There was not a sound for many seconds. The trapped couple in the stone-cutter's shed scarcely breathed. She was the first to speak.

"I am ready to return with you, Mr. O'Dowd," she said, distinctly. "There must be no struggle, no blood-shed. Anything but that."

She felt Barnes's body stiffen and caught the muttered execration that fell from his lips.

O'Dowd spoke out of the darkness: "You forget that I have your own word for it that ye'll be a dead woman before the day is over. Wouldn't it be better for me to begin shooting at once and spare your soul the everlasting torture that would begin immediately after your self-produced decease?"

A little cry of relief greeted this quaint sally. "You have my word that I will return with you quietly if—"

"Thunderation!" exclaimed Barnes wrathfully. "What do you think I am? A worm that—"

"Easy, easy, me dear man," cautioned O'Dowd. "Keep your seat. Don't be deceived by my infernal Irish humour. It is my way to be always polite, agreeable and—prompt. I'll shoot in a second if ye move one step outside that cabin."

"O'Dowd, you haven't the heart to drag her back to that beast of a—"

"Hold hard! We'll come to the point without further palavering. Where are ye dragging her yourself, ye rascal?"

"To a place where she will be safe from insult, injury, degradation—"

"Well, I have no fault to find with ye for that," said O'Dowd. "Bedad, I didn't believe you had the nerve to tackle the job. To be honest with you, I hadn't the remotest idea who the divvil you were, either of you, until I heard your voices. You may be interested to know that up to the moment I left the house your absence had not been noticed, my dear Miss Cameron. And as for you, my dear Barnes, your visit is not even suspected. By this time, of course, the list of the missing at Green Fancy is headed by an honourable and imperishable name,—which isn't Cameron,—and there is an increased wailing and gnashing of teeth. How the divvil did ye do it, Barnes?"

"Are you disposed to be friendly, O'Dowd?" demanded Barnes. "If you are not, we may just as well fight it out now as later on. I do not mean to submit without a—"

"You are not to fight!" she cried in great agitation. "What are you doing? Put it away! Don't shoot!"

"Is it a gun he is pulling" inquired O'Dowd calmly. "And what the deuce are you going to aim at, me hearty?"

"It may sound cowardly to you, O'Dowd, but I have an advantage over you in the presence of Miss Cameron. You don't dare shoot into this shed. You—"

"Lord love ye, Barnes, haven't you my word that I will not shoot unless ye try to come out? And I know you wouldn't use her for a shield. Besides, I have a bull's-eye lantern with me. From the luxurious seat behind this rock I could spot ye in a second. Confound you, man, you ought to thank me for being so considerate as not to flash it on you before. I ask ye now, isn't that proof that I'm a gentleman and not a bounder? Having said as much, I now propose arbitration. What have ye to offer in the shape of concessions?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'll be explicit. Would you mind handing over that tin box in exchange for my polite thanks and a courteous good-by to both of ye?"

"Tin box?" cried Barnes.

"We have no box of any description, Mr. O'Dowd," cried she, triumphantly. "Thank heaven, he got safely away!"

"Do you mean to tell me you came away without the—your belongings, Miss Cameron?" exclaimed O'Dowd.

"They are not with me," she replied. Her grasp on Barnes's arm tightened. "Oh, isn't it splendid? They did not catch him. He—"

"Catch him? Catch who?" cried O'Dowd.

"Ah, that is for you to find out, my dear O'Dowd," said Barnes, assuming a satisfaction he did not feel.

"Well, I'll be—jiggered," came in low, puzzled tones from the rocks outside. "Did you have a—a confederate, Barnes? Didn't you do the whole job yourself?"

"I did my part of the job, as you call it, O'Dowd, and nothing more."

"Will you both swear on your sacred honour that ye haven't the jewels in your possession?"

"Unhesitatingly," said Barnes.

"I swear, Mr. O'Dowd."

"Then," said he, "I have no time to waste here. I am looking for a tin box. I beg your pardon for disturbing you."

"Oh, Mr. O'Dowd, I shall never forget all that you have—"

"Whist, now! There is one thing I must insist on your forgetting completely: all that has happened in the last five minutes. I shall put no obstacles in your way. You may go with my blessings. The only favour I ask in return is that you never mention having seen me to-night."

"We can do that with a perfectly clear conscience," said Barnes. "You are absolutely invisible."

"What I am doing now, Mr. Barnes," said O'Dowd seriously, "would be my death sentence if it ever became known."

