Rabu, 01 Februari 2017

property auction house northamptonshire

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anthony trent, master criminal by wyndhammartyn chapter i the first step austin the butler gave his evidence in a straightforwardfashion. he was a man slightly below middle height, inclined to portliness, but bore himselfwith the dignity of one who had been likened to an archbishop. although he had been examined by a numberof minor officials, hectored by them, threatened or cajoled as they interpreted their duty,his testimony remained the same. and when he hoped this tedious business was all over,he was brought before inspector mcwalsh and

compelled to begin all over again. it wasmcwalsh’s theory that a man may be startled into telling the truth that will convict him.he had a habit of leaning forward, chin thrust out, great fists clenched, and hurling accusationsat suspects. he disliked austin at sight. the feeling wasnot wholly of national origin. mcwalsh liked witnesses, no less than criminals, to exhibitsome indications of the terrors his name had inspired to the guilty. austin gazed abouthim as though the surroundings were not to his taste. his attitude was one of deferentialboredom. he recognized the inspector as one representing justly constituted authorityto be accepted with respect in everything but a social sense.

inspector mcwalsh permitted himself to makejocose remarks as to austin’s personal appearance. mcwalsh passed for a wit among his inferiors. “at half past twelve on tuesday i came intothe library,” the butler repeated patiently, “and asked mr. warren if he wanted anythingbefore i went to bed.” “what did he say?” demanded the inspector. “that he did not want anything and thati could go to bed.” “and you did?” “naturally,” the butler returned. “what duties have you the last thing beforeretiring?”

“i see that the doors and windows are fastened.” the inspector sneered. the small black eyesset in his heavy red face regarded the smaller man malevolently. “and you did it so damn well that withinan hour or so, ten thousand dollars’ worth of valuables was walked off with by a crook!how do you account for that?” “i don’t try to,” the butler answeredsuavely, “that’s for you gentlemen of the police. i have my duties and i attendto them as my testimonials show. i don’t presume to give you advice but i should sayit was because the crook was cleverer than your men.”

“don’t get funny,” snapped mcwalsh.he had on the table before him austin’s modest life history which consisted mainlyin terms of service to wealthy families in england and the united states. these provedhim to be efficient and trustworthy. “i want answers to my questions and not commentsfrom you.” austin’s manner nettled him. it was thatslightly superior air, the servants’ mark of contempt. and never before had the inspectorbeen referred to as “a gentleman of the police;” he suspected a slight. “let’s get this thing straight,” hewent on. “you went to bed when your services were no longer required. your employer saidto you, ‘you can go to bed, austin, i don’t

want anything,’ so you locked up and retired.you didn’t know anything about the burglary until half past six o’clock on wednesdaymorning—this morning—— you aroused your employer who sent for the police. that’scorrect?” “absolutely,” austin returned. he was,plainly, not much interested. “and you still stick to it that mr. warrenmade that remark?” austin looked at the inspector quickly. hisbored manner was gone. “yes,” he said deliberately. “to thebest of my knowledge those were his words. i may have made a mistake in the phrasingbut that is what he meant.” “what’s the good of your coming here andlying to me?” the inspector spoke in an

aggrieved tone. “i was brought here against my will,”austin reminded him, “and i have not lied, although your manner has been most offensive.you see, sir, i’m accustomed to gentlefolk.” mcwalsh motioned him to be silent. “that’ll do,” he commanded, “i’mnot interested in what you think. now answer this carefully. what clothes was mr. warrenwearing?” “evening dress,” said the butler, “buta claret-colored velvet smoking jacket instead of a black coat.” “how was he looking?”

“do you mean in what direction?” “you know i don’t. i mean was he lookingas usual? was there anything unusual in his look?” “nothing that i noticed,” austin toldhim, “but then his back was to me so i am not competent to judge.” “when you speak to any one don’t you goup and look ’em in the face like a man same as i’m talking and looking at you?” austin permitted himself to smile. “do you suggest i should look at mr. warrenas you are looking at me? pardon me, sir,

but i should lose my place if i did.” mcwalsh flushed a darker red. “why didn’t you look at him in your ownway then?” “it’s very clear,” austin answered withdignity, “that you know very little of the ways of an establishment like ours. i stoodat the door as i usually do, asked a question i have done hundreds of times and receivedthe same answer i do as a rule. if i’d known i was to have to answer all these questionsi might have recollected more about it.” “what was mr. warren doing?” “reading a paper and smoking.”

“he was alone?” “yes.” “and all the other servants had gone tobed?” “you heard no unusual sounds that night?” “if i had i should have investigated them.” “no doubt,” sneered the other, “youlook like a man who would enjoy running into a crook with a gun.” “i should not enjoy it,” austin returnedseriously. inspector mcwalsh beckoned to one of his inferiors.

“keep this man outside till i send for himand see he don’t speak to his boss who’s waiting. send mr. warren right in.” conington warren, one of the most popularmen in society, member of the desirable clubs, millionaire owner of thoroughbreds, came brisklyin. he was now about fifty, handsome still, but his florid face was marked by the convivialyears. inspector mcwalsh had long followed the warren colors famous on the big race courses.his manner showed his respect for the owner of his favorite stable. “i asked you to come here,” he began,“because you told my secretary over the phone that you had some new light on thisburglary. so far it seems just an ordinary

case without any unusual angles.” “it’s not as ordinary as you think,”said conington warren. he offered mcwalsh one of his famous cigars. “incidentallyit does not show me up very favorably as i’m bound to admit.” mcwalsh regarded his cigar reverently. warrensmoked nothing but these superb things. what a man! what a man! “i can’t believe that, mr. warren,”he returned. “are you interested in the thoroughbreds,mcwalsh?” “am i?” cried the other enthusiastically.“why when i couldn’t spend a few hours

at old sheepshead bay i nearly resigned. why,mr. warren, i made enough on conington when he won the brooklyn handicap to pay the mortgageoff on my home!” “then you’ll understand,” the sportsmansaid graciously. “it’s like this. last year i bought a number of yearlings at thenewmarket sales in england. there’s one of them—a chestnut colt named saint beau—whodid a most remarkable trial a day or two since. in confidence, inspector, it was better thanconington’s best. make a note of that but keep it under your hat.” “i surely will, sir,” cried the ecstaticmcwalsh. “when i heard the time of the trial i gavea little dinner to a number of good pals at

voisin’s.” the names he mentioned were all of them prominentlyknown in the fashionable world of sport. “we had more champagne than was good forus and when the dinner was over we all went to reggie camplyn’s rooms where he inventedthe saint beau cocktail. i give you my word, inspector, the thing has a thoro’bred kickto it. it’s one of those damned insidious cocktails wrapped up in cream to make youthink it’s innocent. after i’d had a few i said to camplyn, ‘you’ve made me whati am to-night; i insist on sleeping here.” “but you didn’t!” cried mcwalsh. “until four in the morning. the saint beaucocktail made me so ill at four that i got

up and walked down to my house.” “what time did you get there?” “exactly at five. i felt the need of thecool air, so i took a long walk first.” “then at half past twelve you were at——” “voisin’s as a score of people can prove.i had a table in the balcony and saw all the people i ever knew it seemed to me.” “but this morning you told the officerswho made an investigation of the robbery a totally different story. you corroboratedyour butler’s evidence that you were at home at half past twelve and told him to goto bed because you didn’t want anything

else. how do you account for that?” the inspector was troubled. his only consolationwas that he would have another session soon with the supercilious austin. he licked hislips at the thought. but he did not wish to involve the horseman in any difficulties ifhe could avoid it. conington warren laughed easily. “you know how it is, inspector. you canunderstand that sometimes a man suddenly waked out of heavy sleep can forget what happenedthe night before for the time being. that’s what happened with me. i clean forgot thedinner, camplyn’s saint beau cocktail, everything. i only knew i had the devil of a head. i alwaysrely on austin.”

“when did you remember?” mcwalsh demanded. “when camplyn came in to see me and askfor the ingredients of the cocktail which he claims i invented. then i recollected everythingand telephoned to you.” “i knew that damned fellow was lying,”mcwalsh cried. “he thought he was clever. he’ll find out just how smart he is! tellme, mr. warren, what did he want to put up that fiction for?” warren put a hot hand to a head which stillached. “i can’t imagine,” he answered. “i’venever found him out in a lie yet. he’s too damn conceited to descend to one. i don’tthink you should suspect austin.”

“i’m sorry, mr. warren, but i’ve gotto. he lied to you and he lied to me and—ten thousand dollars’ worth of stuff was stolen.he’s in the outer room now. i’ll have him brought in.” austin entered with his precise and measuredtread and bowed with respectful affection to his employer. he liked conington warrenbetter than any american with whom he had taken service. the hearty, horse-loving typewas one which appealed to austin. he had several times been obliged to throw up lucrative jobsbecause employers persisted in treating him as an equal. “this is a bad mix-up,” his master began.“the inspector seems to think you have been

deceiving him.” “he has and he knows it,” cried mcwalsh. “he’s inclined to be hasty, sir,” saidaustin tolerantly. “see here,” snapped the inspector, “yousay you found mr. warren in his library at half past twelve. did you hear him enter thehouse?” “no,” the butler returned, “he has hiskey.” “the thing we want to clear up,” interruptedmr. warren in a kindly tone, “is simply this. what did i say to you when you spoketo me?” austin looked uncomfortable.

“it was a gesture, sir, rather than a word.you waved your arm and i knew what you meant.” “you are one prize liar!” roared the inspector.“you said something quite different when i asked you.” “i don’t see that it matters much,”austin returned acidly. “on monday night mr. warren may have said for me to go to bed.on tuesday he may have waved his hand impatient like. on wednesday he may have asked for cigarsor the evening papers. i remember only that on this occasion i was not asked for anything.”he turned to his employer, “i should like to remind you, sir, that we are giving a dinnerparty to-night and i ought to be seeing after it now. can i go, sir?”

“you cannot,” cried inspector mcwalsh,“you’re under arrest!” “i told you he was hasty, sir,” said austinwithout emotion. “what for may i ask?” “let me answer him please, inspector,”begged conington warren. “you told the police that you saw me sitting in my library. areyou prepared to swear to that, austin?” “certainly, sir,” said the man. “youwere in the big turkish rocker, smoking one of the cigars you are smoking now and readingthe sporting times.” “i’d give a thousand dollars to know whothat was!” warren commented. “it wasn’t i at all. i was dining at voisin’s at thathour.” for the first time austin was acutely disturbed.

“i don’t understand,” he stammered.“it looked like you, sir, it did indeed.” “and if you’d only gone up like a manand looked in his face you’d have seen the burglar,” mcwalsh said scowling. austin looked at the speaker coldly. “it is not my business to suspect my employerof being a crook. if it’s crime to be deceived then i’m guilty. i admit i didn’t lookvery closely. i was sleepy and wanting to get to bed, but i did notice that whoeverit was wore a claret colored velvet smoking jacket.” “i’ve a list here,” said mcwalsh, “givenmy men by the footman of the people who called

at mr. warren’s house yesterday. look itover and see if you can supplement it.” “there was one other visitor,” austinsaid slowly, “an intimate friend of mr. warren’s, but i don’t know his name. ididn’t admit him.” “that’s curious,” said his employer.“i thought you knew every one who was intimate enough to come to my home. what was he like?” “i didn’t see him full face,” the otheradmitted, “but he was tall, about your height, but dark in coloring with a rather large nose.it struck me he was a trifle in liquor if i may say so.” “i don’t remember any one like that,”warren asserted.

“the gentleman,” said austin anxious toestablish his point, “who bet you ten thousand dollars that his filly could beat your saintbeau at five furlongs.” “this is all damned nonsense,” returnedconington warren a little crossly, “i’m in possession of my full senses now at allevents. i made no such wager.” “i told you he was a crook, mr. warren,”cried mcwalsh gleefully. “see what he’s trying to put over on you now!” “surely, sir,” said the butler anxiously,“you remember asking a gentleman to come into your dressing room?” “you’re crazy,” his master declared,“i asked nobody. why should i?”

“he was standing just inside the room asi passed by. he was very merry. he was calling you ‘connie’ like only your very intimatefriends do.” “and what was i saying?” warren returned,impressed with the earnestness of one in whom he believed. “i didn’t listen, sir,” the butler answered.“i was just passing along the hall.” “did you hear mr. warren’s voice?” mcwalshdemanded suddenly. austin reflected. “i wouldn’t swear to it,” he decided. “what time was it?” warren asked.

“a little after ten,” said austin. “i left the house at eight, so you are notlikely to have heard me. i was at voisin’s from half past eight until nearly one. whendid you first see this supposed friend?” “i was going up the main stairway as hewas about to come down toward me. almost directly i saw him—and i didn’t at the time thinkhe saw me—he turned back as if you had called him from your room. he said, ‘what is it,connie?’ then he walked down the corridor and stood half way in your room talking toyou as i supposed. he looked like a gentleman who might belong to your clubs, sir, and spokelike one. what was i to think?” “i’m not blaming you,” said coningtonwarren. “i’m as puzzled as you are. didn’t

yogotama see him when he went to my room toget my smoking jacket which you say he wore? what was yogotama doing to allow that sortof thing?” “you forget, sir,” explained austin, “thatyogotama wasn’t there.” “why wasn’t he?” “directly he got your note he went off tothe camp.” “this gets worse and worse,” warren asserted.“i sent him no note.” “he got one in your writing apparently writtenon the stationery of the knickerbocker club. i saw it. you told him to go instantly toyour camp and prepare it for immediate occupancy. he was to take evans and one of the touringcars. he got the note about half past eight.”

“just after you’d left the house,” mcwalshcommented. “it didn’t take yogotama a half hour toprepare,” added austin. “what do you make of it, inspector?” warrendemanded. “a clever crook, that’s all,” said theother, “but he can’t pull anything like that in this town and get away with it.” austin made a polite gesture implying doubt.it incensed the official. “you don’t think so, eh?” “not from what i’ve seen of your methods.i’ve no doubt you can deal with the common ruck of criminals, but this man is different.it may be easy enough for a man to deceive

you people by pretending to be a gentlemanbut we can see through them. frankly,” said austin growing bolder, “i don’t thinkyou gentlemen of the police have the native wit for the higher kind of work.” warren looked from one to the other of them.this was a new and rebellious austin, a man chafing under a personal grievance, a belligerentbutler. “you mustn’t speak like that to inspectormcwalsh,” he commanded. “he is doing his duty.” “that may be sir,” austin remarked, “buthow would you like to be called ‘little lancelot from lunnon’?”

“you look it,” mcwalsh said roughly. “anywayi’ve no time to argue with house servants. what you’ve got to do is to look throughour collection of pictures and see if you can identify any of ’em with the man yousay you saw.” austin surveyed the faces with open aversion. “he’s not here,” said austin decisively.“he was not this criminal type at all. i tell you i mistook him for a member of mr.warren’s clubs, the kind of gentleman who dines at the house. these,” and he pointedderisively to the pillories of crime. “you wouldn’t be likely to see any of these atour house. they are just common.” mcwalsh sneered.

“i see. look more like policemen i suppose?” austin smiled blandly. “the very thing that was in my mind.”chapter ii anthony trent talks on crime anthony trentwas working his typewriter attop speed when there came a sudden, peremptory knocking at his door. “lord!” he grumbled, rising, “it mustbe old lund to say i’m keeping him awake.” he threw open his door to find a small, cholericand elderly man clad in a faded dressing gown. it was a man with a just grievance and a desireto express it.

“this is no time to hammer on your typewriter,”said mr. lund fiercely. “this is a boarding house and not a private residence. do yourealize that you generally begin work at midnight?” “come in,” said anthony trent genially.with friendly force he dragged the smaller man along and placed him in a morris chair.“come in and give me your opinion of the kind of cigar smoked by the president of thepublishing house for whose magazines i work noisily at midnight.” mr. lund found himself a few seconds latersitting by an open window, an excellent cigar between his teeth, and the lights of new yorkspread before him. and he found his petulance vanishing. he wondered why it was that althoughhe had before this come raging to anthony

trent’s door, he always suffered himselfto be talked out of his ill humors. it was something magnetic and engaging that surroundedthis young writer of short stories. “i can’t smoke a cigar when i’m working,”said trent, lighting a pipe. “surely,” said mr. lund, not willing sosoon to be robbed of his grievance, “you choose the wrong hours to work. mrs. clarkesays you hardly ever touch your typewriter till late.” “that’s because you don’t appreciatethe kind of story i write,” anthony trent told him. “if i wrote the conventional storyof love or matrimony i could work so many hours a day and begin at nine like any businessman. but i don’t. i begin to write just

when the world i write of begins to live.my men and women are waking into life now, just when the other folks are climbing intotheir suburban beds.” “i understood you wrote detective stories,”mr. lund remarked. his grievances were vanishing. his opinion of the president of trent’smagazine was a high one. “crook stories,” anthony trent confided.“not the professional doings of thoughtless thugs. they don’t interest me a tinker’scurse. i like subtlety in crime. i could take you now into the great restaurants on broadwayor fifth avenue and point out to you some of the kings of crime—men who are cleverenough to protect themselves from the police. men who play the game as a good chess playerdoes against a poorer one, with the certainty

of being a move ahead.” mr. lund conjured up a vision of such a restaurantpeopled by such a festive crowd. he felt in that moment that an early manhood spent insomerville had perhaps robbed him of a chance to live. “they all get caught sooner or later,”asserted the little man in the morris chair. “because they get careless or because theytrust another. if you want to be a successful crook, mr. lund, you’ll have to map outyour plan of life as carefully as an athlete trains for a specific event. now if you wentin for crime you’d have to examine your weaknesses.”

“thank you,” said mr. lund a little huffily,“i am not going in for a life of crime. i am perfectly content with my own line.”this, with unconscious sarcasm for mr. lund, pursued what he always told the borders was“the advertising.” “there are degrees in crime i admit,”said anthony trent, “but i am perfectly serious in what i say. the ordinary crookhas a low mental capacity. he generally gets caught in the end as all such clumsy assesshould. the really big man in crime often gets caught because he is not aware of hisweaknesses. drink often brings out an incautious boasting side of a man. if you are going infor crime, mr. lund, cut out drink i beg of you.”

“i do not need your advice,” mr. lundreturned with some dignity. “i have tasted rum once only in my life.” trent looked at him interested. “it would probably make you want to fight,”he said. “i don’t care to think of it,” saidmr. lund. “and the curious part of it is,” musedtrent, “that in the sort of crowd these high class crooks mix with it is most unusualnot to drink, and the man who doesn’t is almost always under suspicion. the great thingis to be able to take your share and stop before the danger mark is reached. did youever hear of captain despard?”

“i think not,” lund answered. “a boyhood idol of mine,” anthony trentadmitted. “one of the few gentleman crooks. most of the so-called gentlemen criminalshave been anything but gentlemen born. despard was. i was in devonshire on my last trip tothe other side and i made a pilgrimage to the place where he was born. funny to thinkthat a man brought up in one of the ‘stately homes of england, how beautiful they stand,’should come to what he was.” “woman, i suppose,” said lund, as oneman of the world to another. “not in the beginning,” anthony trentanswered. “he was a cavalry officer in india—kipling type you know—and had a craze for preciousstones. began to collect them honestly enough

and found his pay and private fortune insufficient.he got kicked out of his regiment anyway and went to cape town. one night a very largediamond was stolen from a bedroom of the mount nelson hotel and he was suspected. they couldn’tprove anything, but he came over here to new york and sold it, under another name, andwith a different history, to one of the pierpoints. the trouble with captain despard was thathe used to drink heavily when he had pulled a big thing off. while he was planning a couphe was temperate and he never touched a drop while he was working.” “started to boast, i suppose?” lund suggested. “no,” said anthony trent. “not thatsort at all. he lived at a pretty fair sort

of club here in the forties and was well enoughliked until the drink was in him. it was then that he began to think of his former modeof life and the kind he was now living. he used to think the other members were tryingto slight him or avoid him. he laboriously picked quarrels with some of them. he beatup one of them in a fist fight in the club billiard room. this fellow brooded over hislicking for a long time and then with another man, also inflamed with cocktails, went upto despard’s room to beat him up. despard was out, so they broke his furniture. theyfound that the legs of chairs and tables had been hollowed so as to conceal what despardstole. it was in one of the chairs that they found the crediton pearls which had been missingfor a year. they waited for him and he was

sent to sing sing but escaped. he shot a manlater in denver and was executed. he might have been living comfortably but for gettingsuspicious when he had been drinking.” “you must have studied this thing deeply,”lund commented. “i have,” anthony trent admitted; “iknow the histories of most of the great criminals and their crimes. the police do too, but iknow more than they. i make a study of the man as well as his crime. i find vanity atthe root of many failures.” “cherchez la femme,” mr. lund insisted. “not that sort of vanity,” anthony trentcorrected. “i mean the sheer love to boast about one’s abilities when other men areboasting of theirs. there was a man called

paul vierick, by profession a second storyman. he was short, stout and a great consumer of beer and in his idle hours fond of bowling.he was staying in stony creek, connecticut, one summer, when a tennis ball was hit uphigh and lodged in a gutter pipe on the roof. vierick told the young man who had hit itthere how to get it. it was so dangerous looking a climb that the lad refused. some of theguests suggested in fun that vierick should try. they made him mad. he thought they werelaughing at his two hundred pound look. they were not to know that a more expert porchclimber didn’t exist than this man who had been a professional trapeze man in a circus.they say he ran up the side of that house like a monkey. directly he had done it andpeople began talking he knew he’d been unwise.

he had been posing as a retired dentist andhere he was running up walls like the count in dracula. he moved away and presently deniedthe story so vehemently that an intelligent young lawyer investigated him and he is nowup the river.” “that’s an interesting study,” mr. lundcommented. he was thoroughly taken up with the subject. “do you know any more instanceslike that?” “i know hundreds,” anthony trent returnedsmiling. “i could keep on all night. your town of somerville produced blodgett the strangler.you must have heard of him?” “i was at school with him,” lund saidalmost excitedly. it was a secret he had buried in his breast for years. now it seemed toadmit him to something of a kinship with anthony

trent. “he was always chasing after women.” “that wasn’t the thing which got him.it was the desire to set right a harvard professor of anatomy on the subject of strangulation.blodgett had his own theories. you may remember he strangled his stepfather when he was onlyfifteen.” “he nearly strangled me once,” mr. lundexclaimed. “he would have done if i hadn’t had sufficient presence of mind to bite himin the thumb.” “good for you,” said the other heartily.“you’ll find the history of crime is full of the little mistakes that take the cleverestof them to the chair. and yet,” he mused, “it’s a great life. one man pitting hiscourage and knowledge against all the forces

organized by society to stamp him out. you’vegot to be above the average in almost every quality to succeed if you work alone.” mr. lund felt a trifle uncomfortable. thebright laughing face that had been anthony trent to him had given place to a sternercast of countenance. the new trent reminded him of a hawk. there was suddenly broughtto the rather timid and elderly man the impression of ruthless strength and tireless energy.he had been a score of times in anthony trent’s room and had always found him amusing andlight hearted. never until to-night had they touched upon crime. the new york over whichmr. lund gazed from the seat by the window no longer seemed a friendly city. crime andviolence lurked in its every corner, he reflected.

mr. lund was annoyed with himself for feelingnervous. to brace up his courage he reverted to his former grievance. the sustaining cigarhad long ceased to give comfort. “i must protest at being waked up nightafter night by your typewriting machine. everybody seems to be in bed and asleep but you. i musthave my eight hours, mr. trent.” anthony trent came to his side. “everybody asleep?” he gibed. “why,man, the shadows are alive if you’ll only look into them. and as to the night, it isnever quiet. a myriad strange sounds are blended into this stillness you call night.” hisvoice sank to a whisper and he took the discomfited lund’s arm. “can you see a woman standingthere in the shadow of that tree?”

“it might be a woman,” lund admitted guardedly. “it is,” he was told; “she followednot ten yards behind you as you came from the el. she’s been waiting for a man andhe ought to be by in a few minutes now. she’s known in every rogues’ gallery in the world.scotland yard knows her as gipsey lee, and if ever a woman deserved the chair she does.” “not murder?” lund hazarded timidly. heshivered. “it’s a little cold by the window.” “don’t move,” anthony commanded. “youmay see a tragedy unroll itself before your eyes in a little while. she’s waiting fora banker named pereira who looted costa rica. he’s a big, heavy man.”

“he’s coming now,” lund whispered. “idon’t like this at all, mr. trent.” “he won’t either,” muttered the other. unable to move mr. lund watched a tall mancome toward the shadows which hid gipsey lee. “we ought to warn him,” mr. lund protested. “not on your life,” he was told. “thistime it is punishment, not murder. she saved his life and he deserted her. pereira’spretending to be drunk. i wonder why. he dare not touch a drop because he has bright’sdisease in the last stages.” a minute later mr. lund, indignant and commandingas his inches permitted, was shaking an angry finger at his host.

“you’ve no right to frighten me,” heexclaimed, “with your gipsey lee and pereira when it was only poor mrs. clarke waitingfor that drunken scamp of a husband who spends all he earns at the corner saloon.” heavy steps passed along the passage. it wasclarke making his bedward way to his wife’s verbal accompaniment. “you ought to be pleased to get a thrilllike that for nothing,” said anthony trent laughing. “i’d pay good money for it.” “i don’t like it,” mr. lund insisted.“i thought you meant it.” “i did,” the other asserted, “for themoment. new york is full of such stories and

if they don’t happen in this street theyhappen in another. they always happen after midnight and i’ve got to put them down onthe old machine. somewhere a gipsey lee is waiting for a defaulting south american bankeror a captain despard is planning to get a priceless stone, or a humbler vierick plottingto climb into an inviting window, or some one like your boyhood chum blodgett planningto get his hands around some one’s throat.” anthony trent leaned from the window and breathedin the soft night air. “it’s a great old city,” he said, halfaffectionately, “and i make my living by letting my hook down into the night and drawingup a mystery. you mustn’t mind if i sometimes rattle the old royal when better folks areasleep.”

“if you’ll take the advice of an olderman,” said mr. lund with an air of firmness, “you’ll let crook stories alone and choosesomething a little healthier. your mind is full of them.” still a little outraged mr. lund bowed himselffrom the room. anthony trent fed his ancient briar and took the seat by the window. “i wonder if he’s right,” mused anthonytrent. chapter iii the day of temptation the dawn had long passed and the milkmen hadawakened their unwilling clients two hours

agone before anthony trent finished his story.he was not a quick worker. his was a mind that labored heavily unless the details ofhis work were accurate. this time he was satisfied. it was a good story and the editor for whomhe was doing a series would be pleased. he might even increase his rates. crosbeigh, the editor of the magazine whichsought anthony trent’s crook stories, was an amiable being who had won a reputationfor profundity by reason of eloquent silences. he would have done well in any line of workwhere originality was not desired. he knew, from what his circulation manager told him,that trent’s stories made circulation and he liked the writer apart from his work. perhapsbecause he was not a disappointed author he

was free from certain editorial prejudices. “sit down,” he cried cordially, when anthonytrent was shown in. “take a cigarette and i’ll read this right away.” crosbeighwas a nervous man who battled daily with subway crowds and was apt to be irritable. “it’s great,” he said when he had finishedit, “great! doyle, hornung, well—there you are!” it was one of his moments of silenteloquence. the listener might have inferred anything. “but they are paid real money,” repliedanthony trent gloomily. “you get two cents a word,” crosbeighreminded him, “you haven’t a wife and

children to support.” “i’d be a gay little adventurer to tryit on what i make at writing,” trent told him. “it takes me almost a month to writeone of those yarns and i get a hundred and fifty each.” “you are a slow worker,” his editor declared. “i have to be,” he retorted. “if i werewriting love slush and pretty heroine stuff it would be different. do you know, crosbeigh,there isn’t a thing in these stories of mine that is impossible? i take the most particularcare that my details are correct. when i began i didn’t know anything about burglar alarms.what did i do? i got a job in the shop that

makes the best known one. i’m worth morethan two cents a word!” “that’s our maximum,” crosbeigh asserted.“these are not good days for the magazine business. shot to pieces. if i said what iknew. if you knew what i got and how much i had to do with it!” anthony trent looked at him critically. hesaw a very carefully dressed crosbeigh to-day, a man whose trousers were pressed, whose shoeswere shined, who exuded prosperity. never had he seen him so apparently affluent. “come into money?” he enquired. “whencethe prosperity? whose wardrobe have you robbed?” “these are my own clothes,” returned crosbeighwith dignity, “at least leave me my clothes.”

“sure,” said trent amiably, “if i took’em you’d be arrested. but tell me why this sartorial display. are you going to bephotographed for the ‘great editors’ series?” “i’m lunching with an old friend,” crosbeighanswered, “a man of affairs, a man of millions, a man about whom i could say many things.” “say them,” his contributor demanded,“let me in on a man for whom you have arrayed yourself in all your glory. who is your friend?is she pretty? i don’t believe it’s a man at all.” “it’s a man i know and respect,” hesaid, a trifle nettled at the comments his apparel had drawn. “it’s the man who takesme every year to the yale-harvard boat race.”

“your annual jag party? he’s no fit companyfor a respectable editor.” “it is college spirit,” crosbeigh explained. “you can call it by any name but it’stoo strong for you. what is the name of your honored friend?” “conington warren,” crosbeigh said proudly. “that’s the millionaire sportsman withthe stable of steeple-chasers, isn’t it?” trent demanded. “he wins all the big races,” crosbeighelaborated. “he’s enormously rich, splendidly generous,has everything. only one thing—drink.”

crosbeigh fell into silence. “you’ve led him astray you mean?” thespectacle of the sober editor consorting with reckless bloods of the conington warren typeamused trent. “same year at college,” crosbeigh explained,“and he has always been friendly. god knows why,” the editor said gloomily. the differencein their lot seemed suddenly to appal him. “there must be something unsuspectedly badin your make-up,” trent declared, “which attracts him to you. it can’t be he wantsto sell you a story.” “there are all sorts of rumors about him,”crosbeigh went on meditatively, “started by his wife’s people, i believe. he waswild. sometimes he has hinted at it. i know

him well enough to call him ‘connie’ andgo up to his dressing-room sometimes. that’s a mark of intimacy. my lord, trent, but itmakes me envious to see with what luxury the rich can live. he has a japanese valet andmasseur, togoyama, and an imported butler who looks like a bishop. they know him athis worst and worship him. he’s magnetic, that’s what connie is, magnetic. have youever thought what having a million a year means?” “ye gods,” groaned trent, “don’t youread my lamentations in every story you buy from me at bargain rates?” “and a shooting box in scotland which heuses two weeks a year in the grouse season.

a great tudor residence in devonshire overlookingexmoor, a town house in park lane which is london’s fifth avenue! and you know whathe’s got here in his own country. can you imagine it?” “not on forty dollars a week,” said anthonytrent gloomily. “you’d make more if you were the heroof your own stories,” crosbeigh told him. anthony trent turned on him quickly, “whatdo you mean?” “why this crook you are making famous getsaway with enough plunder to live as well as conington warren.” “ah, but that’s in a story,” returnedthe author.

“then you mean they aren’t as exact andpossible as you’ve been telling me?” “they are what i said they were,” theirauthor declared. “they could be worked out, with ordinary luck, by any man with an activebody, good education and address. the typical thick-witted criminal wouldn’t have a chance.” it was a curious thing, thought anthony trent,that crosbeigh should mention the very thing that had been running in his mind for weeks.to live in such an elaborate manner as conington warren was not his ambition. the squanderingof large sums of money on stage favorites of the moment was not to his taste; but hewanted certainly more than he was earning. trent had a passion for fishing, golf andmusic. not the fishing that may be indulged

in on sunday and week-day on fishing steamers,making excursions to the banks where one may lose an ear on another angler’s far flunghook, but the fly fishing where the gallant trout has a chance to escape, the highesttype of fishing that may appeal to man. and his ambitions to lower his golf handicapuntil it should be scratch could not well be accomplished by his weekly visit to vancortlandt park. he wished to be able to join garden city or baltusrol and play a rounda day in fast company. and this could not be accomplished on what he was making. and as to music, he longed to compose an opera.it was a laudable ambition and would commence, he told himself, with a grand piano. he hadonly a hard-mouthed hired upright so far.

sometimes he had seen himself in the rã´leof his hero amply able to indulge himself in his moderate ambitions. it was of thishe had been thinking when mr. lund came to his room. and now the very editor for whomhe had created his characters was making the suggestion. “i was only joking,” crosbeigh assuredhim. “it is not a good thing to joke about,”anthony trent answered, “and an honest man at forty a week is better than an outlaw withfour hundred.” he made this remark to set his thoughts inless dangerous channels, but it sounded dreadfully hollow and false. he half expected that crosbeighwould laugh aloud at such a hackneyed sentiment,

but crosbeigh looked grave and earnest. “verytrue,” he answered. “a man couldn’t think of it.” “and why not?” anthony trent demanded;“would the fictional character i created do as much harm to humanity as some cottonmill owner who enslaved little children and gave millions to charity?” a telephone call relieved crosbeigh of theneed to answer. trent swept into his brief case the carbon copy of his story which hehad brought by mistake. “where are you going?” the editor demanded. “van cortlandt,” the contributor answered;“i’m going to try and get my drive back.

i’ve been slicing for a month.” “conington warren has a private eighteen-holecourse on his long island place,” crosbeigh said with pride. “i’ve been invited toplay.” “you’re bent on driving me to a life ofcrime,” trent exclaimed frowning. “an eighteen-hole private course while i struggleto get a permit for a public one!” but anthony trent did not play golf that afternoonat van cortlandt park. as a matter of fact he never again invaded that popular fieldof play. outside crosbeigh’s office he was hailedby an old dartmouth chum, one horace weems. “just in time for lunch,” said weems wringinghis hand. weems had always admired anthony

trent and had it been possible would haveremodeled himself physically and mentally in the form of another trent. weems was short,blond and perspired profusely. “hello, tubby,” said trent without muchcordiality, “you look as though the world had been treating you right.” “it has,” said weems happily. “steelwent to a hundred and twelve last week and it carried me up with it.” weems had been, as trent remembered, a bondsalesman. weems could sell anything. he had an ingratiating manner and a disability toperceive snubs or insults when intent on making sales. he had paid his way through collegeby selling books. trent had been a frequent

victim. “what do you want to sell me this time?”he demanded. “nothing,” weems retorted, “i’m goingto buy you the best little lunch that manhattan has to offer. anywhere you say and anythingyou like to eat and drink.” weems stopped a cruising taxi. “hop in, old scout, andtell the pirate where to go.” trent directed the man to one of the threefamous and more or less exclusive restaurants new york possesses. “i hope you have the price,” he commented,“otherwise i shall have to cash a check i’ve just received for a story.”

“keep your old check,” jeered weems, “i’mfull of money. why, boy, i own an estate and have a twelve-cylinder car of my own.” over the luncheon horace weems babbled cheerfully.he had made over three hundred thousand dollars and was on his way to millionairedom. “you ought to see my place up in maine,”he said presently. “maine?” queried his guest. it was inmaine that anthony trent, were he fortunate enough, would one day erect a camp. “where?” “on kennebago lake,” weems told him andstopped when an expression of pain crossed the other’s face. “what’s the matter?that sauce wrong?”

“just sheer envy,” trent admitted, “you’vegot what i want. i know every camp on the lake. which is it?” “the stanley place,” said weems. “thefinest camp on the whole lake. i bought it furnished and it’s some furniture believeme. there’s a grand piano—that would please you—and pictures that are worth thousands,one of ’em by some one named constable. ever hear of him?” “yes,” trent grunted, “i have. fancyyou with a constable and a grand piano when you don’t know one school of painting fromanother and think the phonograph the only instrument worth listening to!”

“i earned it,” weems said, a little huffily.“why don’t you make money instead of getting mad because i do?” “because i haven’t your ability, i suppose,”trent admitted. “it’s a gift and the gods forgot me.” “some of the boys used to look down on me,”said weems, “but all i ask is ‘where is little horace to-day?’ this money makinggame is the only thing that counts, believe me. up in hanover i wasn’t one, two, three,compared with you. your father was well off and mine hadn’t a nickel. you graduatedmagna cum laude and i had to work like a horse to slide by. you were popular because youmade the football team and could sing and

play.” weems paused reflectively, “i neverdid hear any one who could mimic like you. you should have taken it up and gone intovaudeville. how much do you make a week?” “forty—with luck.” “i give that to my chauffeur and i’m notrich yet. but i shall be. i’m out to be as rich as that fellow over there.” he pointed to a rather high colored extremelywell dressed man about town to whom the waiters were paying extreme deference. “that’s conington warren,” weems saidwith admiration in his voice, “he’s worth a million per annum.”

anthony trent turned to look at him. therewas no doubt that conington warren was a personage. just now he was engaged in an argument withthe head waiter concerning chã¢teau y’quem. trent noticed his gesture of dismissal whenhe had finished. it was an imperious wave of his hand. it was his final remark as itwere. “some spender,” weems commented. “who’sthe funny old dodger with him? some other millionaire i suppose.” “i’ll tell him that next time i see him,”laughed trent beholding crosbeigh, crosbeigh who looked wise where vintages were discussedand knew not one from another. a well-dressed man paused at warren’s side and weems, alwaysanxious to acquire information, begged his

guest to be silent. “did you get that?” he asked when theman had moved away. “i don’t make it a habit to listen toprivate conversations,” trent returned stiffly. “well i do,” said weems unabashed. “ifi hadn’t i shouldn’t have got in on this steel stuff. i’m a great little listener.that fellow who spoke is reginald camplyn, the man who drives a coach and four and winsblue ribbons at the horse show. warren asked him to a dinner here to-morrow night at halfpast eight in honor of some horse who’s done a fast trial.” weems made an entryin his engagement book. “are you going, too?” trent demanded.

“i’m putting down the plug’s name,”said weems, “sambo,” he said. “that’s no name for a thoroughbred. say couldn’tyou introduce me?” “i don’t know him,” trent asserted. “you know the man with him. that’s enoughfor me. if you do it right the other fellow’s bound to introduce you. then you beckon meover and we’ll all sit down together.” “that isn’t my way of doing things,”replied trent with a frown. weems made a gesture of despair and resignation. “that’s why you’ll always be poor. that’swhy you’ll never have a grand piano and a constable and a swell place up in maine.”

anthony trent looked at him and smiled. “there may be other ways,” he said slowly. “you try ’em,” weems retorted crossly.“here you are almost thirty years old, highly educated, prep school and college and youmake a week what i give my chauffeur.” “i think i will,” trent answered. weems attacked his salad angrily. if onlytrent had been what he termed aggressive, an introduction could easily have been effected.then weems would have seen to it that he and warren left the restaurant together. someone would be bound to see them. then, for weems had an expansive fancy, it would berumored that he, horace weems, who cleaned

up on steel, was friendly with the great coningtonwarren. it might lead to anything! “well,” he commented, “i’d ratherbe little horace weems, who can’t tell a phonograph from a grand piano than mr. anthonytrent, who makes with luck two thousand a year.” “i’m in bad company to-day,” repliedtrent. “first crosbeigh and now you tempting me. you know very well i haven’t that magicmoney making ability you have. my father hadn’t it or he would have left money when he diedand not debts.” “magic!” weems snorted. “common sense,that’s what it is.” “it’s magic,” the other insisted, “asa boy you exchanged a jack knife for a fishing

pole and the fishing pole for a camera andthe camera for a phonograph and the phonograph for a canoe and the canoe for a sailing boatand so on till you’ve got your place in maine and a chauffeur who makes more thani do! magic’s the only name for it.” “you must come up and see me in maine,”weems said, later. “make your mind easy,” trent assured him,“i will.” chapter iv beginning the game when he left weems, it was too late to starta round of golf so trent took his homeward way intent on starting another story. crosbeighwas always urging him to turn out more of

them. his boarding house room seemed shabbier thanever. the rug, which had never been a good one, showed its age. the steel engravingson the wall were offensive. “and weems,” he thought, “owns a constable!” his upright piano sounded thinner to his touch.“and weems,” he sighed, “has been able to buy a grand.” up from the kitchen the triumphant smell ofa “boiled new england dinner” sought out every corner of the house. high above allthe varied odors, cabbage was king. the prospect of the dinner table was appalling, with mr.lund, distant and ready to quarrel over any

infringement of his rights or curtailmentof his portion. mrs. clarke ready to resent any jest as to her lord’s habits. the landladyeager to give battle to such as sniffed at what her kitchen had to offer. wearisome banterbetween brainless boarders tending mainly to criticism of moving picture productionsand speculations as to the salaries of the stars. not a soul there who had ever heardof william blake or ravel! overdressed girls who were permanently annoyed with anthonytrent because he would never take them to ice-cream parlors. each new boarder as shecame set her cap for him and he remained courteous but disinterested. one of the epics of mrs. sauer’s boardinghouse was that night when miss margaret rafferty,

incensed at the coldness with which her advanceswere received and the jeers of her girl friends, brought as a dinner guest a former sweetheart,now enthusiastically patrolling city sidewalks as a guardian of the peace. it was not difficultto inflame mcguire. he disliked anthony trent on sight and exercised an untrammeled witduring the dinner at his expense. it was afterwards in the little garden where the men went tosmoke an after dinner cigar that the unforgivable phrase was passed. mcguire was just able to walk home. he hadmet an antagonist who was a lightning hitter, whose footwork was quick and who boxed admirablyand kept his head. after this a greater meed of courtesy wasaccorded the writer of stories. but the bibulous

clarke alone amused him, clarke who had beencity editor of a great daily when trent was a police reporter on it, and was now a parkrow derelict supported by the generosity of his old friends and acquaintances. only mrs.clarke knew that anthony trent on numerous occasions gave her a little money each weekuntil that day in the greek kalends when her husband would find another position. anthony trent settled himself at his typewriterand began looking over the carbon copy of the story he had just sold to crosbeigh. hewished to assure himself of certain details in it. among the pages was an envelope withthe name of a celebrated fifth avenue club embossed upon it. written on it in pencilwas crosbeigh’s name. unquestionably he

had swept it from the editorial desk whenhe had taken up the carbon copy of his story. opening it he found a note written in a rathercramped and angular hand. the stationery was of the fifth avenue club. the signature wasunmistakable, “conington warren.” trent read: “my dear crosbeigh: “i am sending this note by togoyama becausei want to be sure that you will lunch with me at voisin’s to-morrow at one o’clock.i wish affairs permitted me to see more of my old yale comrades but i am enormously busy.by the way, a little friend of mine thinks she can write. i don’t suppose she can,but i promised to show her efforts to you.

i’m no judge but it seems to me her workis very much the kind you publish in your magazine. we will talk it over to-morrow.of course she cares nothing about what you would pay her. she wants to see her name inprint. “yours ever,“conington warren.” trent picked up an eraser and passed it overthe name on the envelope. it had been written with a soft pencil and was easily swept away. over the body of the letter he spent a longtime. he copied it exactly. a stranger would have sworn that the copy had been writtenby the same hand which indited the original. and when this copy had been made to trent’ssatisfaction, he carefully erased everything

in the original but the signature. then rememberingweems’ description of the conington warren camp in the adirondacks, he wrote a littlenote to one togoyama. it was five when he had finished. there wasno indecision about him. twenty minutes later he was at the public library consulting alarge volume in which were a hundred of the best known residences in new york. so conscientiouswas the writer that there were plans of every floor and in many instances descriptions oftheir interior decoration. anthony trent chuckled to think of the difficulties with which theunlettered crook has to contend. “chicago ed. binner,” for example, had married halfa hundred servant maids to obtain information as to the disposition of rooms that he couldhave obtained by the mere consultation of

such a book as this. it was while mrs. sauer’s wards were finishingtheir boiled dinner that some of them had a glimpse of anthony trent in evening dressdescending the stairs. “dinner not good enough for his nibs,”commented one boarder seeking to curry the sauer favor. “i’d rather have my boarders pay and noteat than eat and not pay,” said mrs. sauer grimly. it was three weeks since she had receiveda dollar from the speaker. “drink,” exclaimed mr. clarke, suddenlyroused from meditation of a day now dead when a highball could be purchased for fifteencents. “this food shortage now. that could

be settled easily. take the tax off liquorand people wouldn’t want to eat so much. it’s the high cost of drinking that’sthe trouble. what’s the use of calling ourselves a free people? i tell you it was keeping vodkafrom the russians that caused the whole trouble. don’t argue with me. i know.” mr. clarke went from the dinner table to hisbed and awoke around midnight possessed with the seven demons of unsatiated thirst. hedetermined to go down and call upon anthony trent. he would plead for enough money togo to the druggist and get his wife’s prescription filled. trent, good lad that he was, alwaysfell for it. and, he argued, it was a friendly act to do, this midnight call on a hard workingyoung writer who had once been at his command.

for the first time anthony trent’s doorwas locked. and the voice that snapped out an interrogation was different from the leisurelyand amiable invitation to enter which was usual. the door was suddenly flung open, sosudden that poor clarke was startled. and facing him, his fists clenched and a certaintensity of attitude that was a strange one to the visitor, was anthony trent still inevening dress. clarke construed it into an expression of resentment at his intrusion.he could not understand the sudden affability that took possession of his former reporter. “come in, mr. clarke,” said trent cordially.“i am sorry your wife’s heart is troubling her but i agree with you that you should rushwith all haste to the nearby druggist and

have that prescription filled. and as theman who owes you money did not pay you to-day as he promised, but will without fail to-morrowat midday, take this five dollar bill with my blessing.” “how did you know?” gasped clarke. “i am a mind reader,” trent retorted.“it saves time.” he led mr. clarke gently to the door. “now i’m tired and want togo to sleep so don’t call in on your way back with the change. just trot up to bedas quietly as you can.” when the door was locked and a chair-backwedged against the handle, trent lowered the shades. then he cleared his table of the litterof paper. a half dozen pages of the first

draft of his new story held his attentionfor a few seconds. then he deliberately tore the pages into little fragments, threw theminto the waste paper basket. and to this cenotaph he added the contents of the table drawer,made up of notes for future stories, the results of weeks of labor. “dust to dust,” he murmured, “ashesto ashes!” it was the end of the career of anthony trent,writer. and on the table which had formerly held onlywriting paper a quaint miscellany was placed. eight scarf pins, each holding in golden clawsstones of price. apparently conington warren had about him only what was good. and therewas a heavy platinum ring with a ruby of not

less than four carats, a lady’s ring. itwould not be difficult for a man so clever with his hands and apt mechanically to removethese jewels from their setting. nor was there any difficulty in melting the precious metals. it seemed to trent that he had gloated overthese glistening stones for hours before he put them away. then he took out a roll of bills and countedthem. conington warren, it seemed, must have had considerable faith in the excellent togoyamanow hurrying to the adirondack camp, for he had left three thousand dollars in the upperleft hand drawer of a sheraton desk. morning was coming down the skies when trent,now in dressing gown, lighted his pipe and

sat down by the window. “well,” he muttered softly, “i’vedone it and there’s no going back. yesterday i was what people call an honest man. now——?” he shrugged his shoulders and puffed quickly.out of the window grey clouds of smoke rose as fragrant incense. he had never meant to take up a career ofcrime. looking back he could see how little things coming together had provoked in himan insatiable desire for an easier life. in all his personal dealings heretofore, he hadbeen scrupulously honest, and there had never been any reflection on his honor as a sportsman.he had played games for their own sake. he

had won without bragging and lost with excuses.up in hanover there were still left those who chanted his praise. what would peoplethink of him if he were placed in the dock as a criminal? his own people were dead. there were distantcousins in cleveland, whom he hardly remembered. there was no family honor to trail in thedust, no mother or sweetheart to blame him for a broken heart. he stirred uneasily as he thought of the possibilityof capture. even now those might be on his trail who would arrest him. it would be ironicalif, before he tasted the fruits of leisure, he were taken to prison—perhaps by officermcguire! it had all been so absurdly easy.

within a few minutes of receiving the forgednote the japanese was on his way to the mountains. the bishop-like butler who adored his masteraccording to crosbeigh, had seemed utterly without suspicion when he passed trent engagedin animated converse with his supposed employer. the bad moment was when the man had come intothe library where the intruder was hiding himself and stood there waiting for an answerto his question. trent had seen to it that the light was low. it was a moment of inspirationwhen he called to mind conington warren’s imperious gesture as he waved away voisin’shead waiter, and another which had made him put on the velvet smoking jacket. and it hadall come out without a hitch. but he was playing a game now when he could never be certainhe was not outguessed. it might be the suave

butler was outside in the shadows guidingpolice to the capture. he looked out of the window and down the silentstreet. there was indeed a man outside and looking up at him. but it was only poor clarkewhose own prescription had been too well filled. he had captured, so he fancied, an errantlamppost wantonly disporting itself. anthony trent looked at him with a reliefin which disgust had its part. he swore, by all the high gods, never to sink to that level.a curious turn of mind, perhaps, for a burglar to take. but so far the sporting simile presenteditself to him. it was a game, a big game in which he took bigger risks than any one else.he was going to pit his wit, strength and knowledge against society as it was organized.

