The hour for the midday dinner approached and there was no sign of Miss Thackeray's return from the woods. Barnes sat for two exasperating hours on the porch and listened to the confident, flamboyant oratory of Mr. Lyndon Rushcroft. His gaze constantly swept the line of trees, and there were times when he failed to hear a word in whole sentences that rolled from the lips of the actor. He was beginning to feel acutely uneasy, when suddenly her figure issued from the woods at a point just above the Tavern. Instead of striking out at once across the meadow, she stopped and for as long as three or four minutes appeared to be carrying on a conversation with some invisible person among the trees she had just left behind. Then she waved her hand and turned her steps homeward. A bent old man came out of the woods and stood watching her progress across the open stretch. She had less than two hundred yards to traverse between the woods and the fence opposite the Tavern. The old man remained where he was until she reached the fence and prepared to mount it. Then, as Barnes ran down from the porch and across the road to assist her over the fence, he whirled about and disappeared.

"Aha," said Barnes chidingly: "politely escorted from the grounds, I see. If you had asked me I could have told you that trespassers are not welcome."

"He is a nice old man. I chatted with him for nearly an hour. His business is to shoo gipsy moths away from the trees, or something like that, and not to shoo nice, tender young ladies off the place."

"Does he speak English?"

"Not a word. He speaks nothing but the most awful American I've ever heard. He has lived up there on the mountain for sixty-nine years, and he has eleven grown children, nineteen grandchildren and one wife. I'm hungry."

The coroner's inquest over the bodies of Roon and Paul was held that afternoon at St. Elizabeth. Witnesses from Hart's Tavern were among those to testify. The verdict was "Murder at the hands of parties unknown."

Sprouse did not appear at the Tavern until long after nightfall. His protracted absence was the source of grave uneasiness to Barnes, who, having been summoned to St. Elizabeth, returned at six o'clock primed and eager for the night's adventure.

The secret agent listened somewhat indifferently to the latter's account of his telephonic experiences. At nine o'clock he yawned prodigiously and announced that he was going to bed, much to the disgust of Mr. Rushcroft and greatly to the surprise of Mr. Barnes, who followed him from the tap-room and demanded an explanation.

"People usually go to bed at night, don't they?" said Sprouse patiently. "It is expected, I believe."

"But, my dear man, we are to undertake—"

"There is no reason why we shouldn't go to bed like sensible beings, Mr. Barnes, and get up again when we feel like it, is there? I have some cause for believing that one of those chaps in there is from Green Fancy. Go to bed at ten o'clock, my friend, and put out your light. I don't insist on your taking off your clothes, however. I will rap on your door at eleven o'clock. By the way, don't forget to stick your revolver in your pocket."

A few minutes before eleven there came a gentle tapping on Barnes's door. He sprang to his feet and opened it, presenting himself before Sprouse fully dressed and, as the secret agent said later on, "fit to kill."

They went quietly down a back stairway and let themselves out into the stable-yard. A light, cold drizzle greeted them as they left the lee of the building.

"A fine night for treason, stratagems and spoils," said Sprouse, speaking barely above a whisper. "Follow me and don't ask questions. You will have to talk if you do, and talking is barred for the present."

He stopped at the corner of the inn and listened for a moment. Then he darted across the road and turned to the left in the ditch that bordered it. The night was as black as pitch. Barnes, trusting to the little man's eyes, and hanging close upon his coat-tails, followed blindly but gallantly in the tracks of the leader. It seemed to him that they stumbled along parallel to the road for miles before Sprouse came to a halt.

"Climb over the fence here, and stick close to me. Are you getting your cats'-eyes?"

"Yes, I can see pretty well now. But, great scot, why should we walk half way to the North Pole, Sprouse, before—"

"We haven't come more than half a mile. The Curtis land ends here. We stay close to this fence till we reach the woods. I was in here to-day taking observations."

"You were?"

"Yes. Didn't that actress friend of yours mention meeting me?"

"No."

"I told her distinctly that I had eleven children, nineteen—"

"By Jove, was that you?" gasped Barnes, falling in beside him.

