Under Cover

“But, my dear boy,” Denby said more seriously, “you are not in this. They’re after me and this.” He held up the necklace. “You’re a spectator merely.”

“Rot!” Monty cried. “I’m what they call an accessory and if you think I’m going to clear out now, all I can say is you ought to know me better than that. I want to be doing something; it’s the talking that gets on my nerves. They’ll be here soon, you may bet on that. They’re going to search this room.”

“Somebody’s done that already,” he was told.

“Who?” Monty cried anxiously. “That girl?”

“I think not. Her room is in the other wing, as I found out indirectly. To come here she’d have to run an awful risk. If she comes it will be later, when everyone is asleep.”

“Then who could it have been?” Monty demanded. He turned suddenly on his heel.

There was someone even now listening at the door. Then there was a faint, discreet knock. He dropped into the nearest chair and looked at the other man with a blanched face.

“Pinched!” he cried.

“Hsh!” the other commanded softly, and then louder: “Come in.”

The smiling face of Michael Harrington beamed upon them. In his hands he carried a tray whereon two generous highballs reposed.

“Hello, boys,” he cried genially, “I’ve brought up those two nightcaps I promised you. Nothing like ’em after excitement such as we’ve had.”

“You never looked so good to me, Michael,” Monty cried affectionately.

“Now, Denby,” Michael said, handing him the glass in Lambart’s best manner.

“Thanks, all the same,” his guest returned, “but I don’t think I will – not yet at any rate.”

“Good!” Michael cried. “Luck’s with me.” He drained the glass with the deepest satisfaction. “Ah, that was needed. Now, Monty, after your exertions you won’t disappoint me?”

“Not for me, either,” Monty exclaimed.

“Splendid,” said the gratified Michael. “At your age I would have refused it absolutely.” He looked at the glass affectionately. “I’ll take the encore in a few minutes. Alice does cut me down so dreadfully. Just one light one before dinner – mostly Vermouth – and one drink afterward. I welcome any extra excitement like this.”

“Aren’t you master in your own house?” Denby asked smiling. He had fathomed the secret of the happy relations of his host and hostess, and was not deceived by Harrington when he represented himself the sport of circumstances.

“You bet I’m not,” said Michael, without resentment. “By the way,” he added, “if you want your nightcaps later, ring for Lambart. He’s used to being summoned at any hour.”

“I won’t forget,” Denby returned.

“I hope you won’t,” his host assured him. “I’d hate to think of Lambart having a really good night’s rest.” He pointed to an alarm on the wall by the door. “But don’t get up half asleep and push that red thing over there.”

“What on earth is it?” Monty asked. “It looks like a hotel fire-alarm – ‘Break the glass in case of fire.’”

“It’s a burglar-alarm that wakes the whole house.”

“What?” Denby cried, suddenly interested. “You don’t really expect burglars?”

“I know it’s funny,” Michael said, “and a bit old maidish, but I happen to be vice-president of the New York Burglar Insurance Company, and I’ve got to have their beastly patents in the house to show my faith in ’em.”

“I’ll keep away from it,” Denby assured him, looking at it curiously.

“The last man who had this room sent it off by mistake. Said a mosquito worried him so much that he threw a shoe at it. He missed the mosquito – between you and me,” Michael said confidentially, “we haven’t any out here at Westbury – but he hit the alarm. I’m afraid Hazen had been putting too many nightcaps on his head and couldn’t see straight. Mrs. Harrington made me search the whole house. Of course there wasn’t anyone there and Alice seemed sorry that I’d had my hunt in vain. The beauty of these things,” the vice-president commented, “is that they warn the burglars to get out and so you don’t get shot as you might if you hadn’t told ’em you were coming.”

Michael took up the second glass and had barely taken a sip when quick, light footfalls approached.

“Good Lord,” said he, “my wife! Here, Monty, quick,” placing the half-emptied glass in Denby’s hand and the one from which he had first drunk in Monty’s, “I count on you, boys,” he whispered, and then strode to the door and flung it open.

“Are we intruders?” his wife asked.

“You are delightfully welcome,” Denby cried. “Please come in.”

“We thought you’d still be up,” Nora explained. “Michael said he was bringing you up some highballs.”

“Great stuff,” Monty said, taking his cue, “best whiskey I ever tasted. Nothing like really old Bourbon after all.”