“i don’t see why i can’t play it decently,”he said to himself as he climbed into bed. chapter v anthony pulls up stakes when those two great australians, norman brooksand anthony wilding, had played their brilliant tennis in america, trent had been a closefollower of their play. he had interviewed them for his paper. in those days he himselfwas a respectable performer at the game. brooks had given him one of his own rackets whichwas no longer in first class condition. it was especially made for the australian bya firm in melbourne. so pleased was trent with it that he, later, sent to australiafor two more. it happened that the manager

of the sporting goods store in melbourne wasa young american who believed in the efficacy of “follow up” letters. it was a largeand prosperous firm and it followed up anthony trent with thoroughness. he received squareenvelopes addressed by hand by every third australian mail. mrs. sauer’s boarders, being of that kindwhich interests itself in others’ affairs and discusses them, were intrigued at thesefrequent missives from the antipodes. finally trent invented an uncle samuel whohad, so he affirmed, left his native land when an adventurous child of nine and madea great fortune among the calgoorlie gold fields. possessing a nimble wit he relatedto his fellow boarders amazing accounts of

his uncle’s activities. the boarders oftendiscussed this uncle, his strange dislike of women, the beard which fell to his knees,the team of racing kangaroos which drew his buggy, and so forth. at the breakfast table on the morning whenanthony trent faced his world no longer an honest man, it was observed that he was disinclinedto talk. as a matter of fact he wanted a reasonable excuse for leaving the sauer establishment.the woman had been kind and considerate to him and he had few grievances. the mail brought him an enticing letter frommelbourne offering him all that the tennis player needs, at special prices.

“i trust your uncle is well,” mrs. clarkeobserved. it was in that moment trent got his inspiration. “i’m afraid he is very ill,” he saidsadly, “at his age—he must be almost ninety——” “only eighty-four,” mrs. clarke remindedhim. she remembered the year of his emigration. “eighty-four is a great age to attain,”he declared, “and he has lived not wisely but well. i feel i should go out and see ifthere’s anything i can do.” “you are going to leave us?” gasped mrs.sauer. his going would deprive her of a most satisfactory lodger. “i’m afraid my duty is plain,” he returnedgravely.

thus he left mrs. sauer’s establishment.years later he wondered whether if he had enjoyed better cooking he would have fallenfrom grace, and if he could not with justice blame a new england boiled dinner for hislapse. for a few days he stayed at a quiet hotel.he wanted a small apartment on central park. there were reasons for this. first, he mustlive alone in a house where no officious elevator boys observed his going and his coming. centralpark west offered many such houses. and if it should happen that he ever had to fleefrom the pursuit of those who guarded the mansions that faced him on the park’s easternside, there was no safer way home than across the silent grass. he was one of those newyorkers who know their central park. there

had been a season when a friend gave him theuse of a saddle horse and there was no bridle path that he did not know. he was fortunate in finding rooms at the topof a fine old brownstone house in the eighties. there were four large rooms all overlookingthe park. that he was compelled to climb five flights of stairs was no objection in hiseyes. a little door to the left of his own entrance gave admission to a ladder leadingto the roof. none of the other tenants, so the agent informed him, ever used it. anthonytrent was relieved to hear it. “i sleep badly,” he said, “possiblybecause i read a great deal and am anxious to try open air sleeping. if i might havethe right to use the roof for that i should

be very willing to pay extra.” “glad to have you there,” said the agentheartily, “you’ll be a sort of night watchman for the property.” he laughed at his jest.“insomnia is plain hell, ain’t it? i used to suffer that way. i walk a great deal nowand that cures me. do you take drugs?” “i’m afraid of them,” anthony trentdeclared. “i walk a good deal at night when the streets are quiet.” the agent reported to his office that trentwas a studious man who slept badly and wanted to sleep on the roof; also that he took longtramps at night. a good tenant, in fine. thus he spread abroad the report which trent desired.

the selection of a housekeeper was of extremeimportance. she must be an elderly, quiet body without callers or city relatives. herreferences must be examined thoroughly. he interviewed a score of women before he foundwhat he wanted. she was a mrs. phoebe kinney from agawam, a village overlooking buzzard’sbay. a widow, childless and friendless, she had occupied similar positions in massachusettsbut this would be the first one in new york. he observed in his talk with her that sheconceived the metropolis to be the world center of wickedness. she assured her future employerthat she kept herself to herself because she could never be certain that the man or womanwho addressed a friendly remark to her might not be a criminal.

“keep that attitude and we two shall agreesplendidly,” he said. “i have few friends and no callers. i am of a studious dispositionand cannot bear interruptions. if you had friends in new york i should not hire you.i sometimes keep irregular hours but i shall expect to find you there all the time. youcan have two weeks in the summer if you want them.” next day mrs. kinney was inducted to her newhome. it was a happy choice for she cooked well and had the new england passion for cleanliness.trent noticed with pleasure that she was even suspicious of the tradespeople who sent theirwares up the dumb waiter. and she discouraged their gossip who sold meat and bread to her.the many papers he took were searched for

their crimes by mrs. kinney. discovery ofsuch records affirmed her in her belief of the city’s depravity. in his examination of her former positionstrent discovered that she had been housekeeper to the clent bulstrodes. he knew they werea fine, old boston family of back bay, with a mansion on beacon street. when he questionedher about it she told him it was as housekeeper of their summer home on buzzards’ bay. younggraham bulstrode had been a tennis player of note years before. many a time anthonytrent had seen him at longwood. he had dropped out because he drank too much to keep fit.the two were of an age. mrs. kinney related the history of the bulstrode family at lengthand concluded by remarking that when she first

saw her employer at the agency she was remindedof mr. graham. “but he looks terrible now,” she added, “they say he drinks brandy beforebreakfast!” the next day the society columns of the heraldinformed him that the clent bulstrodes had bought a new york residence in east 73d street,just off the avenue. this information was of peculiar interest to trent. now he wasdefinitely engaged in a precarious profession he was determined to make a success of it.he had smoked innumerable pipes in tabulating those accidents which brought most criminalsto sentence. he believed in the majority of cases they had not the address to get awaywith plausible excuses. it was an ancient and frayed excuse, that of pretending to besent to read the water or electric meter.

and besides, it was not trent’s intentionto take to disguises of this sort. he was now engaged in working out the solutionof his second adventure. he was to make an attempt upon the house of william drummond,banker, who lived in 93rd street and in the same number as did the clent bulstrodes, twentyblocks to the south. he had learned a great deal about drummond from clarke, his one-timecity editor. clarke remembered most of the interesting things about the big men of hisday. he told trent that drummond invariably carried a great deal of money on his person.he expatiated on the drummond history. this william drummond had begun life on an iowafarm. he had gradually saved a little money and then lent it at extravagant interest.later he specialized on mortgages, foreclosing

directly he knew his client unable to meethis notes. his type was a familiar one and had founded many fortunes. clarke paintedhim as a singularly detestable creature. “but why,” demanded anthony trent, “doesa man like that risk his money if he’s so keen on conserving it? one would think hewouldn’t take out more than his car fare for fearing either of being robbed or borrowedfrom.” “as for robbing,” clarke returned, “he’sa great husky beast although he’s nearly sixty. and as to being borrowed from, that’swhy he takes it out. he belongs to a lot of clubs—not the knickerbocker type—but thesort of clubs where rich young fellows go to play poker. they know old drummond canlend ’em the ready cash without any formalities

any time they wish it. ever sit in a pokergame, son, and get a hunch that if you were able to buy just one more pile of chips you’dclean up?” “i have,” said the other smiling, “butmy hunch has generally been wrong.” “most hunches are,” clarke commented.“theirs are, too, but that old scoundrel makes thousands out of just such hunches.he puts it up to the borrower that it’s between club members and so forth, not a moneylending transaction. tells ’em he doesn’t lend money as a rule, and so forth and soon. i know he was asked to resign from one club for it. he’s a bloodsucker and if ihad an automobile i’d watch for him to cross the street and then run him down.”

“has he ever stung you?” trent asked. “me? not on your life. he specializes inrich men’s sons. he wouldn’t lend you or me a nickel if we were starving. you rememberyoung hodgson grant who committed suicide last year. they said it was the heat thatgot him. it was william drummond.” “why does he keep up a house on such a streetas he does? i should think he’d live cheaper.” “a young second wife. threw the old oneaway, so to speak, and got a high stepper that makes him speed up. she thinks she willget into society. not a chance, son, not a chance. i know.” it was on some of william drummond’s moneythat anthony trent had set his heart. it salved

what was still a conscience to know that hewas taking back profits unlawfully made, bleeding a blood sucker. owing to the second mrs. drummond’s desireto storm society she cultivated publicity. there were pictures of herself and her prizewinning red chows in dog papers. in other magazines she was seen driving her two highstepping hackneys, lord ping and lady pong, at the mineola horse show. also, there wasan article on her home in a magazine devoted to interior decoration. a careful study ofit answered every question concerning its lay-out that the most careful cracksman neededto know. trent spent a week in learning how drummond occupied his time. the banker invariablyleft his most profitable club at midnight,

never earlier. by half past twelve he wasin his library smoking one of the cigars that had been given him that night. then a drinkof gin and water. afterwards, bed. the house was protected by the sherlock system of burglaralarm, a tiresome invention to those who were ignorant of it. anthony trent regarded itas an enemy and had mastered it successfully for there were tricks of lock opening nothard to one as mechanically able as he and many a criminal had talked to him openly whenhe had covered police headquarters years before. drummond drank very little. when asked heinvariably took a cigar. he was possessed of great strength and still patronized theclub gymnasium. for two hours one night drummond sat near him at a certain famous athleticclub. on that night there were certain changes

to be observed in the appearance of anthonytrent. he seemed to have put on twenty pounds in weight and ten years in age. the art ofmake-up which had been forced upon him in college theatricals had recently engaged hisattention. it was an art of which he had thought little until for his paper he had once interviewedbeerbohm tree and had seen the amazing changes skilful make-up may create. ordinarily he slipped in and out silently,not encouraging mrs. kinney to talk. on this particular night he asked her a question concerninga missing letter and she came out into the lighted hall. “you gave me quite a shock,” she said.“you look as like mr. graham bulstrode as

one pea is like another, although i’ve neverseen him in full evening dress.” she was plainly impressed by her employer’smagnificence although she feared this unusual flush on his ordinarily pale face meant thathe had been having more to drink than was good for him. it was the tribute for which trent had waited.if mrs. kinney had never seen the son of her former master in the garb of fashion, herpresent employer had, and that within the week. and he had observed him carefully. hehad seen that bulstrode was wearing during the nights of late autumn an inverness capeof light-weight black cloth, lined with white silk. to trent it seemed rather stagey butthat did not prevent him from ordering its

duplicate from bulstrode’s tailor. bulstrodeclung to the opera hat rather than to the silk hat which has almost superseded it. to-nighttrent wore an opera hat. bulstrode came into the athletic club at halfpast eleven. he was slightly under the influence of liquor and his face no redder than thatof trent who waited across the street in the shadow of the park wall. no sooner had bulstrodebeen whirled off in a taxi than anthony trent went into the club. to the attendants it seemedthat he had returned for something forgotten. with his inverness still on and his hat foldedhe lost himself in the crowded rooms and found at last william drummond. the banker noddedcordially. it was evident to the impostor that the banker wished to ingratiate himselfwith the new member. the bulstrodes had enormous

wealth and a name that was recognized. tohis greeting anthony trent returned a solemn owl-like stare. “shylock!” he hiccoughedinsolently. drummond flushed but said nothing. indeedhe looked about him to see if the insult had been overheard by any other member. inwardlytrent chuckled. he had now no fear of being discovered. bulstrode probably knew few menat the club. he had not been in town as a resident for a month yet. he sank into a chairand read an evening paper watching in reality the man drummond. chapter vi fooling shylock drummond

the night that he entered drummond’s housewas slightly foggy and visibility was low. he was dressed as he had been when he encountereddrummond at the club. he had seen the banker climb the five steps to his front door athalf past twelve. at half past one the lights were switched off in the bedroom on the secondfloor. at two the door gently opened and admitted anthony trent. he left it unlocked and readyfor flight. and he memorized the position of the furniture so that hasty flight wouldbe possible. it was not a big house. the articles of furniture,the pictures, rugs and hangings were splendid. the interior decorators had taken care ofthat. but he had seen them all in the magazine. trent knew very well that to obtain such prizesas he sought could not be a matter of certainty.

somewhere in this house was a lot of currency.and it might be in a safe. old fashioned safes presented few difficulties, but your modernstrong box is a different matter. criminal investigator as he was, he knew one man seldomattempted to dynamite a safe. it was a matter for several men. in itself the technique wasnot difficult but he had no accomplices and at best it is a matter better fitted for officesin the night silences than a private residence. he had been told by criminals that it wasastonishing how careless rich men were with their money. anthony trent proposed to testthis. he had made only a noiseless progress on a half dozen stairs on his upward flightwhen a door suddenly opened, flooding the stairway with light. it was from a room abovehim. and there were steps coming along a corridor

toward him. feeling certain that the receptionrooms leading off the entrance hall were empty, he swiftly opened a door and stepped backwardinto the room, watching intently to see that he had escaped the observation of some onedescending the staircase. from the frying pan’s discomfort to thegreater dangers of the fire was what he had done for himself. he found himself in a longroom at one end of which he stood, swearing under breath at what he saw. at the othermr. william drummond was seated at a table. and mr. drummond held in his hand an uglyautomatic of .38 calibre. covering him with the weapon the banker came swiftly towardhim. it was the unexpected moment for which anthony trent was prepared. assuming the demeanorof the drunken man he peered into the elder

man’s face. he betrayed no fear of the pistol.his speech was thickened, but he was reasonably coherent. “it is old drummond, isn’t it?” he demanded. “what are you doing here?” the other snapped,and then gave a start when he saw to whom he spoke. “mr. bulstrode!” “i’ve come,” said the other swayingslightly, “to tell you i’m sorry. i don’t know why i said it but the other fellers saidit wasn’t right. i’ve come to shake your hand.” he caught sight of the weapon. “putthat damn thing down, drummond.” obediently the banker slipped it into thepocket of his dressing gown. he followed the

swaying man as he walked toward the lightedpart of the room. he was frankly amazed. wild as he was, and drunken as was his eveningcustom, why had this heir to the bulstrode millions entered his house like a thief inthe night? and for what was he sorry? in a chair by the side of the desk anthonytrent flung himself. he wanted particularly to see what the banker had hidden with a swiftmotion as he had risen. the yellow end of some notes of high denomination caught hiseye. right on the table was what he sought. the only method of getting it would be tooverpower drummond. there were objections to this. the banker was armed and would certainlyshoot. or there might be a terrific physical encounter in which the younger man might killunintentionally. and an end in the electric

chair was no part of trent’s scheme of things.also, there was some one else awake in the house. drummond resumed his seat and the watchersaw him with elaborate unconcern slide an evening paper over the partially concealednotes. “just what is on your mind, mr. bulstrode?”he began. “i called you ‘shylock,’” trent returned.“no right to have said it. what i should have said was, ‘come and have a drink.’been ashamed of myself ever since.” drummond looked at him fixedly. it was a calculatingglance and a cold one. and there was the contempt in it that a sober man has for one far gonein drink.

“and do you usually break into a man’shouse when you want to apologize?” there was almost a sneer in his voice. “break in?” retorted the other, apparentlyslow at comprehending him, “the damn door wasn’t locked. any one could get in. burglarscould break through and steal. most foolish. i lock my door every night. all sensible peopledo. surprised at you.” “we’ll see about that,” said drummond.he took a grip on his visitor’s arm and led him through the hall to the door. it wasunlocked and the burglar alarm system disconnected. it was not the first time that drummond’sman had forgotten it. in the morning he would be dismissed. apparently this irresponsibleyoung ass had got the idea in his stupid head

that he had acted offensively and had calmlywalked in. it was the opportunity for the banker to cultivate him. “as i came in,” trent told him, “someone was coming down the stairs. better see who it was.” drummond looked at him suspiciously. trentknew that he was not yet satisfied that his visitor’s story was worthy of belief. thenhe spoke as one who humors a child. “we’ll go and find out.” outside the door they came upon an elderlywoman servant with a silver tray in her hands. “madame,” she explained, “was not ableto eat any luncheon or dinner and has waked

up hungry.” drummond raised the cover of a porcelain dish. “caviare sandwiches,” he grunted, “badthings to sleep on.” he led the way back to the room. in his schemingmind was a vague scheme to use this bãªtise of graham bulstrode as a means to win hiswife social advancement. mrs. clent bulstrode could do it. money would not buy recognitionfrom her. perhaps fear of exposure might. he glanced with contempt at the huddled figureof the heir to bulstrode millions. the young man was too much intoxicated to offer anyresistance. tall, huge and menacing he stood over anthonytrent. there was a look in his eye that caused

a certain uneasiness in the impostor’s mind.in another age and under different conditions drummond would have been a pirate. “if it had been any other house than mine,”he began, “and you had not been a fellow clubman an unexpected call like this mightlook a little difficult of explanation.” anthony trent acted his part superbly. drunkennessin others had always interested him. drummond watching his vacuous face saw the inebriatedman’s groping for a meaning admirably portrayed. “what do yer mean?” “simply this,” said drummond distinctly.“at a time when i am supposed to be in bed you creep into my house without knocking orringing. you come straight into a room where

very valuable property is. while i personallybelieve your story i doubt whether the police would. they are taught to be suspicious. therewould be a lot of scandal. your mother, for instance, would be upset. new york papersrevel in that sort of thing. you have suppressed news in boston papers but that doesn’t gohere.” he nodded his head impressively. “i wouldn’t like to wager that the policewould be convinced. in fact it might take a lot of publicity before you satisfied thenew york police.” the idea seemed to amuse the younger man. “let’s call ’em up and see,” he suggestedand made a lurching step toward the phone. “no, no,” the other exclaimed hastily,“i wouldn’t have that happen for the world.”

over his visitor’s face drummond could seea look of laboring comprehension gradually stealing. it was succeeded by a frown. anidea had been born which was soon to flower in high and righteous anger. “you’re a damned old blackmailer!” criedanthony trent, struggling to his feet. “when a gentleman comes to apologize you call hima robber. i’m going home.” drummond stood over him threatening and powerful. “i don’t know that i shall let you,”he said unpleasantly. “why should i? you are so drunk that in the morning you won’tremember a word i’ve said to you. i’m going to make use of you, you young whelp.you’ve delivered yourself into my hands.

if i were to shoot you for a burglar i shouldonly get commended for it.” “like hell you would,” trent chuckled,“that old girl with the caviare sandwiches would tell the jury we were conversing amiably.you’d swing for it, drummond, old dear, and i’d come to see your melancholy end.” “and there’s another thing,” drummondreminded him, “you’ve got a bad record. your father didn’t give up the somersetclub because he liked the new york ones any better. they wanted to get you away from certaininfluences there. i’ve got your whole history.” “haven’t you anything to drink?” anthonytrent demanded. from a cupboard in his black walnut desk drummondtook a large silver flask. he did not want

his guest to become too sober. since it wasthe first drink that anthony trent had taken that night he gulped eagerly. “good old henessey!” he murmured. “henessey’sa gentleman,” he added pointedly. “look here,” said drummond presently afterdeep thought. “you’ve got to go home. i’m told there’s a butler who fetchesyou from any low dive you may happen to be.” “he hates it,” trent chuckled. “he’sa prohibitionist. i made him one.” drummond came over to him and looked him clearin the eye. “what’s your telephone number?” he snapped. trent was too careful a craftsman to be caughtlike that. he flung the bulstrode number back

in a flash. “ring him up,” he commanded,“there’s a direct wire to his room after twelve.” “what’s his name?” drummond asked. “old man afraid of his wife,” he was told.mrs. kinney had told him of the nickname young bulstrode had given the butler. drummond flushed angrily. “his real name?i’m not joking.” “nor am i,” trent observed, “i alwayscall him that.” he put on an expression of obstinacy. “that’s all i’ll tellyou. give me the phone and let me talk.” it was a bad moment for anthony trent. itwas probable that william drummond was going

to call up the bulstrode residence to makecertain that his visitor was indeed graham bulstrode. and if the butler were to informhim that the heir already snored in his own bed there must come the sudden physical struggle.and drummond was armed. he had not failed to observe that the door to the entrance hallwas locked. when drummond had spoken to the servant outside he had taken this precaution.for a moment trent entertained the idea of springing at the banker as he stood irresolutelywith the telephone in his hand. but he abandoned it. that would be to bring things to a head.and to wait might bring safety. but he was sufficiently sure of himself tobe amused when he heard drummond hesitatingly ask if he were speaking to old man afraidof his wife. the banker hastily disclaimed

any intention of being offensive. “mr. graham bulstrode is with me,” heinformed the listener, “and that is the only name he would give. i am particularlyanxious that you inform his father i am bringing him home. also,” his voice sank to a whisper,“i must speak to mr. bulstrode when i come. i shall be there within half an hour. he willbe sorry all his days if he refuses to see me.” as he hung up the instrument he notedwith pleasure that young bulstrode was conversing amicably with his old friend henessey, whosebrandy is famous. drummond had mapped it all out. he would notstay to dress. over his dressing gown he would pull an automobile duster as though he hadbeen suddenly disturbed. he would accuse graham

of breaking in to steal. he would remind thechastened father of several boston scandals. he could see the back bay blue blood beg formercy. and the end of it would be that in the society columns of the new york dailiesit would be announced that mr. and mrs. william drummond had dined with mr. and mrs. clentbulstrode. no taxi was in sight when they came down thesteps to the silent street. drummond was in an amazing good humor. his captor was nowreduced through his friendship with henessey to a silent phase of his failing. he clungtightly to the banker’s stalwart arm and only twice attempted to break into song. sincethe distance was not great the two walked. trent looked anxiously at every man they metwhen they neared the bulstrode mansion. he

feared to meet a man of his own build wearinga silk lined inverness cape. it may be wondered why anthony trent, fleet of foot and in theshadow of the park across which his modest apartment lay, did not trip up the bankerand make his easy escape. the answer lies in the fact that trent was not an ordinarybreaker of the law. and also that he had conceived a very real dislike to william drummond, hisperson, his character and his aspirations. he was determined that drummond should ridefor a fall. a tired looking man yawning from lack of sleeplet them into the house. it was a residence twice the size of drummond’s. the bankerpeered about the vast hall, gloomy in the darkness. in fancy he could see mrs. drummondsweeping through it on her way to dinner.

“mr. bulstrode is in the library,” hesaid acidly. that another should dare to use a nickname that fitted him so aptly filledhim with indignation. he barely glanced at the man noisily climbing the stairs to hisbedroom, the man who had coined the opprobrious phrase. drummond was ushered into the presenceof clent bulstrode. the bostonian was a tall man with a cold faceand a great opinion of his social responsibilities. the only new yorkers he cared to know werethose after whose families downtown streets had been named. “i am not in the habit, sir,” he beganicily, “of being summoned from my bed at this time of night to talk to a stranger.i don’t like it, mr. dummles——”

“drummond,” his visitor corrected. “the same thing,” cried bulstrode. “iknow no one bearing either name. i can only hope your errand is justified. i am informedit has to do with my son.” “you know it has,” drummond retorted.“he broke into my house to-night. and he came, curiously enough, at a time when therewas a deal of loose cash in my room. mr. bulstrode, has he done that before? if he has i’m afraidhe could get into trouble if i informed the police.” it was a triumphant moment when he saw a lookof fear pass over bulstrode’s contemptuous countenance. it was a notable hit.

“you wouldn’t do that?” he cried. “that depends,” drummond answered. upon what it depended clent bulstrode neverknew for there came the noise of an automobile stopping outside the door. there was a honkingof the horn and the confused sound of many voices talking at once. drummond followed the bostonian through thegreat hall to the open door. they could see old man afraid of his wife assisting a younginebriate in evening dress. and his inverness cape was lined with white silk and over hiseyes an opera hat was pulled. the chauffeur alone was sober. he touchedhis hat when he saw mr. bulstrode.

“where have you come from?” he demanded. “i took the gentlemen to new haven,” hesaid. “has my son been with you all the evening?” “yes, sir,” the chauffeur returned. drummond, his hopes dashed, followed bulstrodeto the library. “now,” said the clubman sneering, “i shall be glad to hear yourexplanation of your slander of my son. in the morning i can promise you my lawyers willattend to it in detail.” “i was deceived,” the wretched drummondsought to explain. “a man dressed like your son whom i know by sight came in and——”

he went through the whole business. by thistime the butler was standing at the open door listening. “i can only say,” mr. bulstrode remarked,“that these excuses you offer so glibly will be investigated.” “excuses!” cried the other goaded to anger.“excuses! i’ll have you know that a father with a son like yours is more in need of excusesthan i am.” he turned his head to see the butler enteringthe room. there was an unpleasant expression on the man’s face which left him vaguelyuneasy. “show this person out,” said bulstrodein his most forbidding manner.

“wait a minute,” drummond commanded, “youowe it to me to have this house searched. we all saw that impostor go upstairs. forall we know he’s in hiding this very minute.” “you needn’t worry,” old man afraidof his wife observed. “he went out just before mr. graham came back in the motor.i was going to see what it was when the car came between us.” the man turned to clentbulstrode. “it’s my belief, sir, they’re accomplices.” “what makes you say that?” demanded hismaster. he could see an unusual expression of triumph in the butler’s eye. “the black pearl stick pin that mr. grahamvalues so much has been stolen from his room.”

“what have i to do with that?” drummondshouted. “simply this,” the other returned, “thatyou introduced this criminal to my house and i shall expect you to make good what yourfriend took.” “friend!” repeated the outraged drummond.“my friend!” “it is a matter for the police,” bulstrodeyawned. drummond watched his tall, thin figure ascendingthe stairs. plainly there was nothing left but to go. never in his full life had thingsbroken so badly for william drummond. he could feel the butler’s baleful stare as he slowlycrossed the great hall. he felt he hated the man who had witnessed his defeat and laughedat his humiliation. and drummond was not used

to the contempt of underlings. yet the butler had the last word. as he closedthe door he flung a contemptuous good-night after the banker. “good-night,” he said, “old man afraidof the police.” a broken and dispirited man william drummond,banker, came to his own house. the pockets in which he had placed his keys were empty.there was no hole by which they might have been lost and he had not removed the longduster. only one man could have taken them. he called to mind how the staggering creaturewho claimed to be graham bulstrode had again and again clutched at him for support. andif he had taken them, to what use had they

been put? it seemed he must have waited half an hourbefore a sleepy servant let him in. drummond pushed by him with an oath and went hastilyto the black walnut desk. there, seemingly unmoved, was the paper that he had pulledover the notes when the unknown came into the room. it was when he raised it to seewhat lay beneath that he understood to the full what a costly night it had been for him.across one of his own envelopes was scrawled the single word—shylock. chapter vii the danger of sentiment

after leaving drummond’s house anthony trentstarted without intemperate haste for his comfortable apartment. in accordance withhis instructions, mrs. kinney retired not later than ten. there might come a night whenhe needed to prove the alibi that she could unconsciously nullify if she waited up forhim. in these early days of his career he was notmuch in fear of detection and approached his door with little of the trepidation he wasto experience later when his name was unknown still but his reputation exceedingly highwith the police. later he knew he must arrange his mode of life with greater care. new york, for example, is not an easy cityfor a man fleeing from police pursuit. its

brilliant lighting, its sleeplessness, therectangular blocks and absence of helpful back alleys, all these were aids to the lawabiding. he had not chosen his location heedlessly.from the roof on which he often slept he could see five feet distant from its boundary, thewall that circumscribed the top of another house such as his but having its entranceon a side street. it would not be hard to get a key to fit the front door; and sincehe would make use of it infrequently and then only late at night there was little risk ofdetection. thinking several moves ahead of his game wasone of trent’s means to insure success. he must have some plausible excuse in casehe were caught upon the roof. the excuse that

suggested itself instantly was a cat. he boughta large and frolicsome cat, tiger-striped and a stealthy hunter by night, and introducedhim to mrs. kinney. that excellent woman was not pleased. a cat, she asserted, needed agarden. “exactly,” agreed her employer, “a roof garden.” so it was that agrippajoined the household and sought to prey upon twittering sparrows. and since agrippa lookingseventy feet below was not in fear of falling, he leaped the intermediate distance betweenthe roofs and was rewarded with a sparrow. thereafter he used what roof offered the besthunting. two maiden ladies occupied the topmost flat,the misses sawyer, and were startled one evening at a knock upon their door. an affable younggentleman begged permission to retrieve his

cat from their roof. the hunting agrippa hadsprung the dreadful space and feared, he asserted plausibly, to get back. the misses sawyer loved cats, it seemed, buthad none now, fearing to seem disloyal to the memory of a peerless beast about whomthey could not talk without tear-flooded eyes. they told their neighbor cordially that wheneveragrippa strayed again he was to make free of the roof. “ring our bell,” said one of them, “andwe’ll let you in.” “but how did you get in?” the other sisterdemanded, suddenly. “the door was open,” he said blandly.

“that’s that dreadful mr. dietz again,”they cried in unison. “he drinks, and when he goes out to the saloon, he puts the catchback so there won’t be the bother of a key. i have complained but the janitor takes nonotice. i suppose we don’t offer him cigars and tips, so he takes the part of dietz.” by this simple maneuver anthony trent establishedhis right to use the roof without incurring suspicion. the drummond loot proved not to be despisedby one anxious to put a hundred thousand dollars to his credit. the actual amount was threethousand, eight hundred dollars. furthermore, there was some of the drummond stationery,a bundle of letters and the two or three things

he had taken hastily from young bulstrode’sroom. he regretted there had been so small an opportunity to investigate the bulstrodemansion but time had too great a value for him. the black pearl had flung itself at him,and some yale keys and assorted club stationery—these were all he could take. the stationery mightprove useful. he had discovered that fact in the conington warren affair. if it hadnot been that the butler crept out of the dark hall to watch him as he left the bulstrodehouse, he would have tried the keys on the hall door. that could be done later. it isnot every rich house which is guarded by burglar resisting devices. it was the bundle of letters and i. o. u.’sthat he examined with peculiar care. they

were enclosed in a long, blue envelope onwhich was written “private and personal.” when trent had read them all he whistled. “these will be worth ten times his measlythirty-eight hundred,” he said softly. but there was no thought of blackmail in hismind. that was a crime at which he still wholesomely rebelled. it occurred to him sometimes thata life such as his tended to lead to progressive deterioration. that there might come a timewhen he would no longer feel bitterly toward blackmailers. it was part of his punishment,this dismal thought of what might be unless he reverted to the ways of honest men. inasmuchas a man may play a crooked game decently, so anthony trent determined to play it.

many of the letters in the blue envelope werefrom women whose names were easily within the ken of one who studied the society columnsof the metropolitan dailies. most of them seemed to have been the victims of misplacedbets at belmont park or rash bidding at auction. there was one letter from the wife of a highofficial at washington begging him on no account to let her husband know she had borrowed moneyfrom him. a prominent society golfing girl whose play trent had a score of times admiredfor its pluck and skill had borrowed a thousand dollars from drummond. there was her i. o.u. on the table. scrawling a line on drummond stationery in what seemed to be drummond handwriting,anthony trent sent it back to her. there were acknowledgments of borrowings from the samekind of rich waster that graham bulstrode

represented. a score of prominent personswould have slept the better for knowing that their i. o. u.’s had passed from drummond’skeeping. the man was more of a usurer than banker. what interested anthony trent most of allwas a collection of letters signed “n.g.” and written on the stationery of a very exclusiveclub. it was a club to which drummond did not belong. the first letter was merely a request thatdrummond meet the writer in the library of the athletic club where anthony trent hadseen him. the second was longer and spelled a deeperdistress.

“it’s impossible in a case like this,”wrote “n.g.,” “to get any man i know well to endorse my note. if i could affordto let all the world into my secret, i should not have come to you. you know very well thatas i am the only son your money is safe enough. i must pay this girl fifty thousand dollarsor let my father know all about it. he would be angry enough to send me to some god-forsakenranch to cut wild oats.” the third letter was still more insistent.the writer was obviously afraid that he would have to beg the money from his father. “i have always understood,” he wrote,“that you would lend any amount on reasonable security. i want only fifty thousand dollarsbut i’ve got to have it at once. it’s

quite beyond my mother’s power to get itfor me this time. i’ve been to that source too often and the old man is on to it. e.g.insists that the money in cash must be paid to her on the morning of the 18th when shewill call at the house with her lawyer. i am to receive my letters back and she willleave new york. let me know instantly.” the next letter indicated that william drummondhad decided to lend “n.g.” the amount but that his offer came too late. “i wish you had made up your mind sooner,”said “n.g.” “it would have saved me the devil of a lot of worry and you couldhave made money out of it. as it is my father learned of it somehow. he talked about thefamily honor as usual. but the result is that

when she and her lawyer call at ten on thursdaymorning the money will be there. no check for her; she’s far too clever, but fiftythousand in crisp new notes. as for me, i’m to reform. that means i have to go down townevery morning at nine and work in my father’s brokerage business. can you imagine me doingthat? i blame you for it, drummond. you are too cautious by a damn sight to please me.” anthony trent was thus put into possessionof the following facts. that a rich man’s son, initials only known, had got into somesort of a scrape with a girl, initials were e.g., who demanded fifty thousand dollarsin cash which was to be paid at the residence of the young man’s father. the date setwas thursday the eighteenth. it was now the

early morning of tuesday the sixteenth. trent had lists of the members of all thebest clubs. he went through the one on whose paper n.g. had written. there were severalmembers with those initials. careful elimination left him with only one likely name, that ofnorton guestwick. norton guestwick was the only son and heir of a very rich broker. theelder guestwick posed as a musical critic, had a box in the golden horseshoe and patronizedsuch opera singers as permitted it. many a time anthony trent had gazed on the guestwickfamily seated in their compelling box from the modest seat that was his. guestwick hadeven written a book, “operas i have seen,” which might be found in most public libraries.it was an elaborately illustrated tome which

reflected his shortcomings as a critic noless than his vanity as an author. a collector of musical books, trent remembered buyingit with high hopes and being disgusted at its smug ineffectiveness. he had seldom seen norton in the family boxbut the girls were seldom absent. they, too, upheld the arts. long ago he had conceiveda dislike for guestwick. he hated men who beat what they thought was time to music whosecomposers had other ideas of it. turning up a recent file of gotham gossiphe came upon a reference to the guestwick heir. “we understand,” said this waspish,but usually veracious weekly, “that norton guestwick’s attention to pretty estellegrandcourt (nã©e sadie cort) has much perturbed

his aristocratic parents who wish him to marrya snug fortune and a girl suited to be their daughter-in-law. it is not violating a confidenceto say that the lady in question occupies a mansion on commonwealth avenue and is oneof the most popular girls in boston’s smart set.” while many commentators will puzzle themselvesover the identity of the dark lady of the immortal sonnets, few could have failed toperceive that e.g. was almost certain to be estelle grandcourt. sundry tests of a confirmatorynature proved it without doubt. he had thus two days in which to make his preparationsto annex the fifty thousand dollars. there were difficulties. in these early days ofhis adventuring anthony trent made no use

of disguises. he had so far been but himself.vaguely he admitted that he must sooner or later come to veiling his identity. for thepresent exploit it was necessary that he should find out the name of the guestwick butler. he might have to get particulars from clarke.but even clarke’s help could not now be called in and it was upon this seemingly unimportantthing that his plan hinged. in a disguise such as many celebrated cracksmen had used,he might have gained a kitchen door and learned by what name guestwick’s man called himself.or he might have found it out from a tradesman’s lad. but to ask, as anthony trent, what mightlink him with a robbery was too risky. unfortunately for charles newman guestwickhis book, which had cost trent two dollars

and was thrown aside as worthless, suppliedthe key to what was needed. it was the wordy, garrulous book that onlya multi-millionaire author might write and have published. the first chapter, “my childhood,”was succeeded by a lofty disquisition on music. later there came revelations of the guestwickfamily life with portraits of their various homes. the music room had a chapter to itself.reading on, anthony trent came to the chapter headed, rather cryptically, “after the opera.” “it is my custom,” wrote the excellentguestwick, “to hold in my box an informal reception after the performance is ended.my wide knowledge of music, of singers and their several abilities lends me, i ventureto say, a unique position among amateurs.

“we rarely sup at hotel or restaurant afterthe performance. in my library where there is also a grand piano—we have three suchinstruments in our new york home and two more at lenox—mrs. guestwick and my daughterstalk over what we have heard, criticizing here, lauding there, until a simple repastis served by the butler who always waits up for us. the rest of the servants have longsince retired. my library consists of perhaps the most valuable collection of musical literaturein the world. “i have mentioned in another chapter therefining influence of music on persons of little education. john briggs, my butler,is a case in point. he came to me from lord fitzhosken’s place in northamptonshire,england. the fitzhoskens are immemoriably

associated with fox-hunting and the steeple-chaseand all briggs heard there in the way of music were the cheerful rollicking songs of thehunt breakfast. i sent him to see gã¶tterdã¤mmerung. he told me simply that it was a revelationto him. he doubted in his uneducated way whether wagner himself comprehended what he had written.” there were thirty other chapters in mr. guestwick’sbook. in all he revealed himself as a pompous ass assured only of tolerance among a peoplewhere money consciousness had succeeded that of caste. but anthony trent felt kindly towardhim and the money he had spent was likely to earn him big dividends if things went well. caruso sang on the night preceding the morningon which estelle grandcourt was to appear

and claim her heart balm. this meant a largeattendance; for tenors may come and go, press agents may announce other golden voiced singers,but caruso holds his pride of place honestly won and generously maintained. it had beentrent’s experience that the guestwicks rarely missed a big night. it was at half past nine anthony trent groanedthat a professional engagement compelled him to leave the metropolitan. he had spent moneyon a seat not this time for an evening of enjoyment, but to make certain that the guestwickswere in their box. there was charles newman guestwick beatingfalse time with a pudgy hand. his lady, weighted with guestwick jewels, tried to create theimpression that, after all, caruso owed much

of his success to her amiable patronage. thetwo daughters upheld the guestwick tradition by being exceedingly affable to those greaterthan they and using lorgnettes to those who strove to know the guestwicks. mr. john briggs, drinking a mug of ale andwondering who was winning a light weight contest at the national sporting club, was restingin his sitting-room. he liked these long opera evenings, which gave him the opportunity torest, as much as he despised his employer for his inordinate attendance at these meaninglessentertainments. he shuddered as he remembered “the twilight of the gods.” at ten o’clock when mr. briggs was noddingin his chair the telephone bell rang. over

the wire came his employer’s voice. it wasnot without purpose that anthony trent’s unusual skill in mimicry had been employed.as a youth he had acquired a reputation in his home town for imitations of henry irving,bryan, otis skinner and their like. “is this you, briggs?” demanded the supposedmr. guestwick. “yes, sir,” returned briggs. “i wish you to listen carefully to my instructions,”he was commanded. “they are very important.” “certainly, sir,” the man returned. hesensed a something, almost agitation in the usually placid voice. “i hope there’snothing serious, sir.” “there may be,” the other said, “thati can’t say yet. see that every one goes

to bed but you. send them off at once. youmust remain up until a man in evening dress comes to the front door and demands admittance.it will be a detective. show him at once to the library and leave him absolutely undisturbed.absolutely undisturbed, briggs, do you understand?” “i’ll do as you say, sir,” briggs answered,troubled. he was sure now that serious sinister things were afoot and wished the guestwickshad been as well disposed to dogs in the house as had been that hard drinking, reckless lordfitzhosken. suddenly an important thought came to him. “is there any way of makingsure that the man who comes is the detective?” “i am glad you are so shrewd, briggs,”said the millionaire. “it had not occurred to me that an impostor might come. say tothe man, ‘what is your errand?’ i shall

instruct him to answer, ‘i have come tolook at mr. guestwick’s rare editions.’” “very good, sir,” said briggs. “unless he answers that, do not admit him.you understand?” “perfectly,” the butler made answer. at half past ten a man in evening dress rangthe door of the guestwick mansion. he was a tall man with a hard look and a biting,gruff voice. briggs interposed his sturdy body betweenthe stranger and the entrance. “what is your errand?” said briggs suavely. “i have come to look at mr. guestwick’srare editions,” he was told.