"If it were light enough you could see a sign on my back which says in large type, 'Silence,'" said the other, and after that not a word passed between them for half an hour or more. Then it was Sprouse who spoke. "This is the short cut to Green Fancy," he whispered, laying his hand on Barnes's arm. "We save four or five miles, coming this way. Do you know where we are?"

"I haven't the remotest idea."

"About a quarter of a mile below Curtis's house. Are you all right?"

"Fine as a fiddle, except for a barked knee, a skinned elbow, a couple of more or less busted ribs, something on my cheek that runs hot,—yes, I'm all right."

"Pretty tough going," said Sprouse, sympathetically.

"I've banged into more trees than—"

"Sh!" After a moment of silence, intensified by the mournful squawk of night-birds and the chorus of katydids, Sprouse whispered: "Did you hear that?"

Barnes thrilled. This was real melodrama. "Hear what?" he whispered shrilly.

"Listen!" After a second or two: "There!"

"It's a woodpecker hammering on the limb of a—"

"Woodpeckers don't hammer at midnight, my lad. Don't stir! Keep your ears open."

"You bet they're open all right," whispered Barnes, his nerves aquiver.

Suddenly the sharp tattoo sounded so close to the spot where they were standing that Barnes caught his breath and with difficulty suppressed an exclamation. It was like the irregular rattle of sticks on the rim of a snare-drum. The tapping ceased and a moment later a similar sound, barely audible, came out of the distance.

Sprouse clutched his companion's arm and, dropping to his knees in the thick underbrush, pulled the other down after him.

Presently heavy footsteps approached. An unseen pedestrian passed within ten yards of them. They scarcely breathed until the sounds passed entirely out of hearing. Sprouse put his lips close to Barnes's ear.

"Telegraph," he whispered. "It's a system they have of reporting to each other. There are two men patrolling the grounds near the house. You see what we're up against, Barnes. Do you still want to go on with it? If you are going to funk it, say so, and I'll go alone."

"I'll stay by you," replied Barnes sturdily.

"In about ten minutes that fellow will come back this way. He follows the little path that winds down—but never mind. Stay where you are, and don't make a sound, no matter what happens. Understand? No matter what happens!" He arose and swiftly, noiselessly, stole away from his companion's side. Barnes, his eyes accustomed to the night, either saw or imagined that he saw, the shadowy hulk press forward for a dozen paces and then apparently dissolve in black air.

Several minutes went by. There was not a sound save the restless patter of rain in the tree tops. At last the faraway thud of footsteps came to the ears of the tense listener. They drew nearer, louder, and once more seemed to be approaching the very spot where he crouched. He had the uncanny feeling that in a moment or two more the foot of the sentinel would come in contact with his rigid body, and that he would not have the power to suppress the yell of dismay that—

Then came the sound of a dull, heavy blow, a hoarse gasp, a momentary commotion in the shrubbery, and—again silence. Barnes's blood ran cold. He waited for the next footfall of the passing man. It never came.

A sharp whisper reached his ears. "Come here—quick!"

He floundered through the brush and almost fell prostrate over the kneeling figure of a man.

"Take care! Lend a hand," whispered Sprouse.

Dropping to his knees, Barnes felt for and touched wet, coarse garments, and gasped:

"My God! Have you—killed him?"

"Temporarily," said Sprouse, between his teeth. "Here, unwind the rope I've got around my waist. Take the end—here. Got a knife? Cut off a section about three feet long. I'll get the gag in his mouth while you're doing it. Hangmen always carry their own ropes," he concluded, with grewsome humour. "Got it cut? Well, cut two more sections, same length."

With incredible swiftness the two of them bound the feet, knees and arms of the inert victim.

"I came prepared," said Sprouse, so calmly that Barnes marvelled at the iron nerve of the man.

"Thirty feet of hemp clothes-line for a belt, properly prepared gags,—and a sound silencer."

"By heaven, Sprouse, I—I believe he's dead," groaned Barnes. "We—we haven't any right to kill a—"

"He'll be as much alive but not as lively as a cricket in ten minutes," said the other. "Grab his heels. We'll chuck him over into the bushes where he'll be out of harm's way. We may have to run like hell down this path, partner, and I'd—I'd hate to step on his face."

