Macloud went to New York on the evening train. He carried Croyden’s power of attorney with stock sufficient, when sold, to make up his share of the cash. He had provided for his own share by a wire to his brokers and his bank in Northumberland. A draft would be awaiting him. He would reduce both amounts to one thousand dollar bills and hurry back to Annapolis to meet Croyden.

But they counted not on the railroads,—or rather they did count on them, and they were disappointed. A freight was derailed just south of Hampton, tearing up the track for a hundred yards, and piling the right of way with wreckage of every description. Macloud’s train was twelve hours late leaving Hampton. Then, to add additional ill luck, they ran into a wash out some fifty miles further on; with the result that they did not reach New York until after the markets were over and the banks had closed for the day.

He wired the facts to Croyden. The following day, he sold the stocks, the brokers gave him the proceeds in the desired bills, after the delivery hour, and he made a quick get-away for Annapolis, arriving there at nine o’clock in the evening. 322

Croyden was awaiting him, at Carvel Hall.

“I’m sorry, for the girls’ sake,” said he, “but it’s only a day lost. We will deliver the goods to-morrow. And, then, pray God, they be freed before another night! That lawyer thief is a rogue and a robber, but something tells me he will play straight.”

“I reckon we will have to trust him,” returned Macloud. “Where is the Pinkerton man?”

“He is in town. He will be over on the Point in the morning, disguised as a negro and chopping wood, on the edge of the timber. There isn’t much chance of him identifying the gang, but it’s the best we can do. It’s the girls first, the scoundrels afterward, if possible.”

At eleven o’clock the following day, Croyden, mounted on one of “Cheney’s Best,” rode away from the hotel. There had been a sudden change in the weather, during the night; the morning was clear and bright and warm, as happens, sometimes, in Annapolis, in late November. The Severn, blue and placid, flung up an occasional white cap to greet him, as he crossed the bridge. He nodded to the draw-keeper, who recognized him, drew aside for an automobile to pass, and then trotted sedately up the hill, and into the woods beyond.

He could hear the Band of the Academy pounding out a quick-step, and catch a glimpse of the long line of midshipmen passing in review, before some notable. The “custard and cream” of the 323 chapel dome obtruded itself in all its hideousness; the long reach of Bancroft Hall glowed white in the sun; the library with its clock—the former, by some peculiar idea, placed at the farthest point from the dormitory, and the latter where the midshipmen cannot see it—dominated the opposite end of the grounds. Everywhere was quiet, peace, and discipline—the embodiment of order and law,—the Flag flying over all.

And yet, he was on his way to pay a ransom of very considerable amount, for two women who were held prisoners!

He tied his horse to a limb of a maple, and walked out on the Point. Save for a few trees, uprooted by the gales, it was the same Point they had dug over a few weeks before. A negro, chopping at a log, stopped his work, a moment, to look at him curiously, then resumed his labor.

“The Pinkerton man!” thought Croyden, but he made no effort to speak to him.

Somewhere,—from a window in the town, or from one of the numerous ships bobbing about on the Bay or the River—he did not doubt a glass was trained on him, and his every motion was being watched.

For full twenty minutes, he stood on the extreme tip of the Point, and looked out to sea. Then he faced directly around and stepped ten paces inland. Kneeling, he quickly dug with a small trowel a hole a foot deep in the sand, put into it the package 324 of bills, wrapped in oil-skin, and replaced the ground.

“There!” said he, as he arose. “Pirate’s gold breeds pirate’s ways. May we have seen the last of you—and may the devil take you all!”

He went slowly back to his horse, mounted, and rode back to town. They had done their part—would the thieves do theirs?

Adhering strictly to the instructions, Croyden and Macloud left Annapolis on the next car, caught the boat at Baltimore, and arrived in Hampton in the evening, in time for dinner. They stopped a few minutes at Ashburton, to acquaint Captain Carrington with their return, and then went on to Clarendon.

Both men were nervous. Neither wanted the other to know and each endeavored to appear at ease.

Croyden gave in first. He threw his cigarette into his coffee cup, and pushed his chair back from the table.