“step inside,” urged briggs with cordiality. “everybody in bed?” the man snapped. “except me,” said the butler. “any one here except the servants?” “we have no house guests,” said briggs.“we don’t keep a deal of company.” “show me to the library,” the strangercommanded. briggs, now stately and offended, led theway. briggs resented the tone the detective used. in his youth the butler had been handywith the gloves. it was for this reason he was taken into service by the fox-huntingnobleman so that he might box with his lordship

every day before breakfast. briggs would haveliked the opportunity to put on the gloves with this frowning, overbearing, hawknoseddetective. “you’ve got your orders?” cried thestranger. “i have,” briggs answered, a trace ofinsolence perceptible. “then get out and don’t worry me. rememberthis, answer no phone messages or door bells. my men outside will attend to the people whowant to get into this house.” briggs tried new tactics. he was feverishlyanxious to find out what was suspected. “as man to man,” briggs began with a fineaffability. imperiously he was ordered from the room.

anthony trent sank into a chair and laughedgently. it had all been so absurdly easy. two good hours were before him. none wouldinterrupt. it was known that young norton had been bundled out of town until his charmerhad disappeared. gotham gossip had told him so much. it was almost certain that the guestwickswould not return to their home until half past twelve. that would give him a sufficienttime to examine every likely looking place in the house. the old time crook would nodoubt have hit mr. briggs over the head with a black jack and run a risk in the doing ofit. the representative of the newer school had simply sent all the servants to bed. looking quickly about the great apartment,book-lined and imposing, trent’s eyes fell

on an edition in twenty fat volumes of penroy’sencyclopã¦dia of music and art. scrutiny told the observer that behind these steel-boundfake books there was a safe. it was an old dodge, this. if the money for miss grandcourtwas not here there were, no doubt, negotiable papers and jewels. this was just the sortof sacro-sanct spot where valuables might be laid away. to pry open the glass door of the book case,roll back the works of the unknown penroy and come face to face with the old fashionedsafe took less than two minutes. it was amazing that so shrewd a man as guestwick must bein business matters should rely on this. it was rather that he relied on the integrityof his servants and an efficient system of

burglar alarm. from the cane that anthony trent had carelesslythrown on a chair, he took some finely tempered steel drills and presently assembled the toolsnecessary to his task. as a boy he had been the rare kind who could take a watch apartand put it together again and have no parts left over. it was largely owing to an inbornmechanical skill that he had persuaded himself he could make good at his calling. it was striking eleven by the ship’s clock—sixbells—when he rolled the doors open. he rose to his feet and stretched. kneeling beforethe safe had cramped his muscles. sinking into a big black leathern chair he contemplatedthe strong box that was now at his mercy.

he allowed himself the luxury of a cigarette.there passed before his mind’s eye a vista of pleasant shaded pools wherein big troutwere lying. weems did not own the only desirable camp on kennebago. he was suddenly called back from this dreaming,this castle-building, to a realization that such prospects might never be his. it wasthe low, pleasant, tones of a cultivated woman’s voice which wrought the amazing change. “i suppose you’re a burglar,” the voicesaid. there was no trace of nervousness in her tone. he sprang to his feet and looked around. nottwenty feet distant he saw her. she was a

tall, graceful girl about twenty-two or three,clad in a charming evening gown. over her white arm trailed a fur cloak costly and elegant.and, although the moment was hardly one for thinking of female charms, he was struck byher unusual beauty. she possessed an air of extreme sophistication and stood looking athim as if the man before her were some unusual and bizarre specimen of his kind. chapter viii when a woman smiled anthony trent apparently was in no way confusedat this interruption. the woman was not to guess that his nonchalant manner and the carelesslighting of a cigarette, cloaked in reality

a feeling of despair at the untoward endingof his adventure. calmly she walked past him and looked at the assemblage of finely temperedsteel instruments of his profession. “so you’re a burglar!” she said withan air of decision. “that is a term i dislike,” said anthonytrent genially. “call me rather a professional collector, an abstractor, a connoisseur—anythingbut that.” “it amounts to the same thing,” she returnedseverely, “you came here to steal my father’s money.” “your father’s money,” he returned slowly.“then—then you are miss guestwick?” “naturally,” she retorted eyeing him keenly,“and if you offer any violence i shall have

you arrested.” she was amazed to see a pleasant smile breakover the intruder’s face. he was exceedingly attractive when he smiled. “what a hard heart you have!” “you ought to realize this is no time tojest,” she said stiffly. “i am not so sure,” he made answer. she looked at him haughtily. he realized thathe had rarely seen so beautiful a girl. there was a look of high courage about her thatparticularly appealed to him. she had long oriental eyes of jade green. he amended hisguess as to her age. she must be seven and

twenty he told himself. “it is my duty to call the police and haveyou arrested,” she exclaimed. “that is the usual procedure,” he agreed. she stood there irresolute. “i wonder what makes you steal!” “abstract,” he corrected, “collect,borrow, annex—but not steal.” she took no notice of his interruption. “it isn’t as though you were ill or starving—thatmight be some sort of excuse—but you are well dressed. i’ve done a great deal ofsocial work among the poor and often i’ve

met the wives of thieves and have actuallyfound myself pitying men who have stolen for bread.” “jean valjean stuff,” he smiled, “ithas elements of pathos. jean got nineteen years for it if you remember.” she paid no heed to his flippancy. “you talk like an educated man. economicdetermination did not bring you to this. you have absolutely no excuse.” “i have offered none,” he said drily. she spoke with a sudden air of candor.

“do you know this situation interests mevery much. one reads about burglars, of course, but that sort of thing seems rather remote.we’ve never had any robberies here before, and now to come face to face with a real burglar,cracking—isn’t that the word you use?—a safe, is rather disconcerting.” “you bear up remarkably well,” he assuredher. it was her turn to smile. “i’m just wondering,” she said slowly.“my father detests notoriety.” the intruder permitted himself to laugh gently.he thought of that pretentious tome “operas i have seen.”

“how well mr. guestwick conceals it!” apparently she had not heard him. it was plainshe was in the throes of making up her mind. “i wonder if i ought to do it,” she mused. “do what?” he demanded. “let you get away. you have so far stolennothing so i should not be aiding or abetting a crime.” “indeed you would,” he said promptly.“my very presence here is illegal and as you see i have opened that absurd safe.” “what an amazing burglar!” she cried,“he does not want his freedom.”

“it is your duty as mr. guestwick’s daughterto send me to jail and i shan’t respect you if you don’t.” she was again the haughty young society womangazing at a curious specimen of man. “it is very evident,” she snapped, “thatyou don’t appreciate your position. instead of sending you to prison i am willing to giveyou another chance. will you promise me never to do this sort of thing again if i let yougo?” trent looked up. “i have enjoyed your conversation very much,”he observed genially, “but i have work to do. inside that safe i expect to find fiftythousand dollars and possibly some odd trinkets.

i am in particular need of the money and ipropose to get it.” swiftly she crossed the room to a telephone. “i don’t think you’ll succeed,” shesaid, her hand on the instrument. “put it to the test,” he suggested. “thewires are not cut.” “why aren’t you afraid?” she demanded;“don’t you realize your position?” “fully,” he retorted, “but rememberyou’ll have just the same difficulty as i in explaining your presence here. now goahead and get the police.” “what do you mean?” she cried. he noticedthat she paled at what he said and her hands had been for a moment not quite steady.

“first that you are not a miss guestwick.there are only two of them and i have just left them at the opera. next you are neitherservant nor guest. the servants are all abed and there are no house guests. i am not accustomedto making mistakes in matters of this sort. now, i’m not inviting confidences and i’mnot making threats, but the doors are locked and i intend to get what i came for. ringall you like and see if a servant answers you. by the way how is it i overlooked youwhen i came in?” “i hid behind those portiã¨res.” “it was excusable,” he commented, “notto have looked there.” she sank into a chair her whole face suffusedwith gloom. he steeled his heart against feeling

sympathy for her. he would liked to have learnedall about her but there was not much time. the guestwicks might return earlier than usualor briggs might be lurking the other side of the door. “you’ve found me out,” she said quietly,“i’m not one of the guestwick girls.” “i told you so,” he said a little impatiently. “don’t you want to know anything aboutme?” she demanded. “some other time,” he returned, “i’mbusy now.” “but what are you going to do?” she asked. “i thought i told you. i’m going to seewhat mr. guestwick has which interests me.

then i shall get a bite to eat somewhere andgo home to bed.” “are you going to take that fifty thousanddollars?” she demanded. her tone was a tragic one. “that’s what i came for,” he told her. “you mustn’t, you mustn’t,” she declaredand then fell to weeping bitterly. beauty in distress moved anthony trent evenwhen his business most engrossed his attention. it was his nature to be considerate of women.when he had garnered enough money to buy himself a home he intended to marry and settle downto domestic joys. as to this weeping woman, there was little doubt in his mind as to thereason she was in the guestwick home. perhaps

she noticed the harder look that came to hisface. “whom do you think i am?” she asked. “i have not forgotten,” he answered, “thatwomen also are abstractors at times.” she gazed at him wide open eyes, a look ofhorror on her face. “you think i’m here to steal?” “i wish i didn’t,” he answered. “it’sbad enough for a man, but for a woman like you. what am i to think when i find you hidingin a house where you have no right to be?” “that’s the whole tragedy of it,” sheexclaimed, “that i’ve no right to be here. i suppose i shall have to tell you everything.can’t you guess who i am?”

anthony trent looked at the clock. preciousseconds were chasing one another into minutes and he had wasted too much time already. “i don’t see that it matters at all tome,” he pointed to the safe, “i’m here on business.” it annoyed him to feel he was not quite livingup to the debonair heroes he had created once upon a time. they would not have permittedthemselves to be so brusque with a lovely girl upon whose exquisite cheeks tears werestill wet. “you must listen to me,” she implored,“i’m estelle grandcourt. now do you understand why i’ve come?”

“for the money that you think is alreadyyours,” he said, a trifle sulkily. matters were becoming complicated. “money!” cried the amazing chorus girl,“i hate it!” his face cleared. “if that’s the case,” he said genially,“we shall not quarrel. frankly, miss grandcourt, i love it.” she glanced at him through tear-beaded lashes. “i suppose you’ve always thought of ashow girl as a scheming adventuress always on the lookout for some foolish, rich oldman or else some silly boy with millions to

spend.” “not at all!” he protested. “but you have,” she contradicted, “ican tell by your manner. for my part i have always thought of burglars as brutal, low-browedmen without chivalry or courtesy. i’ve been wrong too. i imagined the gentleman-crookwas only a fiction and now i find him a fact. will you please tell me what you’ve heardabout me. i’m not fishing for compliments. i want, really and truly, to know.” trent hesitated a moment. he thought, as helooked at her, that never had he seen a sweeter face. she was wholly in earnest.

“please, please,” she entreated. “it’s probably all wrong,” he observed,“but the general impression is that norton guestwick is a wild, weak lad for whom youset your snares. and when mr. guestwick tried to break it off you asked fifty-thousand dollarsin cash as a price.” “do you believe that?” she asked lookingat him almost piteously. “it was common report,” he said, seekingto exonerate himself, “i read some of it in gotham gossip.” “and just because of what some spitefulwriter said you condemn me unheard.” he looked at the inviting safe and fidgeted.

“i’m not condemning,” he reminded her.“i don’t know anything about the affair. i don’t yet see why you are here, miss grandcourt.” “because i have the right to be,” shesaid, looking him full in the face. “i pretended i was a miss guestwick. if you wish to knowthe truth, i am mrs. norton guestwick. i can show you our marriage certificate. this isthe first time i have ever been in the house of my father-in-law.” “how did you get in?” he demanded. hefelt certain that briggs the butler had shown him into the library believing it to be unoccupied. “i bribed a servant who used to be in ouremploy.”

“your employ?” he queried. “why not?” she flung back at him. “isit also reported that i come from the slums? we were never rich as the guestwicks are rich,but until my father died we lived in good style as we know it in the south. i am atleast as well educated as my sisters-in-law who refuse to recognize that i exist. i wasat the sacred heart convent in paris. i sing and paint and play the piano as well as mostgirls but do none of these well enough to make a living at it. i came here to new yorkhoping that through the influence of my father’s friends i could get some sort of a positionwhich would give me a living wage.” she shrugged her shoulders, “i wonder if youknow how differently people look at one when

one is well off and when one comes beggingfavors?” “none better,” he exclaimed bitterly. “so i had to get in to the chorus becausethey said my figure would do even if i hadn’t a good enough voice. then i met norton.” she looked at anthony trent with a littlefriendly smile that stirred him oddly. in that moment he envied norton guestwick morethan any living creature. “what do they say about my husband?” sheasked. “you can never believe reports,” he saidevasively. “i’ll tell you,” she returned, “theysay he is a waster, a libertine, weak and

degenerate. they are wrong. he is full ofsweet, generous impulses. his mother has so pampered him that he was almost hopeless tilli met him. i expect you think it’s conceited of me but i have a great influence on him.” “you would on any man,” he said fervently. she looked at him in a way that suggesteda certain subtle tribute to his best qualities. “ah, but you are different,” she sighed,“you are strong and resolute. you would sway the woman you loved and make her whatyou wanted her to be. he is clay for my molding and i want him to be a splendid, fine sonlike my father.” she looked at trent with a tender, proud smile, “if you had evermet my father you would understand.”

anthony trent shifted uneasily from one footto the other. he had not dared for months now to think of that kindly country physicianwho died from the exposure attendant on a trip during a blizzard to aid a pennilesspatient. “i know what you mean,” he said at length,“and i think it is splendid of you. good god! why can people like the guestwicks objectto a girl like you?” “they’ve never seen me,” she explained,“and that’s the main trouble. they persist in thinking of me as a champagne-drinkingadventuress who wants to blackmail them. that money"—she pointed to the safe, “i didn’task for it. mr. guestwick offered it to me as a bribe to give up my husband and consentto a divorce.”

“but i still don’t see why you are here,”he said. “our old servant arranged it. she says theyalways come up here after the opera, all four of them. if i confront them they must seei’m not the sort of girl they think me. i’m dreading it horribly but it’s theonly way.” anthony trent looked at her with open admiration. “you’ll win,” he cried enthusiastically,“i feel it in my bones.” “and when i absolutely refuse to take theirmoney they must see i’m not the adventuress they call me.” anthony trent had by this time forgotten themoney. the mention of it reminded him of his

errand and the fleeting minutes. “if you don’t take it, what is going tohappen to it?” “i’m going to tell mr. guestwick thathe can’t buy me.” “but i’m willing to be bought,” he said,forcing a smile. “in fact that’s what i came for.” she shrunk back as though he had struck her.her big eyes looked reproach at him. tremulous eager words seemed forced from her by theagitation into which his words had thrown her. “you couldn’t do that now,” she wailed,“not now you know. they’ll be in very

soon now and what could i say if the moneywas gone? don’t you see they would send me away in disgrace and norton would believethat i was just as bad as they said? then he’d divorce me and i think my heart wouldbreak.” “damn!” muttered trent. things were happeningin an unexpected fashion. he tried not to look at her piteous face. “please be kind to me,” she begged, “thisis your opportunity to do one great noble thing.” “it really means so much to you?” he asked. “it means everything,” she said simply.

he paced the room for a minute or more. hewas fighting a great battle. there remained in him, despite his mode of living, a certaingenerosity of character, a certain fineness bequeathed him by generations of honorablefolk. he saw clearly what the girl meant. she was here to fight for her happiness andthe redemption of the man she loved. how small a thing, it seemed to him suddenly, was thenecessity he had felt for obtaining the miserable money. what stinging mordant memories wouldalways be his if he refused her! there was a tenderness, a protective lookin his eyes when he glanced down at her. he was his father’s son again. “it means something to me, too,” he toldher, “to do as you want, and i don’t believe

there’s a person on this green earth i’ddo it for but you.” his hand lingered for a moment on her whiteshoulder. “good luck, little girl.” the partly lighted hall full of mysteriousshadows awakened no fear in him as he quietly descended the stairs. and when he came tothe avenue he did not glance up and down as he usually did to see whether or not he wasbeing followed. there was a lightness of heart and an exaltationof spirit which he had never experienced. it was that happiness which alone comes tothe man who has made a sacrifice. there was never a moment since he had abandoned fictionthat he was nearer to returning to its uncertain

rewards. pipe after pipe he smoked when hewas once more in his quiet room and asked himself why he had done this thing. therewere two reasons hard to dissociate. first, this wonderful girl had reminded him of theman he had passionately admired—his father, the father who had taught him to play fair.and then he was forced to admit he had never been more drawn to any woman than to thisgirl, who must, before his last pipe was smoked, have won her victory or gone down to defeat.again and again he told himself that there was no man he envied so much as norton guestwick. chapter ix “the countess”

the next morning anthony trent observed thatmrs. kinney was filled with the excitement that attended the reading of an unusual crimeas set forth by the morning papers. it was in those crimes committed in the higher circlesof society which intrigued her most, that society which she had served. as a rule trent let her wander on feelingthat her pleasures were few. sometimes he thought it a little curious that she shouldconcern herself with affairs in which he was sure, sooner or later, to be involved. itwas a relief to know she spoke of them to none but him. he rarely bothered to followher rambling recitals, contenting himself now and again with exclamations of supposedinterest. but this morning he was suddenly

roused from his meditations by the mentionof the word guestwick. “what’s that?” he demanded. “i was telling you about the guestwick robbery,sir,” she said as she filled his cup. he did not as a rule look at the paper untilhis breakfast was done. to send her for it now might, later, be used as a chain in theevidence that might even now be forging for him. he affected a luke-warm interest. “what was it?” he asked. “money mad!” returned mrs. kinney, shakingher head. “all money mad. the root of all evil.”

“a robbery was it?” “it was like this,” mrs. kinney responded,strangely gratified that her employer found her recital worth listening to. “there wasfifty-thousand dollars in cash in the safe in mr. guestwick’s library. he’s a millionaireand lives on fifth avenue. it’s a most mysterious case. the butler swears his master rang himup and told him to send all the servants to bed.” at length mrs. kinney recited briggs’s evidencebefore the police captain who was hurriedly summoned to the mansion. “they arrestedthe butler,” said mrs. kinney. “mr. guestwick says he came from one of those castles inengland where dissolute noblemen do nothing

but shoot foxes all day and play cards allnight. the police theory is that the butler admitted them and then went bed so as to provean alibi.” “mr. guestwick denies sending any such message?” “yes. he was at the opera.” anthony trent fought down the desire to rushout into the kitchen and take the paper from before mrs. kinney’s plate. she had saidthat briggs was to have admitted more than one person. “how many did this suspected butler letin?” “only one, the man. he was in evening dress.briggs suspected him from the first, but daren’t

go against his master’s positive instructions.briggs, the butler, says the man must have opened the door to his accomplice when he’dbeen sent off to bed with instructions not to answer any bell or telephone. the otherwas a beautiful young woman dressed just as she’d come from the opera herself.” “who saw her if briggs did not?” he demanded. “they caught her,” mrs. kinney returnedtriumphantly, “and the arrest of her accomplice is expected any minute. they know who he is.” anthony trent put down his untasted coffee. “that’s interesting,” he commented.“do they mention his name?”

“i don’t know as they did,” she replied.“i’ll go fetch the paper.” he read it through with a deeper interestthan he had ever taken in printed sheet before. such was guestwick’s importance that twocolumns had been devoted to him. mr. guestwick on returning from the operawas incensed to find none to let him in his own house. he was compelled to use a latchkey.the house was silent and unlighted. mr. guestwick, although a man of courage, felt the safetyof his women folk would be better guarded if he called in a passing policeman. in thelibrary they came face to face with crime. there, standing at the closed safe, her skirtcaught as the heavy doors had swung to, was a beautiful woman engaged as they came uponher in trying to tear off the imprisoning

garments. five minutes later and she wouldhave escaped said police sapience. finger prints revealed her as a very well-knowncriminal known to the continental police as “the countess.” she was one of a high-classgang which operated as a rule on the french and italian riviera, and owed its successto the ease with which it could assume the manners and customs of the aristocracy itplanned to steal from. “the countess,” for example, spoke english with a perfectionof idiom and inflection that was unequaled by a foreigner. she was believed to come froman old family of tuscany. despite a rigid examination by the police she had declinedto make any explanation. that, she told them, would be done in court.

anthony trent looked at the clock. it wasnine and she would be brought before a magistrate at half-past ten. so he had been fooled! all those high resolvesof his had been brought into being by a woman who must have been laughing at him all thewhile, who must have congratulated herself that her lies had touched a man’s heartand left fifty thousand dollars for her. it was a bitter and harder anthony trent thatcame to the police court; a man who was now almost as ashamed at his determination oflast night to abandon his career as he was now anxious to pursue it. there was possibly some danger in going. briggswould be there. the woman might point at him

in open court. there were a hundred dangers,but they had no power to deter him. he swore to watch her, gain what particulars he mightas to her past life and associates, and then take his revenge. god! how she had hoodwinkedhim! his face he must, of course, disguise in somesimple manner. it was not difficult. in court he took a seat not too far back. chewing gum,as he had often observed in the subway, had a marvelous power in altering an expression.he sat there, his lower jaw thrust out and his mouth drawn down, ceaselessly chewing.and one eye was partially closed. he had brought the thing to perfection. with shoulders hunchedhe looked without fear of detection into the fascinating green eyes of “the countess.”

by this time her defense was arranged. lastnight, her lawyer explained, she was so overcome with the shock that she could not make evena simple statement to the police. miss violet benyon, he declared, of london,england, and temporarily at the plaza, had felt on the previous evening need for a walk.knowing fifth avenue to be absolutely safe she walked north. passing the guestwick mansionshe saw a man in evening dress stealing down the steps, across the road and into the park.fearing robbery she had rung the bell. getting no answer and finding the door open she wentin. the only light was in the library. of a fearless nature, miss benyon of london wentboldly in. there was an open safe. this she closed and in the doing of it was imprisoned.that was all. the lawyer swept the finger-prints

aside as unworthy evidence. he was appearingbefore a neolithic magistrate who was prejudiced against them. an imposing old lady who claimed to be missbenyon’s aunt went bail for her niece’s appearance to the amount of ten thousand dollars.she mentioned as close friends names of well known americans, socially elect, who wouldrush to her rescue ere the day was out. so impressive was she, and so splendid a witnessdid miss benyon make, that the magistrate disregarded mr. guestwick’s plea and admittedher to bail. trent knew very well that central office menwould dog the steps of aunt and niece, making escape almost impossible. but he was neverthelessconvinced that miss violet benyon of london,

or the countess from the riviera, would neverreturn to the magistrate’s court as that trusting jurist anticipated. and anthony trent was right. the two women,despite police surveillance, left the hotel and merged themselves among the millions.the younger woman taking advantage of a new maid’s inexperience offered her a rewardfor permitting her to escape by back ways in order to win, as she averred, a bet. theaunt’s escape was unexplained by the police. they found awaiting the elder woman’s cominga girl from a milliner’s shop. she was allowed to go without examination. trent read theaccount very carefully and stored every published particular in his trained memory. there wasno doubt in his mind that the milliner’s

assistant was the so-called aunt. he rememberedher as a slim, elderly woman, very much made-up. on his own account he called at the milliner’sand made some inquiries. he found that there was no account with the benyons and no assistanthad been sent to the hotel. it was none of his business to aid police authorities. andhe was not anxious that the two should be caught in that way. there would come a timewhen he was retired from his present occupation when he would feel the need of excitement.getting even with the clever actress who prevented him from taking the guestwick money wouldcall for his astutest planning. chapter x anthony trent saves a piano

for some months now trent had been preparinga campaign against the collection of precious stones belonging to carr faulkner whose whitestone mansion looked across the park from his home. but whereas trent’s house facedeast, the faulkner abode looked west. and in matter of residence locality there is anappreciable difference in this outlook. the faulkner millions were in the main inherited.there was a conservative banking house on broad street bearing the faulkner name butit did not look for new business and found its principal work in guarding the vast faulknerfortune. faulkner’s first wife had been a collectorof pearls, those modest stones whose assembled value is always worth the criminal’s attention.the second wife, a young woman of less aristocratic

stock, eschewed pearls, holding the theorythat each one was a tear. she wanted flashing stones which advertised their value more ostentatiously.trent had seen her at the opera and marked her down as a profitable client. it was because trent worked so carefully thathe made so few mistakes. he had no friends to ask him leading questions and gossip abouthis mode of life. he had been half a year collecting information about the carr faulkners,the style in which they lived, the intimate friends they had and a hundred little detailswhich a careful professional must know before he can hope to make a success. the system of burglar alarm installed in themansion was an elaborate one but he was not

unskilled in matters of this sort. for threemonths he had worked in the shop where they were made and his general inborn mechanicalskill had been aided by conscientious study. attention to detail had saved him more thanonce, and is an aid to be counted on more than luck. yet it was sheer blind, kindly, garrulousluck that finally took trent unsuspected into the carr faulkner mansion. riding up madisonavenue in a trolley car late one afternoon, he overheard one of the faulkner’s maidsdiscussing the family. one of the girls had knocked over a vase ofcut flowers which stood on a grand piano in mrs. carr faulkner’s boudoir and the waterhad leaked through onto the wire and wood,

doing some little damage. “she was madder’n a wet hen,” said thegirl. “them things cost a lot of money,” hercompanion commented, “and that was inlaid like all the other things in her room. gee!the way mr. faulkner spends the money on her is a crime.” “second wives have a cinch,” said thefirst girl, sneering. “from all i hear the first was a perfect lady and kind to the maids,but this one is down-right ordinary. you should have heard what she said about me over the‘phone when she told the piano people to send a tuner up, and me standing there. saidi was “clumsy” and “stupid” and “a

love-sick fool.” i could tell somethingabout love-sick fools if i wanted to! and she knows it.” her friend cautioned her. “be careful,” she whispered, “you maywant to lose your job but i don’t. don’t talk so loud.” it was hardly five o’clock. anthony trentleft the car and started for a telephone booth. he went methodically through the lists ofthe better known piano makers. there was one firm whose high-priced instrument was frequentlyencased in rare woods for specially furnished rooms.

“this is mr. carr faulkner’s secretaryspeaking,” he began when the number was given to him. “have you been instructedto see about a piano here?” “we are sending a man right away,” hewas told. “to-morrow morning will do,” said thesupposed secretary. “we are giving a small dance to-night and it will not be convenient.” “we should prefer to send now,” came theanswer. “a valuable instrument might be extensively damaged if not attended to rightaway.” trent became confidential. he dropped hisvoice. “it’s nothing for mr. faulkner to buya new instrument if it’s needed, but it’s

a serious thing if a dance that mrs. faulknergives is interrupted. money is no consideration here as you ought to know.” the piano man, remembering the price thatwas exacted for the special case, smiled to himself. it would be better for him to sella new instrument. it would not surprise him if this affable secretary called in some finemorning and hinted at commission. such things had been done before in the trade. “it’s just as you say,” he returned.“at what hour shall our mr. jackson call?” “as soon as he likes after ten,” saidthe obliging trent, and rang off. then he called up the carr faulkner houseand told the answering man servant that mr.

jackson of stoneham’s would call at halfpast six. he was switched on to the private wire of mrs. carr faulkner. “it’s disgraceful that you can’t comebefore,” she stormed. “yours is specially made instrument,”he reminded her, “and i need special tools.” then he took the crosstown car to his homeand changed into a neat dark business suit. he also arrayed himself in a brand new shirtand collar. mrs. kinney always washed these, and many a criminal has had his identity provedby his laundry mark. trent, like a wise man, admitted the possibility that some day hemight be caught but was determined never to take the risks that lesser craftsmen hardlythought of.

anthony trent thought it most probable thatthe faulkner’s butler would be of the imported species. he hoped so. he found that they weremore easily impressed by good manners and dress than the domestic breed. some day he determined to write an essay onbutlers. there was conington warren’s bishop-like austin, cold, severe, aloof. there was guestwick’sman, the jovial sportsman type molding himself no doubt on some admired employer of earlierdays. faulkner’s butler was an amiable creatureand inclined to associate with a piano tuner on equal terms. he had rather fine featuresand was admired of the female domestics. his dignity forbade him to indulge in much familiaritywith the men beneath him and he welcomed the

pseudo-tuner as an opportunity to converse. “i knew you by your voice,” said the butlercordially. “come in.” there was little chance that the maid servantsbehind whom he had sat on the car would recognize him. or if they did there was no reason whythey should be suspicious. mrs. carr faulkner’s boudoir was a delightfulroom on the third floor. a little electric, self-operated elevator leading to it was pointedout by the butler. “not for the likes of you or me,” saidthe man. “we can walk.” mrs. carr faulkner was a dissatisfied lookingblonde woman. in her opera box surrounded by friends and displaying her famous jewelsshe had seemed a vision of loveliness to the

gazing far-away trent. here in her own homeand dealing with those whom she considered her inferiors, she made no effort to be evencivil. “who is this person?” she demanded ofthe butler. “the man come to look at the piano, ma’am,”he returned. “you’re not mr. jackson,” she said withabruptness. it was plain jackson was known. trent blamedhimself for not thinking of this possibility. “i am the head tuner,” he said with dignity,“we understood it was a case where the highest skill was needed.” she looked at him coldly.

“i don’t know that it demands much ofwhat you call skill,” she retorted acidly. “you have come at a singularly inconvenienthour. please get to work at once.” with this she left the room. the butler gazedafter her scowling. “do you have to put up with that all day?”trent asked him. “how the boss stands it i don’t know,”said the butler. “why take it out on a mere piano tuner?”trent asked. the butler winked knowingly. he dug trentin the ribs with a fine, free and friendly gesture. “speaking as one man of the world to another,”he observed, “i guess you spoiled a little

tãªte-ã -tãªte as we say in gay paree. mr.carr faulkner leaves the union club at seven and walks up the avenue in time to dress forhis dinner at eight. there’s another gentleman leaves another club on the same avenue andgets here as a rule at six and leaves in time to avoid the master.” the butler leanedforward and whispered in the tuner’s ear, “she’s crazy about him. the only man whodoesn’t know is the boss. it’s always the way,” added the self-confessed man ofthe world, “i wouldn’t trust any woman living. the more they have the worse theyare. if ever i marry i’ll take a job as lighthouse keeper and take my wife along.” “will they come in here?” trent askedanxiously. he wanted the opportunity to do

his own work while the family dined and hedid not want to be seen by an unnecessary person. he disliked taking even a millionto one shot. the cynical butler interpreted his interestdifferently. “you won’t understand a word of what they’resaying. they talk in french. she was at school in lausanne and he’s a french count, orsays he is. i’ve made a mistake in scorning foreign languages,” the butler admitted,“i’d give a lot to know what they talk about.” he was not to know that trent knewfrench moderately well. left to himself trent called to mind the actionsof a piano tuner. he had often watched his own grand being tuned. when mrs. carr faulknercame into the room she beheld an earnest young

man delving among the piano’s depths. shewas interested in no man but jules d’aucquier who filled her heart and emptied her purse. “is the thing much damaged?” she askedpresently. “i think not,” he replied. “then you need not stay long?” “i shall go as soon as possible,” he said. she sank into a deep chair and thought ofjules. and there came to her face a softer, happier look. the butler’s talk trent dismissedas mere servants’ gossip. of carr faulkner he knew nothing except that he was years olderthan his wife. he was, probably, a wealthy

rou㩠who had coveted this beautiful womanand bought her in marriage. in high society it was often that way, he mused. family coercion,perhaps, or the need to aid impoverished parents. it was being done every day. this man of whomthe butler spoke was probably her own age. since the stone age this domestic intriguemust have been going on. he touched the keyboard—pianissimo at firstand then growing bolder plunged into the glorious liebestod. it was not the sort of thing mr.jackson would have done but then anthony trent was a head tuner as he had explained. he watchedthe woman’s face to see into what mood the music would lead her. he was speedily to findout. “stop,” she commanded and rising to herfeet came to his side. “why do you do that?”

“i must try it,” he answered, a littlesheepishly, “we always have to test an instrument.” “but to play the liebestod” she said severely.“i have heard them all play it, bauer, borwick, grainger, d’albert and hoffman and you dareto try! it was impertinent of you. of course if you must play just play those chords tunersalways use.” trent admitted afterwards he had never beenmore angry or felt more insulted in his life. he had not for a moment supposed this butterflywoman even knew the name of what he played. “i won’t offend again,” he said withwhat he hoped was a sarcastic inflection. she answered never a word. she seemed to belistening. trent heard a sound that might have been the opening of the elevator door.then came hurried steps along the hall and

jules d’aucquier entered. he was dark to the point of swarthiness, talland graceful. his rather small head reminded trent of a snake’s. as a man who knew mentrent determined that the newcomer was dangerous. the look that he threw across the room tothe intruder was not pleasant. he spoke very quickly in french. “who is this?” he demanded. “no one who matters,” she answered inthe same tongue. “but what is the pig doing here at thishour?” he asked. “repairing the piano,” she told him, “apoor tuner i imagine for the reason that he

plays so well. i had to stop him when he beganthe liebestod. it affects me too much. that was being played when you first looked intomy eyes, dear one.” “send him away,” the man commanded. “but that would look suspicious,” shedeclared. trent noticed that jules did not respond tothe affection which was in the woman’s tone. “you should not telephone to me at the club,”he said as he took a seat at her side. “i am only a temporary member and do not wantto embarrass my sponsor.” “but you were so cruel to me yesterday,”she murmured. “cruel?” he repeated and turned his cold,snake eyes on her, eyes that could, when he

willed it, glow with fire and passion. “whois the crueler, you or i?” “what do you mean?” she cried almost tearfully.“you know i love you.” “and yet when i ask you to do a favor whichis easily within your power to perform you refuse. i must have money; that you know.” “it is always money now,” she complained.“you no longer say that you love me.” “how can i when my creditors bark at myheels like hungry dogs? unless i pay by to-morrow it is finished. you and i see one anotherno more, that is certain.” he looked at her in annoyed surprise whenshe suddenly smiled. he watched her with an even greater interest than the man gazingfrom behind the piano. from an escritoire

she took a package wrapped in lavender paper.this she placed in the pocket of the coat that he had thrown across a chair. “what good are cigarettes to me now?”he demanded. “i have told you that unless i have fifteen thousand dollars by noon to-morrow,i am done.” “when you get to your rooms,” she said,smiling, “open your cigarettes and see if i do not love you.” trent admitted this jules was undeniably handsomenow that the dark face was wreathed in smiles. jules gathered her in his arms. “my soul,” he whispered, and covered herface with kisses. when he attempted to rise

and go to the coat his eyes were staring at,she held him tight. “i got twenty thousand from him,” shesaid. “you will find the twenty bills each wrapped in the cigarette papers. i pushedthe tobacco out and they fitted in.” “wasteful one,” he said in tender reproachand sought again to retrieve his coat. unfortunately for the debonair jules d’aucquierthis was not immediately possible. the click of the little elevator was heard. the twolooked at one another in alarm. “it must be carr,” she whispered. “nobodyelse could possibly use that elevator now. somebody has told him.” she looked abouther in despair. “you must hide. quick, behind the piano there until i get him away.”

trent working industriously amid the wreckageof what had been a grand piano looked up with polite surprise at the tall man who flunghimself almost at his feet and tried to conceal himself behind part of the instrument. “hide me, quickly,” jules whispered, “doyou hear. i will give you money. quick, fool, don’t gape at me.” for the second time that evening anthony trentsmothered his anger and smiled when rage was in his heart. and he did so for the secondtime not because he was conscious of fear but because he saw himself suitably rewardedfor his efforts. he felt a note thrust into his hand but this was not the reward he lookedfor. he was arranging the piano dã©bris around

the prostrate jules when there was a knockon the door and carr faulkner entered. the millionaire’s eye fell first of allupon the coat over the chair. “who’s is this?” he demanded. the pause was hardly perceptible before sheanswered. “i suppose it belongs to the piano man.” faulkner looked across at the instrument andbeheld the busy trent taking what else was possible from the stoneman. all the king’shorses and all the king’s men could not put that instrument together again easily.trent went about his business with quiet persistence. carr faulkner’s voice was very courteousand kind as he addressed the tuner.

“i’m afraid i must ask you to wait outsidein the hall for a few minutes until i have had a little private talk with my wife.” “is that necessary,” she said quickly.“i’m just going to dress for dinner. we have people coming, remember.” “there is time,” he said meaningly. “ileft my club half an hour earlier to-day. did the change incommode you?” “why should it?” she said lightly. faulkner was a man of middle age with a finethoughtful face. it was a face that made an instant appeal to trent. it mirrored kindlinessand good breeding, and reminded him in a subtle

way of his own father, a country physicianwho had died a dozen years before his only son left the way of honest men. “a few minutes only,” he said and trentpassed out into the hall taking care to leave the door opened an inch or so. it was necessaryfor his peace of mind that he should know what it was mr. faulkner had to say to hiswife. it might concern him vitally. it was possible that inquiry at stoneman’s mighthave informed faulkner of his trickery. while this was improbable trent was not minded tobe careless. this kindly aspect of the millionaire might be assumed to put him off his guard;even now men might be stationed at the exits to arrest him. very quietly he stole backto the door and listened.

“i have found out for certain what i havelong suspected,” faulkner was saying to his wife. “it is always the husband wholearns last. don’t protest,” he added. “i know too much. i know for example thatyou have sold many of your jewels to provide funds for a gambler and a rascal.” “i don’t know what you mean,” she criedwhite-faced. “you do,” he said, and there was a traceof deep sadness in his voice. “you know too well. this man jules d’aucquier is notof a noble french family at all. he is a french-canadian and was formerly a valet to an english officerof title at ottawa. it was there he picked up this smattering of knowledge which hasmade it easy to fool the unsuspecting.”

“i don’t believe it,” she cried vehemently. he looked at her sadly. the whole scene wascrucifixion for him. “i shall prove it,” he said quietly. “i don’t care if you do,” she flungback at him. “you would care for him just the same?”he asked. “i have not said that i care for him atall,” she said, a trace of caution creeping into her manner. “i shall give you the opportunity to proveit one way or another within a few minutes. we have come to the parting of the ways.”

it was at this moment anthony trent knockedtimidly upon the door. the stage was set to his liking. when he was bidden to enter hisquick eye took in everything. there, out of sight d’aucquier skulked while he preparedto hear his despicable history told to the woman who was his victim. as for the womanshe was defiant. she would probably elect to follow a scoundrel who had fascinated herand leave a man behind whose good name she had trailed in the dust. the situation wasnot a new one but trent was moved by it. carr faulkner had all his sympathy. he registereda vow if ever he met d’aucquier, or whatever his name might be, to exact a punishment. “excuse me,” said anthony trent, steppinginto the room, “but my train leaves in twenty

minutes—i live out in long island—andi’ve got to catch it or else the missus will be worrying.” mrs. faulkner looked at him frowning. shewanted to get this scene over. he was a good looking piano tuner, she decided, and nowhis tragedy was plain. he who had no doubt once aimed at the concert stage tuned pianosto support a wife and home in long island! “i’ll finish the job to-morrow morning.” she waved him toward the door imperiously.every moment she and her husband spent in this room added to the chance of the hidingman’s discovery. “why don’t you go?” she cried.

anthony trent permitted himself to smile faintly. “i’ve come for my coat, ma’am,” hesaid, and glanced at the raiment d’aucquier had thrown carelessly over a chair, the coatnow laden with such precious cigarettes. carr faulkner was growing impatient at thisinterruption. he could not understand the look of anger on his wife’s face. “don’t you understand,” he exclaimed,“that the man merely wants to go home and take his coat with him?” he turned to the deferential trent. “all right, all right,” trent moved tothe chair and took the garment. at the door

he turned about and bowed profoundly. in the lower hall he found the cynical butlerwhose ideas on matrimony were so decided. he startled that functionary by thrustinginto his hand the ten dollars d’aucquier had forced upon him. “what’s this for?” demanded the butler.when piano tuners came with gifts in their hands he was suspicious. “i don’t understandthis.” he observed that the affability which had made the tuner seem kin to himself wasvanished. a different man now looked at him. “it’s for you,” said trent. “i’mnot a piano tuner. i’m a detective and i came here after that ex-valet who pretendsto be a french nobleman.”

the butler breathed hard. “i ’ate that man, sir,” he said simply.“i’d like to dot him one.” “you’ll be able to and that within fiveminutes,” trent assured him. “he is concealed behind the lid of the grand piano i was supposedto repair. mr. and mrs. faulkner are both in the room but he doesn’t know jules isthere. you take two footmen and yank him out and then if you want to ‘dot him one’or two, there’s your chance.” the muscles of the butler’s big shouldersswelled with anticipation. “where are you going?” he asked of trent, now making forthe front door. “to get the patrol wagon,” said anthonytrent.

“how long will you be?” asked the man. “i shall be back in no time,” trent answeredcryptically. arrived in his quiet rooms he undid the boxof cigarettes. at first he thought he had been fooled for the top layer of cigaretteswere tobacco-filled and normal. but it was on the next row that mrs. carrfaulkner had expended her trouble. each one contained a new thousand dollar bill and theirtint enthralled him. chapter xi espionage at close range cashing a modest check at the colonial bankone morning, trent had fallen in line with

a queue at the paying teller’s window. hemade it a point to observe what went on while he waited. he was not much interested in bankrobberies. to begin with the american bankers’ association is a vengeful society pursuingto the death such as mulct its clients. furthermore, a successful bank robbery, unless the workof an inside man, needs careful planning and collaboration. on this particular morning trent saw a stoutand jocund gentleman push his check across the glass entrance to the cashier’s caveand received without hesitation a large sum of money. he passed the time of day with theofficial, climbed into a limousine and was whirled up broadway.

“did yer see that?” a youth demanded whostood before trent. “what?” he asked quietly. it was not hispose to be interested in other of the bank’s customers. “that guy took out twenty thousand dollars,”the boy said, reverence in his tone. “that’s a lot of money,” said trent. “he lives well,” said the lad. “i oughtto know, he gets his groceries from us and he only eats and drinks the best.” “he looks like it,” the other said genially.if the stout and jocund gourmet had known what was in trent’s mind he would have hiedhim back to the bank and redeposited his cash.