"'Gad, you're a cold-blooded—"

"Don't be finicky," snapped Sprouse. "It wasn't much of a crack, and it was necessary. There! You're safe for the time being," he grunted as they laid the limp body down in the brush at the side of the narrow trail. Straightening up, with a sigh of satisfaction, he laid his hand on Barnes's shoulder. "We've just got to go through with it now, Barnes. We'll never get another chance. Putting that fellow out of business queers us forever afterward." He dropped to his knees and began searching over the ground with his hands. "Here it is. You can't see it, of course, so I'll tell you what it is. A nice little block of sandal-wood. I've already got his nice little hammer, so we'll see what we can raise in the way of wireless chit-chat."

Without the slightest hesitation, he struck a succession of quick, confident blows upon the block of wood.

"He always signals at this spot going out and again coming in," he said softly.

"How the deuce did you find out—"

"There! Hear that? He says, 'All's well,'—same as I said, or something equivalent to it. I've been up here quite a bit, Barnes, making a study of night-hawks, their habits and their language."

"By gad, you are a wonder!"

"Wait till to-morrow before you say that," replied Sprouse, sententiously. "Come along now. Stick to the trail. We've got to land the other one." For five or six minutes they moved forward. Barnes, following instructions, trod heavily and without any attempt at caution. His companion, on the other hand, moved with incredible stealthiness. A listener would have said that but one man walked on that lonely trail.

Turning sharply to the right, Sprouse guided his companion through the brush for some distance, and once more came to a halt. Again he stole on ahead, and, as before, the slow, confident, even careless progress of a man ceased as abruptly as that of the comrade who lay helpless in the thicket below.

"There are others, no doubt, but they patrol the outposts, so to speak," panted Sprouse as they bound and trussed the second victim. "We haven't much to fear from them. Come on. We are within a hundred feet of the house. Softly now, or—"

Barnes laid a firm, detaining hand on the man's shoulder.

"See here, Sprouse," he whispered, "it's all very well for you, knocking men over like this, but just what is your object? What does all this lead up to? We can't go on forever slugging and binding these fellows. There is a house full of them up there. What do we gain by putting a few men out of business?"

Sprouse broke in, and there was not the slightest trace of emotion in his whisper.

"Quite right. You ought to know. I suppose you thought I was bringing you up here for a Romeo and Juliet tete-a-tete with the beautiful Miss Cameron,—and for nothing else. Well, in a way, you are right. But, first of all, my business is to recover the crown jewels and parchments. I am going into that house and take them away from the man you know as Loeb,—if he has them. If he hasn't them, my work here is a failure."

"Going into the house?" gasped Barnes. "Why, my God, man, that is impossible. You cannot get into the house, and if you did, you'd never come out alive. You would be shot down as an ordinary burglar and—the law would justify them for killing you. I must insist—"

"I am not asking you to go into the house, my friend. I shall go alone," said Sprouse coolly.

"On the other hand, I came up here to rescue a helpless,—"

"Oh, we will attend to that also," said Sprouse. "The treasure comes first, however. Has it not occurred to you that she will refuse to be rescued unless the jewels can be brought away with her? She would die before she would leave them behind. No, Barnes, I must get the booty first, then the beauty."

"But you can do nothing without her advice and assistance," protested Barnes.

"That is just why I brought you along with me. She does not know me. She would not trust me. You are to introduce me."

"Well, by gad, you've got a nerve!"

