CHAPTER TEN
Denby stood looking after her. "Bully, bully girl," he muttered.
"Anything wrong, Steve?" Monty inquired, not catching what he said.
Denby turned to the speaker slowly; his thoughts had been morepleasantly engaged.
"I don't understand why they haven't done anything," he answered. "I'mcertain we were followed at the dock. When I went to send thosetelegrams I saw a man who seemed very much disinterested, but kept nearme. I saw him again when we had our second blow-out near Jamaica. Itmight have been a coincidence, but I'm inclined to think they've markedus down."
"I don't believe it," Monty cried. "If they had the least idea about thenecklace, they'd have pinched you at the pier, or got you on the roadwhen it was only you and the chauffeur against their men."
Still Denby seemed dubious. "They let me in too dashed easily," hecomplained, "and I can't help being suspicious."
"They seemed to suspect me," Monty reminded him.
"The fellow thought you were laughing at him, that's all. They've nosense of humor," Denby returned. "What I said to-night was no fiction,Monty. Cartier's may have tipped the Customs after all."
"But you paid Harlow a thousand dollars," Monty declared.
"He wasn't the only one to know I had bought the pearls, though," Denbyobserved thoughtfully. "It looks fishy to me. They may have some newwrinkles in the Customs."
"That damned R. J.," Monty said viciously, "I'd like to strangle him."
"It would make things easier," Denby allowed.
"All the same," Monty remarked, "I think we've both been too fidgety."
"Dear old Monty," his friend said, smiling, "if you knew the game as Ido, and had hunted men and been hunted by them as I have, you'd notblame me for being a little uneasy now."
With apprehension Monty watched him advance swiftly toward the switch onthe centre wall by the window. "Get over by that window," he commanded,and Monty hurriedly obeyed him. Then he turned off the lights, leavingthe room only faintly illuminated by the moonlight coming through theFrench windows.
"What the devil's up?" Monty asked excitedly.
"Is there anyone there on the lawn?"
Monty peered anxiously through the glass. "No," he whispered, and thenadded: "Yes, there's a man over there by the big oak. By Jove, thereis!"
"What's he doing?" the other demanded.
"Just standing and looking over this way."
"He's detailed to watch the house. Anybody else with him?"
"Not that I can see."
"Come away, Monty," Denby called softly, and when his friend was awayfrom observation, he switched on the light again. "Now," he asked, "doyou believe that we were followed?"
"The chills are running down my spine," Monty confessed. "Gee, Steve, Ihope it won't come to a gun fight."
"They won't touch you," Denby said comfortingly; "they want me."
"I don't know," Monty said doubtfully. "They'll shoot first, and thenask which is you."
Denby was unperturbed. "I think we've both been too fidgety," hequoted.
"But why don't they come in?" Monty asked apprehensively.
"They're staying out there to keep us prisoners," he was told.
"Then I hope they'll stop there," Monty exclaimed fervently.
"I can't help thinking," Denby said, knitting his brows, "that they'vegot someone in here on the inside, working under cover to try to get thenecklace. What do you know about the butler, Lambart? Is he a new man?"
"Lord, no," Monty assured him. "He has been with Michael five years, andworships him. You'd distress Lambart immeasurably if you even hintedhe'd ever handed a plate to a smuggler."
"We've got to find out who it is," Denby said decidedly, "and then,Monty, we'll have some sport."
"Then we'll have some shooting," Monty returned in disgust. "Where isthat confounded necklace anyway? Is Michael carrying it around withoutknowing it?"
"Still in my pouch," Denby returned.
As he said this, Miss Cartwright very gently opened a door toward whichhis back was turned. Terrified at the thought of Taylor's possibleintrusion, she had been spurred to some sort of action, and hadsauntered back to the big hall with the hope of overhearing somethingthat would aid her.
"I know they mean business," she heard Denby say, "and this is going tobe a fight, Monty, and a fight to a finish."
The thought that there might presently be scenes of violence enacted inthe hospitable Harrington home, scenes in which she had a definite roleto play, which might lead even to the death of Denby as it certainlymust lead to his disgrace, drove her nearly to hysteria. Taylor hadinspired her with a great horror, and at the same time a great respectfor his power and courage. She did not see how a man like Steven Denbycould win in a contest between himself and the brutal deputy-surveyor."Oh," she sighed, "if they were differently placed! If Steven stood forthe law and Taylor for crime!"