“it’s rudolf liebermann, isn’t it?” “that’s frederick williams, and he liveson ninety-third, near the drive.” what additional information trent wanted toknow might be obtained from other than this boy. to make many inquiries might, if frederickwilliams were relieved of his roll, bring back the incident to the grocer’s boy. directly dusk fell anthony trent, in the eveninggarb of fashion, crossed over to riverside drive and presently came to the heroic statueof jeanne d’arc which stands at the foot of ninety-third street. by this time he knewthe license number of the williams’ limousine and the address. it was one of those smallresidences of gray stone containing a dozen

rooms or so. such houses, as he knew, wereusually laid out on a similar plan and he was familiar with it. it was very rarely that he made a professionalvisit to a house without having a definite plan of attack carefully worked out. thiswas the first time he sought to gain entrance to a strange house on the mere chance of success.but the twenty thousand dollars in crisp notes tempted him. in his last affair he had nettedthis sum in notes of a similar denomination and he was superstitious enough to feel thatthis augured well for to-night’s success. careful as ever, trent had made his alibisin case of failure. in one of his pockets was a pint flask of bourbon, empty save fora dram of spirit. in another was a slip of

paper containing the name of the house-holderwho occupied a house with the same number as that of williams, but on ninety-fifth street.once before he had saved himself by this ruse. he had protested vigorously when detectedby a footman that he was merely playing a practical joke on his old college chum wholived, as he thought, in this particular house, but was found to be on the next block. andin this case the emptied whiskey flask and the cheerful tipsiness of the amiable youngman of fashion—trent’s most successful pose—saved him. in his pockets nothing would be found to incriminatehim. he knew well the folly of carrying the automatic so beloved of screen or stage raffles.in the first place, the sudden temptation

to murder in a tight pinch, and in the secondthe sullivan law. in the bamboo cane, carefully concealed, were slender rods of steel whosepresence few would suspect. he had left such a cane in senator scrivener’s fifth avenuemansion when he was compelled to make an unrehearsed exit. once he met the senator coming downthe steps of the union club with this cane in his hand. he chuckled to think what mightbe that worthy’s chagrin to know he had been carrying burglar’s tools with him. as there was little light on the lower floorof frederick williams’ house, trent let himself in cautiously. there was a dim hanginglight which showed that the williams idea of furnishing was in massive bad taste. atthe rear of the hall were the kitchens. under

the swinging door he could see a bright light.the stairs were wide and did not creak. carefully he ascended them and stood breathless in afoyer between the two main reception-rooms. there were voices in the rear room, whichshould, if williams conformed to the majority of dwellers in such houses, be the dining-room.big doors shut out view and sound until he crept nearer and peeped through a keyhole.he could see williams sitting in a turkish rocker smoking a cigar. there were two othermen and all three chattered volubly in german. unfortunately it was a tongue of which thelistener knew almost nothing. reasonably fluent in french, the comprehension of german wasbeyond him. there was a small safe in the corner and it was not closed. trent felt certainthat in it reposed those notes he had come

for. in the corner of the foyer was a carven teakwoodtable with a glass top, and on it was a large boston fern. it would be easy enough to crouchthere unobserved. the only possibility of discovery was the remote contingency thatwilliams and his friends might choose to use this foyer. but trent had seen that it wasnot furnished as a sitting-room. he had barely determined on his hiding placewhen he found the sudden necessity to use it. williams arose quickly and advanced tothe door. when he threw it open the path of light left the unbidden one completely obscured.the three men passed by him and entered the drawing-room in front. trent caught a viewof a luxuriously overfurnished room and a

grand piano. then williams began to play apart of a brahms sonata so well that trent’s heart warmed toward him. but his appreciationof the master did not permit him to listen to the whole movement. he crept cautiouslyfrom his cover and into the room the three had just vacated. if there were other of williams’friends or family here trent might be called upon to exercise his undoubted talents. oneman he would not hesitate to attack since his working knowledge of jiu-jitsu was beyondthe average. if there were two, attack would be useless in the absence of a revolver. butif the coast were clear—ah, then, a competence, all the golf and fishing he desired. therewould be only the countess to deal with at his leisure.

the room was empty, but the safe was closed!williams was not devoid of caution. a glance at the thing showed trent that in an uninterruptedhalf hour he could learn its secrets. but he could hardly be assured of that at nineo’clock at night. his very presence in the room was fraught with danger. the one doorleading from it opened into a butler’s pantry from which a flight of stairs led into thekitchen part of the house. downstairs he could hear faucets running. a dumbwaiter offereda way of escape if he were put to it. to the side of the dumbwaiter was a zinc-lined compartmentused for drying dishes. it was four feet long and three in height and a shelf bisected it.this he took out carefully and placed upon the floor of the compartment, making an amplespace for concealment. a radiator opened into

it, giving the heat desired, and two irongratings in the doors afforded trent the opportunity to overhear what might be said. he satisfiedhimself that the doors opened noiselessly. the burglar’s rã´le was not always an heroicone, he told himself, and thought of the popular misconception of such activities. it must have been an hour later when he heardsounds in the adjoining room. by this time he was fighting against the drowsiness inducedby the heat of his prison. the swinging door between the butler’s pantryand the dining-room was thrown open and williams came in. he leaned over the staircase andshouted something in german to some one in the kitchen, who answered him in the sametongue. there was the sound below of locking

and bolting the doors. the servants had evidentlybeen sent to bed. when williams went back to the other roomthe door between did not swing to by four or five inches. so far as williams was concernedthis carelessness was to cost him more than he guessed. even in his hiding place the conversationwas audible to trent, although its meaning was incomprehensible. he was suddenly awakened to a more vivid interestwhen he became aware that it was now english that they were talking. there was a newcomerin the room, a man with a nasal carrying voice and a prodigious brogue. “this, gentlemen,” he heard williams say,“is mr. o’sheill, who has done so much

good work for us and for the freedom of oppressed,starving, shackled ireland, which we shall free. i may tell mr. o’sheill that the highestpersonages in the fatherland weep bitter tears for ireland’s wrongs.” “that’s all right,” said the sinn feinera trifle ungraciously, “but what’s behind yonder door?” for answer one of the other men flung it open,turned up the lights and permitted mr. o’sheill to make his examination. trent heard the man’sheavy tread as he descended the stairway and found at the bottom a locked door. “you’ve got to be careful,” o’sheillsaid when he rejoined williams and the rest.

“these damned secret service men are everywhere,they tell me.” “that is why we have rented a private house,”one of the germans declared. “at an hotel privacy is impossible. we have had our experiences.” these scraps of conversation aroused anthonytrent immediately. it required only a cursory knowledge of the affairs of the moment fora duller man than he to realize that he had come across the scent of one of those plotswhich were so hampering his government in their prosecution of the war. very cautiouslyhe crawled from his hiding place and made his silent way to the barely opened door. o’sheill was lighting a large cigar. hiswas a suspicious, dour face. williams, urbane

and florid, was very patient. “that i do not tell you the names of mycolleagues,” he said, “is of no moment. it is sufficient to say that you have thehonor to be in the presence of one of the most illustrious personages in my country.”here he bowed in the direction of a small, thin, dapper man who did not return the salutation. “i came for the money,” said o’sheill. “you came first for your instructions,”snapped the illustrious personage coldly. “that’s so, yer honor,” o’sheill answered.there was something menacing in the tone of the other man and he recognized it.

“this money,” said williams, “is givenfor very definite purposes and an accounting will be demanded.” “ain’t you satisfied with the way i managedit at cork?” o’sheill demanded. “it was a beginning,” williams conceded.“here is what you must do: wherever along the irish coast the english bluejackets andthe american sailors foregather you must stir up bad blood. i do not pretend to give youany more precise direction than this. let the americans understand that the britishcall them cowards. let the british think the same of the yankees. let there be bitter streetfights, not in obscure drinking dens, but in the public streets in the light of day.i will see to it that the news gets back here

and let americans have something to thinkabout when the next draft is raised. find men in england to do what you must do in yourown country. let there be black blood between briton and american from belfast to portsmouth.let there be doubt and recrimination so that preparations are hindered here.” the man who passed as williams looked venomousas he said this. the man to whom he spoke, thinking in his ignorance that he was indeedhelping his native land instead of hurting it, and forgetful that in aiding the enemiesof america he was stabbing a country which had ever been a faithful friend of erin’s,gave particulars of his operations which trent memorized as best he might. he was appalledto hear to what length these men were prepared

to go if only the good relations between theallies might be brought to naught. so engrossed was he with the importance ofwhat he heard that the passing of the large sum of money from williams to the sinn feinerlost much of its entrancing interest. trent meant to have the money, but he intended alsoto give the department of justice what help he could. it was not the first time that he had gonefrom one floor to another by means of a dumbwaiter. it was never an easy operation and rarelya noiseless one. in this instance he was fortunate in finding well-oiled pulleys. it was onlywhen he stepped out in the kitchen that he ran into danger. there was a man asleep ona folding bed which had been drawn across

the door. to leave by the front door immediatelywas imperative. even were it possible to leave by a rear entrance he would find himself inthe little garden at the back and could only get out by climbing a dozen fences. this wouldbe to court observation and run unnecessary risks. to invite electrocution by killing men wasno part of anthony trent’s practice. it was plain that the servant was slumberingfitfully and the act of stepping over him to freedom likely to awaken him instantly.even if he had the needed rope at hand binding and gagging a vigorous man was at best a matterof noise and struggle. but something had to be done. he must reach the street in timeto follow o’sheill.

superimposed on the bed’s frame was a mattressand army blanket. directly behind the sleeper’s head was a door which led, as trent knew fromhis knowledge of house design, to the cellar. it opened inward and without noise. he bentquietly over the man, put his hands gently beneath the mattress and then with a tremendouseffort flung him, mattress, army blanket and all, down the cellar stairs. there was a clatterof breaking bottles, a cry that died away almost as it was uttered, and then the doorwas shut on silence. a little later williams, feeling the needfor iced beer and cheese sandwiches, rang the bell for fritz. when he received no answerhe descended to the kitchen with the intention of buffeting soundly a man who could so forgethis duties to his superiors. mr. williams

found only the bare bed. fritz, with his bedding,had disappeared. a front door unlocked when instructions hadbeen exact as to the necessity of its careful fastening at all hours, brought uneasy conjecturesto his mind. it was only so long as he and his companions were invested with the immunityof neutrality that he was of value to his native land. of late he had been consciousof secret service activities. obedient to his training, williams instantlyreported the matter to the thin, acid-faced man under whose instructions he had been commandedto act. “they have taken fritz away,” he cried. “who?” demanded his superior.

“the secret service,” said williams wildly.he was now beginning to ascribe aggressive skill to a service at which he had formerlysneered. going down to the kitchen, they were startledby a feeble cry from the cellar. there they discovered the frightened fritz, cut aboutthe face from the bottles he had broken in his fall. his injuries gave him less concernthan the admission he had slept at his post. he was, therefore, of no aid to them. “i do not know,” he repeated as they questionedhim. “there must have been many of them. one man alone could not do it.” the thin man turned to williams: “this o’sheillis in danger. arm yourself and go to his hotel.

it will go badly with you if harm comes tohim.” chapter xii the sinn fein plot fortunately for o’sheill’s peace of mind,he left the house before williams made his discovery. he stepped into the street painfullyconscious of the large sum of money he carried. it seemed to him that every man looked athim suspiciously. a request for a match was met with an oath and the two women who askedhim the location of a certain hotel drew back nervously at his scowl. he boarded the elevated at the ninety-thirdstreet station and alighted at ninth avenue

and forty-second street, still glancing abouthim suspiciously. it was not until he was in his room on the top floor of a cheap andold hotel on the far west side that he ventured to feel safe. he sighed with relief as hestuffed a dublin clay with malodorous shag. twenty thousand dollars! four thousand pounds!some would go to the traitorous work he was employed to prosecute, but a lot of it wouldgo to satisfy private hates. and when it was exhausted there would be more to come. itwould be easy to conceal the notes about his person, and, anyway, he reflected, he wasnot under suspicion. he was aroused from his reveries by the sudden,gentle tapping on his door. after a few seconds of hesitation he called out:

“what is it ye want?” the voice that answered him was strongly tingedwith the german accent to which he had recently become used. it will not be forgotten thatanthony trent had a genius for mimicry. “i’m from mr. williams,” said the strangergutturally. he had followed o’sheill with no difficulty. “what’s your name?” o’sheill demanded. “we won’t give names,” trent remindedhim significantly. “but i can prove my identity. i was in the house at ninety-third streetwhen you came. the money was given you to stir up trouble in ireland and circulate rumorsthat will embarrass the british government

and made bad blood between english and americansailors. you have twenty one-thousand-dollar bills and you put them in a green oilskinpackage.” “that’s right,” o’sheill admitted,“but what do you want?” he was filled with a vague uneasiness. thisyoung man seemed so terribly in earnest and his eyes darted from door to window and windowto door as though he feared interruption. “mr. williams sent me here to see if youhad been followed. directly you went we had information from an agent of ours that yourvisit was known to the secret service. tell me, did any person speak to you on your wayhere?” “no,” answered o’sheill, now thoroughlynervous by the other’s anxiety.

“are you sure?” he was asked. “there was one fellow who asked me for alight, but i told him to go to hell and get it.” “anything suspicious about him?” trentdemanded. “not that i could see.” “that will be good news for mr. williams,”trent returned. “our agent said the hunchback was on the job.” “who’s he?” o’sheill said. “one of our most dangerous enemies,” theyounger man retorted. “he’s a man of forty,

but looks younger. he had one shoulder higherthan the other and he limps when he walks. he’s the man we’re afraid of. i thinkwe have alarmed ourselves unnecessarily.” o’sheill’s face was no longer merely uneasy.he was terror-stricken. “and i guess we haven’t,” he exclaimed.“the man who asked me for a light was a hunchback. there was two women who asked methe way to some blasted hotel. they looked at me as if they wanted never to forget myface.” “stop a minute,” said trent gravely. “answerme exactly about these women. i want to know in what danger we all stand. the only twowomen known by sight to us who are likely to be put on a case of this kind wouldn’tlook like detectives. there’s mrs. daniels

and miss barrett. they work as mother anddaughter. mrs. daniels is gray-haired, tall and slight, with a big nose for a woman andeyes set close together. when she looks at you it seems as if the eyes were gimlets.the girl is pretty, reddish hair and laughing eyes.” trent paused for a moment to thinkof any other attributes he could ascribe to the unknown women he had directed to theirhotel just after o’sheill had scowled at them a half hour back. “and very white littleteeth.” “my god!” cried o’sheill, his arms droppingat his side, “that’s them to the life! what’s going to happen to me?” “if they find you with that money you’llbe deported and handed over to your british

friends. how can you explain having twentythousand dollars? mr. williams thought of that, but he didn’t actually know they wereon your trail. you must give me the money. i shan’t be stopped. you are to stay here.they may be here in five minutes or they may wait till morning, but you may be certainthat you won’t be allowed to get away. you must claim to be just over here to get aninsight into labor conditions.” mr. williams’ messenger chuckled. “i don’t believe theycan get anything on you.” “but if they do?” o’sheill demanded.it seemed to him that the stranger’s levity was singularly ill-timed. “if they do,” trent advised, “you mustremember that you’re a british subject still—whether

you like it or not—and you have certaininalienable rights. immediately appeal to the british authorities. give the earl ofreading some work to do. make the consul-general here stir himself. tell them you came overhere to investigate labor conditions. that story goes any time and just now it’s fashionable.as an irishman you’ll have far more consideration from the british government than if you weremerely an englishman.” “but what about this money?” o’sheillqueried uneasily. “i’ll take it,” trent told him. “ifit’s found on you nothing can do you any good. you’ll do your plotting in a britishjail.” o’sheill was amazed at the careless mannerin which this large sum was thrust into the

other man’s pocket. surely these accomplicesof his dealt in big things. “when you’re ready to sail you can getit back,” trent continued. “that can be arranged later. meanwhile don’t forget myinstructions. be indignant when you are searched. call on the british ambassador.” trent pausedsuddenly. an idea had struck him. “by the way,” he went on, “you have other thingsthat would get you into trouble beside that “i know it,” o’sheill admitted. “whatam i to do with them?” “i’m taking a chance if they are foundon me,” the younger man commented. “but they are not after me. give me what you have,”he cried. into this keeping the frightened o’sheillconfided certain letters which later were

to prove such an admirable aid to the unitedstates government. it was as trent turned to the door that heheard steps coming along the passage as softly as the creaking boards permitted. he placed his fingers on his lips and enjoinedsilence. the furtive sound completed o’sheill’s distress. he felt himself entrapped. trentsaw him take from his hip pocket a revolver. “not yet,” he whispered. “wait.” he turned down the gas to a tiny glimmer.through the transom the stronger light in the passage was seen. it was but a slighteffort for the muscular trent to draw himself up so that he could peer through the transomat the man tapping softly at the door.

unquestionably it was williams, and the handconcealed in his right hand coat pocket was no doubt gripping the butt of an automatic.he was a man of great physical strength, that trent had noted earlier in the evening. althoughof enormous strength himself, and a boxer and wrestler, he knew he would stand no chanceif these two discovered his errand. there was no other exit than the door. anthony trent stepped silently to o’sheill’sside. “it’s the hunchback,” he whispered.“if once he gets those long fingers around your throat you’re gone. listen to me. i’mgoing to turn the gas out. then i shall open the door. when he rushes in get him. if hegets you instead i’ll be on the top of him

and we’ll tie him up. ready?” the prospect of a fight restored o’sheill’sspirits. every line of his evil face was a black menace to friedrich wilhelm outside. “don’t use your revolver,” anthony trentcautioned. “why?” o’sheill whispered. “we can’t stand police investigation,”said the other. “get ready now i’m going to open the door.” when he flung it open williams stepped quicklyin. o’sheill maddened at the very thought that any one imperiled his money, could onlysee, in the dim light, an enemy. the first

blow he struck landed fair and square on theprussian nose. on his part williams supposed the attack a premeditated one. o’sheillwas playing him false. the pain of the blow awoke his own hot temper and made him killingmad. he sought to get his strong arms about the sinn feiner’s throat. it was while they thrashed about on the floorthat anthony trent made his escape. he closed the door of the room carefully and lockedit from the outside. then he unscrewed the electric bulb that lit the hall. none sawhim pass into the street. it was one of his triumphant nights. next morning at breakfast he found mrs. kinneymuch interested in the city’s police news

as set forth in the papers. he was singularly cheerful. “what is it?” he demanded. “some verydreadful crime?” “a double murder,” she told him, “andthe police don’t seem to be able to figure it out at all.” trent sipped his coffee gratefully. “what’s strange about that?” he demanded. “i don’t see,” mrs. kinney went on,“what a gentleman like this mr. williams seems to have been——”

anthony trent put down his cup. “what’s his other name?” he inquired. “frederick,” said the interested mrs.kinney. “frederick williams, a holland dutch gentleman living in ninety-third street nearthe drive. he aided the red cross and bought liberty bonds. what i want to know is whyhe went to a low place like the shipwrights hotel to see a man named o’sheill from liverpool,england?” “a double murder?” he demanded. “here it is,” she returned, and showedhim the paper. the two men had been found dead, the report ran, under mysterious circumstances,but the police thought a solution would quickly

be found. anthony trent smiled as he readof official optimism. he was inclined to doubt it. when mrs. kinney was out shopping he readthrough the documents he had taken from o’sheill. they seemed to him to be of prime importance.there was a list of american sinn feiners implicating men in high positions, men againstwhom so far nothing detrimental was known. outlines of plots were made bare to embroiland antagonize britain and the united states—allies in the great cause—and all that subtle propagandawhich had nothing to do with the betterment of prosperous ireland but everything to dowith prussian aggrandizement. it was a poisonous collection of documents.

the chief of the department of justice innew york was called up from a public station and informed that a messenger was on his waywith very important papers. the chief was warned to make immediate search of the premisesat ninety-third street where a highly important german spy might be captured. in the evening papers anthony trent was gratifiedto learn that the highly-born, thin, haughty person was none other than the baron von reisendewho had received his cong㩠with bernstorff and was thought to be in the wilmhelmstrasse.he had probably returned by way of mexico. and certain politicians of the baser sortwere sternly warned against plotting the downfall of america’s allies. altogether trent haddone a good night’s work for his country.

as for himself twenty thousand dollars wentfar toward making the total he desired. consistent success in such enterprises ashis was leading him into a feeling that he would not be run to earth as had been thoselesser practitioners of crime who lacked his subtlety and shared their secrets with others. but there was always the chance that he hadbeen observed when he thought he was alone in some great house. austin, the coningtonwarren butler, looked him full in the face on his first adventure. and that other butlerwho served the millionaire whose piano he had wrecked might, some day, place a handon his shoulder and denounce him to the world. yet butlers were beings whose duties tookthem little abroad. they did not greatly perturb

him. chapter xiii anthony trent interests himself in policegossip so far as he knew, none suspected him. hisface had been seen on one or two occasions, but he was of a type common among young americansof the educated classes. above middle height, slenderly fashioned but wire-strong, he hada shrewd, humorous face with strongly marked features. it might be that the nose was atrifle large and the mouth a trifle tight, but none looking at him would say, “theregoes a criminal.” they would say, rather, “there goes a resourceful young businessman who can rise to any emergency.”

since trent had calculated everything to anicety, he knew he must, during these harvesting years, deny himself the privilege of friendshipwith other men or women. too many of his gild had lost their liberty through some errantdesire to be confidential. this habit of solitude was trying to a man naturally of a sociablenature, but he determined that it could be cast from him as one throws away an old coatwhen he was a burglar emeritus. that blessed moment had arrived. he even lookedup an old editor friend, the man who had first put into his mind that he could make moremoney at burglary than in writing fiction. “it’s good to see you again!” criedthe editor. “i often wish you hadn’t been left money by that australian uncle of yours,so that you could still write those corking

crook yarns for us. there was never any onelike you. i was talking about you at the scribblers’ club dinner the other night.” trent frowned. publicity was a thing to avoidand this particular editor had always been ready to sound his praise. the editor hadonce before asked him to join this little club made up of professional writers. theywere men he would have delighted to know under other conditions. “be my guest next tuesday,” the editorpersisted. “i’m toastmaster and the subject is ‘crime in fiction.’ i told the boysi’d get you to speak if i possibly could. i’m counting on you. will you do it?”

it seemed a deliciously ironical thing. herewas an honest editor asking the friend he did not know to be a master criminal to makean address on crime in fiction. trent laughed the noiseless laugh he had cultivated in placeof the one that was in reality the expression of himself. the editor thought it a good sign. “who are the other speakers?” trent demanded. “oppenheim phelps for one. he’s over hereon a visit. his specialty is high-grade international spy stuff, as you know. e. w. hornung wouldbe the man to have if we could get him, but that’s impossible. i’ve got half a dozenothers, but phelps and you will be the drawing cards.”

“put me down,” trent said genially, “butintroduce me as a back number almost out of touch with things but willing to oblige apal.” he laughed again his noiseless laugh. crosbeigh looked at him meditatively. certainlyanthony trent was changed. in the old days, before he came into australian money, he wasat times jocund with the fruitful grape, a good fellow, a raconteur, one who had beenpopular at school and college and liked to stand well with his fellows. but now, crosbeighreflected, he was changed. there was a certain suspicion about him, a lack of trust in men’smotives. it was the attitude no doubt which wealth brought. the moneyless man can meeta borrower cheerfully and need cudgel his mind for no other excuse than his poverty.

crosbeigh was certain trent had a lot of moneyfor the reason he had actually refused four cents a word for what he had previously receivedonly two cents. but the editor admired his old contributor and was glad to see him again. “i’m going to spring a surprise on you,”crosbeigh declared, “and i’m willing to bet you’ll enjoy it.” “i hope so,” trent returned, idly, andlittle dreamed what lay before him. the dinner was at a chop house and the foodno worse than the run of city restaurants. anthony trent, who had fared delicately forsome time, put up with the viands readily enough for the pleasure of being again amongmen of the craft which had been his own.

oppenheim phelps was interesting. he was introducedas a historian who had made his name at fiction. it was a satisfaction, he said, to find thatmodern events had justified him. the reviewers had formerly treated him with patronizingairs; they had called his secret diplomacy and german plot-stuff as chimeras only whenthey had shown themselves to be transcripts, and not exaggerated ones at that, of whathad taken place during the last few years. anthony trent sat next to the english novelistand liked him. it brought him close to the war to talk to a man whose home had been bombedfrom air and submarine. and phelps was also a golfer and asked trent, when the war wasover, to visit his own beloved links at cromer. it had grown so late when the particularlyprosy member of the club had made his yawn-bringing

speech, that crosbeigh came apologeticallyto trent’s side. “i’m afraid, old man,” he began, “thatit’s too late for any more speeches except the surprise one. a lot of us commute. doyou mind speaking at our next meeting instead?” “not a bit,” trent said cheerfully. buthe felt as all speakers do under these circumstances that his speech would have been a brilliantone. he had coined a number of epigrams as other speakers had plowed laboriously alongtheir lingual way and now they were to be still-born. but he soon forgot them when crosbeigh announcedthe surprise speaker. “i have been very fortunate,” crosbeighbegan, “in getting to-night a man who knows

more of the ways of crooks than any livingauthority. gentlemen, you all know inspector mcwalsh!” “well, boys,” said the inspector, “iguess a good many of you know me by name.” he had risen to his full height and lookedabout him genially. he had imbibed just the right amount to bring him to this stage. threehighballs later, he would be looking for insults but he was now ripe with good humor. he hadcome because conington warren had asked him to oblige crosbeigh. for writers on crimehe had the usual contempt of the professional policeman and he was fluent in his denunciation.“you boys,” he went on, “make me smile with your modern scientific criminals, theguys what use chemistry and electricity and

x-rays and so forth. i’ve been a policemannow for thirty years and i never run across any of that stuff yet.” inspector mcwalsh poured his unsubtle scornon such writings for ten full minutes. but he added nothing to the scribblers’ knowledgeof his subject. it chanced that the writer he had taken ashis victim was a guest at the dinner. this fictioneer pursued the latest writings onphysicist and chemical research so that he might embroider his tales therewith. personallytrent was bored by this artificial type of story; but as between writer and policemanhe was always for the writer. the writer was plainly angry but the godshad not blessed him with a ready tongue and

he was prepared to sit silent under mcwalsh’sscorn. some mischievous devil prompted anthony trent to rise to his aid. it was a bold thingto do, to draw the attention of the man who had been in charge of the detectives sentto run him to earth, but of late excitement had been lacking. “inspector mcwalsh,” he commenced, “possessesprecisely that type of mind one would expect to find in a successful policeman. he hasthat absolute absence of imagination without which one cannot attain his rank in the force.all he has done in his speech is to pour his scorn of a certain type of crime story onits author. as writers we are sorry if inspector mcwalsh never heard of the einthoven stringgalvanometer upon which the solution of the

story he ridicules rests, yet we know it toexist. were i a criminal instead of a writer i should enjoy to cross swords with men whothink as the inspector does. i could outguess them every time.” “who is this guy?” inspector mcwalsh demandedloudly. “anthony trent,” mr. crosbeigh whispered.“he wrote some wonderful crook stories a few years ago dealing with a crook calledconway parker.” “what one would expect to hear from a manwith mcwalsh’s opportunities to deal with crime is some of the difficulty he experiencesin his work. there must be difficulty. we know by statistics what crimes are committedand what criminals brought to justice. what

happens to the crooks who remain safe fromarrest by reason of superior skill? i’ll tell you, gentlemen. they live well and snaptheir fingers at men like the last speaker. there is such a thing as fatty degenerationof the brain——” inspector mcwalsh rose to his feet with aroar. “i didn’t come here to be insulted.” “i am not insulting a guest,” trent wenton equably, “i am asking him to tell us interesting things of his professional workinstead of giving his opinion on modern science. i met mcwalsh years ago when i covered mulberrystreet for the morning leader. he was captain then. let him entertain us with some of thereasons why the ashy bennet murderer was never caught. you remember, gentlemen, that bennetwas shot down on park row at midday. then

the thoroughbred racer foxkeen was poisonedin his stall at sheepshead bay. why was that crime never punished? i remember a dozen otherswhere the police have been beaten. coming down to the present time, there is the robberyof the house of the genial sportsman inspector mcwalsh tells us he is proud to call his friend,conington warren. how was it the burglar or burglars were allowed to escape?” trentwas enjoying himself hugely. “i have a right to demand protection of the new york police.in my own humble home i have valuables bequeathed me by an uncle in australia which are neversafe while such men as snap their fingers at the police are at large. let inspectormcwalsh tell us why his men fail. it will help us, perhaps, to understand the difficultiesunder which they labor. it may help us to

appreciate the silent unadvertised work ofthe police. the inspector is a good sport who loves a race horse and a good glove fightas much as i do myself. i assure him he will make us grateful if he will take the hintof a humble scribbler.” the applause which followed gratified theinspector enormously. he thought it was evidence of his popularity, a tribute to his knownfondness for the race tracks. his anger melted. “boys,” he shouted, rising to his feetand waving a larranaga to the applauders, “i guess he’s right and i hope the fellowwho writes that scientific dope will accept my word that it wasn’t personal. of coursewe do have difficulties. i admit it. i had charge of that ashy bennet murder and i’dgive a thousand dollars to be able to put

my hand on the man who done it. as to foxkeeni had a thousand on him to win at eight-to-one and when he was poisoned the odds were shorteningevery minute so you can guess i was sore on the skunk who poisoned him. the police ofall countries fail and they fail the most in countries where people have most sympathywith crime. boys, you know you all like a clever crook to get away with it. it’s humannature. we ain’t helped all we could be and you know it. we, ‘gentlemen of the police,’”he quoted austin’s words glibly, “we make mistakes sometimes. we get the ordinary crookeasy enough. if you don’t believe me get a permit to look over sing sing. the crimesthe last speaker mentioned were committed by clever men. they get away with it. theclever ones do get away with things for a

bit. but if the guy who croaked bennet triedmurder again the odds are we’d gather him in. same with the man or men who put strychninein foxkeen’s oats. the clever ones get careless. that’s our opportunity.” the inspector lighted a new cigar, sippedhis highball and came back to his speech. “boys, i’m not rich—no honest cop is—buti’d give a lot of money to get my hands on a gentleman crook who’s operating rightnow in this city. i’ve got a list of seven tricks i’m certain he done himself. he’sgot technique.” inspector mcwalsh turned purple red, “dammit, he made me an accompliceto one of his crimes. yes, sir, he made me carry a vase worth ten thousand dollars outof senator scrivener’s house on fifth avenue

and hand it to him in his taxi. he had a silkhat, a cane and a coat and he asked me to hold the vase for a moment while he put hiscoat on. i thought he was a friend of the senator so i trotted down the hall—therewas a big reception on—down the steps past my own men on watch for this very crook orsome one like him, and handed it through the window. none of my men thought of questioninghim. why did he do it you wonder. he did it because he thought some one might have seenhim swipe it. the thing was thousands of years old and if any of you find it senator scrivenerstands ready to give you five thousand dollars reward. i believe he took the——” inspectormcwalsh stopped. he thought it wiser to say no more. “that’s about all now,” heconcluded. then with a flourish he added,

“gentlemen, i thank you.” mcwalsh sat down with the thunder of applauseringing gratefully in his ears. and none applauded more heartily than anthony trent. chapter xiv ambulances and diamonds there was an opportunity later on to visitthe scribblers again. crosbeigh begged him to come as he desired a full attendance inhonor of an occasion unique in the club’s history. it seemed that some soldier members of theclub, foregathering in new york, offered the

opportunity for a meeting that might neverrecur. the toastmaster was a former officer and the speakers were men who had fought throughthe ghastly early years of the war before the united states came into it. it happened that trent had known the toastmaster,captain alan kent, when the two had been newspaper cubs together. in those days kent had beenan irresponsible, happy-go-lucky youngster, liked by all for his carefree disposition.to-day, after three years of war, he was a sterner man, in whose eyes shone steadilythe conviction of the cause he had espoused. war had purged the dross from him. “you boys, here,” he said, “haven’tsuffered enough. you haven’t seen nations

in agony as we have. the theater of war isstill too remote. the loss of a transport wakens you to renewed effort for a momentand then you get back to thinking of other things, more agreeable things, and speculateas to when the war will be over. i’ve spoken to rich men who seem to think they’ve doneall that is required of them by purchasing a few liberty bonds. they must be bought ifwe are to win the war, but there’s little of the personal element of sacrifice in merelybuying interest-bearing bonds.” he launched into a description of war as hehad seen it, dwelling on the character it developed rather than the horrors he had suffered,horrors such as are depicted in the widely circulated book of henri barbusse. this mentionof negative patriotism rather disturbed anthony

trent. all he had done was to buy libertybonds. and here was alan kent, who had lived through three years of hell to come back fullof courage and cheer, and anxious, when his health was reestablished, to leave the britishservice and enroll in the armies of america. it was not agreeable for him to think howhe had passed those three years. he was awakened from these unpleasant thoughtsby the applause which followed kent’s speech. the next speaker was an ambulance driver,who made a plea for more and yet more ambulances. “lots of you people here,” he said, “seemto think that when once a battery of ambulances are donated they are there till the war isover. they suffer as much as guns or horses. the huns get special marks over there forpotting an ambulance, and they’re getting

to be experts at the game. i’ve had threeof hen. ford’s little masterpieces shot under me, so to speak. i’m trying to interestindividuals in giving ambulances. they’re not very expensive. you can equip one for$5,000. men have said to me, ‘what’s the use of one ambulance?’ i tell them as itell you that the one they may send will do its work before it’s knocked out. it maypick up a brother or pal of a man in this room. it may pick up some of you boys even,for some of you are going. god, it makes me tired this cry of what’s the use of ‘onelittle ambulance.’” when the dinner was over trent renewed hisacquaintance with captain kent and was introduced to lincoln, the harvardian driver of an ambulance.over coffee in the pirates’ den lincoln

told them more of his work. “this afternoon,” he said, “i had teawith the baroness von eckstein. you know who she is?” trent nodded. the baroness was the enormouslywealthy widow of a st. louis brewer who had married a westphalian noble and hoped therebyto get into new york and washington society. the baron had been willing to sell his title—notan old one—for all the comforts of a wealthy home. he had become naturalized and was notsuspected by the department of justice of treachery. his one ambition seemed to be todrink himself to death on the best cognac that could be obtained. this potent brew,taken half and half with champagne, seemed

likely to do its work. it was rumored thathis wife did not hinder him in this interesting pursuit. “i sat behind him at a theater once,”trent admitted. “he’s a thin little man with an enormous head and a strong prussianaccent.” he resisted the temptation to mimic the baron as he could have done. he couldnot readily banish his professional caution. “i tried to get the baroness to buy andequip four ambulances,” lincoln went on. “it would only have cost her twenty thousanddollars—nothing to her—but she refused.” “before we went into the war,” captainkent reminded him, “she was strongly pro-german.” “she’s had enough sense to stop that talkin new york,” lincoln went on. “she’s

still trying to break into the four hundredand you’ve got to be loyal to your country for that, thank god!” “i thought she was in st. louis,” trentobserved. “she’s taken a house in town,” lincolntold him. “the burton trent mansion on washington square, north. took it furnished for threemonths. she had to pay like the deuce for the privilege. gotham gossip unkindly remarksthat she did it so some of the burton trents’ friends may call on her, thinking they arevisiting the trents. it’s the nearest she’ll ever get to high society. it made me sickto hear her hard luck story. couldn’t give me a measly twenty thousand dollars becauseof income tax and high cost of living and

all that sort of bunk, while she had a hundredthousand dollars in diamonds on her fat neck. i felt like pulling them off her.” anthony trent pricked up his ears at this. “i didn’t know she had a necklace of thatvalue,” he mused. “i guess you don’t know much about thefortunes these millionaire women hang all over ’em,” said lincoln. lincoln had anidea the other man was a bookish scholar, a collector of rare editions, one removedfrom knowledge of society life. “that must be it,” trent agreed. he wonderedif another man in all america had so intimate a knowledge of the disposition of famous gems.“so she won’t give you any money for ambulances?”

“it’s known she subscribed largely tothe german red cross before we got into the war. leopards don’t change their spots easily,as you know. it was one of her chauffeurs at her country place near roslyn who riggedup a wireless and didn’t know he was doing anything the government disapproved of. hismistress lent him the money to equip the thing and she didn’t know she ought not to havedone it. i tell you i felt like pulling that necklace off her fat old neck. wouldn’tyou feel that way?” “it might make me,” trent admitted, “alittle envious.” on the whole, trent enjoyed his first eveningof emancipation immensely. particularly glad was he to meet his old friend, alan kent,again. the repressed life he had led made

him more than ever susceptible to the heartyfriendship of such men as he had met. with some of them he made arrangements togo to a costume dance, a greenwich village festival, at webster hall, on the followingevening. he did not know that captain kent was attending less as one who would enjoythe function socially than an emissary of his government. it was known that many ofthe villagers had not registered. some had spoken openly against the draft and otherswere suspected of pro-german tendencies that might be dangerous. it was not a commissionkent cared about, but it was a time in the national history where old friendships mustcount for naught. treason must be stamped out.

it was not until midnight that trent droppedinto webster hall. it was the nearest approach to the boulevard dances that new york eversaw. the costumes were gorgeous, some of them, but for the greater part quaint and bizarre.as a pierrot he was inconspicuous. there were a number of men he knew from the scribblers’club. he greeted lincoln with enthusiasm. he liked the lad. he envied him his record.it was while he was talking to him that a gorgeously dressed woman seized lincoln’shands as one might grasp those of an old and dear friend. “naughty boy,” she said playfully. “whyhaven’t you asked me to dance?” “i feared i wasn’t good enough for you,”lincoln lied with affable readiness. “you

dance like a professional.” while this badinage went on trent gazed atthe woman with idle curiosity. her enameled face, penciled eyebrows and generally carefulmake-up made her look no more than five-and-forty. her hair was henna-colored, with purple depthsin it. she was too heavy for her height and her eyes were bright with the light that comesin cocktail glasses. she had reached the fan-tapping, coquettish, slightly amorous stage. her boldeyes soon fell on anthony trent, who was a far more personable man than lincoln. “who is your good-looking friend?” shedemanded. lincoln was bound to make the introduction.from his manner trent imagined he was not

overpleased at having to do so. “mr. anthony trent—the baroness von eckstein,”he said. the baroness instantly put her bejeweled handwithin trent’s arm. “i am sure you dance divinely,” she cooed. lincoln was a little disappointed at the readinesswith which the older man answered. “if you will dance with me i shall be inspired,”said trent. “very banal,” lincoln muttered as thetwo floated away from him. “i’m so glad to be rescued from lincoln,”he told her. “he is so earnest and seems to think i have an ambulance in every pocketfor him.”

“this begging, begging, begging is verytiresome,” the baroness admitted. she wished she might say exactly what she and her noblehusband felt concerning it. she had understood that some of these artists and writers inthe village were exceedingly liberal in their views. “mrs. adrien beekman has been botheringme about giving ambulances all this afternoon.” “she is most patriotic,” he smiled, “butboring all the same.” “i suppose you are one of these delightfullybad young men who say and do dreadful things,” she hazarded, a little later. “i am both delightful and bad,” he admitted,“and a number of the things i have done and shall do are dreadful.”

“i am afraid of you,” she cried coquettishly. there was about her throat a magnificent necklace,evidently that of which lincoln had spoken at the scribblers’ dinner. it was worthperhaps half of what the ambulance man had said. the stones were set in platinum. “i wonder you are not afraid of wearingsuch a magnificent necklace here,” he said later. “are you so dangerous as that?” she retorted. “worse,” he answered. she looked at him curiously. the baronessliked young and good-looking men. trent knew

perfectly well what was going on in her mind.he had met women of this type before; women who could buy what they wanted and need nothaggle at the price. her eyes appraised him and she was satisfied with what she saw. “i believe you are just as bad as you pretendto be,” she declared. “do i disappoint you?” he demanded. “of course,” she laughed, “i shall haveto reform you. i am very good at reforming fascinating man-devils like you. you mustcome and have tea with me one afternoon.” “what afternoon?” he asked. “to-morrow,” she said, “at four.”

if she had guessed with what repulsion shehad inspired trent she would have been startled. she was a type he detested. later he said: “isn’t it unwise of you to wear such agorgeous necklace at a mixed gathering like this?” “if it were real it would be,” she answered.“don’t tell any one,” she commanded, “but this is only an imitation. the realone is on my dressing table. this was made in the rue de la paix for me and only an expertcould tell the difference and then he’d have to know his business.”

“what are you frowning at?” he demandedwhen he saw her gaze directed toward a rather noisy group of newcomers. “these are my guests,” she whispered.“i’d forgotten all about them. doesn’t that make you vain? i shall have to look afterthem. later on they are all coming over to the house to have a bite to eat.” she squeezedhis hand. “you’d better come, too.” the baroness was not usually so reckless inher invitations. she had learned it was not being done in those circles to which she aspired.but to-night she was unusually merry and there was something about trent’s keen, hawk-liketype which appealed to her. lincoln, she reflected, came of a good boston family with houses inbeacon street and pride’s crossing, and

his friend must be all right. no sooner had she moved toward her gueststhan trent made his way to the street. over his costume he wore a long black cloak whichanother than he had hired. very few people were abroad. there was a slight fog and thosewho saw him were in no way amazed. webster hall dances had prepared the neighborhoodfor anything. he was not long in coming to washington square.it was in the block of houses on the north side that he was specially interested. fromthe other side of the road he gazed up at the burton trent house. then going east alittle, he came to the door of the only apartment house in the block. it was not difficult forhim to manipulate the lock. quietly he climbed

to the top of the house until he came to aladder leading to the door on the roof. a few feet below him he could see the roofof the neighboring house. to this he dropped silently and walked along until the squareskylight of the burton trent mansion was at hand. the bars that held the aperture wererusted. it required merely the exercise of strength to pry one of them loose. underneathhim was darkness. since trent had not come out originally on professional business, hewas without an electric torch. he had no idea how far the drop would be. very carefullyhe crawled in, and, hanging by one hand, struck a match. he dropped on to the floor of anattic used mainly for the storage of trunks. the door leading from the room was unlockedand he stepped out into a dark corridor. looking

over the balustrade, he could see that thefloor below was brilliantly lighted. from an article in a magazine devoted to interiordecoration he had learned the complete lay-out of the residence. he knew, for example, thatthe servants slept in the “el” of the house which abutted on the mews behind. ordinarilyhe would have expected them to be in bed by this time. but the baroness had told him shehad guests coming in. there would inevitably be some servants making preparations. theywould hardly have business on the second or third floors of the house. the burton trents,who had let their superb home as a war-economy measure, would never allow any alterationof the arrangement of their wonderful furniture. and the baroness would hardly be likely toventure to set her taste against that of a

family she admired and indeed envied. it wastherefore probable that the baroness occupied the splendid sleeping chamber on the secondfloor front, an apartment to which the writer on interior decoration had devoted severalpages. his borrowed cloak enveloping him, he descendedthe broad stairs until he stood at the entrance of the room he sought. it was indeed a magnificentplace. his artistic sense delighted in it. its furniture had once been in the sleepingroom of a venetian doge. it had cost a fortune to buy. the dressing room leading from it was lightedmore brilliantly. there was a danger that the baroness’s maid might be there awaitingthe return of her mistress.

peeping through the half-opened door, he satisfiedhimself that no maid was there. on the superb dressing table with its rich ornaments hecould see a large gold casket, jewel-encrusted, which probably hid the stones he had cometo get. swiftly he crossed the soft aubusson carpetand came to the table. he was far too cautious to lay hands on the metal box straightaway.although he was nameless and numberless so far as the police were concerned, he was notanxious to leave finger-prints behind. he knew that in all robberies such as he intendedthe police carefully preserve the finger-prints amongst the records of the case and hope eventuallyto saddle the criminal with indisputable evidence of his theft. usually parker wore the whitekid gloves that go with full evening dress.

to-night he was without them. he was alsoin the habit of carrying a tube of collodion to coat the finger-tips and defy the finger-printers.this, too, he was without since his adventure was an unpremeditated one. while he was wondering how to set about hisbusiness, he was startled by a sound behind him. from the cover of a chaise longue atthe far end of the room a small, thin man raised himself. trent knew in a moment itwas the baron von eckstein. he relaxed his tense attitude and walked with a friendlysmile to the other man. he had mentally rehearsed the rã´le he was to play. but the baron surprisedhim. “hip, hip, ’ooray!” hiccoughed the aristocrat.

there was not a doubt as to his condition.he swayed as he tried to sit up straighter. his eyes were glazed with drink. chapter xv the baron lends a hand “hip, hip, ’ooray!” said the baron again,and sank back into bibulous slumber. by his side on a tray was a half-emptied bottle ofliqueur cognac and an open bottle of champagne. he had evidently been consuming over-manychampagne and brandy highballs. anthony trent considered him for a few moments in silence.he saw a way out of his difficulties and a certain ironical method of fooling investigationwhich pleased him more than a little.

in a tall tumbler he mixed brandy and champagne—halfand half—and poked the little baron in the ribs. the familiar sight of being offeredhis favorite tipple made the trembling hand seize the glass. the contents was absorbedgreedily, and the baron fell back on the chaise longue. the well-worn phrase “dead to the world”alone describes the condition of the baron, who had married a brewery. trent raised theman—he could have weighed no more than a hundred pounds—in his strong arms and carriedhim across to the dressing table. and with the baron’s limp hands he opened the jewelcase. therefrom he extracted a necklace of diamonds set in platinum. what else was therehe did not touch. he had a definitely planned

course of action in view. the baron’s recordingfingers closed the box. it would be as pretty a case of finger-prints as ever gladdenedthe heart of a central-office detective. the baron was next carried to the chaise longue.he would not wake for several hours. it would have been quite easy for trent to make hisescape undetected. but there was something else to be done first. he locked the doorof the venetian bedroom and then took up the telephone receiver. his carefully trainedmemory recorded the accent and voice of the baron von eckstein as he had heard it duringan evening at the theater. he called a telephone number. fortunatelyit was a private wire connecting with the central.

“i wish to speak to mrs. adrien beekman,”he said when at length there was an answer to his call. “she is in bed,” a sleepy voice returned.“she can’t be disturbed.” “she must be,” said trent, mimicking thebaron. “it is a matter of vast importance. tell her a gentleman wishes to present herambulance fund with a large sum of money. to-morrow will be too late.” “i’ll see what can be done,” said thevoice. “that’s about the only matter i dare disturb her on. hold the wire.” “madam,” said trent a minute later, “itis the baron von eckstein who has the honor

to speak with you.” “an odd hour to choose,” returned mrs.adrien beekman with no cordiality. “i wish to make reparation, madam,” thepseudo baron flung back. “this afternoon you talked to my wife, the baroness, aboutyour ambulances.” “and found her not interested in the least,”mrs. beekman said, a little crossly. so eminent a leader of society as she was not accustomedto refusal of a donation when asked of rich women striving for social recognition. “we have decided that your cause is onewhich should have met a more generous response. i have been accused of being disloyal. thatis false, madam. my wife has been attacked

as pro-german. that is also false. to proveour loyalty we have decided to send you a diamond necklace. convert this into moneyand buy what ambulances you can.” “do you mean this?” said the astonishedmrs. adrien beekman. “i am never more serious,” retorted thebaron. “what value has it?” she asked next. “you will get fifty thousand dollars atleast,” he said. “ten ambulances!” she cried. “oh, baron,how very generous! i’m afraid i’ve cherished hard feelings about you both that have notbeen justified. how perfectly splendid of you!”