"Keep cool! It's the only way. Now, listen. She has designated her room and the windows that are hers. She is lying awake up there now, take it from me, hoping that you will come to-night. Do you understand? If not to-night, to-morrow night. I shall lead you directly to her window. And then comes the only chance we take,—the only instance where we gamble. There will not be a light in her window, but that won't make any difference. This nobby cane I'm carrying is in reality a collapsible fishing-rod. Bought it to-day in anticipation of some good fishing. First, we use it to tap gently on her window ledge, or shade, or whatever we find. Then, you pass up a little note to her. Here is paper and pencil. Say that you are below her window and—all ready to take her away. Say that the guards have been disposed of, and that the coast is clear. Tell her to lower her valuables, some clothes, et cetera, from the window by means of the rope we'll pass up on the pole. There is a remote possibility that she may have the jewels in her room. For certain reasons they may have permitted her to retain them. If such is the case, our work is easy. If they have taken them away from her, she'll say so, some way or another,—and she will not leave! Now, I've had a good look at the front of that house. It is covered with a lattice work and huge vines. I can shin up like a squirrel and go through her room to the—"

"Are you crazy, Sprouse?"

"I am the sanest person you've ever met, Mr. Barnes. The chance we take is that she may not be alone in the room. But, nothing risked, nothing gained."

"You take your life in your hands and—"

"Don't worry about that, my lad."

"—and you also place Miss Cameron in even graver peril than—"

"See here," said Sprouse shortly, "I am not risking my life for the fun of the thing. I am risking it for her, bear that in mind,—for her and her people. And if I am killed, they won't even say 'Well-done, good and faithful servant.' So, let's not argue the point. Are you going to stand by me or—back out?"

Barnes was shamed. "I'll stand by you," he said, and they stole forward.

The utmost caution was observed in the approach to the house through the thin, winding paths that Barnes remembered from an earlier visit. They crept on all fours over the last fifty feet that intervened, and each held a revolver in readiness for a surprise attack.

There were no lights visible. The house was even darker than the night itself; it was vaguely outlined by a deeper shade of black. The ground being wet, the carpet of dead leaves gave out no rustling sound as the two men crept nearer and nearer to the top-heavy shadow that seemed ready to lurch forward and swallow them whole.

At last they were within a few yards of the entrance and at the edge of a small space that had been cleared of shrubbery. Here Sprouse stopped and began to adjust the sections of his fishing-rod.

"Write," he whispered. "There is a faint glow of light up there to the right. The third window, did you say? Well, that's about where I should locate it. She has opened the window shutters. The light comes into the room through the transom over the door, I would say. There is probably a light in the hall outside."

A few minutes later, they crept across the open space and huddled against the vine-covered facade of Green Fancy. Barnes was singularly composed and free from nervousness, despite the fact that his whole being tingled with excitement. What was to transpire within the next few minutes? What was to be the end of this daring exploit? Was he to see her, to touch her hand, to carry her off into that dungeon-like forest,—and what was this new, exquisite thrill that ran through his veins?

The tiny, metallic tip of the rod, held in the upstretched hand of Barnes, much the taller of the two men, barely reached the window ledge. He tapped gently, persistently on the hard surface. Obeying the hand-pressure of his companion he desisted at intervals, resuming the operation after a moment of waiting. Just as they were beginning to think that she was asleep and that their efforts were in vain, their straining eyes made out a shadowy object projecting slightly beyond the sill. Barnes felt Sprouse's grip on his shoulder tighten, and the quick intake of his breath was evidence of the little secret agent's relief.

After a moment or two of suspense, Barnes experienced a peculiar, almost electric shock. Some one had seized the tip of the rod; it stiffened suddenly, the vibrations due to its flexibility ceasing. He felt a gentle tugging and wrenching; down the slender rod ran a delicate shiver that seemed almost magnetic as it was communicated to his hand. He knew what was happening. Some one was untying the bit of paper he had fastened to the rod, and with fingers that shook and were clumsy with eagerness.

The tension relaxed a moment later; the rod was free, and the shadowy object was gone from the window above. She had withdrawn to the far side of the room for the purpose of reading the message so marvellously delivered out of the night. He fancied her mounting a chair so that she could read by the dim light from the transom.

He had written: "I am outside with a trusted friend, ready to do your bidding. Two of the guards are safely bound and out of the way. Now is our chance. We will never have another. If you are prepared to come with me now, write me a word or two and drop it to the ground. I will pass up a rope to you and you may lower anything you wish to carry away with you. But be exceedingly careful. Take time. Don't hurry a single one of your movements." He signed it with a large B.