Everything favored Taylor, it seemed to her. Denby was alone except forMonty's faltering aid, while the other had his men at hand and, aboveall, the protection of the law. It was impossible to regard Taylor asanything other than a victor making war on men or women and moved bynothing to pity. What other man than he would have tortured her poorlittle sister, she wondered.
To a woman used through the exigencies of circumstances to making herliving in a business world where competition brought with it rivalries,trickeries and jealousies, the ordeal to be faced would have been almostoverwhelming.
But the Cartwrights had lived a sheltered life, the typical happy familylife where there is wealth, and none until to-day had ever dared tospeak to Ethel as Taylor had done. She was almost frantic with theknowledge that she must play the spy, the eavesdropper, perhaps theDelilah among people who trusted her.
As she was debating what next to do, she heard Monty's voice as itseemed to her fraught with excitement and eager and quick.
"Will you have a cigarette, Dick?" she heard him call. Instantly StevenDenby wheeled about and faced the door through which she appeared tosaunter languidly. Something told her that Monty had discovered her.
"Still talking business?" she said, attempting to appear wholly at ease."I've left my fan somewhere."
"Girls are always doing that, aren't they?" Denby said pleasantly. Therewas no indication from his tone that he suspected she had beenlistening. "We'll have to find it, Monty."
"Sure, Steve, sure," Monty returned. He was not able to cloak hisuneasiness.
"Steve?" the girl queried brightly. "As I came in, I thought I heard youcall him 'Dick.'"
"That was our private signal," Denby returned promptly, relieving poorMonty of an answer.
"That sounds rather mysterious," she commented.
"But it's only commonplace," Denby assured her. "My favorite parlortrick is making breaks--it always has been since Monty first knewme--and invented a signal to warn me when I'm on thin ice or dangerousground. 'Will you have a cigarette, Dick' is the one he most oftenuses."
"But why 'Dick?'" she asked.
"That's the signal," Denby explained. "If he said 'Steve,' I shouldn'tnotice it, so he always says 'Dick,' don't you, Monty?"
"Always, Steve," Monty answered quickly.
"Then you were about to make a break when I came in?" she hinted.
"I'm afraid I was," Denby admitted.
"What was it? Won't you tell me?"
"If I did," he said, "it would indeed be a break."
"Discreet man," she laughed; "I believe you were talking about me."
He did not answer for a moment but looked at her keenly. It hurt him tothink that this girl, of all others, might be fencing with him to gainsome knowledge of his secret. But he had lived a life in which dangerwas a constant element, and women ere this had sought to baffle him andbetray.
He was cautious in his answer.
"You are imaginative," he said, "even about your fan. There doesn't seemto be a trace of it, and I don't think I remember your having one."
"Perhaps
I didn't bring it down," she admitted, "and it may be in myroom after all. May I have that promised cigarette to cheer me on myway?"
"Surely," he replied. Very eagerly she watched him take the pouch fromhis pocket and roll a cigarette.
Her action seemed to set Monty on edge. Suppose Denby by any chancedropped the pouch and the jewels fell out. It seemed to him that she wasdrawing nearer. Suppose she was the one who had been chosen to "workinside" and snatched it from him?
"Miss Cartwright," he said, and noted that she seemed startled at hisvoice, "can't I get your fan for you?"
"No, thanks," she returned, "you'd have to rummage, and that's aprivilege I reserve only for myself."
"Here you are," Denby broke in, handing her the slim white cigarette.
She took it from him with a smile and moistened the edge of the paper asshe had seen men do often enough. "You are an expert," she saidadmiringly.
He said no word but lighted a match and held it for her. She drew abreath of tobacco and half concealed a cough. It was plain to see thatshe was making a struggle to enjoy it, and plainer for the men to notethat she failed.
"What deliciously mild tobacco you smoke," she cried. Suddenly shestretched out her hand for the pouch. "Do let me see."
But Denby did not pass it to her. He looked her straight in the eyes.