"It shall never be known through me, O'Dowd. I'd like to shake your hand, old man."

"God bless you, Mr. O'Dowd," said the girl in a low, small voice, singularly suggestive of tears. "Some day I may be in a position to—"

"Don't say it! You'll spoil everything if you let me think you are in my debt. Bedad, don't be so sure I sha'n't see you again, and soon. You are not out of the woods yet."

"Tell me how to find Hart's Tavern, old man. I'll—"

"No, I'm dashed if I do. I leave you to your own devices. You ought to be grateful to me for not stopping you entirely, without asking me to give you a helping hand. Good-bye, and God bless you. I'm praying that ye get away safely, Miss Cameron. So long, Barnes. If you were a crow and wanted to roost on that big tree in front of Hart's Tavern, I dare say you'd take the shortest way there by flying as straight as a bullet from the mouth of this pit, following your extremely good-looking nose."

They heard him rattle off among the loose stones and into the brush. A long time afterward, when the sounds had ceased, Barnes said, from the bottom of a full heart:

"I shall always feel something warm stirring within me when I think of that man."

"He is a gallant gentleman," said she simply.

They did not wait for the break of day. Taking O'Dowd's hint, Barnes directed his steps straight out from the mouth of the quarry and pressed confidently onward. Their progress was swifter than before and less cautious. The thought had come to him that the men from Green Fancy would rush to the outer edges of the Curtis land and seek to intercept, rather than to overtake, the fugitive. In answer to a question she informed him that there were no fewer than twenty-five men on the place, all of them shrewd, resolute and formidable.

"The women, who are they, and what part do they play in this enterprise?" he inquired, during a short pause for rest.

"Mrs. Collier is the widow of a spy executed in France at the beginning of the war. She is an American and was married to a—to a foreigner. The Van Dykes are very rich Americans,—at least she has a great deal of money. Her husband was in the diplomatic service some years ago but was dismissed. There was a huge gambling scandal and he was involved. His wife is determined to force her way into court circles in Europe. She has money, she is clever and unprincipled, and—I am convinced that she is paying in advance for future favours and position at a certain court. She—"

"In other words, she is financing the game up at Green Fancy."

"I suppose so. She has millions, I am told. Mr. De Soto is a Spaniard, born and reared in England. All of them are known in my country."

"I can't understand a decent chap like O'Dowd being mixed up in a rotten—"

"Ah, but you do not understand. He is a soldier of fortune, an adventurer. His heart is better than his reputation. It is the love of intrigue, the joy of turmoil that commands him. He has been mixed up, as you say, in any number of secret enterprises, both good and bad. His sister's children are the owners of Green Fancy. I know her well. It was through Mr. O'Dowd that I came to Green Fancy. Too late he realised that it was a mistake. He was deceived. He has known me for years and he would not have exposed me to——But come! As he has said, we are not yet out of the woods."

"I cannot, for the life of me, see why they took chances on inviting me to the house, Miss Cameron. They must have known that—"

"It was a desperate chance but it was carefully considered, you may be sure. They are clever, all of them. They were afraid of you. It was necessary to deal openly, boldly, with you if your suspicions were to be removed."

"But they must have known that you would appeal to me."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke it was with great intensity. "Mr. Barnes, I had your life in my hands all the time you were at Green Fancy. It was I who took the desperate chance. I shudder now when I think of what might have happened. Before you were asked to the house, I was coolly informed that you would not leave it alive if I so much as breathed a word to you concerning my unhappy plight. The first word of an appeal to you would have been the signal for—for your death. That is what they held over me. They made it very clear to me that nothing was to be gained by an appeal to you. You would die, and I would be no better off than before. It was I who took the chance. When I spoke to you on the couch that night, I—oh, don't you see? Don't you see that I wantonly, cruelly, selfishly risked YOUR life,—not my own,—when I—"

"There, there, now!" he cried, consolingly, as she put her hands to her face and gave way to sobs. "Don't let THAT worry you. I am here and alive, and so are you, and—for Heaven's sake don't do that! I—I simply go all to pieces when I hear a woman crying. I—"

"Forgive me," she murmured. "I didn't mean to be so silly."

"It helps, to cry sometimes," he said lamely.

The first faint signs of day were struggling out of the night when they stole across the road above Hart's Tavern and made their way through the stable-yard to the rear of the house. His one thought was to get her safely inside the Tavern. There he could defy the legions of Green Fancy, and from there he could notify her real friends, deliver her into their keeping,—and then regret the loss of her!