“one other thing,” said the baron, “iam sending this by a trusted messenger at once. please see that some one reliable isthere to receive it.” it was safer, trent thought, to gain the squareover the roofs and down the stairways of the apartment house. it was now raining and hardlya soul was in view. the adrien beekman house was only a block distant. they were of thefew who retained family mansions on the lower end of fifth avenue. he knocked at the beekman door and a man-servantopened it. in the shadows the man could only see the dark outline of the messenger. “i am the baron von eckstein,” he said,still with his carefully mimicked accent.

“this is the package of which i spoke toyour mistress.” it seemed, when he got back to webster hall,that none had missed him. the first to speak was the baroness. “we are just going over to the house,”she said cordially. “i don’t want to share you,” he said,smiling, “with all these others. i’d rather come to-morrow at four. may i?” at four on the next day anthony trent, dressedin the best of taste as a man of fashion and leisure, ascended the steps to the burtontrent home and wondered, as others had done before him, at the amazing fowl which guardedits approach.

he was kept waiting several minutes. fromthe distant reception rooms he heard acrimonious voices. one was the baron’s and it pleasedhim to note that he had caught its inflections so well the night before. the other voicewas that of his new friend, the baroness. unfortunately the conversation was in germanand its meaning incomprehensible. when at last he was shown into a drawing roomhe found the baroness highly excited and not a little indignant. she was too much overwroughtto take much interest in her new acquaintance. almost she looked as though she wished hehad not come. things rarely looked so rosy to the baroness as they did after a good dinnerand it was but four o’clock. “what has disturbed you?” he asked.

“everything,” she retorted. “mainlymy husband. tell me, if you were a woman and your husband, in a drunken fit, gave awaya diamond necklace to an enemy would you be calm about it?” “has that happened?” he demanded. “it has,” she snapped. “you rememberi told you at the dance i had left the original necklace at home for safety?” “i believe you did mention it,” he said,meditating. “i’d much better have worn it, mr. trent.everybody knows the baron’s passion is for cognac and champagne. no man since time beganhas ever drunk so much of them. when we got

back here last night we had a gay and festivetime. it was almost light when i went to my room and found the necklace gone. i soberedthe baron and he could give absolutely no explanation. he said he had slept in the dressingroom to guard the jewels. that was nonsense. he came there to worry my maid. she went tobed and left him drinking. the police came in and took all the servants’ finger-printsand tried to fasten the thing on them. there were marks on the jewel case where some one’shands had been put. i offered a reward of five thousand dollars for any one who couldpoint out the man or woman who had taken the necklace.” trent kept his countenance to the proper pitchof interest and sympathy. it was not easy.

“what have the police found?” “wait,” the baroness commanded, “youshall hear everything. this morning i received a letter from mrs. adrien beekman. you knowwho she is, of course. she thanked me, rather patronizingly, for giving my diamond necklaceto her ambulance fund. she said she had sold it to a mexican millionaire for fifty thousanddollars, enough to buy ten ambulances.” “how did she get the necklace?” trentasked seriously. “that husband of mine,” she returned.“the baron did it. i can only think that in his maudlin condition he remembered whati had told him at dinner about being bothered by the beekman woman for a cause i’m notvery much in sympathy with. there is no other

explanation. it all fits in. actually he tookthe diamonds to the beekman place himself. i can’t do anything. i dare not tell thefacts or i should be laughed out of new york.” “mrs. adrien beekman is very influential,”he reminded her, choking back his glee, “it may prove worth your while.” “she hates me,” the baroness said vindictively.“i’ve never been so upset in my life. you haven’t heard all. there’s worse.one of my servants is trying to get into the army and navy finger-printing bureau. she’smade finger-prints of every one in the house—me included—from glasses or anything we’vetouched. it was the baron’s finger-prints on the jewel case, as the police found out,too, and i’ve got to pay her five thousand

dollars reward!” chapter xvi the mount aubyn ruby it was while trent was shaving that the lampfell. he started, blessed the man who invented safety razors, that he had not gashed himself,and went into his library to see what had happened. mrs. kinney, his housekeeper, was volublyapologetic. “i was only dusting it,” she explained,“when it came down. i think it’s no more than bent.”

it was a hanging lamp of benares brasswork,not of much value, but trent liked its quaint design and the brilliant flashing of the cutcolored glass that embellished it. four eyes of light looked out on the world when thelamp was lit. white, green, blue and red, eyes of the size of filbert nuts. he stooped down and picked up the shatteredred glass. it was the sole damage done by mrs. kinney’s activity. “it will cost only a few cents to have itrepaired,” he commented, and went back to the bathroom, and speedily forgot the wholematter. at breakfast anthony trent admitted he wasbored. there had been little excitement in

his recent work. the niceness of calculation,the careful planning and dextrous carrying out of his affairs had netted him a greatdeal of money with very little risk. there had been risk often enough but not withinthe past few months. his thoughts went back to some of his more noteworthy feats, andhe smiled. he chuckled at the episode of the bank president whom he had given in chargefor picking his pocket when he had just relieved the financier of the choicest contents ofhis safe. trent’s specialty was adroit handling ofsituations which would have been too much for the ordinary criminal. he had an aplomb,an ingenuous air, and was so diametrically opposed to the common conception of a burglarthat people had often apologized to him whose

homes he had looted. it was his custom to read through two of theleading morning papers after breakfast. it was necessary that he should keep himselffully informed of the movements of society, of engagements, divorces and marriages. itwas usually among people of this sort that he operated. to the columns devoted to lostarticles he gave special attention. more than once he had seen big rewards offered for thingsthat he had concealed in his rooms. and although the comforting phrase, “no questions asked”invariably accompanied the advertisement, he never made application for the reward. in this, trent differed from the usual practitionerof crime. when he had abandoned fiction for

a more diverting sport he had formulated regulationsfor his professional conduct drawn up with extraordinary care. it was the first articleof his faith under no circumstances to go to a “fence” or disposer of stolen goods,or to visit pawnshops. it is plain to see such precautions were wise. sooner or laterthe police get the “fence” and with him the man’s clientã¨le. every man who sellsto a “fence” puts his safety in another’s keeping, and anthony trent was minded to playthe game alone. as to the pawnshops, daily the police regulationsexpose more searchingly the practices of those who bear the arms of old lombardy above theirdoors. the court news is full of convictions obtained by the police detailed to watch thepawnbrokers’ customers. it was largely on

this account that trent specialized on currencyand remained unknown to the authorities. on this particular morning the newspapersoffered nothing of interest except to say that a certain italian duke, whose cousinhad recently become engaged to an american girl of wealth and position, was about tocross the ocean and bear with him family jewels as a wedding gift from the great house herepresented. methodically trent made a note of this. later he took the subway downtownto consult with his brokers on the purchase of certain oil stocks. he had hardly taken his seat when horace weemspounced upon him. this weems was an energetic creature, by instinct and training a salesman,so proud of his art and so certain of himself

that he was wont to boast he could sell hottamales in hell. by shrewdness he had amassed a comfortable fortune. he was a short, blondman nearly always capable of profuse perspirations. trent knew by weems’ excitement that therewas at hand either an entrancingly beautiful girl—as weems saw beauty—or a very richman. only these two spectacles were capable of bringing weems’ smooth cheeks to thisflush of excitement. weems sometimes described himself as a “money-hound.” “you see that man coming toward us,” weemswhispered. trent looked up. there were three men advancing.one was a heavily built man of late middle age with a disagreeable face, dominant chinand hard gray eyes. the other two were younger

and had that alert bearing which men gainwhose work requires a sound body and courage. “are they arresting him?” parker demanded.he noticed that they were very close to the elder man. they might be central office men. “arresting him?” weems whispered, stillexcitedly, “i should say not. you don’t know who he is.” “i only know that he must be rich,” trentreturned. “that’s one of the wealthiest men in thecountry,” weems told him. “that’s jerome dangerfield.” “your news leaves me unmoved,” said theother. “i never heard of him.”

“he hates publicity,” weems informed him.“if a paper prints a line about him it’s his enemy, and it don’t pay to have theenmity of a man worth nearly a hundred millions.” “what’s his line?” trent demanded. “everything,” weems said enthusiastically.“he owns half the mills in new bedford for one thing. and then there’s real estatein this village and chicago.” weems sighed. “if i had his money i’d buy a paper andhave myself spread all over it. and he won’t have a line.” “i’m not sure he has succeeded in keepingit out. i’d swear that i’ve read something about him. it comes back clearly. it was somethingabout jewels. i remember now. it was mrs.

jerome dangerfield who bought a famous rubythat the war compelled an english marchioness to sell.” the thing was quite clear to himnow. he was on his favorite topic. “it was known as the mount aubyn ruby, after the familywhich had it so long.” he turned to look at the well-guarded financier. “so that’sthe man whose wife has that blood-stained jewel!” “what do you mean—blood stained?” weemsdemanded. “it’s one of the tragic stones of history,”said the other. “men have sold their lives for it, and women their honor. one of theformer marquises of mount aubyn killed his best friend in a duel for it. god knows whatblood was spilled for it in india before it

went to europe.” “you don’t believe all that junk, do you?”asked weems. “junk!” the other flung back at him. “haveyou ever looked at a ruby?” “sure i have,” weems returned aggrieved.“haven’t you seen my ruby stick pin?” “which represents to you only so many dollars,and is, after all, only a small stone. if you’d ever looked into the heart of a rubyyou’d know what i mean. there’s a million little lurking devils in it, weems, tauntingyou, mocking you, making you covet it and ready to do murder to have it for your own.” weems looked at him, startled for the moment.he had never known his friend so intense,

so unlike his careless, debonair self. “for the moment,” said weems, “i thoughtyou meant it. of course you used to write fiction and that explains it.” to his articles of faith anthony trent addedanother paragraph. he swore not to let his enthusiasm run away with him when he discussedjewels. weems was safe enough. he was lucky to be in no other company. but suppose hehad babbled to one of those keen-eyed men engaged in guarding jerome dangerfield, themulti-millionaire who shunned publicity! he determined to choose another subject. “what does he take those men around withhim for?” he asked.

“a very rich man is pestered to death,”the wise weems said. “cranks try to interest him in all sorts of fool schemes and crazymen try to kill him for being a capitalist. and then there’s beggars and charities andblackmailers. nobody can get next to him. i know. i’ve tried. i’ve never seen himin the subway before. i guess his car broke down and he had to come with the herd.” “so you tried? what was your scheme?” “i forget now,” weems admitted. “i’vehad so many good things since. i followed out a stunt of that crook, conway parker,you used to write about. in one of your stories you made him want to meet a millionaire andinstead of going to his office you made him

go to the fifth avenue home and fool the butlersand flunkeys. it won’t work, old man. i know. i handed the head butler my hat andcane, but that was as far as i got. there must be a high sign in that sort of a housethat i wasn’t wise to.” weems mused on his defeat for a few seconds. “i ought tohave worn a monocle.” he brightened. “anyway just as i came out of the door a lady friendpassed by on the top of a ’bus and saw me. now you’re a good looker, old man, and high-classand all that, but you and i don’t belong in places like millionaires’ row.” “too bad,” said trent, smiling. he wondered what weems would have said ifhe had known that his friend had within the

week been to a reception in one of the greatestof the fifth avenue palaces and there gazed at a splendid ruby—not half the size ofthe mount aubyn stone—on the yellowing neck of an aged lady of many loves. when weems was shaken off, dangerfield andhis attendants vanished, and trent had placed an order with his brokers he walked over topark row, where he had once worked as a cub reporter. contrary to his usual custom, heentered a saloon well patronized by the older order of newspapermen, men who graduated ina day when it was possible to drink hard and hold a responsible position. he had barelycrossed the threshold when he heard the voice of the man he sought. it was clarke, slaveto the archdemon rum. he was trying to borrow

enough money from a monotype man, who hadadmitted backing a winner, to get a prescription filled for a suffering wife. the monotypeman, either disbelieving clarke’s story or having little regard for wifely suffering,was indisposed to share his winnings with druggist or bartender. it was at this moment that clarke caught sightof his old reporter and more recent benefactor. he dropped the monotype man with all the outragedpride of an erstwhile city editor and shook trent’s hand cordially. his own trembled. “that might be managed,” said trent, listeningto his request gravely, “but first have a drink to steady your nerves.”

they repaired to a little alcove and sat down.clarke was not anxious to leave so pleasant a spot. he talked entertainingly and was readyto expatiate on his former glories. “by the way,” said trent presently, “youused to know the inside history and hidden secrets of every big man in town.” “i do yet,” clarke insisted eagerly. “what’son your mind?” “nothing in particular,” said the otheridly, “but i came downtown on the subway and saw jerome dangerfield with his two strong-armmen. what’s he afraid of? and why won’t he have publicity?” “that swinehound!” clarke exclaimed. “whywouldn’t he be afraid of publicity with

his record? you’re too young to remember,but i know.” “what do you know?” trent demanded. “i know that he’s worse than the leadersaid he was when i was on the staff twenty years back. that was why the old leader wentout of business. he put it out. a paper is a business institution and won’t antagonizea vicious two-handed fighter like dangerfield unless it’s necessary. that’s why theyleave him alone. the big political parties get campaign contributions from him. why stirhim up?” “but you haven’t told me what he did?” “women,” said clarke briefly. “you know,boy, that some men are born women-hunters.

that may be natural enough; but if it’sa game, play it fair. pay for your folly. he didn’t. you ask me why he has those guardswith him? it’s to protect him from the fathers of young girls who’ve sworn to get him.his bosom pal got his at a roof garden a dozen years back, and dangerfield’s watching nightand day. he’s bad all through. the stuff we had on him at the leader would make youthink you were back in decadent rome.” “what’s his wife like?” “society—all society. handsome, they tellme, and not any too much brain, but domineering. full of precious stones. i’m told everyservant is a detective. i guess they are, as you never heard of any of their valuablesbeing taken. it makes me thirsty to think

of it.” trent, when he had obtained the informationhe desired, left clarke with enough money to buy medicine for his wife. with the bartenderhe left sufficient to pay for a taxi to the boarding-house of mrs. sauer, where he himselfhad once resided. clarke would need it. on his way uptown he found himself thinkingcontinuously of jerome dangerfield and the mount aubyn ruby. there would be excitementin going after such a prize. the dangerfield household was one into which thieves had notbeen able to break nor steal. a man, to make a successful coup, would need more than aknowledge of the mechanism of burglar alarms or safes; he would need steel nerves, a clearhead, physical courage and that intuitive

knowledge of how to proceed which marks thegreat criminal from his brother, the ordinary crook. if he possessed himself of the rubythere would be no chance to sell it. it was as well known among connoisseurs as are thepaintings of velasquez. to cut it into lesser stones would be a piece of vandalism thathe could never bring himself to enact. it was trent’s custom when he planned ajob to lay out in concise form the possible and probable dangers he must meet. and toeach one of these problems there must be a solution. he decided that an entrance to thedangerfield house from the outside would fail. to gain a position in the household wouldbe not easy. in all probability references would be strictly looked up. they would beeasy enough to forge, but if they were exposed

he would be a suspect and his fictitious unclein australia exhumed. also he did not care to live in a household where he was certainto be under the observation of detectives. no less than jerome dangerfield he shrankfrom publicity. mrs. kinney noticed that he was strangelyunresponsive to her well-cooked lunch. when she enquired the cause he told her he wanteda change. “i shall go away and play golf for a couple of weeks,” he declared. chapter xvii trent takes a holiday at a sporting goods store that afternoon heran into jerome dangerfield again. he had

just bought a dozen balls when he saw themillionaire and his two attendants. he was not minded to be observed of them, so slippedinto the little room where putters may be tried and drives be made into nets. from wherehe was he could hear dangerfield’s disagreeable, rasping voice. his grievance, it seemed, wasthat other golfers were able to get better balls than he. he badgered the clerk untilthe man found spirit to observe: “if there was a ball that would make a dub play goodgolf it would be worth a fortune to any one.” trent was able to see the look of anger thecapitalist threw at him. and this anger he saw reflected on the faces of the two attendants.decidedly any lone man pitting his courage and wit against the dangerfield entouragewould need sympathy.

“send me a half-gross up to sunset parkhotel,” he heard dangerfield say as he walked away, still frowning. “i hope you don’t have many of that kindto wait on,” trent said sympathetically. he was always courteous to those with whomhe had dealings. “he’s the limit,” said the clerk; “andfrom the way he looked at me i guess the boss will hear of it. seemed to think there wasa ball that would make him drive two hundred and fifty and hole a twenty-foot putt andi was trying to hide it from him. you wouldn’t think it, but he’s one of the richest menliving. gee, it makes me feel like a socialist when i think of it!”

the clerk wondered why it was a superb golfer,as he knew trent to be, was modest and courteous, while a man like dangerfield was so overbearing. before he went home trent looked up sunsetpark in a golfer’s guide. it was a little-known course among the berkshires, with only nineholes to its credit. the rates of the hotel were sufficiently high to make it clear onlythe rich could play. it was probably one of these dreary courses where a scratch playerwould be a rara avis, a course to which elderly men, playing for their health, gravitatedand made the lives of caddies miserable. it was a curious thing, trent thought, thatwhile this morning he knew nothing of dangerfield, by night he knew a great deal. an eveningpaper told him why the millionaire was going

to the berkshires. there was to be a weddingin high society and the bride was a niece of mrs. jerome dangerfield. the ceremony wouldtake place at the episcopal church of the good shepherd, and a bishop would unite thecontracting parties. the fancy dress ball to be held would be the most elaborate everheld outside new york. a great pavilion was to be erected for the occasion in the groundsof the bride’s magnificent home, and newport would be for the moment deserted. it was rumoredthat the jewels to be worn would exceed in value anything that had ever been gatheredtogether this side the atlantic, and so on, two columns long. it explained very clearly why the jerome dangerfieldswere going to sunset park. the collective

value of the jewels appealed particularlyto trent. he wondered if the mount aubyn ruby would shine out on that festal night. andif so how would it be guarded? it would be less difficult to disguise the detectivesin fancy costume than in evening dress. of course the owner of such a world-famous gemmight wear an imitation as the baroness von eckstein had done. but if clarke had paintedher aright this was an occasion when an ambitious woman would be willing to take risks. the proprietors of the sunset park hotel wereglad to accommodate mr. anthony trent with a bed and bathroom for a little over a hundreddollars a week. it was a very select resort, they explained, attracting such people asthe jerome dangerfields and their friends.

the golf course was owned by the hotel andthe first tee was on the lawn a few yards from the front piazza. on the morning followinghis arrival, trent, golf clubs already allotted to a caddy, waited to see what kind of golfwas played. they were indifferently good but he betrayed little attention until he sawdangerfield coming. immediately he went to the tee but did not make his first shot untilthe millionaire was near enough to see. playing alone as was the capitalist—for few wereyet on the links—he had not to wait as he must have done had the other been playingwith a partner. the first green was distant one hundred and sixty yards from the tee.a brook with sedgy reeds was a fine natural hazard, and as the green was on an elevatedplateau with deep grass beyond, it was not

an easy one to reach. dangerfield dreadedit. dangerfield saw a tall, slim young man correctlyclad in breeches and stockings, using a mashie, drop his ball neatly on the green within puttingdistance of the hole. later he saw the hole done in two which was one under par. “who is that man?” dangerfield demandedof his caddie. “never seen him before,” the lad answered. dangerfield took his brassey and went straightwayinto the brook. he saw, however, as he was ball hunting, this stranger make a wonderfuldrive to the second—two hundred and fifty yards, the enthusiastic caddie swore. meanwhilethe millionaire continued to press and slice

and pull and top his ball to such effect asto do the double round in one hundred and forty-two. nothing exasperated him so muchas to find the game mock his strength and desire. a power wherever money marts were,he was here openly laughed at by caddies. he was discovering that rank on the linksis determined by skill at the game alone. what mattered it that he was the great jeromedangerfield. what had he done the round in? what was his handicap? he particularly wanted to humble stephen goswell,president of the first agricultural bank of new york city. goswell was a year ahead ofhim at the game and had the edge on him so far. goswell could manage short approachesoccasionally, strokes that were beyond his

own inflexible wrists. now this tall, darkstranger had such strokes to perfection. the ball driven up into the air skimmed tree,wall or bunker and rolled up to the pin sweetly. dangerfield quickly made up his mind. he wouldinvite the stranger to play with him and then get hints which would improve his game fiftyper cent. “morning,” he said later at the “nineteenthhole” where the stranger was taking a drink. “good morning,” said the stranger ratherstiffly. “it is evident,” thought dangerfield, “he does not know who i am.” “going ’round again after lunch?” dangerfielddemanded. “i think so,” the stranger responded.

“we might play together,” said dangerfield.“i haven’t a partner.” “i’m afraid that won’t make a good match,”trent told him. “surely there is some one more your strength who would make a bettermatch of it?” “huh!” grunted the other, “think i don’tplay well enough, eh?” “i know it,” said trent composedly. dangerfield regarded him sourly. “you’re not overburdened with modesty,young man.” “i hope not,” the other retorted, “nothinghandicaps a man more in life. i happen to know golf, though, and my experience is thatif i play with a much inferior player i get

careless and that’s bad for my game. i’mperfectly frank about it. you know next to nothing about the game. in your own line ofwork you could no doubt give me a big beating because you know it and i don’t.” “and what do you suppose my line of workis?” snapped the annoyed mill-owner. “i don’t know,” trent commented. “eithera dentist or a theatrical producer.” as he spoke up sauntered one of the two men withwhom he had seen dangerfield in the subway. “i’d like to hire some one to take thestarch out of you,” dangerfield said as he rose to his feet. “quite easy,” trent returned, “almostany professional could.”

he watched the two walk away and chuckled.he had attracted the millionaire’s attention and he had rebuffed him. so far his programmewas being carried out on scheduled time. the attendant had not looked at him with any specialinterest. it was unlikely in different clothes, under other conditions and in a strange placehe would recognize him. he did not play again that day. instead hepaid attention to some elderly ladies who knitted feverishly and were inclined to talk.he learned a great deal of useful news. for example, that the dangerfields always hadmeals in their big private suite and rarely without guests from nearby homes. that theyquarreled constantly. that mr. dangerfield never went to bed wholly sober. that he wasgiven to sudden gusts of temper and only last

year had beaten a caddie and had been compelledto settle the assault with a large money payment. that he was not above pocketing a golf ballif he could do so without being observed. that he had several times been seen to lifthis ball out of an unfavorable lie into one from which he could play with greater chanceof making a good stroke. these petty meannesses trent had already surmised.dangerfield seemed to him that sort of a man. he was more interested in the dinner parties.but a man in such a position as he was had to be careful as to what questions he asked.people had a knack of remembering them at inopportune moments. fortunately one of theladies, who was a miss northend of lynn, came back to it. she was a furious knitter andknitted best when her tongue wagged.

“of course this hotel belongs to mr. dangerfield,”she babbled, “and that explains why they have a palatial suite here and can entertaineven more readily than if they had a summer home, as their friends have. this is a veryfashionable section. the women dress here as if they were in newport. every night mr.dangerfield goes down to the hotel safe and brings something gorgeous in the jewelry wayfor his wife to wear. there’s a private stairway he uses. i wandered into it onceby mistake.” “and sister was so flustered,” the othermiss northend of lynn told him, “that when he accused her of spying on him she couldn’tsay a word. it really did look suspicious until he knew we were northends and our fatherwas his counsel once when he controlled the

boston and rangely road.” when these estimable maidens had finished,anthony trent knew all those particulars he desired. it was not the first time amiablegossips had aided him. but he played his part so well that miss fannie chided her sister. “he wasn’t a bit interested in the dangerfieldwealth,” she said. “all a young man like that thinks of is golf.” “well,” said her sister, “i am interestedand i’m frightened, too. when i think of all that amount of precious stones in thehotel safe, i’m positively alarmed. every night she wears something new, her maid toldthe girl who looks after our rooms.”

chapter xviii the great black bird there was exactly one week to the night ofthe fancy dress dance at the uplands from the time that the northend sisters gave theabstractor so much information. every moment of it was carefully taken up by that calculatinggentleman. for example, on the following morning, wednesdayhe played a round with the club’s champion, an amateur of some skill. dangerfield posingfor the moment as a warm admirer of the local player, followed the two on their match, bettingfreely on blackhall, his clubmate. also, he violated every rule of the royal and ancientgame by speaking as trent made his strokes.

never in his ten years of golf had trent playedsuch a game. it was characteristic of him to do his best when conditions were worst. when the game was over at the thirteenth holedangerfield turned crossly to blackhall. “you played a rotten game!” he said. “i never played a better,” that golferexclaimed. “the whole trouble with me was that i was up against a better man.” it may be observed that blackhall was a sportsman. dangerfield was astonished and gratified nextday when he was essaying some approaching to find trent watching his efforts in a notunfriendly spirit.

“the trouble with you,” said the youngerplayer graciously, “is that you chop your stroke instead of carrying through. i’llshow you what i mean.” in the half hour he devoted to dangerfieldhe improved the millionaire’s game six strokes a round. “it would be no fun to play with you,”he said when dangerfield again invited him, “but i hate to see a man trying to approachas you did when a little help could put him right.” thus were any dangerfield suspicions disarmed.he helped him once or twice more and on every occasion insisted that the hovering attendantbe sent away.

“your keeper,” said trent genially, “putsme off my stroke.” “keeper,” grinned dangerfield, “i’mnot as bad as that. he’s my valet.” two days before the ball at the uplands itwas observed that anthony trent visited the nineteenth hole more frequently and stayedthere longer. he was playing less golf now. the bartender confided in mr. dangerfield,who was also a consistent patron, that he was drinking heavily. “i guess,” said the tender of the barwith the sapience of his kind, “that he’s one of these quiet periodic souses. they tellme he has the stuff sent up to his room.” “too bad!” said mr. dangerfield, shakinghis head as he ordered another.

it was true that to trent’s room much drygin and lemon juice found its way, together with siphons of iced carbonic. the carbonicand the lemon juice was drunk since a belated heat wave was visiting the sunset park hotel.the gin found its way into his flower laden window boxes, which should have bloomed intojuniper berries. trent liked a drink as well as any other golfer, but he found that itjust took the keen edge off his nerves. he was less keen to realize danger and too readyto meet a risk when he drank. as a conscientious workman he put it behind him when professionallyengaged. on the night of the ball he was, to quotea bell boy, dead to the world, which proves that bell boys may be deceived by appearances.on the night of the ball he was keyed up to

his highest personal efficiency. physically he was at his best. his muscleswere always hard and his wind good. the resisting exercises he practised maintained the formerand a little running every day aided the latter. the great costume ball was to take place onthe third of september, when the sun would set at half-past six. the uplands was no morethan a half hour motor spin distant from the hotel. the time set was half-past nine, whichmeant few would be there before ten. it was plain then that mrs. jerome dangerfield wouldnot commence her preparations for dressing until after the dinner. she was devoted tothe pleasures of the table, as her maid lamented when she harnessed her mistress within hercorsets.

looking from his window, trent saw that thesun had retired behind clouds early in the afternoon. darkness would not be delayed,and the success of his venture depended upon this. reviewing the amazing events of the eveningof september the third, it is only fair to let jerome dangerfield relieve his feelingsin a letter to his closest friend, the president of the first agricultural bank of new york. “you were right in warning me not to bringthe mt. aubyn ruby up to this place. it was adele’s fault. she wanted it for the wedding.the damned thing has gone, steve, vanished into thin air. if you told me what i’m goingto tell you, i should say you were crazy.

the people here and the fool police thoughti’d been drinking. i’d had three or four cocktails, but what is that to me—or you?i was absolutely in possession of my senses. “we dined early and we dined alone. at eighti went down for the jewels adele wanted to wear. the ruby was the piã¨ce de rã©sistanceof course. i went down my own private stairway as usual and unlocked the door leading fromit to the hotel lobby. devlin is here, and o’brien, but they were both outside keepingtabs on strangers. the papers have played this costume ball up so much that every crookin the land knew what we had to offer in the way of loot. graham, the hotel clerk, camewith me to the private stairway and swears he pushed the door to as i started to go upthe stairs. and he swears also that, although

it wasn’t lighted as well as usual, therewas nobody in sight. they are steep stairs, steve, but they save me rubbing shoulderswith every man or woman who might want to get acquainted in the public elevators; and,naturally, i wasn’t carrying a fortune where any crook could get a crack at me. “read this carefully. i was on the fifteenthstep of the flight of twenty-two steps when the thing happened. the light was dim becauseone of the bulbs wasn’t working and the only illumination came from a red light atthe head of the stairway. “i was holding the jewel box in both handsresting it almost on my chest when the thing happened. there was suddenly a noise thatmight have been made by the beating of wings

and something swooped out of nowhere and hitme on my wrists with such violence that i went backwards down the stairs and was unconsciousfor more than ten minutes. on each wrist there is an abrasion that might be caused by thesharp bill of a big bird. i’m bruised all over and have three stitches over one eye. “i found the box lying on one of the stepsclosed as i had held it. the only thing that was missing was the mt. aubyn ruby! “devlin and o’brien have all kinds oftheories but i told them i wanted the stone back and if they didn’t get it i wouldn’thave them any longer in my employ. “devlin says he will swear a car passedhim on the boston road yesterday containing

some continental crooks who used to operatealong the italian and french riviera. he’s full of wild fancies and swears i shall getthe ruby back. i’m not so sure. i’ve given up the theory that it was a great black batwhich hit me, but whatever it was it was a stunt pulled by a master craftsman who islaughing at devlin and his kind. can you imagine a crook who would leave behind what this fellowdid? “i wish you’d go to the pemberton detectiveagency and get them to send some one up here capable of handling the situation. i shallbe coming down to new york as soon as i’m able. i’m too much bruised to play golfbut when i do i shall win some of your money. i’ve had some lessons from a crackerjackgolfer up here who goes round the eighteen

holes in anything from seventy-two to seventy-eight.my stance was wrong and i wasn’t gripping so much for jerome dangerfield. when devlinand o’brien examined the scene of the crime they immediately noticed that some fifteenfeet above the ground level a stained glass window lighted the stairway. “of course,”they exclaimed in unison, “that is the solution.” but the theory did not hold water, as thesoil of the flower-beds showed no sign of a ladder or any footmark. they had been rakedover that afternoon and the gardener swore no foot but his had set foot in this enclosedgarden which supplied the hotel tables with blooms. an examination of the window showedno helpful finger marks. it was an indoor job, they declared, amending their first opinion.

but they were thorough workmen in their way.for instance: anthony trent, reclining fully dressed across his bed with cigarette stubsand emptied glasses about him within thirty minutes of the robbery, was evidently in fearof interruption. an onlooker would have seen him take three gin fizzes in rapid successionuntil indeed his face wore a faint flush. he listened keenly when outside his door footstepslingered. and he was snoring alcoholically when the hotel clerk entered, bringing withhim messrs. devlin and o’brien. “he’s been like this for days,” graham,the clerk, asserted. “if it wasn’t that he was no trouble and made no noise i shouldhave told him to get out. a pity,” graham shook his head, “one of the pleasantest-spokenmen in the hotel, and some golfer, they tell

me.” “you leave us,” devlin commanded. “weare acting for the boss and it’ll be all out of the corner of his eye trent watchedthe two trained men make a thorough examination of his room and effects. indeed, their thoroughnessgave him ideas which were later to prove of use. but they drew blank. they examined thetwo fly rods he had brought with him and a collapsible landing net with great care, tappingthe handles and balancing the rods. they sighed when nothing was found. “this guy is all right,” said o’brien. “i don’t know,” said devlin. “he looksa little too much like a moving-picture hero

to suit me. he may have it on him.” at this moment trent sat up with an effortand looked from one to the other of the visitors. as drunken men do, it appeared not easy toget them in proper focus. devlin was not easily put in the wrong. hismanner was most respectful. “mr. dangerfield wants you to join him ina little game of bridge,” he began ingratiatingly. “sure,” said the inebriate. “any timeat all.” he attempted to get up. “you can’t go like this,” devlin assuredhim. “you’d better sober up a bit. take a cold bath.” o’brien obligingly turned the water on andfive minutes later devlin assisted him into

the tub, while o’brien examined the clotheshe had left in his sitting-room. then the two left him abruptly and made nomore mention of bridge or dangerfield. trent rolled on the bed chuckling. the honors werehis. the great black bird swooping from nowhereto relieve dangerfield of his great ruby and other stones of value, to strike that worthyupon his strong wrists with such startling effect as to make him fall down a dozen steps,was capable of a simpler explanation than he had supposed. trent, a week before the robbery, had observedwith peculiar attention the window leading to dangerfield’s private stairway. he couldsee one easy approach to it and one of greater

difficulty. the first was approach by a step-ladder.the second was a great arm of the enormous tree that reared its head above the hotelroof. this arm hung down from the roof almost twenty feet above the little window. he believedthat his weight would bring it swaying down to the window-ledge. he tried it one moonlessnight and found the scheme feasible. already the chiller mountain breezes following theheat spell were making visitors close their windows. on the evening of the third of septemberhe stole from his room by climbing over the roof until he came to the side where the bigtree was. in one hand he held a coil of rope to hold the branch when his weight was takenoff it. this rope he tied to the iron staple of the shutter outside the window. it waseasy to open this.

dropping silently on to the stairs, he unscrewedthe bulb of the light until the staircase was in partial darkness. tense, he knelt onthe edge of the window and waited for the millionaire. and as the man came in sighthe suddenly lifted from a step his landing net, the same collapsible one devlin had examinedwith such care. but this time it was draped in dark material to conceal its form. thebrass rim, sharp and heavy, struck dangerfield’s wrists as he held the box by both hands ona level with his heart. into the open net the precious casket fell silently. trent wasin his room ten minutes ere dangerfield came to consciousness. his next move seemed strangeand unnecessary. with a used golf ball in his pocket, he slid down the veranda postsuntil he came, by devious routes, to the shed

in which the lockers were of those who usedthe links. it had long since been closed for the night. parker unfastened dangerfield’slocker and placed the ball in the pocket, where it lay with others of similar age andmake. he was able to return to his room unobserved.it was less than a half hour afterward that he received his call from the two detectives. although he was anxious to get on the linksagain and breathe the air of the pine woods, he was careful not to undo his artistic preparations.it was noticed that no more drink was sent to his room. there came instead ice waterand strong coffee. he was getting over it, they said. two days later he was out on thelinks and made a peculiarly bad round, taking

ten more strokes than usual. dangerfield watchedhim from the piazza. one of his arms was in a sling. “cut the rough stuff out,” said dangerfield,“that’s the second time you topped your ball.” trent passed a hand across his face, possiblyto hide a smile. “i guess i’ll have to,” he returnedsimply. “it was that damned heat wave that got me going.” it happened that the dangerfields and trentreturned to new york on the same train. devlin and o’brien were in attendance. trent noticedthat when devlin’s eye fell on the golf

bag over his shoulder he frowned. so far theruby had not been recovered and here was a piece of baggage that might hold crown jewels.over devlin’s broad shoulders his master’s golf bag was suspended. cheerily and withrespect he approached the crack player. “let me hold your golf bag, sir,” he saidwith a ready smile. “i’ll put it on the train for you.” trent relinquished it with relief. “thankyou,” he returned, “it will be a help.” he had long ago noticed that his own bag anddangerfield’s were alike save for the initials. they were both of white canvas, bound withblack leather. watching the smiling devlin with a well-disguised curiosity, he saw thatdangerfield’s bag had been substituted for

his own. devlin had done exactly as trentexpected him to do and had, in the doing of it, saved him much trouble. there were not many people in his pullman.dangerfield had his private car. none saw anthony trent open the ball pouch on the dangerfieldbag and extract therefrom an aged and somewhat dented ball. he balanced it almost lovinglyin his hand. never in the history of the great game had a ball been seen with the worth ofthis one. and yet he had so cunningly extracted its core and repaired it when once the mountaubyn ruby was nestling in its strange home that detection was unlikely, even were anexamination made. a porter had the dangerfield bag and trent’s suitcase when devlin cameup to him. he was no longer obliging. he had

spent wearisome hours in the privacy of thedangerfield car examining every part of the trent impedimenta. the task had wearied himand had been fruitless. “you got the boss’s clubs,” he saidshortly. languidly trent examined what his porter carried. “you’re to blame for it,” he answered,and as mr. dangerfield came up raised his voice a little. he knew devlin suspected him,and he sensed that some day the two would meet as open foes. “this man of yours,” cried trent, “triedto give me your clubs instead of my own. i wouldn’t lose mine for anything.”

“you crack golfers couldn’t do anythingwithout your own specially built clubs,” jeered the millionaire, “i believe it’shalf the game.” trent smiled. “there’s something in the ball, too,”he admitted, and had difficulty in keeping his face straight. mrs. kinney was delighted to see her employerhome again, and hurried to a convenient delicatessen store so that he might be fed. it was whenshe came back that her eye caught sight of the brass lamp from benares. where had been the unsightly gap caused byher breaking of the red glass was now a piece

which glittered gaily. “why, you’ve had it mended, sir,” shecried. “i feel i ought to pay for it, since it was my carelessness which broke it.” “i’m glad you did,” he laughed. “ifyou hadn’t i shouldn’t have got this.” he looked at it with pride. “do you know,mrs. kinney, i like this one better.” “it makes the other ones look common though,”she commented. “you’re right,” he admitted. “i thinki shall have to replace them, too.” chapter xix trent acquires a home

one day, months before the affair of the tenambulances, horace weems had seen anthony trent about to enter xeres’ excellent restaurant.lacking no assurance weems tacked himself on to his friend. “say, do you feed here?” he demanded andlooked with respect at his friend’s raiment. “only when i’m hungry,” trent retorted.he knew it was useless to try to get rid of weems. “have you dined?” “thanks,” said weems, “i don’t mindif i do.” in those days weems was proud as the ownerof the finest camp on lake kennebago. he was high stomached and generous of advice. hetold trent so much of a certain stock—a

gold mine in colorado—that at last he purchaseda considerable interest in it. later he learned that weems had unloaded worthless stock onhim. trent bore no sort of malice. he had gone into the thing open-eyed and weems, ashe knew of yore, never sold at a loss. weems had been wiser to have held his stockfor tungsten in large quantities was discovered and what cost trent five thousand dollarswas now worth ten times that amount. it was one evening shortly after his adventureswith the baron von eckstein that weems called him up on the telephone. that he was ableto do so annoyed trent who had carefully concealed his number. but horace weems had secured itby a use of mendacity and with it the number and the address. he said he was ’phoningfrom a nearby drug store and was about to

pay a visit. weems was ill at ease. and he was unshavenand his shoes no longer shone with radiance. his disheveled appearance and attitude ofdejection swept away his host’s annoyance. he took a stiff scotch and seltzer. “little horace weems,” he announced, “hasgot it in the neck!” “what’s happened?” trent demanded. “got that wall street bunch sore on me andhadn’t the sense to see the danger signals.” weems soothed his throat with another stiffdrink. “the trouble with me is i’m too courageous. i knew what i was up against butdid that frighten me? no siree, no boss, i

went for ’em like you used to go througha bunch of forwards in a football game. i’m like a bull terrier. i’m all fight. sizedon’t worry me. they pulled me down at last but it took all the best brains in the ‘street’to do it. they hate a comer and i’m that. well, this is the first round and they winon points but this isn’t a limited bout. you watch little horace. i’ll have a turbinesteam yacht yet and all the trimmings. follow me and you’ll wear diamonds or rags—nothingbetween. rags or diamonds.” weems was a long time coming to the point.when he did it was revealed as a loan, a temporary loan. “it’s like this,” said the ingenuousweems, “when i sold you those shares in

a tungsten mine i did it because you werea friend.” “you did it,” trent reminded him, “becauseyou hadn’t a faint idea there was tungsten there and you thought you’d done somethingmighty clever. what next?” “you needn’t be sore about it,” weemsreturned, “you made money.” “i’m not sore,” trent said smiling.“you did me a good turn but i don’t have to be grateful all things considering. howmuch do you want?” “i shall get back,” weems said a littlesulkily. “i only want a hundred or maybe two hundred, although five hundred would seeme through till i get the money for the camp.” “you are not going to sell that?” trentcried. it was of all places the one he craved.

“got to,” weems asserted. “who is going to buy it?” “a fellow from cleveland named rumleigh.” “i remember him,” trent said frowning,“he’s a hog, a fish hog. all the guides hate him. what’s he going to give you?” “forty thousand,” said weems. “constable, grand piano and all?” “the piano’s there,” weems told him,“but the picture is sold. honest, tony, that picture surprised me. senator scrivenergave me ten thousand dollars for it. just

some trees, an old barn and some horses lookingover a gate. what do you know about that? that helped me some.” “you’re such a damned liar, weems, thati never believe you but i’ll swear rumleigh isn’t paying you forty thousand dollarsfor that camp. it’s a good camp but if you’ve got to sell in a hurry he’ll hold you downto less than that. be honest for once and tell me what he’s going to give.” “twenty-two thousand,” weems said sullenly. “i’ll give you twenty-five,” said trentcarelessly. “his is a cash offer,” weems said shakinghis head, “and that’s why i’m selling

so cheap.” trent took a roll of bills from his pocketand peeled off before weems’ astounded eyes five and twenty thousand dollars. “mine is also a cash offer,” he observed. “come right off to my lawyer,” weems criedspringing to his feet. “gee, and i thought you hadn’t as much money as i have.” thus it was that anthony trent came into possessionof his camp. it was a beautiful place and there were improvements which he planned thatwould cost a lot to execute. he decided that it might be unwise to retire yet from a professionwhich paid him such rewards. another year

and he could lay aside his present work satisfiedthat financial worries need never trouble him. he admitted that many unfortunate thingsmight happen in twelve months but he was serene in the belief that his star was in the ascendant. chapter xx “wanted—an emerald” since anthony trent had replaced the red glassin his benares lamp with the mount aubyn ruby, the other pieces of cut glass seemed so dullby comparison that had his visitors been many, suspicion must have arisen from the very differencethey exhibited. the lamp was discreetly swung in a distant corner and the button which lightedthe lamp carefully concealed.

reading one morning that owing to the financialtrouble into which the war had plunged a great west of england family, the celebrated edgcumbesapphire had been purchased by a new york manufacturer of ammunition—one of the newmillionaires created by the war to buy what other countries had to sacrifice. the papers gave every necessary particular.at ten o’clock one morning anthony trent sallied forth to loot. by dinner time theedgcumbe sapphire had replaced the blue cube of cut glass and in his lamp the papers weredevoting front page space to its daring abduction. how he accomplished it properly belongs toanother chapter in the life of the master criminal. so easy was it of consummation thathe planned to use the same technique for a

greater coup. when these two great stones were making hisbrazen lamp a thing of flashing beauty they threw into infinite dullness the cube of green.looking at it night after night when mrs. kinney was long abed and the grateful silenceshad drowned the noise of day, anthony trent longed for an emerald to bear these lordlyjewels company. there was an excellent second-hand book storeon thirty-second street, between seventh avenue and sixth, where he browsed often among waitingvolumes. one day he picked up a book, written in french, “romances of precious stones.”it was by a madame sernin, grandniece of the great russian novelist feoder vladimir larrovitch.trent remembered that he had read her translation

of crasny baba and gospodi pomi, and lookedat this original work with interest. it was published in paris just before the war. he knew well that most of the great stoneswhich had became famous historically were still in europe. and europe, until the longwar was over, was closed to him. he hoped madame sernin had something to say about american-ownedjewels. there was a reference in the index and later, in his rooms, he read it eagerly.there were, mme. sernin announced, but two of the great emeralds in the united states.one belonged to the wife of the colombian minister and was found in colombia. trentconsidered this stone carefully. it might not be in the united states after all. mme.sernin was doubtful herself. but of the second

stone she was certain. it was known as thetakowaja emerald. a century and a half before it had been dug from the ural mountains. thatgreat “commenceuse,” the second catherine of russia, had given it to her favorite, gregoryorlov, who had sold it to a traveling english noble in a day before american gold was knownin continental europe. it was now the property of andrew apthorpe,of boston in massachusetts. presumably the man was a collector, and assuredly he waswealthy, but anthony trent had never heard of him. a trip by boat to boston would makea pleasant break and a day later he was steaming north. his inevitable golf clubs accompaniedhim. trent was one of those natural-born players whose game suffer little if short of practice.and of late he had not stinted himself of

play. he told mrs. kinney he was going toedgartown for a few days. he had sometimes played around these island links; and hisbag of clubs was always an excellent excuse for traveling in strange parts. directly he had registered at the adams househe consulted a city directory. andrew apthorpe’s town house was in the same block on beaconstreet which held the clent bulstrode mansion. it was a vast, forbidding residence of redbrick running back to the charles embankment. the windows were small and barred and theshades drawn. an empty milk bottle and a morning paper at a basement door gave evidence ofoccupancy. and at the garage at the rear a burly chauffeur was cleaning the brass workof a touring car. looking wisely and suspiciously

at trent as he sauntered by was an airedale.the family, trent surmised, was absent and the caretaker, who rose late if the neglectedpost was a sign, and this man and dog were left to guard the place. if the takowaja emerald were housed here withtwo such guardians its recovery might not be difficult. but the more trent thought ofit the more improbable it seemed that the owner of such a gem should leave it prey toany organized attack. the curious part about this ural emerald was that trent had neverbefore heard of it and he knew american owned stones well. most of the owners of famousjewels were ready to talk of them, lend them for exhibition purposes when they were properlyguarded, but he had never seen a line about

the apthorpe emerald. a few minutes before midday anthony trentstrolled into the ames building and saw that andrew apthorpe, cotton broker, occupied verylarge offices. a little later he followed one of the apthorpe clerks, a well-dressed,good-looking young man, to the place where he lunched. it was curiously unlike a newyork restaurant. circular mahogany counters surrounded self possessed young women whopermitted themselves to attend to those who hungered. to such as they knew and liked theywere affable. to others their front was cold and severe. the apthorpe employee was a favorite, aptat retort and not ill pleased if others noted

it. soon he drifted into conversation withtrent, who with his careful mind had read through the column devoted to cotton in themorning papers and was ready with a carefully remembered phrase or two for the strangerwho responded in kind. gradually, by way of the red sox, the beautiesof norumbega park and the architectural qualities of keith’s, the young man lapsed into personalitiesand told anthony trent all he desired to know of andrew apthorpe. andrew, it seemed, wasnot beloved of his employees. he was unappreciative of merit unless it accompanied female beauty.he was old; he was ill. his family had abandoned him with the sincere reluctance that wealthis ever abandoned. “he lives up at groton,” said trent’sloquacious informant, “in a sort of castle

on a hill fitted with every burglar resistingdevice that was ever invented.” “what’s he afraid of?” trent demanded. “he’s got a lot of valuables,” the otheranswered, “cut gems and cameos and intaglios and things that wouldn’t interest any onebut an old miser like him. i have to go up there once in a while. the old boy has anautomatic in his pocket all the while. i think he’s crazy.” there were two or three men at camp devenswhom trent knew slightly. the camp was within walking distance of groton, he learned. byhalf past nine on the following morning anthony trent left ayer behind him and breasted therising ground towards groton. he could go

to the camp later. he might not go at allbut if questioned as to his presence the excuse would be a just one. he was always anxiousthat his motives would pass muster with the police if ever he came in contact with them. after a couple of miles he came in sight ofthe beautiful tower of groton school chapel. two or three times he had played for his schoolagainst this famous institution in the years that seemed now so far behind him. the townof groton, some distance from the more modern school, charmed his senses. restful housesamong immemorial elms, well kept gardens and a general air of contentment made the townone to be remembered even in new england. he hoped he would be able to find somethingabout apthorpe from some local historian without

having to lead openly to the matter. a luncheonat the famous inn might discover some such informant. but he was not destined to enterthat admirable hostelry for coming toward him, with dignified carriage and an aura offragrant havana smoke about him, was mr. westward whom he had known slightly at kennebago. thismr. westward was the most widely known fisherman on the famous lake, an authority whereverwet-fly men foregathered. trent would have preferred to meet none whoknew him by name. this was a professional adventure and not a trout fishing vacation.but the angler had already recognized him and there was no help for it. westward ratherliked anthony trent as he liked all men who were skilled in the use of the wet-fly andwere, in his own published words, “high-minded,

fly-fishing sportsmen.” “why, my dear fellow,” said westward genially,“what are you doing in my home town?” “i’d no idea you lived here,” trentsaid, shaking his hand. “i thought you were a new yorker.” westward pointed to a modest house. “thisis what i call my office,” he explained. “i do my writing there and house my fishingtackle and my specimens.” “i wish you’d let me see them,” trentsuggested smiling. “i’ve often marveled at the way you catch ’em.” it was past twelve when he had finished talkingover what mr. westward had to show. he realized

he had forgotten the matter which broughthim to groton. when mr. westward asked him to luncheon he hesitated a moment. this hesitationwas born not of a disinclination to accept the angler’s hospitality but rather to thefeeling that he was out for business and if he failed at it might be led as a criminalto whatever jail was handy. and were he thus a prisoner it would embarrass a good sportsman.but mr. westward gained his point and led trent to a big rambling house further downthe street that was a rich store house of the old and quaint furniture of colonial days. mrs. westward proved to be a woman of charmand culture, endowed with a quick wit and a gift of entertaining comment on what localhappenings were out of the ordinary.