“It’s no use, Colin!” he laughed. “You’re trying to appear nonchalant, and you’re doing it very well, too, but you can’t control your fingers and your eyes—and neither can I, I fancy, though I’ve tried hard enough, God knows! We are about all in! These four days of strain and uncertainty have taken it all out of us. If I had any doubt as to my affection for Elaine, it’s vanished, now.——I don’t say I’m fool enough to propose to her, 325 yet I’m scarcely responsible, at present. If I were to see her this minute, I’d likely do something rash.”

“You’re coming around to it, gradually,” said Macloud.

“Gradually! Hum! I don’t know about the ‘gradually.’ I want to pull myself together—to get a rein on myself—to—what are you smiling at; am I funny?”

“You are!” said Macloud. “I never saw a man fight so hard against his personal inclinations, and a rich wife. You don’t deserve her!—if I were Elaine, I’d turn you down hard, hard.”

“Thank God! you’re not Elaine!” Croyden retorted.

“And hence, with a woman’s unreasonableness and trust in the one she loves, she will likely accept you.”

“How do you know she loves me?”

Macloud blew a couple of smoke rings and watched them sail upward.

“I suppose you’re equally discerning as to Miss Carrington, and her love for you,” Croyden commented.

“I regret to say, I’m not,” said Macloud, seriously. “That is what troubles me, indeed. Unlike my friend, Geoffrey Croyden, I’m perfectly sure of my own mind, but I’m not sure of the lady’s.”

“Then, why don’t you find out?” 326

“Exactly what I shall do, when she returns.”

“It’s sure as fate!” said Croyden.

“Thanks! We each seem to be able to answer the other’s uncertainty,” he remarked, calmly.

Presently, Macloud arose.

“I’m going over to Ashburton, and talk with the Captain a little—sort of cheer him up. Come along?”

Croyden shook his head.

“Go on!” said he. “It’s a very good occupation for you, sitting up to the old gent. I’ll give you a chance by staying away, to-night. Make a hit with grandpa, Colin, make a hit with grandpa!”

“And you make a hit with yourself—get rid of your foolish theory, and come down to simple facts,” Macloud retorted, and he went out.

“Get rid of your foolish theory,” Croyden soliloquized. “Well, maybe—but is it foolish, that’s the question? I’m poor, once more—I’ve not enough even for Elaine Cavendish’s husband—there’s the rub! she won’t be Geoffrey Croyden’s wife, it’s I who will be Elaine Cavendish’s husband. ‘Elaine Cavendish and her husband dine with us to-night!’—‘Elaine Cavendish and her husband were at the horse show!’ ‘Elaine Cavendish and her husband were here!—or there!—or thus and so!’”

He could not endure it. It would be too belittling, too disparaging of self-respect.—Elaine 327 Cavendish’s husband!—Elaine Cavendish’s husband! Might he out-grow it—be known for himself? He glanced up at the portrait of the gallant soldier of a lost cause, with the high-bred face and noble bearing.

“You were a brave man, Colonel Duval!” he said. “What would you have done?”

He took out a cigar, lit it very deliberately, and fell to thinking.... Presently, worn out by fatigue and anxiety, he dozed....

And as he dozed, the street door opened softly, a light step crossed the hall, and Elaine Cavendish stood in the doorway.

She was clad in black velvet, trimmed in sable. Her head was bare. A blue cloak was thrown, with careless grace, about her gleaming shoulders. One slender hand lifted the gown from before her feet. She saw the sleeping man and paused, and a smile of infinite tenderness passed across her face.

A moment she hesitated, and at the thought, a faint blush suffused her face. Then she glided softly over, bent and kissed him on the lips.

He opened his eyes, and sprang up! Startled! She was there, before him, the blush still on cheek and brow.

“Elaine! sweetheart!” he cried. And, straightway took her, unresisting, in his arms.... 328

“Tell me all about yourself,” he said, at last, drawing her down into the chair and seating himself on the arm. “Where is Miss Carrington—safe?”

“Colin’s with her—I reckon she’s safe!” smiled Elaine. “It won’t be his fault if she isn’t, I’m sure.—I left them at Ashburton, and came over here to—you.”