It seemed an hour before their eyes distinguished the shadowy head above. As a matter of fact, but a few minutes had passed. During the wait, Sprouse had noiselessly removed his coat, a proceeding that puzzled Barnes. Something light fell to the ground. It was Sprouse who stooped and searched for it in the grass. When he resumed an upright posture, he put his lips close to Barnes's ear and whispered:

"I will put my coat over your head. Here is a little electric torch. Don't flash it until I am sure the coat is arranged so that you can do so without a gleam of light getting out from under." He pressed the torch and a bit of closely folded paper in the other's hand, and carefully draped the coat over his head. Barnes was once more filled with admiration for the little man's amazing resourcefulness.

He read: "Thank God! I was afraid you would wait until to-morrow night. Then it would have been too late. I must get away to-night but I cannot leave—I dare not leave without something that is concealed in another part of the house. I do not know how to secure it. My door is locked from the outside. What am I to do? I would rather die than to go away without it."

Barnes whispered in Sprouse's ear. The latter replied at once: "Write her that I will climb up to her window, and, with God's help and her directions, manage to find the thing she wants."

Barnes wrote as directed and passed the missive aloft. In a little while a reply came down. Resorting to the previous expedient, he read:

"It is impossible. The study is under bolt and key and no one can enter. I do not know what I am to do. I dare not stay here and I dare not go. Leave me to my fate. Do not run any further risk. I cannot allow you to endanger your life for me. I shall never forget you, and I shall always be grateful. You are a noble gentleman and I a foolish, stupid—oh, such a stupid!—girl."

That was enough for Barnes. It needed but that discouraging cry to rouse his fighting spirit to a pitch that bordered on recklessness. His courage took fire, and blazed up in one mighty flame. Nothing,—nothing could stop him now.

Hastily he wrote: "If you do not come at once, we will force our way into the house and fight it out with them all. My friend is coming up the vines. Let him enter the window. Tell him where to go and he will do the rest. He is a miracle man. Nothing is impossible to him. If he does not return in ten minutes, I shall follow."

There was no response to this. The head reappeared in the window, but no word came down.

Sprouse whispered: "I am going up. She will not commit you to anything. We have to take the matter into our own hands. Stay here. If you hear a commotion in the house, run for it. Don't wait for me. I'll probably be done for."

"I'll do just as I damn please about running," said Barnes, and there was a deep thrill in his whisper. "Good luck. God help you if they catch you."

"Not even He could help me then. Good-bye. I'll do what I can to induce her to drop out of the window if anything goes wrong with me down stairs."

He searched among the leaves and found the thick vine. A moment later he was silently scaling the wall of the house, feeling his way carefully, testing every precarious foothold, dragging himself painfully upwards by means of the most uncanny, animal-like strength and stealth.

Barnes could not recall drawing a single breath from the instant the man left his side until the faintly luminous square above his head was obliterated by the black of his body as it wriggled over the ledge.

He was never to forget the almost interminable age that he spent, flattened against the vines, waiting for a signal from aloft. He recalled, with dire uneasiness, Miss Cameron's statement that a guard was stationed beneath her window throughout the night. Evidently she was mistaken. Sprouse would not have overlooked a peril like that, and yet as he crouched there, scarcely breathing, he wondered how long it would be before the missing guard returned to his post and he would be compelled to fight for his life. The fine, cold rain fell gently about him; moist tendrils and leaves caressed his face; owls hooted with ghastly vehemence, as if determined to awaken all the sleepers for miles around; and frogs chattered loudly in gleeful anticipation of the frenzied dash he would have to make through the black maze.

We will follow Sprouse. When he crawled through the window and stood erect inside the room, he found himself confronted by a tall, shadowy figure, standing half way between him and the door.

He advanced a step or two and uttered a soft hiss of warning.

"Not a sound," he whispered, drawing still nearer. "I have come four thousand miles to help you, Countess. This is not the time or place to explain. We haven't a moment to waste. I need only say that I have been sent from Paris by persons you know to aid you in delivering the crown jewels into the custody of your country's minister in Paris. Nothing more need be said now. We must act swiftly. Tell me where they are. I will get them."