“has charles told you of the murder?”she asked. “we’ve been talking fish,” anthony trentexplained. “oh you fishermen!” she laughed. “ioften tell my husband he won’t take any notice of the last trump if he’s fishingor talking of trout. we actually had a murder here last night.” “i hope it was some one who could be easilyspared,” trent returned, “and not a friend.” “i could spare him,” mrs. westward saiddecisively. “i know his wife and she has my friendship but for andrew apthorpe i havenever cared.” “apthorpe?” trent cried. “the cottonman?”

“the same,” mrs. westward assured him. anthony trent was suddenly all attention.he surmised that the murder of so rich a man was actuated by a desire for his collection.and if so, where was the takowaja emerald? “please tell me,” he entreated, “murdersfascinate me. if the penalty were not so severe i should engage in murder constantly. whatwas it? revenge? robbery?” “yes and no,” charles westward observedwith that judicial air which confounded questioners. “revenge no doubt. robbery perhaps, butwe are awaiting the arrival of mrs. apthorpe and her daughter. we shall not know untilthen whether his collection of valuables has been stolen.”

“what about the revenge theory?” trentinquired. “apthorpe made many enemies as a youngerman. physically he was violent. there are no doubt many who detested him. personallyi had no quarrel with him. i sent him a mess of trout from the unkety brook this seasonand had a little talk with him over the phone but he saw few except his lawyer and businessassociates.” “is any one suspected in particular?”trent asked. “the whole thing is mysterious,” mrs.westward declared with animation. “last night at eight o’clock i received a telephonemessage from his nurse, a miss thompson, a woman i hardly know. once or twice i haveseen her at the red cross meetings but that

is all. she apologized for calling but saidshe felt nervous. it seems that mr. apthorpe had let all the servants go off to the bandconcert at ayer. there were two automobiles filled with them. the only people left weremiss thompson in the house and a gardener who lives in a cottage on the grounds. theyleft the house just after dinner—say half past seven. at a quarter to eight a strangercalled to see mr. apthorpe.” “accurately timed,” commented mr. westward. “miss thompson declined to admit him. youmust understand, mr. trent, that andrew apthorpe was a very sick man, heart trouble mainly,and she was within her rights. the man who would not give his name put his foot in thedoor and said he would see mr. apthorpe if

he waited there all night. while she was arguingwith him, begging him, in fact, to go away, her employer came to the head of the stairsthat lead from the main rooms to the hall. miss thompson explained what had happened.to her surprise he said, ‘i have been expecting him for twenty years. let him in.’” “why should she call you up?” trent asked. “merely because she was nervous and knewother people even less than she did me.” mrs. westward hesitated a moment. “therehave been rumors about her and mr. apthorpe which were not pleasant. they were probablynot true but when a man has lived as he had it was not surprising. she called me up ateight because the two men were quarreling.

my husband told you he was a man of violenttemper. that is putting it mildly. i told her there was nothing to be alarmed about.at nine she called me up again to say that she would be grateful if mr. westward andmy nephew richmond, who is staying with me, would go up there as she had heard blows struckand mr. apthorpe was too ill to engage in any sort of tussle. i told her my two menwere out but that the police should be called in. while i was talking she gave a shriek—itwas a most dramatic moment and i could hear her steps running from the telephone.” “my nephew and i came in at that moment,”westward interrupted, “and went up the hill to the house as fast as possible. mrs. westwardmeanwhile had telephoned for the police. miss

thompson was waiting on the steps. she washysterical and afraid to go back into the lonely house.” “richmond said he thought she had been drinking,”his wife interjected. “that meant nothing,” westward observed,“she was hysterical and i don’t wonder in that great lonely house. when we went inwith the police we found the big living room door locked with the key on the inside. wehad to break it open and found it bolted. evidently the stranger had seen to that. oldapthorpe was lying dead shot through the head with a bullet from his own revolver. the windowwas open. there was a twelve-foot drop to the grass outside and the man had loweredhimself by a portiere. so far not a trace

has been found of him. a great many peoplepass through here on the way to or from boston and we have become so used to strangers thatno heed is paid to them any more.” “was there any evidence of robbery?” trentasked. “not a trace so far as we could see. i meanby that there was no disorder. things of value might have been taken but nothing had beenbroken open. we shan’t know until mrs. apthorpe comes.” “it was evidently,” mr. westward declared,“some man whom he had been expecting. miss thompson, according to her story, did notknow the man’s name and yet was told to admit him. it may be the police will findit from correspondence.”

“i doubt it,” trent observed shaking hishead. “if it was a man apthorpe had dreaded for a score of years he wouldn’t be correspondingwith him.” “then why was he admitted?” asked mrs.westward. “consider the circumstances,” anthonytrent reminded her. he was becoming thoroughly interested. “here he was almost in the house,his foot in the door. all the servants were away. no matter what apthorpe said he wouldhave got in. what more likely than that the proud overbearing old man felt sufficientconfidence in his nerve and his revolver? or if he didn’t he would not admit it. thecurious part to my mind was how this unknown timed it so exactly. he turned up just asthe servants were going out for the evening.”

he turned to mrs. westward, “why didn’tmiss thompson telephone for police aid do you suppose? does it seem strange to you thatshe telephoned to you instead?” “knowing andrew apthorpe it does not,”she answered. “he would have been furious if she had done so. to begin with he has hadmany squabbles with the local authorities over trumpery matters. he was most unpopular.the last thing he would have desired would be to have them in his house. none of theservants were from groton and he would not have them associating with local people.” anthony trent ruminated for a little. so farnothing had been developed which offered a reasonable solution of the problem. and theproblem for him was a different one from that

which would confront the police. trent’sproblem was to secure the takowaja emerald. so far neither of the westwards had mentionedit. probably for the reason that they did not know of its existence. it would be unwise,he decided, to try to lead them to talk of the dead man’s collection of jewels. buthe felt reasonably certain in his own mind that in this carefully guarded house, repletewith burglar alarms and safety appliances, the treasure from the ural mountains had beenreposing within a dozen hours. the stranger who had come after a score of years and hadleft murder in his trail, was more likely to have come for the great green stone thananything else. “i wish i could have a look at the place,”he said presently.

“amateur detective?” laughed mrs. westward. “i can’t imagine anything being more exciting,”he admitted, “than to follow this mysterious man except, perhaps, to be the man himselfand outwit the detectives.” “why not take mr. trent up there, charles?” plainly mr. westward was not eager to do so.this was due to a dislike to invade premises under police supervision to which he had nobusiness except a friendly curiosity. still there would be no harm done. he had knownthe apthorpes for years and perhaps anthony trent might be an aid. some one had told himtrent was an expert in the oil market. he had no reason to believe him anything buta man of probity.

“it might be arranged,” he said slowly. chapter xxi the murder of andrew apthorpe the apthorpe estate ran parallel to the mainstreet of the town but the house itself was perched on a hill almost a mile distant fromit. a long winding ascent led to a big stone, turreted mansion commanding an extensive viewof the country that lay about it. a well kept lawn three hundred yards in width surroundedthe house. “the place was built,” mr. westward explained,“by colonel crofton, the railroad man. on this lawn were great beds of rhododendronswhich cost a great deal of money. when apthorpe

bought it he had them torn up and sown ingrass. he said the flower beds and shrubberies were places where burglars might conceal themselvesby day to break in by night.” “he was certainly suspicious,” trent commented. westward pointed to the house which rose likea fortress above them. “when crofton had it there were windowson the ground level and several entrances. apthorpe had them filled with granite allexcept that big doorway opposite.” by this time trent was near enough to seethat the house was not remote from buildings such as the stables and garages which areadjacent to most such residences. he remarked on the peculiarity.

“the automobiles are kept in the basementof the house,” westward explained. “the big doors i pointed out to you cannot be openedby the chauffeurs. when they want to go out or come in they have to phone for permission.then mr. apthorpe or some one else would touch a button in his big living room and the gateswould swing open. he had a searchlight on the tower until the federal authorities forbadeit.” “it seems to me he must have lived in dreadof violence,” trent observed, “and yet why should he? he was a well known bostonbroker of an old new england family, not the kind one would think involved in crime. infiction it is the man who comes home after spending half his life in the mysterious eastthat one suspects of robbing gods of their

jeweled eyes and incurring the sworn vengeancesof their priests.” “all men who collect precious stones livein dread,” charles westward said. “i’ve never seen any of his things. i’m not interestedin them particularly. i’ve always talked about fishing when i’ve been there, butit’s common knowledge that he was going to leave his valuables to the museum of finearts. one of the things which incensed his wife was that he wouldn’t give her or herdaughter any of the jewels but preferred to keep them locked away.” a flight of twenty granite steps led to themain entrance, two heavily built, metal studded doors. a lofty hall was disclosed with a circularstairway around it. leading from the hall

to what seemed the main room on that floorwas a flight of six steps. the chestnut doors had been shattered. obviously it was the roomin which apthorpe had met his death. for the rest it looked in no way different from halfa hundred other rooms in big houses which trent had investigated professionally. bookshelvesnot more than four feet in height lined three sides of the apartment. making a pretenseof reading the titles trent looked to see whether they were indeed volumes or mere blinds.the policeman in charge, knowing mr. westward well, was only too willing to show him andhis friend what was to be seen. the body, he explained, was in an upper chamber. one peculiarity trent noted in the book cases.apparently there was no way to open them.

they were of metal painted over. if keyholesexisted they were hidden from view. fearing that the policeman in charge would noticehis scrutiny, he walked over to the open window and looked out. it was from this that themurderer made his escape. twelve feet below the green closely cropped turf touched thegranite foundation of the walls. when mr. westward offered him a cigar he tookout his pipe instead and knocked out the ashes against the window ledge. mr. westward heardan exclamation of annoyance and asked its cause. then he saw that while the stem ofthe pipe remained in its owner’s hand the bowl had fallen to the lawn below. “i won’t be a minute,” trent said, andwent down the main steps to the grounds. it

was no accident that led him to drop his favoritebriar. his keen eyes had seen footprints in the grass as he looked down. they might wellbe the marks of him who had stolen the famous emerald and trent had decreed a private vendettaagainst one who might have robbed him for what he came into massachusetts. searchingfor the pipe bowl which he had instantly detected he made a rapid examination of the ground. there were indeed footprints made undoubtedlyby some one dropping from the end of the portiere to the soft turf. and as he gazed, the mysteriousman whom he had suspected faded into thin air. they were the imprints of the high heelsthat only women wear! carefully he followed them as far as the big gates of the garage.they were not distinct to any but a trained

observer. they were single tracks leadingfrom the grass beneath the window to the garage. not an unnecessary step had been taken. apparentlythe local police had pulled in the portiere from the window and had made no examinationof the grass below. trent noticed that a man, evidently a gardener,was approaching him. quickly he dropped the bowl of his pipe again among some clover.the man was eager and obliging. furthermore he had heavily shod feet which were alreadymaking their impression on the turf to the undoing of any who might seek, as anthonytrent had done, to make a careful examination. already the high heeled imprints were obliterated. when the pipe was found the man insisted onspeaking of the murder. he declared that for

an hour on the fatal night a big touring carhad been drawn up near his cottage in a lane nearby and that two men got out of it leavinganother in charge. trent shook him off as soon as he could andreturned to the house, his previously held theories wholly upset. he had built them inthe facts or falsities carefully supplied by miss thompson and he was anxious to seethe lady. it was most likely that the woman who had lowered herself from the window wasthe woman who had committed the murder. and for what could the crimes have been committedso readily as the takowaja emerald? he recalled now that there had been a certainreserve in the westwards’ manner when they had spoken of miss thompson. might they nothave suspected her and yet feared to voice

these suspicions to a stranger? as he thought it over he came to the conclusionthat it was not of the crime of murder they suspected her but perhaps because of her relationswith so notorious a man as the late andrew apthorpe. he remembered that the dead man’sfamily was alienated from him, possibly for this very reason. he was given an opportunity very shortly tosee the nurse. she came along the hall, not seeing him as he stood in the entrance, andmade her way toward mr. westward. she was a tall woman, quietly dressed and not in nurses’uniform. her walk was studied and her gestures exaggerated. she was that hard, blond typeoverladen with affectation to one who observed

carelessly. but trent could see she had ajaw like a prize fighter and her carefully pencilled eyes were intrinsically bellicose.she had a big frame and was, he judged, muscularly strong. and of course nurses must have goodnerves. if she had the emerald he was determined to obtain, it would not be an easy conquest. her greeting of mr. westward was effusive.indeed it seemed too effusive to please him. he was courteous and expressed sympathy. shetalked volubly. she related in detail the events of the previous night and the listenernoticed that she was letter perfect. the only new angle he got was a description of thesupposed murderer. according to nurse thompson he was about fifty, wore a short grizzledmoustache, was of medium height but very broad,

and dressed in a dark gray suit. in accentshe judged him to be a westerner. she would recognize him, she declared dramatically,among ten million. trent had no wish to meet her—yet. he hadseen her, recognized a predacious and formidable type and had observed she wore expensive shoeswith fashionably high heels. presently charles westward joined him. “i’ve been talking to miss thompson,”he volunteered. “i saw you,” trent said, “but supposedit was one of the family. she wasn’t dressed as a nurse.” “she doesn’t act like one,” westwardanswered. “richmond was right. that woman

drinks. i don’t like her, mr. trent.” “i suppose she needs sympathy now that herposition is lost?” the more anthony trent thought over the matterthe more thoroughly he became convinced that the mysterious stranger of whom the nursespoke had no existence. if she had killed her employer she would not have done so unlessit were to her advantage. and what better reason could there be, were she criminallyminded, than some of his famous jewels? trent determined to follow the thing up. he chuckledto think that he was now on the opposite side of the fence, the hunter instead of the hunted.but that was no reason that he should aid his enemy the law. if he devoted his talentsto the running down of the murderer he wanted

the reward for himself. supposing that she had planned the crime,the opportunity was hers when she had the old man alone in the house. she would havebeen far too clever to use her knowledge of drugs to poison him. by such a ruse she wouldinevitably have incurred suspicion. if his assumption were correct she had been veryclever. at eight o’clock she had started the ball rolling. at nine she had strengthenedher position by some acting clever enough to deceive mrs. westward. and when they hadreached her primed by her story of the threatening stranger they had found her waiting hystericallyfor their aid. no doubt she had been drinking. most women hate using firearms for violentpurposes unless the act is one of suddenly

inspired fury when the deed almost synchronizeswith the impelling thought. she had planned the thing carefully. she had,if his theory held, probably shot the old man as he sat reading. then she had lockedand barred the great doors and lowered herself to the ground and entered by the garage doorwhich she could have opened from above. thus the men coming to her aid found a scene preparedwhich her ingenuity had led them to expect as entirely reasonable. “by the way,” he demanded suddenly, “howlong was the doctor or coroner in getting to mr. apthorpe?” “he didn’t get there until midnight. hismotor broke down.”

it was thus impossible to fix accurately thetime of apthorpe’s death. as they turned from the drive into groton’smain street a big limousine passed them. to its occupants mr. westward raised his hat. “mrs. apthorpe,” he explained, “herdaughter and son-in-law, hugh fanwood. the other man was wilkinson the lawyer who actsfor mrs. apthorpe.” he paused as another car turned into the drive. “look like detectives,”he commented. “we are well out of it.” that night anthony trent went back to newyork. twenty-four hours later his fast runabout drew up at the westward’s hospitable home. “i brought my car over from boston,” heexplained untruthfully, “on my way back

to new york by way of the berkshires and droppedin to see if there was any news in the apthorpe murder case. the boston papers had very littlei didn’t already know.” he learned a great deal that interested him.first that nurse thompson had been left fifty thousand dollars in the apthorpe will. this,on the advice of counsel, would not be contested, as the widow desired, on the ground of undueinfluence. her daughter mrs. hugh fanwood was not desirous of publicity. secondly one of the most famous jewels inthe world had been stolen. “imagine it,” mrs. westward exclaimed,“for five years an emerald that was once in a tsarina’s crown has been within a mileof us and not a soul in groton knew of it.

it was worth a fortune. now we know why thepoor man was done to death.” “have they any clue?” he demanded. “they have offered a reward of ten thousanddollars. miss thompson’s description of the man has been circulated widely and causedarrests in every town in the state. the house is being searched by a detective agency butwe all believe it’s useless. i don’t think amelia apthorpe behaved at all well. she insistedon having everybody searched who was in the house. not charles of course but every oneshe didn’t know and some whom she did.” “i was in the house,” trent reminded them,“perhaps i ought to offer myself.” “no, no,” westward exclaimed, “i toldmrs. apthorpe who you were. i said you bought

the stanley camp on kennebago and that i couldvouch for you.” “that’s mighty nice of you,” trent respondedwarmly. it was at a moment like this when he realized he was deceiving a good sportsmanthat he hated the life he had chosen. it was one of the reasons that he denied himselffriends. “did she have any sort of scrap with miss thompson?” “it’s too mild a word,” said westward.“after the nurse’s things were searched she was told to go. then she said she shouldbring an action against mrs. apthorpe for defamation of character and illegal search.she promised that there would be enough scandal unearthed to satisfy even the yellow press.i don’t suppose poor amelia apthorpe knew

there were such lurid words in or out of thedictionary until the thompson woman flung them at her.” “will she bring action, do you think?” “i think she’s too shrewd. from what hughfanwood told me they had looked up her record and found it shady. she was a graduate nurseonce. her diploma is genuine and the doctor here tells me she knew her business, but thereare other things that she wouldn’t want in print. i think we’ve seen the last ofher. she’ll get her fifty thousand dollars and when she’s gone through that she’llfind some other old fool to fall for her.” so far, trent’s conjecture as to her characterhad been accurate. the death of apthorpe meant

a large sum of money to her while the legacyremained unrevoked. he could not marry her since he was not divorced from his wife. perhapshe had believed in her sufficiently to show her his peerless emerald. or perhaps he hadonly hinted at its glories and she had become possessed of the secret of its whereabouts.in any case anthony trent firmly believed she had it. it was quite likely that she hadsecreted it somewhere in the grounds of the mansion to retrieve it without risk lateron. what woman except nurse thompson would have lowered herself from the room to theturf below on the night of the murder? and was it not likely that the emerald was thecause of the tragedy? the whole history of precious stones could be written in blood.in any case it was a working hypothesis sound

enough for trent to have faith in. in accordance with the advice of lawyers andrelatives mrs. andrew apthorpe decided to place no obstacle in the way of the departureof nurse thompson. she told mrs. westward she was certain the woman had taken the diamondring she flaunted and that it had not been a gift, as she claimed, from her employer.furthermore it was evident that she had made a good deal of money in padding the householdexpenses. detectives, meanwhile, clinging faithfullyto the description so generously amplified by miss thompson of the thief in the night,were hunting everywhere for him and his loot. the west groton gazette supplied anthony trentwith some much needed information. it printed

in its social columns the news that miss norahthompson was to make an extended stay in the west, making her first long stop at san francisco.until then she was staying with a married sister in east boston. since the name wasgiven in full anthony trent had little difficulty in finding what he needed. an operative froma boston detective agency gleaned the facts while trent made a pleasant stay at the touraine.to the operative he was a mr. graham maltby of chicago. when he went west on the same train as thenow resplendent miss norah thompson he was possessed of a vast amount of informationconcerning her. in st. louis six years before she had badly beaten a man whom she declaredhad broken his engagement to marry her. she

was a singularly violent disposition and hadfigured in half a dozen cases which wound up in police courts. chapter xxii a thief to catch a thief it was not a matter of much difficulty fortrent, still mr. maltby, to become acquainted with male members of the set in san franciscowhich miss thompson affected. he knew that she dined each night at a cafã© which attractedmany motion picture people. and he learned that there was a producer from los angelesnow looking for easy money in san francisco who was very friendly with her. since thisman weiller was easy of approach to such as

seemed prosperous it was not difficult fortrent to strike up an acquaintance one day at the st charles. weiller first of all, asbecame a loyal native son, spoke of climate. then with even greater enthusiasm he spokeof the movies as money-makers. he wanted to get a little money together, put on a featureand sell it. he arranged all the details on the back of a st. charles menu card. he hadan idea which, if william reynard of new york could learn of it, would bring that eminentproducer of features a cool million. anthony trent hung back with the lack of interesta man with money to invest may properly exhibit. weiller was sure he had money. he lived ata first class hotel, he dined well and he was a “dresser” to be admired. also weillerhad seen a sizeable roll of bills on occasion.

there came a night when at anthony trent’sexpense, miss norah thompson, weiller and a svelte girl called by weiller california’sleading “anjenou,” partook of a sumptuous repast. had it not been that trent was outfor business the whole thing would have disgusted him. weiller and norah were blatantly vulgarand intent on impressing their host. the “anjenou” said a hundred times that he was like oneof her dearest “gentlemen friends” now being featured by the jewbird film company.her friend was handsome but she liked anthony’s nose better. with coffee came the great scheme. weillerwanted to make a five reel feature of the andrew apthorpe murder. norah thompson wasto play the lead!

“it’ll knock ’em dead!” cried weiller.“gee! what press agent stuff!” he helped himself with a hand trembling from excitementto another gulp of wine. “my boy, you’re in luck. we’ll go into this thing on equalshares. i’m putting up fifty thousand dollars and you shall put up a like sum. we’ll clearup five hundred per cent.” “you’ve put up fifty thousand in actualcash?” trent demanded. “that’s what i capitalize my knowledgeof pictures at,” weiller explained. “george is one of the best known producersin the game,” miss thompson said, a trifle nettled at what she thought was a smile ofcontempt on the other’s face. “he don’t need your money. i’ve got enough in thisbag right here to produce it.” she waived

a black moir㩠bag before trent’s eyes. george weiller looked at her and frowned.what a foolish project, he thought, to spend one’s own money when here was a victim. “you keep that, little one,” he said generously.“we’re gentlemen; we don’t want to take a lady’s money. we’ll talk it over later.” a keen salesman, he noted trent was growingrestive. if the matter were persisted in he might either take a fright or take offence.all this he explained later. “you see, norah,” he remarked, “that guy has a chin on himthat means you can’t drive him.” “he’s got a cold, nasty eye,” said norahwho was not without her just fears of strangers.

“i’m going to play the game so he’llbeg me to let him in on it,” weiller boasted. “i know the way to play that sort of bird.” the negotiations resulted in trent’s seeinga great deal more of this precious couple than he cared for. the “anjenou” findingher charms made no impression on him was rarely included in the little dinners and excursions. it was when trent had met miss thompson adozen times that he consulted the notes he had made on each occasion. it was a methodof working unique so far as he could learn. it might yield no results in a thousand cases.in the thousand and first it might be the clue. it was nothing more than a list of thecostumes he had seen the ex-nurse wear.

on going through the list he saw that whereasmiss thompson had worn a new dress on each occasion of the dinners in public restaurantswith shoes and hosiery to harmonize or match the color scheme of her gown she had alwayscarried the black moirã© bag. and since it was a fashion of the moment for women to ownmany and elaborate bags of this sort to match or harmonize with the color scheme or detailsof their costumes, it seemed odd that norah thompson, who had been buying everything thatseemed modish, should fail to follow the way of the well dressed. the bag as he remembered it was about seveninches wide and perhaps ten inches long. it was closed by a silver buckle and a pendantof some sort swung at each corner. concentrating

upon it he remembered they were not beadsbut made of the same material as the bag itself and in size about that of an english walnut.he called to mind the fact that he had never seen her without this bag. why should shecling so closely to what was already demod� were he a genuine detective the problem hadbeen an easy one. he could seize the bag, search it and denounce her. but that wouldentail giving up a priceless stone for a few thousand dollars of reward. on the pretext of having to buy a presentfor a chicago cousin, anthony trent led the willing weiller into one of the city’s exclusivedepartment stores. weiller was anxious to do anything and everything for his new friend.that night he, norah and some other friends

were to be trent’s guests at a very recherchã©dinner. he felt, as the born salesman senses these things, that he would get his answerthat night and that it would be favorable. and with fifty thousand dollars to play withhe might do anything. probably the last project would be to make a picture himself. trent asked to be shown the very latest thingin bags. the counter was presently laden with what the salesgirl claimed to be direct importationsfrom paris. trent selected one which he said would suit his cousin. “you ought to get one for norah,” he said.“what color is she going to wear to-night?” “light blue,” weiller returned almostsulkily. he had been with her when she purchased

the gown and resented the extravagance. ifshe went on at that rate there would be nothing left for him. “what they call gentian blue.” the salesgirl picked out an exquisite bluebag on which the lilies of france had been painted daintily by hand. it was further decoratedwith a border of fleur-de-lis in seed pearls. “this is the biggest bargain we have,”the girl assured them. “the government won’t allow any more to be brought over. it’smarked down to a hundred dollars.” she looked at george weiller, “will you take it?” “i’m not sure it’s the shade my friendwants,” he prevaricated. in reality he cursed trent for dragging him into a propositionwhich could cost such a sum. he had not a

tenth of the amount upon him. “i’ll take it,” trent said carelessly,pushing a hundred dollar bill over the counter, “i’ve plenty of cousins and girls alwayslike these things.” weiller sighed enviously. he often remarkedif he could capitalize his brains he would pay an income tax of a million dollars; butthat did not prevent him from being invariably short of ready money. he was looking forward to the dinner trentwas to give him and his friends that night. besides norah there were five other movingpicture people who were to be used to impress trent with their knowledge of the game andthe money he could make out of it. they would

be amply repaid by the dinner; for there arethose who serve the screened drama whose salaries are small. these ancilliary salesmen and womenwere to meet at half past six in the furnished flat norah thompson had rented. there theywere to be drilled. it was while they were receiving the finishingtouches that anthony trent knocked upon the door, blandly announcing that he had broughtan automobile to take norah and george to the hotel where he was staying. instantly the gathering registered impatienceto start. weiller, always suspicious, feared that trent might think it curious that somany were engaged in earnest conversation, and he wondered if their voices had carriedto the hall where trent had waited.

suave and courteous, trent made himself athome among the crowd of people who were, so they informed him, world famous in a screensense. trent, as usual, had timed things accurately.it was part of his scheme that norah should want to banish from his mind the idea thatthere had been any collusion. she was bright and vivacious in her manner toward him. “you are a sweet man,” she exclaimed,“i’m dreadfully hungry—and thirsty. come on boys and girls.” he noticed that although arrayed in a newcostume of blue, she clung to her back moir㩠bag. he called weiller aside while norah mixeda last cocktail for the men.

“george,” he whispered, “that blue bagi bought is just the thing to give norah.” george felt a parcel thrust into his hand.“it’s a little present from me to you and she mustn’t know i bought it.” “she shan’t from me,” weiller said almosttremulously. nothing could have happened more delightfully. not ten minutes ago in the presenceof his even less prosperous motion picture colleagues, norah had called him a tightwadwho didn’t think enough of the woman he was to marry to buy her a ring. he explainedthat easily enough by saying nothing in san francisco was good enough for her and thathe was ordering one from new york. this present from a rich and careless spender would proveaffluence no less than affection. “thanks,

old man, a million times.” norah was at the door when he presented it.she was genuinely affected by the gift. perhaps her thanks were even warmer when one of herfriends picked up the sales slip which had fluttered to the ground and read aloud theprice. “i’m tired of that black bag,” george complained. “norah’s never going to carry that whenshe’s got this,” one of the other women cried. “it matches her gown exactly.” “i took care of that,” george said complacently.“i told the saleswoman to get me the best she had but it must be gentian blue.”

there seemed a momentary hesitation beforethe black bag was discarded. to cling to it at such a moment would be to court suspicion.this was trent’s strategy. her manner was not lost upon one of the others, a characterwoman named richards. “why, george,” she laughed, “i believea former lover gave norah that bag and she hates to part with it. i was in a pictureonce where the heroine carried the ashes of her first sweetheart around with her. i’dlook into it if i was you.” nonchalantly norah emptied the contents ofthe black bag into the new one. then she pitched the old one onto a chair. “now for the eats,” she said cheerily.

chapter xxiii the secret of the black bag the dinner was a wearisome affair to trent.his companions were vulgar, their conversation tedious and the flattery they offered himnauseous. it was exactly half-past nine when a waiter came to his side and told him therewas a long distance call for him from denver. apologizing he left the table. “his brother is a mining man out in colorado,”weiller informed the company. “they’re a rich bunch, the chicago maltbys.” “they can’t come too rich for us,” oneof his friends chuckled. “pass me the wine,

george.” “this is a great little opportunity forrehearsing,” weiller reminded them. “i’ve got to sign this bird up to-night. if i dowe’ll have another little dinner on saturday with a souvenir beside each plate.” directly trent reached the hotel lobby heslipped the waiter a five dollar bill. “if they get impatient,” he cautioned the man,“say i’m still busy on the long distance and must not be interrupted.” five minutes later he opened the door of norah’sflat and turned on the light. there, upon a chair, was the bag on which he had builtso many hopes. his long sensitive fingers

felt each of the pendants. then with the smallblade of a pocket knife he cut a few stitches and drew out the takowaja emerald. for a fullminute he gazed at its green glittering glory. then from a waistcoat pocket he took the brilliantwhich had been purchased with the benares lamp. they were much of a size and he placedthe glass where the jewel had been and with a needle of black silk already prepared sewedup the cut stitches. the whole time occupied from entering the apartment to leaving itwas not five minutes. he was back with his guests within a quarter of an hour. “you must have had good news,” norah exclaimedwhen he took his seat. his face which had been expressionless before was now lightedup. he was a new man, vivacious, witty and

bubbling over with fun. “i had very good news,” he smiled, “iput through a deal which means a whole lot to me. let’s have some more wine to celebrate.” the dinner was taking place in a private roomand he had insisted that the service be of the best. now he was free from the tensionthat inevitably preceded one of his adventures he could enjoy himself. for the first timehe looked at the omnibus by the door behind him. it was not the youthful fledgling waiterhe expected to see but a big, dark man with a black moustache and imperial. norah observedhis glance. “george offered to star him as the mysteriouscount but the poor wop don’t speak english.”

“i’ll bet he left spaghetti land becausehe done a murder,” george commented, “a nasty looking rummy i call him.” “i’ll swear he wasn’t here when i wentto the ’phone,” said trent. “i should have noticed him.” none heard him. the new bottle demanded attention.there was something vaguely familiar about the face but for the life of him trent couldnot place it. uneasily he was aware that the man of whom this strange waiter reminded himhad come at a moment of danger. the more he looked the more certain he was that imperialand moustache were the disguising features. but it is not easy to strip such appendagesoff in the mind’s eye and see clearly what

lies beneath. but there was a way to do so.on the back of an envelope trent sketched the waiter as he appeared. it was a good likeness.then with the rubber on his pencil end he erased moustache and imperial. the face staringat him now was beyond a question that of devlin, the man who had run foul of him over the caseof the mount aubyn ruby. he remembered now that devlin had left jerome dangerfield’semploy to join a new york detective agency. what was devlin doing here disguised as awaiter if not on his trail? and pressed against his side was a stone of world fame. therewas no possibility of escape. the dining room was twenty feet from the street below andhe had no way of reaching it. the door was guarded by devlin and outside in the corridorwaiters flitted to and fro. “old sir richard

caught at last.” he was roused from his eager scheming by awaiter asking what liqueur he would have. automatically he ordered the only liqueurhe liked, green chartreuse. would devlin allow the party to break up? if so he had a placeof safety already prepared for the emerald. but if arrest and search were to take placebefore he could reach his room there was no help. he would be lucky to get off with fifteenyears. something told him that devlin was about toact. waiters were now grouped about the door. he knew that devlin must long ago have markedhim down and this was the final scene. and yet, oddly enough, when suddenly the doorclosed and a truculent detective advanced

to the table tearing off moustache and imperial,anthony trent, who had not left his seat, had no longer the incriminating stone uponhim. he felt, in fact, reasonably secure. “quiet youze,” devlin shouted and flasheda badge at them. five of the eight felt certain he had come for them. weiller owed much moneyin the vicinity of fort lee, new jersey and was never secure. and more than that he hadpassed many opprobrious remarks concerning the waiter whom he supposed did not understandhim. “i’m employed,” said devlin, “to recoverthe emerald stolen from the home of the late andrew apthorpe of groton, massachusetts,on the third of last month, and you can be searched here or in the station house.”

“it’s an outrage,” exclaimed miss richardsthe character woman. “sure it is,” devlin agreed cynically,“but what are you going to do about it?” a woman operative was introduced who tookthe ladies of the party into an adjoining room for search. the emerald was not found.the search revealed merely, that miss richards had been souvenir hunting and her spoils werea knife, spoon and olive fork. the men had passed the ordeal successfully.that they had made the most of their host’s temporary absence the pockets full of cigars,cigarettes and salted almonds testified. anthony trent seemed hugely amused at the procedure.alone of them he did not breathe suits for defamation of character and the like.

“i have rooms here,” he reminded devlin,“by all means search them.” “i have,” snapped the other, showing histeeth. “i regret i didn’t bring my golf clubs,”trent taunted him. “i hope i’ll put you in a place wherethey don’t play golf,” devlin cried angrily. “i’m wise to you.” “it’s good he’s wise to something,”shouted miss richards. “isn’t it?” trent returned equably.“i’ve had no experience of it so far.” he resumed his seat and beckoned a waiter,“some more coffee. sit down, ladies, the ordeal is over.”

“not by a long shot,” snarled devlin,“i’ve got a search warrant to search the apartment rented by norah thompson and i wantyou, weiller, to come with me.” he turned to the moving picture celebrities—self confessedcelebrities—“as for you, you’d better beat it quick.” devlin’s last impression of the ornate diningroom was the sight of the debonair trent sipping his green chartreuse. devlin ground his strongteeth when the other raised the green filled glass and drank his health. he was not to know that in the glass invisibleamid the enveloping fluid was the takowaja emerald, slipped there in the moment of peril.

chapter xxiv devlin’s promise half an hour later the stone, reposing ina tin box of cigarettes, was in the mails on the way to trent’s camp at kennebago.mrs. kinney had instructions to hold all mail and its safety was thus assured. there wasnothing more to fear. he wanted very much to know what had happened at miss thompson’sapartment and proposed to call after breakfast. but devlin called first upon him. it was adepressed devlin. not indeed a devlin come to be apologetic, but one less assured. “well?” said trent affably, “come tosearch me again. i’m getting a little tired

of it, my good man.” “i want to know why you pass here underthe name of maltby of chicago when your name is trent and you live in new york city.” “a private detective has no right to demandany such knowledge. last night you took upon yourself powers and authority which we couldhave resisted if we chose. you had no legal right to search us. i submitted first becausei had nothing to fear and secondly to see if the others had the stone. i didn’t thinkthey had.” “what do you know about the stone?” devlindemanded suspiciously. “everything except just where it is at thispresent moment. between you and me, devlin,

i’m here after it too. i was at groton,as can easily be proved, on the day after the murder.” trent smiled as a curious lookpassed over the detective’s face, “i’m going to disappoint you. i passed the dayand night in boston when the murder was done. i have just as much use for that ten thousanddollars as you have. by the way i suppose you got the stone?” “like hell i did,” devlin cried red inthe face, “i got this.” he showed trent the piece of cut glass which had hung in hisroom for so long. “glass, that’s what it is.” devlin leaned forward and lookedhard into anthony trent’s eyes. “you know more about this than you pretend. it ain’taccident that brings you around when two such

stones as dangerfield’s ruby and this hereemerald get stolen. there’s something more to it than that. there’s something mightyqueer about you, mister anthony trent, and i’m going to see what it is.” trent looked at him for a moment and thensmiled. it was the tolerant smile of the superior. it angered devlin. his red face grew redderstill. “my good devlin,” said trent, “stupiditysuch as yours may be a good armor but it is a poor diving suit.” “talk sense,” devlin commanded. “if you wish,” trent agreed easily. “imean that you haven’t the mental equipment

to live up to your desires. you have the impertinenceto think you can outwit me. i’m your superior in everything. mentally, morally and physicallyi can beat you and in your heart you know it. i think i’ve stood about as much fromyou as i care to take from any man. for a time you amused me. at sunset park you thoughtyou were being very subtle searching my room with your twin ass, o’brien, but i was laughingat you.” “you was drunk,” said devlin slowly. “that’s how gin takes me,” said theother, “i see the ludicrous in men and things. just listen to me. my past and present bearsinvestigation. you looked me up and you know.” trent drew his bow at a venture. “you foundthat out, didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t find anything againstyou doesn’t prove you’re what you pretend,” devlin admitted grudgingly. “the point i wish to make is this,” anthonytrent said incisively, “i’m tired of you. you bore me. you weary me. you exasperateme. i am willing to overlook your blundering stupidity this time but if you worry me againi shall go after you so hard you’ll wish you’d never heard my name. i’ve got moneyand that means influence. you’ve neither. think it over. now get out.” devlin looked at him doubtfully. there wasa strong personal animus against anthony trent. he hated anything suave, smiling or polite.and when these qualities were in conjunction

with physical prowess they spelled danger.but for the moment nothing was to be gained by violence. devlin essayed a genial air. “we all of us make mistakes,” he admitted.“i’m willing to say it. i’m sorry i’ve gone wrong over this case.” he held outa big short fingered hand. “good-bye.” “what’s the use?” trent demanded. “youwill always be my enemy and i never shake hands with an enemy if i can get out of it.” devlin was at a loss for the moment. it hadbeen his experience that when he offered a hand it was grasped gladly, eagerly. therewas something in this harder unsmiling trent which impressed him against his will.

