the paper Denby moved over to the light switch, and the room, except for the rose-shaded electric lamp, was in darkness.

“Jumping Jupiter!” Monty exclaimed, looking up from the paper with knit brows.

“Do you understand?” Denby asked.

“Yes,” Monty answered agitatedly; “I understand, but suppose I get rattled and make a mistake when the time comes?”

“You won’t,” Denby replied, still in low tone. “I’m depending on you, Monty, and I know you won’t disappoint me.” When he next spoke it was in a louder voice, louder in fact than he needed for conversational use.

“It’s a pity Miss Cartwright has gone to bed,” he exclaimed. “I might have risked trying to learn bridge, if she’d been willing to teach me. She’s a bully girl.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” Monty advised him, grinning.

“In these dictagraph days the walls have ears. Let’s go outside. We can’t tell who might hear us in this room. We’ll be safe enough on the lawn.”

“A good idea,” Denby agreed, moving away from the connecting door which they guessed had a listener concealed behind it, and turning out the lights. And Ethel Cartwright, straining her ears, heard the door opened and banged noisily, and footsteps hurrying past toward the stairway. It was at last the opportunity.