"Who are you?" she whispered tensely.

"My name is Theodore Sprouse. I have been loaned to your embassy by my own government."

"How did you learn that I was here?"

"I beg of you do not ask questions now. Tell me where the Prince sleeps, how I may get to his room—"

"You know that he is the Prince?"

"For a certainty. And that you are his cousin."

She laid her hand upon his arm. "And you know that he plans evil to—to his people? That he is in sympathy with the—with the country that has despoiled us?"

"Yes."

She was silent for a moment. "Not only is it impossible for you to enter his room but it is equally impossible for you to get out of this one except by the way you entered. If I thought there was the slightest chance for you to—"

"Let me be the judge of that, Countess. Where is his room?"

"The last to the right as you leave this door,—at the extreme end of the corridor. There are four doors between mine and his. Across the hall from his room you will see an open door. A man sits in there all night long, keeping watch. You could not approach Prince Ugo's door without being seen by that watcher."

"You said in your note to Barnes that the—er—something was in Curtis's study."

"The Prince sleeps in Mr. Curtis's room. The study adjoins it, and can only be entered from the bed-room. There is no other door. What are you doing?"

"I am going to take a peep over the transom, first of all. If the coast is clear, I shall take a little stroll down the hall. Do not be alarmed. I will come back,—with the things we both want. Pardon me." He sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes. She watched him as if fascinated while he opened the bosom of his soft shirt and stuffed the wet shoes inside.

"How did you dispose of the man who watches below my window?" she inquired, drawing near. "He has been there for the past three nights. I missed him to-night."

"Wasn't he there earlier in the evening?" demanded Sprouse quickly.

"I have been in my room since eleven. He seldom comes on duty before that hour."

"I had it figured out that he was one of the men we got down in the woods. If I have miscalculated—well, poor Barnes may be in for a bad time. We are quite safe up here for the time being. The fellow will assume that Barnes is alone and that he comes to pay his respects to you in a rather romantic manner."

"You must warn Mr. Barnes. He—"

"May I not leave that to you, Countess? I shall be very busy for the next few minutes, and if you will—Be careful! A slip now would be fatal. Don't be hasty." His whispering was sharp and imperative. It was a command that he uttered, and she shrank back in surprise.

"Pray do not presume to address me in—"

"I crave your pardon, my lady," he murmured abjectly. "You are not dressed for flight. May I suggest that while I am outside you slip on a dark skirt and coat? You cannot go far in that dressing-gown. It would be in shreds before you had gone a hundred feet through the brush. If I do not return to this room inside of fifteen minutes, or if you hear sounds of a struggle, crawl through the window and go down the vines. Barnes will look out for you."

"You must not fail, Theodore Sprouse," she whispered. "I must regain the jewels and the state papers. I cannot go without—"

"I shall do my best," he said simply. Silently he drew a chair to the door, mounted it and, drawing himself up by his hands, poked his head through the open transom. An instant later he was on the floor again. She heard him inserting a key in the lock. Almost before she could realise that it had actually happened, the door opened slowly, cautiously, and his thin wiry figure slid through what seemed to her no more than a crack. As softly the door was closed.

For a long time she stood, dazed and unbelieving, in the centre of the room, staring at the door. She held her breath, listening for the shout that was so sure to come—and the shot, perhaps! A prayer formed on her lips and went voicelessly up to God.

Suddenly she roused herself from the stupefaction that held her, and threw off the slinky peignoir. With feverish haste she snatched up garments from the chair on which she had carefully placed them in anticipation of the emergency that now presented itself. A blouse (which she neglected to button), a short skirt of some dark material, a jacket, and a pair of stout walking shoes (which she failed to lace), completed the swift transformation. She felt the pockets of skirt and jacket, assuring herself that her purse and her own personal jewelry were where she had forehandedly placed them. As she glided to the window, she jammed the pins into a small black hat of felt. Then she peered over the ledge. She started back, stifling a cry with her hand. A man's head had almost come in contact with her own as she leaned out. A man's hand reached over and grasped the inner ledge of the casement, and then a man's face was dimly revealed to her startled gaze.