The door was locked. He delivered a series of resounding kicks upon its stout face. Revolver in hand, he faced about and waited for the assault of the men who, he was sure, would come plunging around the corner of the building in response to the racket. He was confident that the approach to the Tavern was watched by desperate men from Green Fancy, and that an encounter with them was inevitable. But there was no attack. Save for his repeated pounding on the door, there was no sign of life about the place.

At last there were sounds from within. A key grated in the lock and a bolt was shot. The door flew open. Mr. Clarence Dillingford appeared in the opening, partially dressed, his hair sadly tumbled, his eyes blinking in the light of the lantern he held aloft.

"Well, what the—" Then his gaze alighted on the lady. "My God," he gulped, and instantly put all of his body except the head and one arm behind the door.

Barnes crowded past him with his faltering charge, and slammed the door. Moreover, he quickly shot the bolt.

"For the love of—" began the embarrassed Dillingford. "What the dev—I say, can't you see that I'm not dressed? What the—"

"Give me that lantern," said Barnes, and snatched the article out of the unresisting hand. "Show me the way to Miss Thackeray's room, Dillingford. No time for explanations. This lady is a friend of mine."

"Well, for the love of—"

"I will take you to Miss Thackeray's room," said Barnes, leading her swiftly through the narrow passage. "She will make you comfortable for the—that is until I am able to secure a room for you. Come on, Dillingford."

"My God, Barnes, have you been in an automobile smash-up? You—"

"Don't wake the house! Where is her room?"

"You know just as well as I do. All right,—all right! Don't bite me! I'm coming."

Miss Thackeray was awake. She had heard the pounding. Through the closed door she asked what on earth was the matter.

"I have a friend here,—a lady. Will you dress as quickly as possible and take her in with you for a little while?" He spoke as softly as possible.

There was no immediate response from the inside. Then Miss Thackeray observed, quite coldly: "I think I'd like to hear the lady's voice, if you don't mind. I recognise yours perfectly, Mr. Barnes, but I am not in the habit of opening my—"

"Mr. Barnes speaks the truth," said Miss Cameron. "But pray do not disturb—"

"I guess I don't need to dress," said Miss Thackeray, and opened her door. "Come in, please. I don't know who you are or what you've been up to, but there are times when women ought to stand together. And what's more, I sha'n't ask any questions."

She closed the door behind the unexpected guest, and Barnes gave a great sigh of relief.

"Say, Mr. Barnes," said Miss Thackeray, several hours later, coming upon him in the hall; "I guess I'll have to ask you to explain a little. She's a nice, pretty girl, and all that, but she won't open her lips about anything. She says you will do the talking. I'm a good sport, you know, and not especially finicky, but I'd like to—"

"How is she? Is she resting? Does she seem—"

"Well, she's stretched out in my bed, with my best nightie on, and she seems to be doing as well as could be expected," said Miss Thackeray dryly.

"Has she had coffee and—"

"I am going after it now. It seems that she is in the habit of having it in bed. I wish I had her imagination. It would be great to imagine that all you have to do is to say 'I think I'll have coffee and rolls and one egg' sent up, and then go on believing your wish would come true. Still, I don't mind. She seems so nice and pathetic, and in trouble, and I—"

"Thank you, Miss Thackeray. If you will see that she has her coffee, I'll—I'll wait for you here in the hall and try to explain. I can't tell you everything at present,—not without her consent,—but what I do tell will be sufficient to make you think you are listening to a chapter out of a dime novel."

He had already taken Putnam Jones into his confidence. He saw no other way out of the new and somewhat extraordinary situation.

His uneasiness increased to consternation when he discovered that Sprouse had not yet put in an appearance. What had become of the man? He could not help feeling, however, that somehow the little agent would suddenly pop out of the chimney in his room, or sneak in through a crack under the door,—and laugh at his fears.

His lovely companion, falling asleep, blocked all hope of a council of war, so to speak. Miss Thackeray refused to allow her to be disturbed. She listened with sparkling eyes to Barnes's curtailed account of the exploit of the night before. He failed to mention Mr. Sprouse. It was not an oversight.

"Sort of white slavery game, eh?" she said, with bated breath. "Good gracious, Mr. Barnes, if this story ever gets into the newspapers you'll be the grandest little hero in—"

"But it must never get into the newspapers," he cried.