Michael shot a glance of agonized reproach at the man who could make such a stupid mistake. “Monty,” he explained to his wife, who had caught this ingenuous remark and had looked at him inquiringly, “is still so filled with excitement that he doesn’t know old Scotch when he tastes it.”

“Your husband is a noble abstainer,” Denby said quickly, to help them out, “we place temptation right before him and he resists.”

“That’s my wife’s training,” said Harrington, smiling complacently.

“I’m not so sure,” she returned. “Putting temptation before Michael, Mr. Denby, shows him just like old Adam – only Michael’s weakness is for grapes, not apples.”

“We’ve come,” Nora reminded them, “to get a fourth at auction. We’re all too much excited to sleep. Mr. Denby, I’m sure you’re a wonderful player. Surely you must shine at something.”

“Among my other deficiencies,” he confessed, “I don’t play bridge.”

Nora sighed. “There remains only Monty. Monty,” she commanded, “you must play.”

“Glad to!” he cried. “I like company, and I’m not tired either.”

Suddenly he caught sight of Denby’s face. His look plainly said, “Refuse.”

“In just a few minutes,” Monty stammered. “I was just figuring out something when you came in. How long will it take, Steve?”

“Hardly five minutes,” Denby said.

“It’s a gold-mine you see,” Monty explained laboriously, “and first it goes up, and then it goes down.”

“I always strike an average,” Michael told him. “It’s the easiest way.”

“Is it a good investment?” Alice demanded. She had a liking for taking small flutters with gold-mines.

“You wouldn’t know one if you saw it,” her husband said, laughing.

“I learnt what I know from you,” she reminded him.

“I’d rather dance than bridge it,” Nora said impatiently, doing some rather elaborate maxixe steps very gracefully and humming a popular tune meanwhile.

“Be quiet,” Alice warned her; “you’ll disturb Ethel.”

“Has Miss Cartwright gone to bed?” Denby asked her.

“She felt very tired,” Alice explained.

“It’s wrong to go to bed so early,” Nora exclaimed. “It can’t be much after two.”

She sang a few bars of another song much in vogue, but Alice stopped her again.

“Hush, Nora, don’t you understand Ethel’s in the next room asleep, or trying to?”

“I thought it was empty,” Nora said, in excuse for her burst of song.

“Ethel insisted on changing. She was very nervous and she wanted to be down near the men in case of trouble.”

“And I had to go through forty-seven bunches of keys to get one to fit that door,” her husband complained. Denby shot a swift glance toward Monty, who was wearing an “I told you so” expression. “She seemed positively afraid of you, Denby, from what my wife said,” Harrington concluded.

“You’re not drinking your highball, Mr. Denby,” Alice observed.

“I’m saving it,” he smiled.

“That’s a very obvious hint,” Nora cried. “Let’s leave them, Alice.” She sauntered to the door.

“Very well,” her hostess said, “and we’ll expect you in a few minutes, Monty. You’re coming, Michael?”

“In just a moment,” he returned. “I’ve got one more old wheeze I want to spring on Denby. He’s a capital audience for the elderly ones.”

“When Mr. Denby has recovered,” she commanded, “come down and play.”

“Certainly, my dear,” he said obediently.

“And, Michael,” she said smiling, “don’t think you’ve fooled me.”

“Fooled you,” he exclaimed innocently, “why, I’d never even dream of trying to!”

His wife moved toward Denby and took the half-finished highball from his hand.

“Michael,” she said, handing it to him, “here’s the rest of your drink.”

She went from the room still smiling at the deep knowledge she had of her Michael’s little ways.

Michael imbibed it gratefully.

“My wife’s a damned clever woman,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, as he trotted out obediently in her wake.

Directly he had gone Denby went quickly to the door and made sure it was closed tightly. “It was that girl, after all, Monty!” he said in a low, tense voice. “She tried to pry open the drawer with that paper-knife. You can see the marks. I found the knife on the floor, where she’d dropped it on hearing me at the door.”

Monty looked at him with sympathy in his eyes. “That’s pretty tough, old man,” he said softly.

“It’s hard to believe that she is the kind of woman to take advantage of our friendship to turn me over to the police,” he admitted. Then his face took on a harder, sterner look. “But it’s no use beating about the bush; that’s exactly what she did.”