“they shake hands before the last roundof a prize fight,” he reminded the other man. “so they do,” said trent smiling a little,and offered his hand. two weeks later he was compelled to concedethat devlin’s pertinacity sometimes won its reward. devlin had always been an advocate of thethird degree. together with some operatives from his agency he staged a gruesome dramainto which hysterical and frightened the drink-enervated norah thompson was dragged. under the pitilesscross-examination of these hard men she broke down. andrew apthorpe’s murderer was found.but the triumph was incomplete. she convinced

them that although the emerald had been hersfor a time, of its destination or present ownership she had no idea. she went into penalservitude for life with a newspaper notoriety that made the takowaja emerald the most famousstone in existence. chapter xxv on the trail of “the countess” the expert has usually a critical sense welldeveloped. it was so with anthony trent. he read the details of all the crimes treatedin the daily press almost jealously. what the police regarded as clever criminals wereseldom such in his eyes. there were occasionally crimes which won his admiration but they werefew and far between. violence to trent’s

mind was a confession of incompetency, thegrammar school type of crime to a university trained mind. one morning the papers wereunusually full of such examples of robberies with attendant assaults. clumsy work, he commented,and then came to a robbery in long island of jewels whose aggregate value was more thana hundred thousand dollars. the home of peter chalmers rosewarne at themontauk point end of long island was the victimized abode. all americans knew peter chalmers rosewarne.he was the “tin king,” enormously wealthy, splendidly generous and fortune’s favorite.his father had been a cornish mining captain who had come from huel basset to make a millionin the united states. his son had made ten millions.

his long island place, known as st. michael’smount after that estate in cornwall near where his father had been born, was a show place.the gardens were extraordinary. the house was filled with treasures which only the intelligentrich may gather together. rosewarne was a convivial soul in the best sense of the phrase.he loved company and he loved display and more than all he loved his wife on whom heshowered the beautiful things women adore. abstractors of precious stones would gravitatenaturally to such a home as his. anthony trent remembered that the rosewarnestrain of airedales was the best the breed had to show. he had read once that rosewarneturned his dogs loose at nights and laughed burglars to scorn. and well he might, forof all dogs, the gods have blessed none with

such sense as the airedales possess. theirsnot to bark indiscriminately or bite their master’s friends. theirs to reason why:to know instinctively what is hidden from the lesser breeds. a dozen such dogs roaming their master’sgrounds, their guardian instincts aroused, would effectually bar out strangers. thata robbery had been committed at st. michael’s mount spelled for trent an inside job. thepapers told him that a large house party was gathered under the hospitable rosewarne roof.rosewarne himself indignantly denied the possibility of his guests’ guilt. the servants seemedequally satisfactory. sifting the news anthony trent learned thatthe suspected person was a girl who had been

member of a picnic party using the rosewarnegrounds. there was a space of nearly ten acres which the mining man had reserved for parties,suitably recommended, who made excursions from the connecticut side of the sound. heresunday schools passed blameless days and organized clambakes. the party to which the suspectedgirl belonged was a camp for working girls situated on one of the thimble islands. nearly forty of them, enjoying the privilegeof the rosewarne grounds, had spent the day there. mrs. rosewarne herself had seen themdepart into the evening mist. then she had seen, thirty minutes later, a girl runningto the water’s edge. she was dressed, as were the others of her party, with red trimmedmiddy blouse and red ribbons in her hair.

a brunette, rather tall and slight, and awedwhen the chatelaine of the great estate asked what was the matter. it seemed she had becometired and had slept. when she awoke the boat was gone; she had not been missed. mrs. rosewarne was not socially inept enoughto bring the simple girl to her own sophisticated dinner table. instead the girl had an amplemeal in the housekeeper’s room. at nine o’clock a fast launch was to be ready totake her to her camp. it might easily overtake the sail boat if the breezes died down. at nine-fifteen the mechanician in chargeof the boat came excitedly into the house to relate his unhappy experiences. the girl,wrapped in motor coat, was safely in the boat

when she begged the man to get her a glassof water from the boat house at the dock. it was while he was doing so that the boatdisappeared. he heard her call to him in fright and then saw the boat—one capable of twentyknots an hour—glide away with the girl holding her hands out to him supplicatingly. she hadfooled with the levers, he averred, and would probably perish in consequence. it was whilerosewarne considered the matter of sending out his yacht in pursuit that the discoverywas made that a hundred thousand dollars worth of jewels had been taken. the mechanician had been fooled, of that theywere now assured, and the working girl became a fleeing criminal. the sudden temptationthrough seeing sparkling stones in profusion

was the result. a number of boats went inpursuit and the ferries were watched, but the fast motor launch was not found. considering the case from the evidence hehad at command trent was certain it was no genuine member of the working girls’ campwho had done this thing. every move spoke of careful preparation. some one had chosena moment to appear at the mount when suspicion would be removed and her coming seem logical.and no ordinary person would have been able to drive a high powered boat as she had done.another thing which seemed conclusive proof of his correctness was the fact that the girlhad overlooked—this was as the police phrased it—mrs. simeon power’s pearl necklaceand the diamond tiara belonging to mrs. campbell

glenelg. this omission supported the policetheory that it was the work of an inexperienced criminal. anthony trent chuckled as he read this. healso had rejected the power’s pearls and the glenelg tiara. they had been in his appraisinghand. they were both extraordinarily good imitations! assuredly a timid working girlcould not be such a judge of this. she was a professional and a clever one. probablyshe had sunk the launch and swam ashore. later reports veered around to his view. thecamp people were highly indignant at being saddled with a criminal. they had countednoses before embarkation and none was missing. mrs. rosewarne described the girl and so didthe housekeeper. the latter, remarking on

the slightly foreign intonation, was toldby the girl herself that she came from new bedford where her father was employed in atextile mill belonging to dangerfield. like so many of the inhabitants of this mill townhe was of french canadian stock and habitually spoke french in the home. but the housekeeperwho had served the wealthy in england and continental europe would have it that thisintruder come of a higher social class than new bedford mills afford. interviewing the housekeeper in the guiseof a branford newspaper man trent asked her a hundred questions. and each one of her answersconfirmed the belief that had grown in him. this clever woman was “the countess.”he felt certain of it. that slight intonation

was hers. the figure, the height, the coloring.and of course the exact knowledge of what stones were good and what were not. this wasanother count against her for trent had marked st. michael’s mount for his hunting groundand now precautions against abstractors would be redoubled. he felt almost certain that this was the countess’sfirst exploit since her escape from the hotel after the guestwick robbery. he had followedthe papers too closely to miss any unusual crime. a woman of her breeding need neverdrop to association with the typical criminal. since she was marooned in the united statesduring the war she was of necessity cut off from her favorite riviera hunting grounds.where, then, might she meet the wealthy set

if not among the owners of big estates onlong island? trent felt it probable that she was near some such social center as meadowbrookor piping rock. how was he to find her? to begin with he decided to attend the mineolahorse and dog show. this country fair, held during late september, invariably attracted,as he knew, all the horse-loving polo-riding elements of the smart set. not to go there,not to be interested intelligently in horses, hounds and dogs was a confession of ineligibilityto the great long island homes. although he entertained a bare hope of seeingher and passed the first day in disappointment, he saw her almost directly he entered theshow grounds on the second morning. she looked very smart in her riding habit, her hair wasdone in a more severe coiffure than he had

noticed before. she was talking to a wellknown society woman, also in riding kit, a mrs. hamilton buxton, famous for her horsesand her loves. but he could not judge from this whether or not the countess was on friendlyterms with her or not. there is a camaraderie among those who exhibit horses or dogs whichis of the ring-side and not the salon. outside it was possible mrs. hamilton buxton mightnot recognize her. later on he saw that both women were ridingin the class for ladies’ hunters, to be ridden side saddle by the owners. so the countessowned hunters now! well, he expected something of the sort from a woman who had outwittedso astute a craftsman as himself. in a sense he was glad of it. it was better to find herin such a set as this. when she rode around

the ring he saw by the number she bore thatshe was a madame de beaulieu of old westbury. she rode very well. there was the haute ã©colestamp about her work and she was placed second to mrs. hamilton buxton whose chestnut wasof a better type. anthony trent went straightway to new york.he did not want to be seen—yet. he called up a certain number and made an appointmentwith a mr. moor. this man, david moor, was a private detective without ambition and withoutimaginative talent. it always amused trent when he employed a detective to find out detailsthat were laborious in the gathering. in some subtle manner trent had given moor the impressionthat he was a secret service agent exceedingly high in the department.

“moor,” he said briskly as the small anddepressed david entered the room, “i want to find all about a madame de beaulieu wholives in old westbury, long island. i suspect her of being a german spy. find out what othermembers of the household there are, and who calls. whether they are in society or onlytrying to be. i want a full and reliable report. the tradesmen know a whole lot as a rule andservants generally talk. i want to know as soon as possible but keep on the job untilyou have something real.” he knew that moor by reason of an amazingly large family wasalways hard up. he handed him fifty dollars. “take this for expenses.” moor went from the room with tears in hiseyes. he looked at trent as a loving dog looks

at its master. two years before his wife layat the point of death, needing, more than anything, a rest from household worries andthe noise of her offspring. trent sent her to a sanitarium and the children to campsfor the whole of a hot summer. in his dull, depressed fashion, moor was always hopingthat some day he could do something to help this benefactor who waved his thanks aside. the report, written in moor’s small, clearwriting, entertained trent vastly. madame de beaulieu was a daughter of france whosehusband was fighting as an officer of chasseurs and had been decorated thrice. many picturesadorned the house of her hero. she had a french maid who allowed herself to be very familiarwith her mistress. undoubtedly she was the

“aunt” of the guestwick occasion. themen of the household were doubtful according to moor. one was madame’s secretary, anamerican named edward conway, who looked after her properties, and the other an englishman,captain monmouth, a former officer of cavalry who had broken an ankle in a steeple chase,so the report ran, and was debarred from military service. he was a cousin by marriage. theservants asserted that he was an amazingly lucky player at bridge or indeed of any cardgame. so much so indeed that the neighboring estate owners who had been inclined to befriendly were now stiffly aloof. the captain’s skill at dealing was uncanny. bills were pilingup against them all. it was due largely to this that moor was able to get so much information.a vituperative tradesman sets no watch on

his tongue. conway, the secretary, confinedhis work almost entirely to drinking. there were many bitter wrangles at the table butthe english tongue was never adopted on such occasions. the part of moor’s screed whichinterested trent most was that there had been a discussion overheard by a disgruntled maidto take in some wealthy paying guest and offer to get him into long island’s hunting set.it would be worth a great deal to an ambitious man to gain an entrã©e into some of thesefamous westbury homes. of course the odd household could probably not live up to such promisesbut its members had done a great deal. for example, a sunday paper in its photogravuresupplement had snapped madame de beaulieu talking with mrs. hamilton buxton; and captainmonmouth was there to be seen chatting with

wolfston colman, the great polo player. anexcellent beginning astutely planned. it was while anthony trent debated as to whetherhe dare risk the countess’s recognition of him that a wholly accidental circumstanceoffered him the opportunity. suffering from a slightly inflamed neck hewas instructed to apply dioxygen to the area. this he did with such cheerful liberalitythat his shaving mirror next day showed him a man with black hair at the front and a vividblond at the back. the dioxygen had helped him to blondness as it had helped a millionbrunettes of the other sex. for a moment he was chagrined. then he saw how it might aid.it was his intention to go back to kennebago for the deer hunting and accordingly he despatchedmrs. kinney post haste. she was used to these

erratic commands and saw nothing out of theordinary in the fact that he was in a bath robe with a turkish towel wound about hishead. he was in dread of becoming bald and was continually fussing with his hair. ina day or so anthony trent was a changed being. his eyes had a hazel tint in them which formednot too startling a contrast to his new blondness. he was careful to touch up his eyebrows also. shutting up his flat he registered at a newlybuilt hotel as oscar lindholm of wisconsin. he would pass for what we assume the handsometype of scandinavian to be. it was at this hotel captain monmouth stayed when he cameto indulge in what he termed a “flutter” with the cards. there were still a few housesin the city where one could be reasonably

sure of quiet. hard drinking youths were barredat these houses. they became quarrelsome. the men who played were in the main big businessmen who could win without exhuberance or lose without going to the district attorney. theywere invariably good players and lost only to the professionals. and their tragedy wasthat they could not tell a professional until the game was done. captain monmouth alwaysexcited in players of this type a certain spirit of contempt. he was so languid, sogently spoken, so bored at things. and he consumed so much scotch whiskey that he seemedprimed for sacrifice. but he was never the altar’s victim. he was always so staggeredat his unexpected good fortune that he readily offered a revenge. a servant had told davidmoor that the household was supported on these

earnings. captain monmouth, stepping through the loungeon the way to his taxi, caught sight of oscar lindholm. oscar was leaning against the barrail talking loudly of the horse. five hours later oscar was still standing at the barand the horse was still his theme. monmouth was a careful soul for all his gentle languorsand sauntered into the tap room and demanded an alexander cocktail. as became a son ofwisconsin, oscar was free and friendly. the “alexander” was a new one on him, he explained,dropping for a moment themes equine. monmouth never made the mistake of offeringfriendship to a bar-room stranger unless he knew exactly what he was and how he mightfit into the monmouth scheme of things. he

referred mr. lindholm to the guardian of thebottles. it was the size of the lindholm wad that decided captain monmouth to accept aninvitation to a golden woodcock in the grill room. there it was that lindholm opened hisheart. he wanted to follow hounds from the back of a horse. “well, why don’t you, my good sir?”monmouth replied languidly. for a moment a light of interest had passed across the darkblue eyes of the ex-cavalryman. trent knew he was interested. trent explained. he said that the followingof hounds near new york was only possible to one who passed the social examination demandedby these who controlled the hunting set.

“you’re quite right,” monmouth admitted,“for the outsider it’s impossible.” “i’ll show ’em,” oscar lindholm returnedchuckling. then he took the proof of an advertisement from the columns of a great new york dailyand passed it over to monmouth. “wealthy westerner wants to share home amonghunting set of long island. private house and right surroundings essential. references.o. l.” and that light passed over the englishman’seyes, and was succeeded by a look of boredom. “you don’t suppose, do you,” he asked,“that the kind of people you want to know will admit a stranger from wisconsin intotheir family?” “why not?” the other cried, indignantly.“isn’t this a free country and ain’t

i as good as any other man?” “in wisconsin, undoubtedly: i can’t speakfor westbury. by the way, can you ride?” “i could ride your head off,” lindholmbragged. “yes?” said monmouth softly. “now that’svery interesting. perhaps we could arrange a little match somewhere?” “any time at all,” trent returned. hedid not for a moment believe he had a chance against monmouth but he could afford to losea little money to him. in fact he was anxious for the opportunity. “you are staying here?” monmouth demanded.

trent pushed a visiting card toward him. itwas newly done. “oscar lindholm, spartan athletic club, madison, wisconsin.” “yes, i’m staying here,” he admitted.“are you?” “my home is in westbury,” captain monmouthreplied. “then you could get me right in to the seti want?” “impossible,” cried the other, risingstiffly to his feet. “one owes too much to one’s friends.” “bull!” said oscar lindholm rudely. “youonly owe yourself anything. if i have a lot of money and you want some of it why consultyour friends? what have they done for you?”

“i don’t care to discuss it,” captainmonmouth exclaimed. “good night, mr. lindholm.” he limped away. assuredly he was no simpleton. he was notsure of this blond lover of cross-country sport. if lindholm were genuine in his desireto break into the sort of society he aimed at he would come back to the attack. if hewere not genuine it were wiser to shake him off. as for trent, he felt reasonably sure thingswould come his way. but there was a certain subtlety about these foreign gentlemen offortune which called for careful treading. were he once to win his way to the establishmentof madame de beaulieu he would be in dangerous

company. the man who had just left him wasdangerous, he sensed. the countess already commanded his respect. then there was theso-called secretary and the woman who posed now as a maid. and in the house there mightbe a treasure trove that would make his wildest expenditures justified. looked at in a cooland reasonable manner it was a very dangerous experiment for anthony trent to make. he wouldbe one against four. one man against a gang of international crooks, all the more deadlybecause they were suave and polished. it was while he was breakfasting that captainmonmouth took a seat near him. trent commanded his waiter to transport his food to monmouth’stable. “what about that horse race?” he demanded.

“let me see,” the other murmured. “ohyes, you say you can ride?” “i can trim you up in good style,” trentsaid cheerfully, “any old time.” “what stakes?” monmouth asked, withouteagerness. “what distance? over the sticks or on the flat?” “stakes?” trent said as though not understanding. “i never ride or play cards for love,”monmouth told him. “that can be arranged later,” trent said,“the main thing is where can we pull it off? out west there’s a million places buthere everything is private property.” captain monmouth reflected for a moment.

“i shall be in town again in three days’time. you’ll be here?” “depends what answers i get to my advertisement.” “oh yes,” monmouth returned, “they willbe very amusing. very amusing indeed.” “why?” trent demanded. “because the people who will answer willnot suit your purpose at all. there may be many who would be glad of help in runninga house in these hard times but they dare not answer an advertisement like yours forfear it might be known. and then again think of the risk of taking an unknown into thehome?” “i offer references,” trent reminded him.

“but my dear sir,” monmouth protested,“what are athletic clubs in madison to do with those who have the entrã©e to meadowbrook?” “supposing,” trent said presently, “afamily such as i want did get into communication with me, how much would they expect?” captain monmouth looked at him appraisingly.trent felt certain that if a figure were named it would be the one he would have to pay forthe privilege of meeting the charming madame de beaulieu. “one couldn’t stay at a decent hotel undertwo hundred and fifty a week,” the cavalryman returned. “you’d have to pay at leastfive hundred.”

“that’s a lot,” trent commented. “i imagined you’d think that,” monmouthsaid drily. “but i could pay it easy enough,” thepseudo-scandinavian retorted. chapter xxvi anthony trent—“paying guest” and in the end, he did. when captain monmouthsuggested that the match between the two be ridden off on his own grounds near westbury,anthony trent felt certain that he was taken there to be inspected by the other membersof the household. edward conway was a taciturn, drink-soddenman not inclined to be friendly with the affable

oscar lindholm. of the match little need besaid. trent, a good rider, had engaged to beat a professional at his own game. captainmonmouth was the richer by a thousand dollars. in the billiard room of elm lodge after therace monmouth offered his guest some excellent scotch whiskey and grew a little more amiable. “i presume, mr. lindholm,” he said, “thatyou would have no objection to my man of business looking up your rating in madison?” “go as far as you like. what you will findwill be satisfactory.” “it is,” monmouth smiled. “i wish ihad half the money that you have. i should consider myself rich enough and god knowsmy tastes are not simple.”

“so you had me investigated?” trent smileda little. “when?” “when we made this match.” trent had found that the assumption of a namemight be dangerous if investigations were made concerning it. it was with his customarycaution that he had taken lindholm’s name. david moor, his little detective, often spokeof his cases to his patron. he had spoken at length about the case of oscar lindholmof madison, wisconsin. a lumber millionaire, oscar came to new york to have a good timein the traditional manner of wealthy men from far states. a joyride in which a man was rundown figured prominently in his first night’s entertainment. fearing that the notorietyof this would affect his political aspirations

in the west he was sentenced to a month onblackwell’s island under an assumed name. during this month his name could safely beused. the day that trent became a member of the household at elm lodge the real lindholmhad ten days more to serve. the wardrobe which trent had gathered abouthim was utterly unlike his own perfect outfit. he conceived oscar lindholm to be withoutrefinements and he dressed the part. he could see captain monmouth shudder as he came intothe drawing room on the night of his arrival. lindholm wore a prince albert coat and woreit aggressively. his patent leather shoes had those hideousknobs on them wherein a dozen toes might hide themselves.

“my dear man,” gasped monmouth, “wedress for dinner always.” “what’s the matter with me?” the indignantguest asked. “everything,” monmouth cried. “you looklike an undertaker. fortunately we are very much of a size and i have some dress clothesi’ve never worn. if madame de beaulieu had seen you i don’t know what would have happened.” in ten minutes trent was back in the drawingroom this time arrayed as he himself desired to be. madame de beaulieu had not yet comedown. “madame is particular then?” trent hazarded. “she has a right to be,” monmouth saida little stiffly, “she belongs to one of

the great families of france.” trent, watching him, saw that he believedit. this was a new angle. she had deceived monmouth without a doubt. for the first time,and the last, trent observed a certain confusion about captain monmouth. “in confidence,” he said, “madame debeaulieu and i are engaged to be married. captain de beaulieu and she were negotiatingfor divorce when the war broke out and we must wait therefore.” trent remembering moor’s report as to themembers of the household pointed to edward conway sipping his third cocktail. “that’sthe chaperon, eh?”

“madame de beaulieu’s aunt, madame deberlaymont, is here,” monmouth said affably. “it is our custom to use french at the tableas much to starve the servants of food for gossip as anything else. you speak frenchof course?” “not a word,” trent lied promptly, “nowif you want to talk danish or swedish i’m with you.” madame de berlaymont! no doubt the frenchmaid resuming the aunt pose. at the guestwick affair she had been an english lady of fashion.had they put themselves to this bother simply for his sake? he doubted it. “we’ve not been here long,” captainmonmouth went on, “and we know very few

people. of course we could easily know thewrong sort but that’s dangerous. to-night one of the most popular and influential menin the country is coming.” captain monmouth had no time to mention hisname for madame de beaulieu came in. it was the first time trent had met her face to facesince that night at the guestwick’s. he was not without a certain nervousness. lookingat himself in the mirror he seemed so much the product of peroxide that it must easilybe recognized. but madame de beaulieu gave him the most cursory of glances. there wasa certain nervousness about her and monmouth which had little enough to do with him. this visit of the influential neighbor plainlywas what concerned them. trent assumed, shrewdly

enough, that they were trying, for reasonsof their own, to break into the wealthy hunting set and had not found it easy. madame de beaulieu was beautifully gowned.she looked to be a woman of thirty, whereas when he had first seen her she looked no morethan two and twenty. she carried herself splendidly. her french accent was marked. in the policecourt she spoke as the english do. when the little bent, gray-ringletted but distinguishedaunt came in, he could not recognize her at all. assuredly he had stumbled upon as highclass band of crooks as had ever bothered police. he could sense that they regardedhim as a necessary nuisance whose five hundred dollars a week helped the household expenses.and he knew, instinctively, that captain monmouth

and edward conway would plan to get some ofthe millions he was supposed to have. trent’s swedish accent was copied faithfullyfrom his janitor who had been of a superior class in his own country before he had fallento furnace tending. he did not overdo it. to those listening, he appeared anxious toovercome his accent and lapsed into it only occasionally. trent heard monmouth tell madame de beaulieuthat lindholm’s dress was terrible and that by god’s grace their measurements were identicalor they would have been disgraced by a guest in a frock coat. he spoke in rapid frenchand in an undertone but trent’s ears were sharp and had ere this warned him of dangerwhere another man would have heard nothing.

the guest of honor was no less than coningtonwarren. he was ripely affable. he had come to this dinner more to report on the behaviorof the strangers occupying elm lodge than anything else. a bachelor may sit at a table—ora divorced man—where the married man cannot go. at the mineola show madame de beaulieuhad made a good impression on the women but they were not sure of her. they had foundthat captain monmouth was indeed the second son of sir john monmouth, bart, and formerlyan officer of lancers. he had wasted his money at the race track and the gaming table; butthen that was not wholly frowned upon by the young bloods of american society. trent could see that warren was impressed.there was an air of breeding about his hostess

and host he had not thought to see. the dinnerwas good enough to win his distinguished commendation. he unbent so far as to question mr. lindholmabout political conditions in his native state. he congratulated madame de beaulieu on thesingle string of exquisite pearls that were about her white throat. and well he might.cartier had charged peter chalmers rosewarne a pretty penny for them not so long ago. had he but known it he would have been evenmore interested in the ring which oscar lindholm wore. it was a plain gold band in which asingle ruby blazed. he had never worn it till now. he felt lindholm might easily allow himselfthe luxuries of which anthony trent was denied. the stone had adorned a stick pin which coningtonwarren once loved and lost.

monmouth’s knowledge of horses commendeditself to the owner of thoroughbreds. two men such as these could not play a part wherehorses were concerned. conington warren remembered seeing monmouth win that greatest of all steeplechasesthe grand national. a camaraderie was instantly established. it was a triumphant night. undoubtedlythe household at elm lodge would be accepted. thinking over the situation in his own roomthat night trent admitted he was puzzled. why this struggle for social recognition?his first theory that it was in order to rob wealthy homes was dismissed as untenable.to begin with it was an old trick and played out. directly an alien household in a colonyof old friends attracts attention it also attracts suspicion. and if this section ofwestbury were to suffer an epidemic of burglaries

madame de beaulieu’s home would come underpolice supervision. there was little doubt in trent’s mind thatthis captain monmouth was a member of the family he claimed as his. conington warrenand he had common friends in england. what was his game? and yet madame de beaulieu, or “the countess,”had been notorious as the leading member of a gang of high class crooks. she had evenbeen fingerprinted and had he believed served a sentence. not a month before she had takena hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels from st. michael’s mount and an amount ofcurrency not specified. as the days went by trent made other discoveries. he found forone thing that the man whose name he had taken

had a reputation for drinking for he founda decanter and siphon ever at his elbow. by degrees he and edward conway gravitated together.this conway, whose part in the game he could not yet guess, was drinking himself steadilyto death. one morning trent came upon conway scribblingon a pad of paper. he stared hard at what he wrote and then tossed the crumpled paperinto a nearby open fire. the day was chilly and the blazing logs were cheerful. when conwaywas gone trent retrieved the paper and saw the signature he had assumed copied to a nicety.conway probably had his uses as a forger. the gang of the countess had accomplishednotable successes by these means. trent had not been an hour in the house whenhe discovered that monmouth and madame de

beaulieu had eyes only for one another. itwas a vulgar intrigue trent supposed and explained the situation. but as day succeeded day hefound he was wrong. here were two people, a beautiful woman accomplished and fascinatingand a man of uncommon good looks and distinction, head over ears in love with one another. conceivablysuch people, removed from the conventions of society, would pay small attention to theconvenances and yet he saw no gesture or heard no word in french or english that was notproper. sometimes he felt he must have mistaken the aristocratic madame de beaulieu and herempire aunt for the wrong women. but he could not mistake the rosewarne pearls which hehad viewed in cartier’s only a week before the mining man bought them as a birthday presentfor his wife.

the night that monmouth and the woman he lovedwere asked to a dinner party at conington warren’s home, oscar lindholm had two moredays to serve on blackwell’s island. so far anthony trent had accomplished nothing.he had lost a thousand dollars on a horse race, two weekly payments of five hundreddollars for board and another thousand in small amounts at auction and pool. he wasmost certainly a paying guest. conway and trent were not asked. madame deberlaymont was indisposed. it was the opportunity he had wanted. it was conway’s habit tosleep from about ten in the evening until midnight. every night since trent had beenat elm lodge the so-called secretary had done so. in a large wing chair with an eveningpaper unopened on his knees he would fall

into sleep. he could be counted upon thereforenot to interrupt. the servants retired no later than ten to their distant part of therambling house. only madame de berlaymont might be in the way. in reality this amiablechaperone was a woman in the early twenties trent believed and could not be counted uponto remain unmoved if she heard strange noises in the night as of burglars moving. trent already knew the lay-out of the house.it was just past ten when the servants went to bed and conway sunk in his two hours’slumber that oscar lindholm went exploring. stepping very carefully by madame de berlaymont’sroom he listened a long while. no sound met his ears. then with a practiced skill he turnedthe door knob and entered an unlighted room.

still there was no sound of breathing. andwhen he switched on the light the apartment was empty. the indisposition which had keptthe aged lady two days confined to her chamber was plainly a ruse. trent could return toit later. never before to-night had trent carried anautomatic pistol and been prepared to use it if necessary. he was now in a house whoseinmates were, like himself, shrewd, resourceful and strong. for all he knew conway might longago have suspected him. madame de beaulieu and her chaperone occupiedthe bedrooms of one wing of the low rambling house. in the other wing monmouth, lindholmand conway slept. over this bachelor wing as it was called were some smaller rooms wherethe four maid servants slept.

the rooms of madame de beaulieu were beautifullyfurnished. it was a suite, with salon, bedroom and a large bathroom. trent determined toallow himself an hour and a half. skilled as he was in searching he felt he would discoversomething in those ninety minutes. but the time had almost gone by and he wasbaffled. there was nothing. he probed and sounded and measured as he had seen dangerfield’sdetectives do but nothing rewarded him. what jewels madame de beaulieu owned she had probablyworn. but how dare she wear at a dinner party where the rosewarne’s might conceivablybe, so well known a string of pearls? and what of those other baubles which were missingfrom st. michael’s home? a carved ivory jewel box on her dressing tablerevealed only a ball the size of a golf ball

made of silver paper. she had begged him tosave the tinsel in the boxes of cigarettes he smoked so that she might bind this massuntil it became worthy of sending to the red cross. anthony trent balanced the silver sphere inhis hand. naturally it was heavy. “if i,” he mused, “wanted to hide my three beautiesi couldn’t think of anything safer than this. she’s clever, too. why shouldn’tshe use it for something she’s afraid of anybody seeing?” a steel hat pin was to his hand. exertinga deal of wrist strength he thrust it through the mass. in the middle it met with a resistancethat the pin could not pierce. it was twelve

o’clock as he put it in his pocket and lockedthe door of his own room. it seemed minutes before his eager fingers could strip off pieceafter piece of silver paper. and then the palm of his hand cupped one of the most beautifuldiamonds he had ever seen. it was fully a hundred carats in weight andits value he could hardly approximate. no stone of this size had ever been lost in theunited states. he remembered however some four years ago the nizam of hyderabad—oneof the greatest of indian potentates and owner of an unparalleled collection of diamonds—hadbought a famous stone in london. it was never delivered to him. the messenger had been foundfloating in the thames off greenhithe. the reputed price of purchase had been thirty-fivethousand pounds. the nizam’s had been a

blue-white diamond and anthony trent believedhe held it in his hand. he thought of his benares lamp and chuckled. if he desired toavenge himself on madame de beaulieu for the loss of the guestwick money he was amply rewardednow. the blazing thing in his hand would fetch at least two hundred thousand dollars if hedared dispose of it. obviously the correct procedure for the supposedoscar lindholm was to make his escape at once. he would have little chance to do so werethe abstraction to become known. of course madame de beaulieu would look in her ivorycasket directly she came in. did he himself not always glance anxiously at his lamp wheneverhe had been away from it for a few hours? cautiously he made his way down to the hallwhere his coat and hat were.

as he passed the door it opened and madamede beaulieu entered with monmouth. she was pale, so pale indeed that trent stopped tolook at her. “back early, aren’t you?” he asked. “madame has had bad news,” said monmouthand looked at her anxiously. she sank into a big chair before the open fire. certainlyshe was very beautiful. looking at her it seemed incredible that she could be one ofthe best known adventuresses in the world. perhaps, after all, much of the anecdote thatwas built about her was legendary. presently she spoke in french to monmouth. “bear with me, my dear one,” she said,“but i must see him alone. i am a creature

of premonitions. let me have my way.” the look that captain monmouth bent upon anthonytrent was not a friendly one. there was a new quality of suspicion and antagonism init. “madame de beaulieu,” he said stiffly,“wants to speak with you alone. i see no occasion for it but her wish is law. i shallleave you here.” when they were alone she did not speak forsome minutes. then she turned to him and looked at him searchingly. he felt the necessityof being on his guard. “mr. lindholm,” she said quietly, “ido not understand you.” “why should you bother to?” he asked.

“because i am afraid of everything i donot trust. you say you are a naturalized swede. that would explain your hair.” she leanedforward and looked him full in the face, “mr. lindholm, you have made one very silly mistakewhich no woman would make.” “and that is—what?” he demanded. “you have let your bleached hair get blackat the roots. you are a blackhaired man. why deny it?” “i don’t,” he said. “i admit it.” “then why are you here?” “captain monmouth knows. a desire to breakinto society if you like.”

“will you answer me one question truthfully,”she asked, “on your honor?” “yes,” he said. there was no reason whyhe should not. “are you a detective?” “on my honor, no. why should madame de beaulieufear detectives?” there was a faint flush in her cheeks nowand a brighter color in her eyes. she was enormously relieved at his answer. “why are you here, then?” “if you must know,” he told her, “itwas for revenge.” “not to harm captain monmouth?” she criedpaling.

“i came on your account,” he said quietly.“you don’t remember me?” she shook her head. “when did we meet? ineurope?” “no less a place than fifth avenue.” “ah, at some social function? one meetsso many that one has no time for recalling names or even faces.” “later i saw you at a police court. youwere an indignant young english-woman accused of robbing mr. guestwick or trying to. youmay recall a man who opened the guestwick safe for you, a man upon whose good natureyou imposed.” he looked very somber and stern. she shrank back, and covered her facewith her white hands.

“i knew happiness was not for me,” shesaid brokenly. “i said, when i found the man i loved was the man who loved me. ‘itis too wonderful, too beautiful. it is not for me. i am born under an unlucky star.’and you see i was right.” trent considered her for a moment. here wasno acting. here was a woman whose soul was in agony. “you forget,” he said, “that i don’tknow what you mean.” “i had better tell you,” she said witha gesture of despair. “captain monmouth and i love each other. it has awakened thegood in us that we both thought was buried or had never existed. while my husband, captainde beaulieu, lived there was no chance of

a divorce. he is catholic. to-night afterdinner one of mr. warren’s guests brought a late paper from new york and i saw thatmy husband was killed. i could stay there no longer. coming home in the motor i askedmyself whether it would be my fate to win happiness. i doubted it even though i repentedin ashes. then it was i began to think of you, the stranger whose money we needed, thestranger who reminded me vaguely of some day when there was danger in the air. under thelight as i came in i saw your hair. then i knew that in the hour of my greatest hopei was to experience the most bitter despair.” “you forget, madame,” he said harshly,“that i have had the benefit of your consummate acting before.”

“and you think i am acting now?” “why shouldn’t i?” he retorted, “youhave everything to gain by it. i can collect the guestwick reward, and send you back toprison.” “i can pay you more than the ten thousanddollars he offered,” she cried quickly. “with the sale of the rosewarne jewels?” she shrank back. “ciel! how could you know?” “i do,” he said brusquely, “and that’senough. you see you are trying to fool me again. you say your love has brought out thegood in you that you didn’t know you possessed and yet a few weeks back you are at your oldtricks again. is that reasonable?”

“i’ll tell you everything,” she criedwildly. “you must understand. it was i who took the rosewarne jewels. why? because iam fighting for my happiness. captain monmouth knows nothing of what my life has been. ihave told him that after the war i shall go back to france and sell my property and withit help him to buy a place that was once a seat of his family. there, away from the world,we shall live and die. i want only him and he wants only me. we have known life and itsvanities. we want happiness. you hold it in your hands. if you take your revenge by tellinghim, you break my heart. is that a vengeance which satisfies you, monsieur l’inconnu?if so, it is very easy. he is in the next room. call him. you have only to say, ‘captainmonmouth, this woman whom you love is a notorious

criminal. all europe knows her as the countess.the money that she wants to build her house of love with is stolen money. she will assuredlydisgrace your name as she has that of the great family from which she sprang.’” she looked supplicatingly at anthony trent.“you have only to tell him that and there is no happiness left for me in all the world.” “do you think i would do that?” he demanded. “how can i tell? why should you not? i amin your power.” there was no doubting the genuineness of heremotion. formerly she had tricked him but here was her bared soul to see.

“i came here,” he said slowly, “angrybecause you had played upon my sympathies and outwitted me. i schemed to gain an entranceto this house for no other reason. i shall leave it admiring you and monmouth and hopingyou will be happy.” it was as though she could scarcely believehim. “then you will not tell him?” she exclaimed.“you will go without that for which you came?” she did not understand his smile. “i shall not tell him,” anthony trentdeclared. “as for the rest—we are quits, madame.”

at the hour when the real oscar lindholm leftblackwells island the pretender was lovingly setting the fourth jewel in the benares lamp.it would have been difficult to find two happier men in all america that morning. chapter xxvii mrs. kinney makes a confession anthony trent looked about his well-furnishedrooms with a certain merited affection. in a week he would know them no more. alreadyarrangements had been made to send the furniture to his camp on kennebago. a great deal ofthe furniture weems had gathered there was distressfully bad. weems ran to gilt and brocademainly.

as trent surveyed his apartment it amusedhim to think that never was a flat in a house such as this furnished so well and at so greata cost. the things might seem modest enough at first glance. there was, for example, asteel engraving, after stuart, of george washington. a fitting and a worthy picture for any american’sroom but hardly one which required a large amount of money to obtain. none save anthony trent knew that behind theprint was concealed one of the most beautiful examples of that flower of the venetian renaissance,giorgione. a few months before the scribblers’ club had invited motion picture magnates toits monthly dinner. only a few of these moulders of public taste had accepted. there were goodenough reasons for declination. the subject

incensed those who held that writers had nogrudge against the “movies.” others lacked speech-making ability in the english tongue.and there were some high-stomached producers who feared the scribblers’ fare might beunworthy. one big man consented to speak. he was glibwith that oratory which comes from successful selling. before he had sprung into notorietyhe had been a salesman in a seventh avenue store, one of those persuasive gentlemen whowaylay passersby. his speech was, of course, absurd. it was interesting mainly as an examplethat intelligence is not always necessary in the making of big money. it was when he began to speak of the materialrewards that his acumen had garnered, that

anthony trent awoke to interest. the producertold his hearers that they had assuredly read of the sale to an unnamed purchaser of a giorgione.“i am that purchaser!” said the great man. “i give more money for it than—”his shrewd appraising eye went around the table. he saw eager unsuccessful writers,starveling associate editors and a motley company of the unarrived. there were a fewwho had gained recognition but in the main it was not a prosperous gathering as commercereckons success. “i give more money for it,” he declared, “than all this bunchwill make in their lifetime. it’ll be on view at the metropolitan museum next weekwhen you boys can take an eyefull. it’s on my desk at this present moment in a plainwooden case. it ain’t a big picture; this

giorgione"—his “g” was wrongly pronounced—“didn’tpaint ’em big. my wife don’t know anything about it but she’s got the art bug and she’llget it to-morrow morning as her birthday present.” however, the lady was disappointed. the woodencase was brought to the table and the magnate unwrapped it with his own fat fingers. insteadof the canvas representing a venetian fãªte and undraped ladies, was the comic sheet ofa sunday paper. the motion picture magnate used his weekly news-sheet (produced in innumerabletheatres) to advertise his loss by a production of the missing picture. it was good advertisingand made the venetian master widely known. but it still reposed behind the sphinx-likewashington. the benares lamp was naturally his piã¨cede rã©sistance. never in history had such

value been gathered together in a lamp. trentremembered seeing once in the british museum a lamp from the mosque of omar at jerusalemon which was inscribed, “the painter is the poor and humble mustafa.” as he lookedat his own lantern he thought, “the decorator is the unknown anthony trent.” collectors of china would have sneered ata single vase on the top of a bookcase. it was white enameled and had a few flowers paintedon it. and the inscription told the curious that it was a souvenir of watch hill, r. i. in reality it was the celebrated vase of kingsenwosri who had gazed on it twenty-five centuries before christ. senator scrivener had boughtit at a great price in cairo. some day the

white enamel which trent had painted overthe imperishable glass would be carefully removed and it would gladden his eyes in mainewhere visitors would be infrequent. there were a dozen curious things trent lookedat, things hidden from all eyes but his, which aroused exciting memories of a career he fullybelieved had drawn to a close. he doubted if ever a man in all the history of crimehad taken what he had taken and was yet personally unknown. some day, if possible, he might beable to learn from the police what mental estimate they had formed of him. he must loomlarge in their eyes. they must invest him with a skill and courage that would be flatteringindeed were he to learn of it. the occasional mentions of him he read in daily papers weretoo distorted to be interesting and mcwalsh’s

tribute to the unknown master was his onlyreward so far. the life that was coming, was to be the lifehe desired. leisure, the possession of books, the opportunity to wander as he chose throughfar countries when the war was over. and he liked to think that later he might find love.often he had envied men with children. well, he could offer the woman that he might findcomforts that fiction would never have brought him. he was getting to have fewer qualms ofconscience now. he often assured himself that he was honest by comparison with war profiteers.he had taken from the rich and had not withheld from the poor. his immunity from arrest, the growing certaintythat his cleverness had saved him from detection

led him on this particular night to speculateupon his new life with an easy mind. he had been wise to avoid the dangers of friendship.he had been astute in selecting a woman like mrs. kinney who distrusted strangers. shebelieved in him absolutely. she looked to his comforts and cared for his health admirably.she would assuredly be happy in maine. and then he remembered that during the lastweek or so she had been strangely moody. she had sighed frequently. she had looked at himconstantly and gazed away when he met her eye. she was old, and the old were fancifulas he knew. perhaps, after all she regretted leaving the new york which filled her withexquisite tremblings and fear. in maine she would be lonely. she should have a youngerwoman to aid her with the house work. a physician

should look her over. trent was genuinelyfond of the old woman. he was thinking of her when she came intothe room. undoubtedly there was something unusual about her. there was no longer thepleasant smile on her face. he was almost certain she wore a look of fear. instantlyhe sensed some danger impending. “there’s a man been here three times to-day,”she began. “what of it?” he demanded. so far as shecould judge the news did not disconcert him. “is there anybody you might want to avoid?”she asked, and did not look at him as she spoke. “a thousand,” he smiled. “who was it?”

“he wouldn’t leave his name.” “what was he like?” “a man,” she told him, “sixty. welldressed and polite but i didn’t trust him. he’ll be back at ten.” it was now almost half past nine. “i don’t see everybody who calls,” hereminded her. “you must see him,” she said seriously. “why?” he demanded. “he said you would regret it if you didnot.”

“probably an enterprising salesman,” hereturned with an appearance almost of boredom. “no, he isn’t,” she said quickly. there was no doubt that mrs. kinney was terriblyin earnest. he affected the air of composure he did not feel. “who then?” anthony trent demanded. “i think it’s the police,” she whispered. then suddenly she fell to weeping. “oh, mr. trent,” she said brokenly, “iknow.” “what?” he cried sharply, suddenly alertto danger, turned in that moment from the

debonair careless idler to one in imminentrisk of capture. “about you,” she said. “what about me?” he exclaimed impatiently. “i know how you make your living. i didn’tspy on you, sir, believe me, i just happened on it.” timidly she looked over to the benareslamp gracefully swinging in its dim corner. “i know about that.” for a moment anthony trent said nothing. afew minutes ago he had sat in the same chair as he now occupied congratulating himselfon a new life that seemed so near and so desirable. now he was learning that the little, shrinkingwoman, who so violently denounced crime and

criminals, had found him out. what compromisecould he effect with her? was it likely that she was instrumental in denouncing him tothe authorities, tempted perhaps by the rewards his capture would bring? for the moment itwas useless to ask how she had discovered the lamp’s secret. “what are you going to do?” he demanded.he was assuredly not going to wait for the police to arrest him if escape were possible.he might have to shut the old woman in a closet and make his hurried exit. he always had alarge sum of money about him. of late the banks had been aiding the government by disclosingthe names of those depositors who invested sums of a size that seemed incompatible withtheir positions and ways of living. he feared

to make such deposits that might lead to investigationand of late had secreted what money his professional gains had brought him. “what am i going to do?” she echoed. “whyhelp you if i can.” he looked at her, suspicion in his gaze. hermanner convinced him that by some means or other she had indeed stumbled upon what hehad hoped was hidden. it was not a moment to ask her by what means she had done so.and, equally, it was no moment for denial. “why should you help me?” he demanded.he could not afford blindly to trust any one. “if you think you have found something irregularabout me why do you offer aid? in effect you have accused me of being a criminal. don’tyou know there’s a law against helping one?”

“i’m one, too,” she said, to his amazement. “nonsense!” he snapped. he was too keena judge of character to believe that this meek old creature had fallen into evil ways. “do you remember,” she said steadily—andhe could see she was intensely nervous—“that i told you i had no children when i appliedfor this place?” “yes, yes,” he answered impatiently. itseemed so trivial a matter now. “well, i lied,” she returned, “i hada daughter at the point of death. i needed the position and i heard you telling otherapplicants you wanted some one with no ties.” “that’s hardly criminal,” anthony trentdeclared.

“wait,” she wailed, “i did worse. youremember when you furnished this place you sent me to pay for some rugs—nearly twohundred dollars it was?” “and you had your pocket picked. i remember.” “i took the money,” she confessed. “ifi had not my girl would have been buried with the nameless dead.” he looked at the sobbing woman kindly. “don’t worry about that, mrs. kinney.if only you had told me you could have had “i know that now,” she returned, “butthen i was afraid.” “you’ll stand by me notwithstanding that?”he pointed to the jeweled lamp.

“why of course,” she said simply, andhe knew she was genuine. almost as she spoke the bell rang. “go to the head of the stairs,” he commanded,“and i will let him in. be certain to see how many there are. if there are two or more,call out that some men are coming. if it is the one who called before, say ‘the gentlemanis here.’ listen carefully. if there are two or more i shall get out by the roof. meetme to-morrow by grant’s tomb at ten o’clock in the morning. you’ve got that?” mrs. kinney was perfectly calm now and hewas certain that her loyalty could be depended upon. presently she called out, “the gentlemanis here.”

anthony trent rose slowly from his chair bythe window as his visitor entered. it was a heavily built man of sixty or so dressedvery well. at a glance the stranger displayed distinguished urbanity. “what a charming retreat you have here,mr. trent,” he observed. “it is convenient,” said anthony trentshortly. the word “retreat” sounded unpleasantly in his ear. it had a sound of enforced seclusion.he continued to study the elder man. there was an inflection in his voice which we arepleased to term an “english accent.” and yet he did not seem, somehow, to be an englishman.his accent reminded trent of a man he had met casually two years before. it was at apark riding school where he kept a saddle

horse that he encountered him. from his accenthe believed him to be english and was surprised when he was informed that it was captain vonpapen he had taken to be british. he learned afterwards that the germans of good birthgenerally learned their english among england’s upper classes and acquired thereby that inflectionwhich does not soothe the average american. this stranger had just such a speaking voice.obviously then he was german and one highly connected. and at a day when german plotsand intrigue engaged public attention what was he doing here? “mine is a business call,” said the stranger. “you do not ask if this is a convenienthour,” trent reminded him.

“my dear sir,” the other said smiling,“you must understand that it is a matter in which my convenience is to be consultedrather than yours.” the eyes that gleamed through the thick glasses were fixed on trent’sface with a trace of amusement in them. the stranger had the look of one who holds thewhiphand over another. “i don’t admit that,” anthony trentretorted. “i don’t know your name or your errand and i’m not sure that i want to.” “wait,” said the other. “as for my name—letit be kaufmann. as for my errand, let us say i am interested in a history of crime andwant you to be a collaborator.” “what qualifications have i for such anhonor?”

anthony trent rammed his pipe full of hankeyand lit it with a hand that did not tremble. instinctively he knew the other watched forsigns of nervousness. “you have written remarkable stories ofcrime,” mr. kaufmann reminded him. “i regret that the death of an australian unclepermitted you to retire.” “you will not think it rude, i hope,”trent said with a show of politeness, “if i say that you seem to be much more interestedin my business than i am in yours.” “i admire your national trait of frankness,”kaufmann smiled, “and will copy it. i am a merchant of zurich, at bahnhof street, thelargest dyer of silk in switzerland. this much you may find through your state departmentif you choose.”