"It ought to," she proclaimed stoutly. "When a gang of white slavers kidnap a girl like that and—"

"I'm not saying it was that," he protested, uncomfortably.

"Well, I guess I'll talk to her about that part of the story," said Miss Thackeray sagely. "And as you say, mum's the word. We don't want them to get onto the fact that she's here. That's the idea, isn't it?"

"Absolutely."

"Then," she said, wrinkling her brow, "I wouldn't repeat this story to Mr. Lyndon Rushcroft, father of yours truly. He would blab it all over the county. The greatest press stuff in the world. Listen to it: 'Lyndon Rushcroft, the celebrated actor, takes part in the rescue of a beautiful heiress who falls into the hands of So and So, the king of kidnappers.' That's only a starter. So we'd better let him think she just happened in. You fix it with old Jones, and I'll see that Dilly keeps his mouth shut. I fear I shall have to tell Mr. Bacon." She blushed. "I have always sworn I'd never marry any one in the profession, but—Mr. Bacon is not like other actors, Mr. Barnes. You will say so yourself when you know him better. He is more like a—a—well, you might say a poet. His soul is—but, you'll think I'm nutty if I go on about him. As soon as she awakes, I'll take her up to the room you've engaged for her, and I'll lend her some of my duds, bless her heart. What an escape she's had! Oh, my God!"

She uttered the exclamation in a voice so full of horror that Barnes was startled.

"What is it, Miss Thack—"

"Why, they might have nabbed me yesterday when I was up there in the woods! And I don't know what kind of heroism goes with a poetic nature. I'm afraid Mr. Bacon—"

He laughed. "I am sure he would have acted like a man."

"If you were to ask father, he'd say that Mr. Bacon can't act like a man to save his soul. He says he acts like a fence-post."

Shortly before the noon hour, Peter Ames halted the old automobile from Green Fancy in front of the Tavern and out stepped O'Dowd, followed by no less a personage than the pseudo Mr. Loeb. There were a number of travelling bags in the tonneau of the car.

Catching sight of Barnes, the Irishman shouted a genial greeting.

"The top of the morning to ye. You remember Mr. Loeb, don't you? Mr. Curtis's secretary."

He shook hands with Barnes. Loeb bowed stiffly and did not extend his hand.

"Mr. Loeb is leaving us for a few days on business. Will you be moving on yourself soon, Mr. Barnes?"

"I shall hang around here a few days longer," said Barnes, considerably puzzled but equal to the occasion. "Still interested in our murder mystery, you know."

"Any new developments?"

"Not to my knowledge." He ventured a crafty "feeler." "I hear, however, that the state authorities have asked assistance of the secret service people in Washington. That would seem to indicate that there is more behind the affair than—"

"Have I not maintained from the first, Mr. O'Dowd, that it is a case for the government to handle?" interrupted Loeb. He spoke rapidly and with unmistakable nervousness. Barnes remarked the extraordinary pallor in the man's face and the shifty, uneasy look in his dark eyes. "It has been my contention, Mr. Barnes, that those men were trying to carry out their part of a plan to inflict—"

"Lord love ye, Loeb, you are not alone in that theory," broke in O'Dowd hastily. "I think we're all agreed on that. Good morning, Mr. Boneface," he called out to Putnam Jones who approached at that juncture. "We are sadly in want of gasoline."

Peter had backed the car up to the gasoline hydrant at the corner of the building and was waiting for some one to replenish his tank. Barnes caught the queer, perplexed look that the Irishman shot at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Perhaps you'd better see that the scoundrels don't give us short measure, Mr. Loeb," said O'Dowd. Loeb hesitated for a second, and then, evidently in obedience to a command from the speaker's eye, moved off to where Peter was opening the intake. Jones followed, bawling to some one in the stable-yard.

O'Dowd lowered his voice. "Bedad, your friend made a smart job of it last night. He opened the tank back of the house and let every damn' bit of our gas run out. Is she safe inside?"

"Yes, thanks to you, old man. You didn't catch him?"

"Not even a whiff of him," said the other lugubriously. "The devil's to pay. In the name of God, how many were in your gang last night?"

"That is for Mr. Loeb to find out," said Barnes shrewdly.

"Barnes, I let you off last night, and I let her off as well. In return, I ask you to hold your tongue until the man down there gets a fair start." O'Dowd was serious, even imploring.

"What would she say to that, O'Dowd? I have to consider her interests, you know."