“I’m sorry, mighty sorry,” Monty said, realizing as he had never done what this perfidy meant to his old friend.

“I don’t want to have to fight her,” Denby said. “The very idea seems unspeakable.”

“What can we do if you don’t?” Monty asked doubtfully.

“If she’ll only tell me who it is that sent her here – the man who’s after me – I’ll fight him, and leave her out of it.”

“But if she won’t do that?” Monty questioned.

“Then I’ll play her own game,” Denby answered, “only this time she follows my rules for it.” As he said this both of the men fancied they could hear a creaking in the next room.

“What’s that?” Monty demanded.

Denby motioned to him to remain silent, and then tiptoed his way to the door connecting the rooms.

“Is she there?” Monty felt himself compelled to whisper.

Denby nodded acquiescence and quietly withdrew to the centre of the room.

“Has she heard us?” asked his friend.

“I don’t think so. I heard her close the window and then come over to the door.”

He crossed to the desk and began to write very fast.

“What are you doing?” Monty inquired softly.

Denby, scribbling on, did not immediately answer him. Presently he handed the written page to Monty. “Here’s my plan,” he said, “read it.”

While Monty was studying the paper Denby moved over to the light switch, and the room, except for the rose-shaded electric lamp, was in darkness.

“Jumping Jupiter!” Monty exclaimed, looking up from the paper with knit brows.

“Do you understand?” Denby asked.

“Yes,” Monty answered agitatedly; “I understand, but suppose I get rattled and make a mistake when the time comes?”

“You won’t,” Denby replied, still in low tone. “I’m depending on you, Monty, and I know you won’t disappoint me.” When he next spoke it was in a louder voice, louder in fact than he needed for conversational use.

“It’s a pity Miss Cartwright has gone to bed,” he exclaimed. “I might have risked trying to learn bridge, if she’d been willing to teach me. She’s a bully girl.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” Monty advised him, grinning.

“In these dictagraph days the walls have ears. Let’s go outside. We can’t tell who might hear us in this room. We’ll be safe enough on the lawn.”

“A good idea,” Denby agreed, moving away from the connecting door which they guessed had a listener concealed behind it, and turning out the lights. And Ethel Cartwright, straining her ears, heard the door opened and banged noisily, and footsteps hurrying past toward the stairway. It was at last the opportunity.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SHE turned the key, less noisily this time, and stepped into Denby’s room. Making her way to the drawer she gave it a gentle pull. But it was still fastened, and she grasped the heavy brass knife when of a sudden the room was full of light, and Denby stepped from the shadow of the door where he had been concealed.

“Oh!” she cried in terror, and turned her face away from him.

He walked slowly over to the table by which she stood.

“So you’ve come for the necklace, then? Why do you want it?”

She looked at him in desperation. Only the truth would serve her now.

“I am employed by the government. I was sent here to get it,” she answered.

“What?” he cried. “The charming Miss Cartwright a secret service agent! It’s quite incredible.”

“But it’s true,” she said.

“Who employed you?” he asked sharply.

“I can’t tell you that,” she said slowly.

“Then how can I believe you?” he asked her.

“But it’s the truth,” she insisted. “For what other reason should I be here?”

“Women have collected jewels before now for themselves as well as their governments,” he reminded her.

She flushed. “Do you wish to insult me?”

“I don’t think you quite realize your position,” he said. “I find you here trying to steal something of mine. If you tell me the name of the man, or men, under whose orders you are acting, I may be able to believe.”

“I can’t tell you,” she cried; “I can’t tell you.”

“It’s most likely to be Bangs,” he said meditatively, and then turned to her quickly. “It was John H. Bangs of the secret service who sent you.”

At all costs she knew she must keep the name of Daniel Taylor from him. To admit that it was a fellow official would do no harm.

“Yes,” she said; “it was.”

Contempt looked from his face. “You lie, Miss Cartwright, you lie!”

“Mr. Denby!” she cried.

“I’ve no time for politeness now,” he told her. “There is no Bangs in the secret service.”

“But you, how can you know?” she said, fighting for time.

“It’s my business to know my opponents,” he observed. “Can’t you tell the truth?”

“I can’t tell you who it was,” she persisted, “but if you’ll just give me the necklace – ”

He laughed scornfully at her childish request. Her manner puzzled him extremely. He had seen her fence and cross-examine, use her tongue with the adroitness of an old hand at intrigue, and yet she was simple, guileless enough to ask him to hand over the necklace.