“Alone!” said Croyden, bending over her.

She nodded, eyes half downcast.

“You foolish girl!”

“I’ll go back at once——”

He laughed, joyously.

“Not yet a little while!” and bent again.

“Geoffrey! you’re dreadful!” she exclaimed, half smothered. “My hair, dear,—do be careful!”

“I’ll be good—if you will kiss me again!” he said.

“But you’re not asleep,” she objected.

“That’s why I want it.”

“And you will promise—not to kiss me again?”

“For half an hour.”

“Honest?”

“Honest.”

She looked up at him tantalizingly, her red lips parted, her bosom fluttering below.

“If it’s worth coming half way for, sweetheart—you may,” she said....

“Now, if you’re done with foolishness—for a 329 little while,” she said, gayly, “I’ll tell you how we managed to get free.”

“You know why you were abducted?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!—the Parmenter jewels. Davila told me the story, and how you didn’t find them, though our abductors think you did, and won’t believe otherwise.”

“You suffered no hurt?” he asked, sharply.

“None—we were most courteously treated; and they released us, as quickly as the check was paid.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I mean, that I gave them my check for the ransom money—you hadn’t the jewels, you couldn’t comply with the demand. How do you suppose we got free?” she questioned.

“You paid the money?” he asked, again.

“Certainly! I knew you couldn’t pay it, so I did. Don’t let us think of it, dear!—It’s over, and we have each other, now. What is money compared to that?” Then suddenly she, woman-like, went straight back to it. “How did you think we managed to get free—escaped?” she asked.

“Yes!” he answered. “Yes—I never thought of your paying the money.”

She regarded him critically.

“No!” she said, “you are deceiving me!—you are—you paid the money, also!” she cried.

“What matters it?” he said joyfully. “What 330 matters anything now? Macloud and I did pay the ransom to-day—but of what consequence is it; whether you bought your freedom, or we bought it, or both bought it? You and Davila are here, again—that’s the only thing that matters!”

“Right you are! Geoffrey, right you are!” came Macloud’s voice from the hallway, and Davila and he walked into the room.

Elaine, with a little shriek, sprang up.

“Don’t be bashful!” said Macloud. “Davila and I were occupying similar positions at Ashburton, a short time ago. Weren’t we, little girl?” as he made a motion to put his arm around her.

Davila eluded him—though the traitor red confirmed his words—and sought Elaine’s side for safety.

“It’s a pleasure only deferred, my dear!” he laughed. “By the way, Elaine, how did Croyden happen to give in? He was shying off at your wealth—said it would be giving hostages to fortune, and all that rot.”

“Shut up, you beggar!” Croyden exclaimed. “I’m going to try to make good.”

“Geoffrey,” said Elaine, “won’t you show us the old pirate’s letter—we’re all interested in it, now.”

“Certainly, I will!” he said. “I’ll show you the letter, and where I found it, and anything else you want to see. Nothing is locked, to-night.” 331

They went over to the escritoire. Croyden opened the secret drawer, and took out the letter.

“A Message from the Dead!” he said, solemnly, and handed it to Elaine.

She carried it to the table, spread it out under the lamp, and Davila and she studied it, carefully, even as Croyden and Macloud had done—reading the Duval endorsements over and over again.

“It seems to me there is something queer about these postscripts,” she said, at last; “something is needed to make them clear. Is this the entire letter?—didn’t you find anything else?”

“Nothing!” said Croyden.

“May I look?” she asked.

“Most assuredly, sweetheart.”

“It’s a bit dark in this hole. Let me have a match.”

She struck it, and peered back into the recess.

“Ah!” she exclaimed. “Here is something!—only a corner visible.” She put in her hand. “It has slipped down, back of the false partition. I’ll get it, presently.—There!”

She drew out a tiny sheet of paper, and handed it to Croyden.

“Does that help?” she asked.

Croyden glanced at it; then gave a cry of amazed surprise.

“It does!” he said. “It does! It’s the key to the mystery. Listen!”

The rest crowded around him while he read: 332

“Hampton, Maryland.

“5 Oct. 1738.