“and owing to lack of business have takenup a study of crime?” trent commented. “your frankness impresses me favorably, mr. kaufmann.i still do not see why you visit me at this hour.” “we shall make it plain,” mr. kaufmannassured him cordially. “first let me tell you that my business is in danger. this dyesituation is likely to ruin me. i have, or had, the formulae of the dyes i used. theywere my property.” “german formulae!” trent exclaimed. “swiss,” kaufmann corrected, “boughtby me, and my property. they have been stolen from my partner by an officious amateur detective—oneof your allies—and brought here. the ship

should be in shortly. he will stay in newyork a day or so before going to washington. when he goes he will take with him my property,my dye formulae. he will enrich american dyers at my expense.” “you can’t expect me to feel grieved aboutthat,” anthony trent said bluntly. “i do not,” said kaufmann. “but i musthave those formulae.” he leaned forward and touched trent on the arm. “you mustget them.” trent knocked the gray ashes from his pipe.the merchant of zurich gazed into a face which wore amusement only. he was not to know thedismay into which his covert threat had thrown the younger man. without doubt, trent toldhimself, this stranger must have stumbled

upon something which made this odd visit alogical one, some discovery which would be a sword over his head. “in your own country,” said trent politely,“i have no doubt you pass for a wit. to me your humor seems strained.” kaufmann smiled urbanely. “i had hoped,” he asserted, “that youwould not have compelled me to say again that you must get them. i fancied perhaps thatyou would be sensitive to any mention of, shall we say, your past?” “my past?” queried trent blandly. he didnot propose to be bluffed. too often he had

played that game himself. it might still bethat this man, a german without question, had only guessed at his avocation and hopedto frighten him. “your past,” repeated the merchant. “thephrase has possibly too vague a sound for you. let me say rather your professional activities.” “i see,” trent smiled, “you are interestedin the writing of stories. my profession is that of a fiction writer.” “you fence well,” kaufmann admitted, “buti have a longer and sharper foil. i can wound you and receive never a scratch in return.you speak of fiction. permit me to offer you a plot. although a swiss i have, or had, manygerman friends. we are still neutral, we of

switzerland, and you cannot expect us to feelthe enmities this war has stirred up as keenly as you and your allies do.” “that i have noticed,” trent declared. “very well then. i have a close friend here,one baron von eckstein. you have perhaps heard of him—yes?” anthony trent knitted his brow in thought. “married a st. louis heiress, didn’t he?” “a very delightful lady, and rich,” kaufmannreturned. “charitable too, and loyal. my friends are all very loyal. did you know thatshe donated ten fully-equipped ambulances

to this country?” “i saw it in the papers,” said anthonytrent. and for the life of him he could not help smiling. mr. kaufmann begged permission to light acigar. it would have been difficult to find a more urbane or genial gentleman in all switzerland. “the baron and baroness von eckstein areclose friends.” since he offered no other remarks anthonytrent spoke. “and i am to derive a story from so slendera plot.” “that is but the beginning,” kaufmannassured him. “one night the baroness had

a very valuable necklace stolen. it was wortha great deal more than was supposed. diamonds have gone up in price. she told me about it.in my native land i had some little skill as an amateur detective. she had been to aball and had met many strangers. at my request she mentioned those to whom she had spokenat length. among them was your name. that means nothing. there were twenty others. nowi come to another interesting thing. do i entertain you?” anthony trent simulated a yawn. he gave theappearance of one who listens because a guest in his house speaks and politeness demandsit. in reality a hundred schemes went racing through his head and in most of them herrkaufmann played a part that would have made

him nervous had he guessed it. “indeed yes,” anthony trent assured him.“please continue.” “very well,” said the other cheerfully.“next, my plot takes me to new bedford. you know it?” “a mill town i believe?” “many of the mills are owned by my friendjerome dangerfield who used to purchase my dyes. we are friends of thirty years. he wasthe owner of the celebrated mount aubyn ruby. it was stolen from him, knocked out of hisvery hands. a most mysterious case. you have heard of it?”

“i saw that ten thousand dollars was offeredfor the return of the stone and capture of the thief.” “i made my little list of those to whomdangerfield had talked during his stay at sunset park. your name was there, mr. trent.” “if you are thinking of writing it up,”trent said kindly, “i must advise you that editors of the better sort rather frown oncoincidence. coincidence in fiction is a shabby old gentleman to-day with fewer friends everyyear. what next?” “nothing, now,” kaufmann admitted readily.“since then i have investigated you. i find you write no more; that you live well; thatwhile your money supposedly comes from australia

you never present an australian draft at yourbank. now, my dear mr. trent, i may misjudge you. possibly i do. but in the interests ofmy friends the baron and baroness, to say nothing of my customer jerome dangerfield,i may be permitted to investigate any man whose way of living seems suspicious. i oughtperhaps to put the matter into the hands of the police.” “have you?” trent demanded sharply. “not yet. it may be that i shall when ileave here. you may be thinking what a fool i am to come here and tell you these startlingthings when you are so much younger and stronger than i. i should answer, if you asked me,that i have a permit to carry a revolver and

that i have availed myself of it.” blandly he showed the other a .38 automaticbayard pistol. “you may be misjudged,” he said cordially.“if so i offer you the apology of a swiss gentleman. but consider my position. supposewe abide by the decision of the police.” he looked keenly at anthony trent, “areyou willing to leave it to them? shall i call up spring 3100?” kaufmann gave trent the idea that he knewvery much more about his life than he had so far admitted. there was a certainty aboutthe man that veiled disquieting things. if he knew the von ecksteins and dangerfieldas he claimed, it was one of those unfortunate

coincidences which life often provides tohumble supercilious editors like crosbeigh. police investigation was a thing trent fearedgreatly. under cross-examination his defense would fall abjectly. it was no good to inquirehow kaufmann had found out that he had never offered an australian check at his bank. itwas sufficient that his charge was true. “it is rather late to bother the police,”he said smiling. kaufmann breathed relief, “ah,” he saidgenially, “we shall make excellent collaborators, i can see that. to-day is tuesday. on thursdayat this hour i shall come with particulars of what i expect you to do for us?” “us?” trent exclaimed.

“myself and my partners,” kaufmann explained.“yes, at this hour i shall come and you will serve your interest by doing in all thingsas i say. the alternative is to telephone police headquarters and say an elderly merchantfrom zurich threatens you, slanders you, impels you to perform unpleasant offices.” kaufmann smiling benignly backed toward thedoor. he closed it behind him. a little later anthony trent saw him on the sidewalk fivestories below. he started as he heard footsteps behind him.it was mrs. kinney. “was it anything serious?” she asked. “i’m afraid it was,” he answered. “iwant you to go up to kennebago with me to-morrow

afternoon. i shall take only my personal baggage.the furniture can wait. the apartment will be locked up.” she spoke with a certain hesitation. “i listened to what he was saying, mr. trent.” “i hoped you would,” he answered, “imay need a witness.” “don’t you think it would be wiser towait and do what he wants you to?” “perhaps,” retorted her employer, “buti don’t see how he can find me out in kennebago. who knows about it but you and weems? youhaven’t mentioned it to any one and weems isn’t anxious his financial condition shouldbe suspected. and, beside that, he’s in

los angeles. i shall pay the rent of thisflat up till christmas and tell the agent i may be back for a few days any time. i mustleave the furniture.” he looked about him regretfully. “that could be traced easilyenough.” he decided to take the benares lamp, stuart’s picture of washington, thevase of king senwosri, and one or two things of price. they could go in his trunks. “but, sir,” mrs. kinney persisted timidly,“if he finds you out it may go badly with you and it wouldn’t be difficult to getwhat he wants.” “perhaps not,” he said gravely, “butif i were to do one such thing for them they would use me continually.”

“but he only wants his dye formulae,”she reminded him. “don’t you understand,” he said, “thathe is a german spy and wants me to betray my country?” chapter xxviii the german spy merchant anthony trent rode into kennebago by the corduroyroad from rangely. it took longer but it seemed a less likely way of being seen than if hehad taken the train to kennebago. it had been his intention before kaufmann had come acrosshis horizon to make the call upon mr. westward his first action. as he stood at the windowof the big dining room he could see the genial

angler, and john his guide, rowing over tothe edge of a favorite pool. there he sat in the stern, rod in hand, no doubt thinkingof the chapter he was writing on the “psychology of trout.” for years anthony trent had looked forwardto days like this in his new home. but the thrill of it was gone. he had hoped to lookover the lake to the purple hills beyond with a serenity of mind that might now never behis. how much did kaufmann know? would he lodge information with the police? dare he?probably he would not dare to call. but anonymous information of so important a character wouldspeedily bring detectives on his trail. beyond a question he should have bought a camp onsome far canadian lake under another name,

and reached it by devious ways. he had betrayed much ingenuity in bringinghimself, mrs. kinney and their baggage, to kennebago as it was. successions of taxisfrom hotel to station, and from station to hotel, crossing his own tracks a half dozentimes would make pursuit difficult. he had no way of estimating kaufmann’s skill atfollowing a clue. but the man had impressed him, anthony trent, who had foiled so many. next morning he determined to fish and wasattending to his rods with the loving care of the conscientious angler when a knock cameat the door. it opened on to the big screened piazza.

“come in,” he shouted, thinking mrs. kinneywished to consult him. instead there entered mr. westward who greetedhim heartily. it was indeed an honor, for the piscatorial expert called upon few. “glad to see you, my dear fellow,” saidwestward, shaking him by the hand. “i happened to meet a friend of yours who was coming tosee you and lost his way so i’ve brought him along.” kaufmann also wrung his hand. he seemed noless delighted to see trent than had been mr. westward. “what a charming retreat you have here,”he exclaimed cordially.

there followed a conversation concerning troutand salmon which under normal conditions would have been delightful to trent. kaufmann wasaffable, genial, and talked of the finny spoils of his native lakes. it was only when westward’serect form had disappeared down the path that his manner became forbidding. “why did you leave new york?” he snapped. “because i chose to,” said the other. “what a fool! what a fool!” cried kaufmann,“and how fortunate that i am good tempered.” “because i might have had you investigatedby the police. instead i followed you here—not without difficulty i admit—and renew myoffer.” he looked about the luxurious house

that was miscalled a “camp.” it was notthe kind of home a man would lose willingly. “i ask very little. i only want a certainpackage of letters which a man who lands to-morrow in new york has in his possession. one soskilled as you can get it easily. you have presence, education, ready wit. i confessit is difficult for me to believe you have sunk so low.” anthony trent flushed angrily. “there are lower depths yet,” he exclaimed. “yes?” the other returned, “as for instance?” “your sort of work!” he cried. “do yousuppose i imagine you to be a swiss silk merchant

of bahnhof street?” kaufmann threw back his head and laughed. “my passport recently vised by your statedepartment is made out to adolf kaufmann of zurich. i have swiss friends in new york andchicago who will identify me.” “naturally,” said trent, “simple precautionsof that sort would have to be taken. that’s elementary.” “let us get back to business,” said theother, “i want those papers. will you get them for me? think it over well. you may sayyou will not. you may say you prefer to remain here in this delightful place and catch trout.let us suppose that you say you defy me. what

happens? you lose all chance to look at troutfor ten, fifteen, twenty years accordingly as the judge regards your offenses. i havementioned only two crimes to you. of these i have data and am certain. there are twoothers in which i can interest myself if necessary. i do not wish to bother myself with you afteryou do as i command. get me the papers and you may remain here till you have grand-childrenof marriageable age. is it worth defying me, mr. trent?” the younger man groaned as he thought it over.the fabric he had made so carefully was ready to fall apart. kaufmann went on talking. “the man you must follow is called commandergodfrey heathcote, of the british navy. on

his breast he wears the ribbons of the victoriacross—a blue one for the navy—and the red ribbon, edged with blue, of the distinguishedservice order. he is a man much of your build but has straw colored hair and light blueeyes. he walks with a limp owing to a wound received at the zeebrugge affair. he is supposedto be over here to stay with relatives who have a place on the james river. he leavesfor washington soon where his business is with the secretary of the navy. the papersi want are in a pigskin cigarette case, old and worn. you’d better bring the case inits entirety.” kaufmann rattled off his instructions in asure and certain manner. evidently he had no fear of being denied.

“isn’t it unusual for an english navalcommander to carry trade secrets about with him?” trent demanded. “why keep up the farce?” kaufmann exclaimed.“you, too, are a man of the world. you realize you are in my power and must do as you arebid.” “must i?” trent answered with a frown.“i am asked to play the traitor to my country and you expect me to accept without hesitation.” “why not?” kaufmann returned. “wouldyou be the first that fear of exposure has led into such ways? if i were to tell youhow we—” he paused a moment and then smiled—“how we silk merchants of switzerland have usedour knowledge of the black pages of men’s

lives or the indiscretions of well known women,you would understand more readily how we obtain what we want.” “i understand,” said anthony trent gloomily.he was a case in point. “and you will save yourself?” “i don’t know,” said trent hesitating.but he knew that kaufmann had made such threats as these to others and had gained his desires.“what’s in those papers?” “dye formulae,” smiled the elder man. anthony trent looked at him angrily. his nerveswere on edge. plainly kaufmann felt it unwise to stir the smouldering passion in him.

“england,” he informed the other, “hasrecently reorganized the mine fields outside sheerness at the mouth of the thames. commanderheathcote, who is here ostensibly to recuperate from wounds, is chosen to carry the plansto the navy department. there you have all i know.” “but that’s treachery!” trent cried. “what’s england to you,” kaufmann answered,“or you to england? i’m not asking you to take american plans.” “it’s the same thing now,” trent persisted.“we’re allies and what’s treachery to one is treachery to the other.”

“admirable!” kaufmann sneered, “admirable!but i invite you to come down to mother earth. you are not concerned with the affairs ofnations. you are concerned only with your own safety which is the nearer task. you getthose plans or you go to prison. you realize my power. i need you. you may ask why i havegone to this trouble to take you, a stranger, more or less into my confidence. very well.i shall tell you. my own men are working like slaves in your accursed internment camps andi am alone who had so many to command.” “alone,” said anthony trent in an alteredvoice and looked at him oddly. kaufmann observed the look and laughed. “i am a mind reader,” he said cheerfully,“i will tell you what is passing through

your brain. you are wondering whether if thosestrong hands of yours get a grip of my throat your own troubles, too, would not be at anend. no, my friend, i still have my bayard with me. and why run the risk, if you shouldoverpower me, of being tried for murder? what i ask of you is very little. remember, also,that i have but to say the word and you land in prison.” “you’d go with me,” trent exclaimed. “i think not,” smiled kaufmann. “jeromedangerfield and others would vouch for me whereas i fear you would be friendless. andeven if i were interned how would that help you? be sensible and get ready to accompanyme to new york on the five o’clock train.

i have your reservations.” it was not easy to explain things to mrs.kinney. trent told her that his suspicions of kaufmann’s german sympathies were wrong.he said he was compelled to get the dye formulae and would return within a few days. “i shall come too,” mrs. kinney observed.“i left a lot of my things at the flat and i shall need them.” it seemed to trent that she was not deceivedby his words; and while he would have preferred to leave her in maine he could think of noreason for keeping her there if she wished to leave. all the way he was gloomy. to kaufmann’ssallies he made morose answers. presently

the so-called swiss left him alone. but trentcould not escape the feeling that his every action was watched. he was to all intentsand purposes bond servant to an enemy of his country. “just a final word,” said kaufmann asthey neared the 125th street station. “what else?” trent said impatiently. hewas filled with disgust with himself and of hatred for the german. “remember that the cigarette case whichholds my formulae is a long flat one holding twelve cigarettes. on it is stamped ‘g.h.’he does not secrete it as you think but exposes it carelessly to view. i advise you to gostraight to your apartment and await my letter.

it is necessary for me to find out particularswhich it might be unwise for you to do. i don’t want you to fall under suspicion.” “you are very thoughtful,” sneered trent.he knew well enough that he had a value in kaufmann’s eyes which would be destroyedwere he to come under police supervision. that this was the only case where he was tobe used was unlikely. having used him once he would be at their command again. but wouldhe? anthony trent sat back in his chair deep lines on his drawn white face. this was thereward of the life he had led. and the way to break from kaufmann’s grip was to runthe risk of the long prison term, or—the taking of a life. and even were he to cometo this kaufmann might be only one of a gang

whose other members might command his services. “i shall send you a message by telephoneif it is still in your flat. it is? good. that simplifies matters. wait until you receiveit and then act immediately.” anthony trent disregarded the outstretchedhand and cordial smile, when a minute or so later, the train pulled into the grand central.he hailed a taxi and drove to his rooms utterly obsessed with his bitter thoughts. it wasnot until he pulled up the shades and glanced about the place that he remembered mrs. kinney.he had forgotten her. but he relied on her common sense. sooner or later she would come.meanwhile he must wait for kaufmann’s telephone message.

the message arrived before the woman. “to-morrow,”said kaufmann, “your friend leaves for washington. he is staying at the carlton and goes to hisroom after dinner. he will be pleased to see you. to-morrow night i shall call upon yousoon after dark.” the carlton was the newest of the hotels,the most superbly decorated, the hotel that always disappointed the nouveau riche becauseso little goldleaf had been used in the process. anthony trent had spent a night or two inevery big hotel the city boasted. in a little note book there were certain salient featurescarefully put down, hints which might be useful to him. turning to the book he read it carefully.he was already acquainted with the general lay-out of the hotel which had been generouslyexplained in the architectural papers.

the hotel detectives were men of whom he likedto learn as much as possible. the house detective, the head of them, was francis xavier glynnwho felt himself kin to gaboriau because of his subtle methods. he would often come tothe hotel desk and register talking in a loud tone about his western business connections.he dressed in what he assumed was the western manner. to his associates this seemed theheight of cunning. as a matter of fact the high class crook who prefers the high classhotel knew of it and was amused. clarke was trent’s informant. the old editor had pointedhim out to the younger man one day when they had met near enough to the hotel’s cafã©entrance to go in and have a drink. as a rule trent made elaborate plans for thesuccessful carrying out of his work. but here

he was suddenly told to engage in a very difficultoperation. disguises must be good indeed to stand the glare of hotel corridors and diningrooms. he decided to go and trust to some plan suggesting itself when the moment arrived. he registered as conway parker of york, pennsylvaniaand the grip which the boy carried to his room had on it “c.p. york, pa.” trenthad given a couple of dollars for it at a second hand store. it dulled suspicions whichmight have been aroused where the bag and initials glaringly new. it was part of francisxavier glynn’s plan to have the hotel boys report hourly on any unusual happening. as trent had waited to register he noted thename he was looking for, commander heathcote,

had a room on the 17th floor. parker was assignedto one on the seventh. directly the boy had left anthony trent started to work. he foundjust cause of offense so far as the location of his room went. it was an inside room andthe heat of the day made it oppressive. commander heathcote, as he found by taking a trip tothe seventeenth floor, had an outside room. a further investigation proved that immediatelyover the commander’s room was an unoccupied suite. to effect the exchange was not easy.trent could not very well dictate the location of the room or betray so exact a knowledgeof hotel topography without incurring suspicion. but at last the thing was done. the gentlemanfrom york wanted a sitting room, bedroom and bath and obtained it immediately over thoseof the naval officer.

he passed heathcote in the dining room, andlooked at him keenly. the two men were of a height. heathcote was broader. trent instantlyknew him for that fighting type characterized by the short, straight nose, cleft chin andlight blue eyes. it was a man to beware of in an encounter. he limped a little and walkedwith a cane. and while he waited for his hors d’å“uvres he took out a long pigskin cigarettecase. it was within ten feet of the man who had come to steal it. for a wild moment hewondered whether it were possible to lunge for it and make his escape. a moment laterhe was annoyed that such a puerile thought had visited him. it meant that his nerveswere not under their usual control. after dinner two or three men spoke to thecommander as he limped toward the elevator.

one, a british colonel, shook hands heartilyand congratulated him on the v.c. another, a stranger evidently, tried to get him intoconversation. trent noted that the commander, although courteous to a degree, was not mindedto make hotel acquaintances. he declined a drink and refused a cigar by taking out hiscigarette case. the stranger looked at it curiously. “seen some service, hasn’t it?” theaffable stranger remarked and took it from the owner’s hand. “a very old pal,” said the naval man.trent had observed the slight hesitation before he had permitted it to leave his hand. “iwouldn’t lose it for a lot.”

trent stood ready. it might be that this thickskinned stranger was after the same loot as he. but he handed it back and strolled offto the caf㩠where he joined a group of perfectly respectable business men from columbus, o. as most travelers in first class hotels know,the eighteenth story of the carlton looks across a block of fashionable private houseson its north side. there is on that account no possibility of any prying stranger gazinginto its rooms from across the way. towering above these lesser habitations the carltonlooms inaccessible, austere, remote. in the grip which had once belonged to theunknown “c. p. of york, pa.” anthony trent had put the kit necessary for a short stay.there was also certain equipment without which

certain nervous travelers rarely stray fromhome. for example there was a small axe. in a collision at sea many are drowned who mightescape did not the impact have the effect of jamming the doors of their state rooms.the axe in the hands of the thoughtful voyager could be used to hack through thin plankingto freedom. there was also a small coil of high grade rope, tested to three hundred pounds.in case of fire the careful traveler might slide to earth. not, of course, from an eighteenthfloor. at half past one that night it was very darkand cloudy. a light rain dropped on dusty streets and there was silence. tying his lineto the firm anchorage of a pipe in the bath room anthony trent began his work. he wasdressed in a dark blue suit. he wore no collar

and on his hands were dark gray gloves. belowhim was the green and white striped awning that protected commander heathcote’s windows.it was almost certain that an englishman would sleep with windows open. it was not difficult for a gymnast to slidedown the rope head foremost. when trent could touch the top of the heathcote awning he tooka safety razor blade from his lips and cut a slit across it sufficiently wide to admithis head and shoulders. it was not a descent which caused much trouble.there was the chance that the rope might break. he wondered through how many awnings he wouldplunge before consciousness left him. heathcote was asleep. by a table near thebed was an ash tray, matches, conrad’s “youth”

and the cigarette case. and lying near wasthe stout cane which the man who was wounded in that splendid attack on zeebrugge usedto aid himself in his halting walk. trent, with the case in his pocket, walkedto the door. it was not his intention to make the more hazardous climb up to his room whenso easy a way of getting there presented itself. it was locked and barred. in his room he sat and looked at what he hadtaken. it represented, so kaufmann said, his freedom from arrest. it contained plans ofvital importance to the allies. they could only be used by the enemy to bring destructionto those who fought for right. and what punishment would be given the wounded hero for losingwhat was entrusted to him? for an hour trent

sat there looking at the pigskin case. andgradually what had seemed an impossible sacrifice to make, came to be something desirable andsplendid. anthony trent had never been able to regard his career as one justified by circumstances.there burned in his breast the spark of patriotism more strongly than he knew. he had foughthis fight and won. his eyes were moist as he thought of his father, that old civil warsoldier who had been wounded on gettysburg’s bloody field and walked always with a limplike the english sailor beneath. when he opened the door heathcote was stillslumbering. he replaced the case as nearly in the position he found as he could. in thatmoment anthony trent felt he could look any man in the face.

he was still slumbering when commander heathcoteawoke. presently the officer saw that the door was unbarred and as investigation proved,unlocked. “i’d have sworn,” muttered the commander,“that i locked and barred it.” chapter xxix mrs. kinney intervenes at his apartment, which he reached by noon,he found a note from mrs. kinney advising him that she would not be back until late.a salad would be found in the ice box. but his appetite had deserted him and strong teaand crackers sufficed him. the feeling of exaltation which had carried him along wasnow dying down leaving in its place a grim,

dogged determination. he saw now very clearlythat the time was come to pay for his misdeeds. dimly he had felt that some day there wouldhave to be a reckoning. he had never thought it so near. it would not have been difficult to make hisescape from the man who threatened. with his swift motor he could cross some sparsely peopledborder district into canada. or he could drop down into south or central america and therewait until the years brought safety or he had deteriorated in fibre as do most men ofhis race in tropic sloth. the thing that kept him was a chivalrous,burning desire to capture kaufmann. anthony trent wondered how many men weaker than hehad been forced to betray their country as

he had very nearly done. and the knowledgethat he had even considered such baseness for a moment awakened a deep smouldering wrathin his mind that needed for its outlet some expression of physical force. kaufmann wasstrongly built and rugged but it would hardly be a smiling suave spy that he would dragbefore the police. at least they would go down to ruin together. at ten thirty the bell rang. but the feeblesteps that made their weary ascent were those of mrs. kinney. when first he flung open thedoor he hardly recognized her. as a rule neat and quietly dressed in black she was to-nightwearing the faded gingham dress she used for rough work, a dress he had seldom seen. shewore no hat; instead a handkerchief was on

her head. she looked for all the world likesome shabby denizen of the city’s foreign quarters. “are you expecting him?” she demanded. “yes,” he said dully. it was a shock notto meet him when he was nerved to the task. she looked at him with a certain triumph inher face that was not unmixed with affection. “he will never come here again.” “what do you mean?” he cried. “he’s dead.” it was curious to notethe flash of her usually mild eye as she said it. for a moment he thought the old womanwas demented. but her voice was firm.

“i followed him on his way here,” shewent on. “i found out where he lived. as he crossed eighth avenue at 34th street itold people he was a german spy. there were a lot of soldiers on their way to the pennsylvaniastation and they started to run after him. then a man tripped him up but he got to hisfeet and crossed the road in front of a motor truck.” “you are certain he was killed?” “i waited to make sure,” she said simply.“nobody knew it was i who started calling him a spy.” there was a pause of half a minute. the knowledgeof his safety was almost too much for trent

after his hours of suspense. “i suppose you know,” he said huskily,“that you’ve probably saved my life. i didn’t do as he wanted me to. i was preparedto denounce him to the police.” “but they’d have got you, too,” shesaid. “i know,” he returned. “i’d thoughtof that.” “oh, mr. trent!” she cried, “oh, mr.trent!” then for the second time in the years he had known her she fell into a fitof weeping. when she was recovered and had taken a cupof strong tea she explained how it was she had tracked kaufmann to his home. she hadslipped away from trent at the grand central

when he was too much worried to notice it.kaufmann walked the half dozen blocks to his rooms in the house occupied by a physicianon forty-eighth street, just west of fifth avenue. applying for work mrs. kinney wasengaged instantly for two days a week. the need for respectable women was so great thatno references were asked. she was thus free of the house and regarded without suspicion. she worked there the whole day but learnednothing from the cook and waitress of mr. kaufmann. he rented the whole of the secondfloor and had a fad for keeping it in order himself. it saved them trouble. the maidssaid, vaguely, he was in the importing business and very wealthy.

it was while kaufmann went down to sign fora registered letter that mrs. kinney slipped into the room. there was nothing in the wayof papers or documents that she could see. because he could not bear investigation, anthonytrent telephoned to the department of justice as he had done in the case of frederick williams.he felt certain that kaufmann was a highly placed official. but there was no newspapermention of the raid. trent was not to know that no news was allowed to leak out for thereason that matters of enormous importance were discovered. he was right in assumingkaufmann to be a personage. the mangled body was buried in the potters’ field and thoselesser men depending on the monetary support and counsel of kaufmann were thrown into confusion.his superiors in germany, when later they

found the allies in possession of certainsecrets, assumed their agent to be interned. altogether mrs. kinney deserved her country’sthanks. “and now shall we go back to kennebago?” “not yet,” he said smiling a little gravely.“not yet. it may be i shall never see kennebago again.” she looked at him startled. the affairs ofthe past week had been a great strain to her. “i’m going to enlist,” he said. chapter xxx “private trent”

before trent went to enlist, he had an understandingwith mrs. kinney as to the kennebago camp. she was to live there and keep the house andgardens in good order until he returned. he had none of those premonitions of disasterwhich some who go to war have in abundance. now that the danger of his arrest was goneand kaufmann could never again entrap him he felt cheerful and lighthearted. “i shall come back,” he told the old woman,“i feel it in my bones. but if not there will be enough for you to live on. i am seeingmy lawyer about it this morning.” on the way to the recruiting station, trentmet weems. “what branch are you going in?” he askedupon learning of trent’s plans.

“where i’m most needed,” trent saidcheerfully. “infantry i guess.” “you can get a commission right away,”weems cried, a sudden thought striking him. “it was in last night’s papers. it saidthat men holding the b.s. degree were wanted and would be commissioned right off the reel.you’re a b.s. you wait a bit. be an officer instead of an enlisted man. i bet the food’sbetter.” he was a little piqued that anthony trentbetrayed so little pleasure at the news. it so happened that trent had given a deal ofthought to this very thing. and his decision was to allow the chance of a commission togo. there was a strain of quixotism about him and a certain fineness of feeling whichwent to make this decision final. he loved

his country in the quiet intense manner whichdoes not show itself in the waving of flags. to outward appearances and to the unjudgingmind, weems would seem the more loyal of the two. weems wore a flag in his buttonhole andshouted loudly his protestations and yet had made no sacrifice. trent was to offer hislife quietly, untheatrically. and he wanted to wear no officer’s uniform in case hisarrest or discovery would bring reproach upon it. in his mind he could see headlines inthe paper announcing that an officer of the united states army was a notorious—he shudderedat the word—thief. and again, there was no certainty in his mind that he would giveup his mode of life. in the beginning he had set out to obtain enough money to live incomfort. that, long ago, had been achieved.

then the jewels to adorn his lamp occupiedhis mind and now the game was in his blood. he wanted his camp for recreation but it wouldnot satisfy wholly. when the war was over there would be europe’s fertile fields towork upon. there were many things to aid him in his feelingthat the turning over of a new leaf would be useless. nothing could ever undo what hehad done. try as he might he would never face the world an honest man. he would go to war.he would be a good soldier. it was in the infantry that they needed menand camp dix received him with others. so insignificant a thing was one soldier thathe presently felt a sense of security that had been denied him for years.

the experiences he went through in camp werecommon to all. they were easier to him than most because of his perfection of physicalcondition. on the whole it was interesting work but he was glad when he marched alongthe piers of the army transport service, where formerly german lines had docked, and boardedthe leviathan. private trent was going “over there.” it was common knowledge that the regimentswould not yet be sent to france. what they had learned at camp dix would be supplementedby a post-graduate course in england. curiously enough trent found himself on thesussex downs, those rolling hills of chalk covered with short springy aromatic grassesand flowers. here were a hundred sights and

sounds that stirred his blood. five generationsof trents had been born in america since that adventurous younger son had set out for thewestern world. the present anthony was coming back to the ancient home of his family underthe most favorable circumstances. he was coming back with his mind purged of ancient enmitiesfostered so long by britain’s foes to further alien causes; coming back to a country knitto his own by bonds that would not easily be broken. it was curious that he should find himselfhere on the high downs because it was from this county of sussex that the trents sprang.not far from lewes was an old house, set among elms, which had been theirs for three hundredyears. when he was last in england he had

made a pilgrimage to it only to find its ownersalmon fishing in norway. the housekeeper had shown him over it, a big rambling housefull of odd corridors and unexpected steps and he had never failed to think of it withpride. on that visit he had been disappointed to find the village church shut; the sextonwas at his midday dinner. trent had been under canvas only a few dayswhen he obtained leave for a few hours and set out to the church. he counted three anthonytrents whose deeds were told on mural tablets. one had been an admiral; one a bishop andthe third a colonel of dragoons at waterloo. he sauntered by the old house and looked atit enviously. “if i bought that,” he thought, “i would settle down to the ways of honestmen.”

he shrugged his shoulders. there were manythings yet to be done. it was only since he had been in england and seen her wounded thathe realized what none can until it is witnessed, the certainty that there must be much sufferingbefore the end is achieved. the men in his company were not especiallycongenial. they were friendly enough but their interests were narrow. trent was glad whenthe training period was over and he embarked in the troop train for dover en route to thewestern front. he made a good soldier. more than one of his mates said he would wear thechevrons before many weeks but he was anxious for no such distinction. at the time his regiment arrived in francethe american troops were at grips with the

enemy. it was the first time that they heldas a unit part of the line. the germans, already making their retreat, left in the rear nestsof machine gunners to hamper the pursuers. to clear these nests of hornets, to searchabandoned cellars and buildings where men or bombs might be lying in wait was a taskfar more deadly than participation in a battle. only iron-nerved men, strong to act and quickto think, were needed. there was a day when volunteers were asked for. anthony trent wasthe first man to offer himself. under a lieutenant this band of brave men went about its dangeroustask. the casualties were many and among them the officer. he had made such an impression on his menand they had gained such favorable mention

for gallant conduct that there was a fearlest the new officer might be of less vigorous and dashing nature. it was work, this nestclearing danger, that trent liked enormously. he had come to know what traps the hun waslikely to set, the tempting cigar-box, the field glasses, the fountain-pen the touchingof which meant maiming at the least. and against some of these trapped men trent revived hisold football tackle and brought them startled to the ground. it was the most stirring gameof his life. but one look at the new officer changed hismood. he looked at his lieutenant and his lieutenant looked at him. and the officerlicked his lips hungrily. it was devlin whom he had laughed at in san francisco. instinctivelythe men who observed this meeting sensed some

pre-war hatred and speculated on its origin.recollecting himself trent saluted. “so i’ve got a thief in my company,”devlin sneered. “i’ll have to watch you pretty close. looting’s forbidden.” it was plain to the men who watched devlin’ssubsequent plan of action that he was trying to goad the enlisted man into striking him.in france the discipline of the american army was taking on the sterner character of thatwhich distinguished the allies. no task had ever been so difficult for anthonytrent as this continual curb he was compelled to put upon his tongue. devlin had alwaysdisliked him. he was maddened at the thought that trent had taken the mount aubyn rubyfrom under his nose. it was because of this,

dangerfield had discharged him from a lucrativeposition. and in the case of the takowaja emerald it was anthony trent who had laughedat him. many an hour had devlin spent trying to weave the rope that would hang him. andin these endeavors he had gathered many odds and ends of information over which he chuckledwith joy. but first of all he wanted to break his enemy.there was no opportunity of which he did not take advantage. ordinarily his superior officerswould have witnessed this policy and reprimanded him; but conditions were such that their specialduties kept devlin and his men apart from their comrades. devlin was a good officerand credit was given him for much that trent deserved.

it chanced one night that while they waitedfor a little wood to be cleared of gas, devlin and trent sat within a few feet of one another.it was an opportunity devlin was quick to seize. “thought you’d fooled me in ’frisco,didn’t you?” trent lighted a cigarette with exasperatingslowness. “i did fool you,” he asserted calmly.“it is never hard to fool a man with your mental equipment.” “huh,” devlin grunted, “you’ve gotthe criminal’s low cunning, i’ll admit that, mr. maltby of chicago.”

he made a labored pretence of hunting forhis cigarette case. “gone!” he said sneering; “some one’slifted it but i guess you know where it is. oh no, i forgot. you weren’t a dip, youwere a second story man. excuse me.” he kept this heavy and malicious humor goinguntil trent’s imperturbability annoyed him. “what a change!” he commented presently.“me the officer and you the enlisted man who’s got to do as i say. you with yourfast auto and your golf and society ways and me who used to be a cop.” winning no retort from his victim he leanedforward and pushed trent roughly. he started back at the white wrath which transfiguredthe other’s face.

“look here, devlin,” trent cried savagely,“you want me to hit you so you can prefer charges against me for striking an officerand have me disciplined. listen to this: if you put your filthy hand on me again i won’thit you, i’ll kill you.” towering and threatening he stood over theother. devlin, who knew men and the ways of violence, looked into trent’s face and recognizedit was no idle threat he heard. “that would be a hell of a fine trick,”he said, a little unsteadily, “to empty your gun in my back.” “you know i wouldn’t do it that way,”trent retorted. “why should i let you off so easily as that?”

“easily?” devlin repeated. “when i get ready,” trent said grimly,“i shall want you to realize what’s coming to you.” “is that a threat?” devlin demanded. trent nodded his head. “it’s a threat.” devlin thought for a moment. “i’ll fix you,” he said. “how?” trent inquired. “you’ve triedevery way there is to have me killed. if there’s

a doubtful place where some boches may behiding with bombs whom do you send to find out? you send private trent. i’m not kicking.i volunteered for the job. i came out to do what i could. my one disappointment is thatmy officer is not also a gentleman.” devlin’s face was now better humored. “i’ll fix you,” he said again, “i’llsee pershing pins a medal on you all right.” trent wondered what he meant. and he wonderedwhy for a day or two devlin goaded him no more. instead he looked at him as one whoknew another was marked down for death and disgrace. it was inevitable that anthony trentcould never know how near to discovery he was. the odds are against the best breakersof law. the history of crime told him that

the cleverest had been captured by some triflingpiece of carelessness. had devlin some such clue, he wondered? chapter xxxi devlin’s revenge there came a night when devlin’s men werecalled upon to clean out part of a forest from which many snipers had been firing, andwhere machine guns and their crews were known to be. it was work for picked men only andtrent admitted devlin made a courageous leader. the americans met unexpectedly strong opposition.it was only when half their little company was lost that they were ordered to retreat.the way was made difficult with barbed wire

and shell splintered trees. it was one ofa hundred similar sorties taking place all along the allied lines hardly worthy of mentionin the press. trent, when he had gained a clearing in thewood, saw devlin go down like an ox from the clubbed rifle in a prussian hand. trent hadput a shot through the man’s head almost before devlin’s body fell to the soft earth.he had an excellent chance of escape alone but he could not leave the american officerwho was his enemy to bleed to death among his country’s foes. he was almost spentwhen he reached his own lines and the red cross relieved him of his inert burden. theytold him devlin still lived. three days later trent was called to the hospitalin which his officer lay white and bandaged.

although devlin’s voice was weak it didnot lack the note of enmity which ever distinguished it when its owner spoke to anthony trent. “what did you do it for?” devlin demanded. “do what?” “bring me in after that boche laid me out?” “only one reason,” trent informed him.“alive, you have a certain use to your country. dead, you would have none.” “that’s a lie,” devlin snarled, “i’vefigured it out lying in this damned cot. you saw i wasn’t badly hurt and you knew someof the boys would fetch me in later. you thought

you’d do a hero stunt and get a decorationand you reckoned i’d be grateful and let up on you. that was clever but not cleverenough for me. i see through it. you’ve got away with out-guessing the other fellerso far but i’m one jump ahead of you in this.” he paused for breath, “i’ve gotyou fixed, mister anthony trent, and don’t you forget it. you think i’m bluffing isuppose.” “i think you’re exciting yourself unduly,”trent said quietly. “take it up when you are well.” “you’re afraid to hear what i know,”devlin sneered. “you’ve got to hear it sometime, so why not now?”

trent spoke as one does to a child or a querulousinvalid. “well, what is it?” he demanded. “never heard of any one named austin, didyou?” “it’s not an unusual name,” trent admitted.but he was no longer uninterested. conington warren’s butler was so called. and thisaustin had met him face to face on the stairway of his master’s house on the night thathe had taken conington warren’s loose cash and jewels. “he’s out here,” devlin said and lookedhard at trent to see what effect the news would have.

“you forget i don’t know whom,” trentreminded him. “what austin?” “you know,” devlin snapped, “the warrenbutler. i was on that case and he recognized me not a week ago and asked me who you were.he’s seen you, too. we put two and two together and it spells the pen for you. he was englishand although he was over age the british are polite that way. if he said he was forty-onethey said they guessed he was forty-one. i went to see him in a hospital before he ‘wentwest’ and he told me all about it.” anthony trent could not restrain a sigh ofrelief. austin was dead. “that don’t help you any,” devlin cried.“don’t you wish you’d left me in the woods now? that was your opportunity. whydidn’t you take it?”

“you wouldn’t understand,” trent answered.“for one thing you dislike me too much to see anything but bad in what i do. that’syour weakness. that’s why you have always failed.” “well, i haven’t failed this time,”devlin taunted him. “i’ve laid information against you where it’s going to do mostgood.” he hoped to see the man he hated exhibit fear,plead for mercy or beg for a respite. he had rehearsed this expected scene during the nightwatches. instead he saw the hawk-like face inscrutable as ever. “i’ve told the adjutant what i know andwhat austin said and he’s bound to make

an investigation. that means you’ll be senthome for trial and i guess you know what that means. i’m going to be invalided home andi’ll put in my leave working up the case against you. they ought to give you a stretchof anything from fifteen to twenty years. i guess that’ll hold you, mister anthonytrent.” the other man made no answer. he thought insteadof what such a prison term would do for him. he had seen the gradual debasement of menof even a high type during the long years of internment. men who had gone through prisongates with the same instincts of refinement as he possessed to come out coarsened, different,never again to be the men they were. he would sidle through the gaping doors a furtive thingwith cunning crafty eyes whose very walk stamped

him a convict. how could so long a term ofyears spent among professional criminals fail to besmirch him? he took a long breath. “i’m not there yet,” he said. “it’sa long way to an american jail and a good bit can happen in three thousand miles.” he was turned from these dismal channels ofthought by a hospital orderly who summoned him to the adjutant’s quarters. in civil life this officer had been a wellknown lawyer who had abandoned a large practice to take upon himself the over work and worriesthat always hurl themselves at an adjutant.

he had heard of the rescue of lieutenant devlinby a man of his company and was pleased to learn that it was an alumnus of his old collegewho had been recommended for a decoration on that account. he looked at trent a momentin silence. “when i last saw you,” he said, “youwon the game for us against harvard.” he sighed, “i never thought to see you in acase of this sort.” “i don’t know what you mean, sir,” trentanswered him. “for some reason or another,” the adjutantinformed him, “lieutenant devlin has preferred charges against you which had better beenleft until this war is over in my opinion as a soldier.”

“i am still in the dark,” trent remindedhim. captain sutton looked over some papers. “you are charged,” he said, “with beinga very remarkable and much sought after criminal. devlin asserts you purloined a ruby ownedby mr. dangerfield worth a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, and an emerald worth almostas much.” “what a curious delusion,” trent commentedwith calmness. “delusion?” retorted the adjutant. “what else could it be?” the other inquired. “it might be the truth,” the officer saiddrily.

“does he offer proofs?” “more i’m afraid than you’ll care toread,” captain sutton told him. “you understand, i suppose, that there are certain regulationswhich govern us in a case like this. i should like to dismiss it as something entirely irrelevantto military duties. you were a damned good football player, trent, and they tell me you’rejust as good a soldier, but an officer has preferred charges against you and they mustbe given attention. sit down there for a few minutes.” devlin, feeling the hour of triumph approaching,lay back in his bed gloating. the hatred that he bore anthony trent was legitimate enoughin its way. by some accident or another devlin

was enlisted on the side of the law and hisopponent against it. one was the hunter; the other the hunted. and the hunter was soonto witness the disgrace of the man who had laughed at him, beaten him, cheated him ofa coveted position. naturally of a brave and pugnacious disposition, devlin saw no lackof chivalry in hounding a man over whom he had military authority. if trent had beenhis friend he would have fought for him. but since he was his foe he must taste the bitternessof the vanquished. so engrossed was he over his pleasurable thoughtsthat he did not see the distress which came over the face of the nurse who took his temperatureand recorded his pulse beat. nor did he see the hastily summoned physician reading therecently marked chart over the bed. instead

he was filled with a strange and satisfyingexaltation of spirit. catches of old forgotten songs came back to him. he felt himself growingstronger. he was devlin the superman, the captor of anthony trent who had beaten thebest of them. it was almost with irritation that he opened his eyes to speak with thedoctor, a middle-aged, gray man with kindly eyes. “lieutenant,” the doctor said gently,“things aren’t going as well with you as we hoped. you should not have exhaustedyourself talking. it should not have been allowed.” devlin saw the doctor put his hand under thecoverlet; then he felt a prick in his arm.

dully he knew that it was the sting of a hypodermic.then he saw coming toward him a priest of his race and faith and knew he came in thatdread hour to administer the last rites of the church. “doc,” he gasped, “am i going?” it was no moment to utter lying comfort. “i’m afraid so.” then he saw an orderly bringing the screenthat was placed about the beds of those about to die. when captain sutton and anthony trent cameinto the ward the priest had finished his

solemn work and was gone to console anotherdying man and the physicians to make one of those quick operations unthinkable in theleisurely days of peace. trent had no knowledge of what had taken placeduring his absence. he saw that his enemy was more exhausted. and as he looked he noticedthat the eyes of devlin lacked something of their hate. but it was no time for speculation.trent saw in the sick man only his nemesis, the instrument which fate was using to robhim of his liberty. he was not to know that here was a man so close to death that hateseemed idle and vengeance a burden. “lieutenant,” captain sutton began, “ihave here a copy of your statements and the evidence given by sergeant austin of the britisharmy. i will read it to you. then i shall

need witnesses to your signature.” “let me see it,” devlin commanded anddrew the typewritten sheets to him. then, with what strength was left him, he tore thedocument across and across again. captain sutton looked at him in amazement. “what did you do that for?” he asked. but devlin paid no heed to him. he gazed intothe face of anthony trent, the man he had hated. “i made a mistake,” said devlin faintly.“this isn’t the man.” and with this splendid and generous lie uponhis lips he came to his life’s end.

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