“And if I refuse you’ll call the men in who seized Mr. Vaughan, thinking it was I, and let them get the right man this time?”

“I don’t know,” she said despairingly. “What else can I do? I can’t fail.”

“Nor can I,” he snapped, “and don’t intend to, either. Do you know what happens to a man who smuggles in the sort of thing I did and resists the officials as I shall do, and is finally caught? I’ve seen it, and I know. It’s prison, Miss Cartwright, and gray walls and iron bars. It means being herded for a term of years with another order of men, the men who are crooked at heart; it means the losing of all one’s hopes in prison gloom and coming out debased and suspected by every man set in authority over you, for evermore. I’ve sometimes gone sick at seeing men who have done as I am doing, but have not escaped. I’m not going to prison, Miss Cartwright, remember that.”

“But I don’t want you to,” she cried eagerly, so eagerly, that he groaned to think her magnificent acting should be devoted to such a scene as this. “I don’t want you to.”

“Then there’s only one way out of it for both of us,” he said, coming nearer.

“What?” she asked fervently.

“Tell them you’ve failed, that you couldn’t find it anywhere.”

“I couldn’t,” she said vehemently.

There was a certain studied contempt in his manner which hurt her badly. And to know that he would always regard her as an adventuress, unprincipled and ready to sell herself for the rewards of espionage, and never have even one pleasant and genuine memory of her, made her desperate.

“I didn’t intend you to lose on the transaction,” he said coldly. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”

“Oh, no, no!” she cried, “you don’t understand.”

“Twenty thousand, then,” he said. “Only you and I would know. Your principals could never hold it against you. Isn’t it a good offer?”

She made a gesture of despair. “It’s no good.”

“Twenty thousand no good!” he jeered. “Think again, Miss Cartwright. It will pay you better to stand in with me than give me up.”

“No, no!” she cried, half hysterically.

“It’s all I can afford,” he said. Her manner seemed so strange, that for the first time since he had found her in his room, he began to doubt whether, after all, it was merely the splendid acting he had supposed.

“I can’t accept,” she told him. “I’ve got to get that necklace; it means more than any money to me.”

He looked at her keenly, seeking to gauge the depth of her emotion.

“Then they’ve got some hold on you,” he asserted.

“No,” she assured him, “I must get the necklace.”

“So you’re going to make me fight you then?” he questioned.

“I’ve got to fight,” she exclaimed.

“Look here,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “let’s get this thing right. You won’t accept any – shall we call it compromise? – and you won’t tell me for whom you are acting. And you won’t admit that you are doing this because someone has such a hold on you that you must obey. Is that right, so far?”

For a moment she had a wild idea of telling him, of putting an end to the scene that was straining her almost to breaking-point. She knew he could be chivalrous and tender, and she judged he could be ruthless and hard if necessity compelled. But above all, and even stronger than her fear of irrevocably breaking with him and being judged hereafter as one unworthy, was the dread of Taylor and that warrant that could at his will send Amy to prison and her mother possibly to her grave. She hardened herself to go through with the ordeal.

“So far you are right,” she admitted.

“Then it remains only for us two to fight. I hate fighting women. A few hours ago I would have sworn that you and I never could fight, but a few hours have shown me that I’m as liable to misread people as – as Monty, for example. You say you’ve got to fight. Very well then; I accept the challenge, and invite you to witness my first shot.”

He walked to the door through which she had come and opening it, took the key from her side of it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.

“What do you mean?” she cried.

“Merely that I’m going to keep you here,” he retorted. “I was afraid we might be interrupted.”

“Open that door!” she commanded quickly.

“When I am ready no doubt I shall,” he returned.

“You wouldn’t do that?” she cried, beginning to realize that she was to have no easy victory if indeed victory were to be her reward.

“I regret the necessity,” he said. “These methods don’t particularly appeal to me, but we have declared war, and there’s no choice.”

“But I don’t understand,” she said nervously.

“Don’t you?” he said, coming nearer and looking at her closely. “Don’t you understand that you are a beautiful woman and I am a man? Have you forgotten that it’s nearly three, and you are in my room, the room next which you begged to be moved? They were a little puzzled at your wanting that key so badly, and when you’re found here en negligée– for you will be found here – I think I know the world well enough to judge what construction will be placed upon that discovery.”