"She'd give him a chance for his white alley, I'm sure, in spite of the way he treated her. There is a great deal at stake, Barnes. A day's start and—"

"Are you in danger too, O'Dowd?"

"To be sure,—but I love it. I can always squirm out of tight places. You see, I am putting myself in your hands, old man."

"I would not deliberately put you in jeopardy, O'Dowd."

"See here, I am going back to that house up yonder. There is still work for me there. What I'm after now is to get him on the train at Hornville. I'll be here again at four o'clock, on me word of honour. Trust me, Barnes. When I explain to her, she'll agree that I'm doing the right thing. Bedad, the whole bally game is busted. Another week and we'd have—but, there ye are! It's all up in the air, thanks to you and your will-o'-the-wisp rascals. You played the deuce with everything."

"Do you mean to say that you are coming back here to run the risk of being—"

"We've had word that the government has men on the way. They'll be here to-night or to-morrow, working in cahoots with the fellows across the border. Why, damn it all, Barnes, don't you know who it was that engineered that whole business last night?" He blurted it out angrily, casting off all reserve.

Barnes smiled. "I do. He is a secret agent from the embassy—"

"Secret granny!" almost shouted O'Dowd. "He is the slickest, cleverest crook that ever drew the breath of life. And he's got away with the jewels, for which you can whistle in vain, I'm thinking."

"For Heaven's sake, O'Dowd—" began Barnes, his blood like ice in his veins.

"But don't take my word for it. Ask her,—upstairs there, God bless her!—ask her if she knows Chester Naismith. She'll tell ye, my bucko. He's been standing guard outside her window for the past three nights. He's—"

"Now, I know you are mistaken," cried Barnes, a wave of relief surging over him. "He has been in this Tavern every night—"

"Sure he has. But he never was here after eleven o'clock, was he? Answer me, did ye ever see him here after eleven in the evening? You did not,—not until last night, anyhow. In the struggle he had with Nicholas last night his whiskers came off and he was recognised. That's why poor old Nicholas is lying dead up there at the house now,—and will have a decent burial unbeknownst to anybody but his friends."

"Whiskers? Dead?" jerked from Barnes's lips.

"Didn't you know he had false ones on?"

"He did not have them on when he left me," declared Barnes. "Good God, O'Dowd, you can't mean that he—he killed—"

"He stuck a knife in his neck. The poor devil died while I was out skirmishing, but not before he whispered in the chief's ear the name of the man who did for him. The dirty snake! And the chief trusted him as no crook ever was trusted before. He knew him for what he was, but he thought he was loyal. And this is what he gets in return for saving the dog's life in Buda Pesth three years ago. In the name of God, Barnes, how did you happen to fall in with the villain?"

Barnes passed his hand over his brow, dazed beyond the power of speech. His gaze rested on Putnam Jones. Suddenly something seemed to have struck him between the eyes. He almost staggered under the imaginary impact. Jones! Was Jones a party to this—He started forward, an oath on his lips, prepared to leap upon the man and throttle the truth out of him. As abruptly he checked himself. The cunning that inspired the actions of every one of these people had communicated itself to him. A false move now would ruin everything. Putnam Jones would have to be handled with gloves, and gently at that.

"He—he represented himself as a book-agent," he mumbled, striving to collect himself. "Jones knew him. Said he had been around here for weeks. I—I—

"That's the man," said O'Dowd, scowling. "He trotted all over the county, selling books. For the love of it, do ye think? Not much. He had other fish to fry, you may be sure. I talked with him the night you dined at Green Fancy. He beat you to the Tavern, I dare say. It was his second night on guard below the—below her window. He told me how he shinned up and down one of these porch posts, so as not to let old Jones get onto the fact he was out of his room. He had old Jones fooled as badly—What are you glaring at HIM for? I was about to say he had old Jones as badly fooled as you—or worse, damn him. Barnes, if we ever lay hands on that friend of yours,—well, he won't have to fry in hell. He'll be burnt alive. Thank God, my mind's at rest on one score. SHE didn't skip out with him. They all think she did. Not one of them suspects that she came away with you. There is plenty of evidence that she let him in through her window—"

"All ready, O'Dowd," called Loeb. "Come along, please."

"Coming," said the Irishman. To Barnes: "Don't blame yourself, old man. You are not the only one who has been hoodwinked. He fooled men a long shot keener than you are, so—All right! Coming. See you later, Barnes. So long!"