"I don't think a look at it would help you much," he said slowly. "Thename is, in case you ever want to get any, 'without fire.'"
"What an odd name," she cried. "Without fire?"
"Yes," he answered. "You see, no smoke without fire." Without anyappearance of haste he put the pouch back in his pocket.
"You don't believe in that old phrase?"
"Not a bit," he told her. "Do you?"
She turned to ascend the stairs to her room.
"No. Do make another break sometime, won't you--Dick?"
"DO MAKE ANOTHER BREAK SOMETIME, WON'T YOU--DICK?" _Page186_.]
"I most probably shall," he retorted, "unless Monty warns me--or you."
She turned back--she was now on the first turn of the staircase. "I'llnever do that. I'd rather like to see you put your foot in it--you seemso very sure of yourself--Steve." She laughed lightly as shedisappeared.
Monty gripped his friend's arm tightly. "Who is that girl?"
"Why, Ethel Cartwright," he rejoined, "a close friend of our hostess.Why ask me?"
"Yes, yes," Monty said impatiently, "but what do you know about her?"
"Nothing except that she's a corker."
"You met her in Paris, didn't you?" Monty was persistent.
"Yes," his friend admitted.
"What was she doing there?"
Denby frowned. "What on earth are you driving at?"
"She was behind that door listening to us or trying to."
"So you thought that, too?" Denby cried quickly.
"Then you do suspect her of being the one they've got to work on theinside?" Monty retorted triumphantly.
"It can't be possible," Denby exclaimed, fighting to retain his faith inher. "You're dead wrong, old man. I won't believe it for a moment."
"Say, Steve," Monty cried, a light breaking in on him, "you're sweet onher."
"It isn't possible, it isn't even probable," said Denby, taking nonotice of his suggestion.
"But the same idea occurred to you as did to me," Monty persisted.
"I know," Denby admitted reluctantly. "I began to be suspicious when shewanted to get hold of the pouch. You saw how mighty interested she wasin it?"
"That's what startled me so," Monty told him. "But how could she know?"
"They've had a tip," Denby said, with an air of certainty, "and if she'sone of 'em, she knows where the necklace was. Wouldn't it be just myrotten luck to have that girl, of all girls I've ever known, mixed up inthis?"
"Old man," Monty said solemnly, "you are in love with her."
Denby looked toward the stairway by which he had seen her go.
"I know I am," he groaned.
"Oughtn't we to find out whether she's the one who's after you or not?"Monty suggested with sound good sense.
"No, we oughtn't," Denby returned. "I won't insult her by trying to trapher."
"Flub-dub," Monty scoffed. "I suspect her, and it's only fair to her toclear her of that suspicion. If she's all right, I shall be darn glad ofit. If she isn't, wouldn't you rather know?"
For the first time since he had met his old school friend in Paris,Monty saw him depressed and anxious. "I don't want to have to fighther," he explained.
"I understand that," Monty went on relentlessly, "but you can't quitnow--you've got to go through with it, not only for your own sake, butin fairness to the Harringtons. It would be a pretty raw deal to givethem to have an expose like that here just because of your refusal tohave her tested."
"I suppose you're right," Denby sighed.
"Of course I am," Monty exclaimed.
"Very well," his friend said, "understand I'm only doing this to provehow absolutely wrong you are."
He would not admit even yet that she was plotting to betray him. Thosememories of Paris were dearer to him than he had allowed himself tobelieve. Monty looked at him commiseratingly. He had never before seenSteven in trouble, and he judged his wound to be deeper than it seemed.
"Sure," he said. "Sure, I know, and I'll be as glad as you to find afterall it's Lambart or one of the other servants. What shall we do?"
Denby pointed to the door from which Miss Cartwright had come. "Go inthere," he commanded, "and keep the rest of the people from coming backhere."
Monty's face fell. "How can I do that?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, recite, make faces, imitate Irving in 'The Bells,' do anything butthreaten to sing, but keep 'em there as you love me."
Obediently Monty made for the door but stopped for a moment beforepassing through it.
"And say, old man," he said a little hurriedly, nervous as most men arewhen they deal with sentiment, "don't take it too hard. Just rememberwhat happened to Samson and Antony and Adam."
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