For the moment she forgot about everything but the personal aspect of the situation in which she found herself. That this man of all others should be willing to compromise her reputation awakened the bitterest contempt for him.

“I thought at least you were a man!” she cried.

“I am,” he returned without heat. “That’s just it, Miss Cartwright, I’m a man, and you are a woman.”

“And I thought you were my friend,” she exclaimed indignantly.

“Please don’t bandy the name of friendship with me,” he said with a sneer. “You of all women that live, to dare to talk like that! You knew I liked you – liked you very much, and because you were so sure of it, you wheedled me into betraying myself. You smiled and lied and pledged our friendship, and called to mind those days in Paris, which were the happiest recollections of all my life. And yet it was all done so that you might get enough out of me to lead me, with a prison sentence awaiting me, to the man who gives you your orders.” He took a few swift paces up and down the room. “This indignation of yours is a false note. We’ll keep to the main facts. You are sworn to betray me, and I am sworn to defeat you.”

“Don’t think that,” she said wretchedly; “I wasn’t – ”

“And when I told you the truth,” he went on inexorably, “you asked me to go into the garden where they were waiting for me.”

“I couldn’t help it,” she said, as calmly as she was able.

“And when you thought I was sending the necklace here you trumped up a flimsy excuse so that you might be able to steal in here and get it. Is that sort of thing in your code of friendship?”

“I wasn’t trying to trap you,” she explained. “I thought you were innocent, and I wanted to convince them of it, too.”

“No doubt,” he said tauntingly, “and when you found out I was guilty, you still tried to save me, I suppose, by asking me to walk into their trap?”

The girl made an effort to defend her course of action. She knew that without the admission of the truth he must feel his point of view unassailable, but she wanted him not to think too hardly of her.

“After all,” she declared, “you had broken the law. You are guilty. Why should my behavior be so called into account?”

“It isn’t that at all,” he returned impatiently. “You didn’t play the game fairly. You used a woman’s last weapon – her sex. Well, I can play your game, too, and I will. You shall stay here till morning.”

“You don’t dare to keep me!” she cried.

“Oh, yes, I do,” he retorted easily.

She assumed as well as she could an air of bravado, a false air of courage that might convince him she was not so easily frightened as she felt.

“And you think the possible loss of my reputation is going to frighten me into letting you go?”

“I do,” he said readily.

“Well, you’re wrong,” she assured him, “I have only to tell them the truth about the necklace and what I’m doing here – ”

“But the truth is so seldom believed,” he reminded her, “especially when you’ve no evidence to support it. A lie is a much more easily digested morsel.”

“All the evidence I need,” she asserted, “is in that locked drawer.”

“Quite so,” he admitted. “I’d forgotten that, only it happens you’re wrong again.” He drew the necklace from his pocket and showed it to her. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

Moving over to the table he scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Manufacturing evidence,” he returned calmly.

“Meanwhile,” she said, gathering courage, “I propose to leave this room.”

“An excellent idea from your way of thinking,” he said, looking up. “Naturally I’m interested to know how.”

“I’ll show you,” she responded, and moved quickly to the bell button which she pushed violently. “Now, Mr. Denby,” she cried triumphantly. “This is my first shot! When the servants come, I shall take the necklace with me.”

She was disappointed to see no trace of alarm on his face. Instead, he answered her calmly enough.

“What a pity you did that – you’ll regret it so very soon.”

“Shall I?” she said satirically, and watched him go to the window. As he did so, a low whistle was heard coming from the lawn beneath. Then he took the necklace, wrapped it in the note he had written, and tossed it through the opening.

“I hardly think you’ll take it with you,” he observed suavely.

“I shall get it,” she returned. “I shall tell the Harringtons exactly what you are, and that you threw it on the lawn.”

“Wrong again, Miss Cartwright,” he said patiently. “If you’ll stand where I am, you will see the retreating figure of my friend Monty, who has it with him. Monty managed rather well, I think. His whistle announced the coast was clear.”

“But he can’t get away with those men out there,” she reminded him.

“Monty waited until they were gone,” he repeated. “For the moment, your friends of the secret service have left us.”

“Then I’ll tell Mr. Harrington about Monty, that he’s your accomplice.”