Under Cover

“But you see I’m not a married woman,” Nora retorted, “so I mayn’t have your privileges.”

Alice laughed. “Don’t be absurd. I haven’t done it yet – but I may.”

“I don’t doubt it in the least,” said Michael, contentedly caressing her hand.

“He has such an air,” Mrs. Harrington explained, “sort of secret and wicked. He might be a murderer or something fascinating like that.”

“Splendid fellow for a week-end,” her husband commented.

She looked at her watch. “I’d no idea it was so late. I must dress.”

“All right,” Nora agreed. “Let’s see what’s become of Ethel.”

“Just a minute, Alice,” her husband called as she was mounting the broad stairway that led from the hall.

“Run along, Nora,” Alice said, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“I’ll go and wait for Monty,” the girl returned. “I think you’re going to be lectured.” She sauntered out of the French windows toward the Pagoda.

“Well,” said Alice smiling, “what is it?”

“I just wanted to tell you how mighty glad I was to see you,” he confessed.

“And, Mikey dear,” she said simply, “I’m mighty glad to see you.”

“Are you really?” he demanded. “You’re not missing Paris?”

“Paris be hanged,” she retorted; “I’m in love with a man and not with a town.”

“It’s still me?” Michael asked a little wistfully.

“Always you,” she said softly. “One big reason I like to go abroad is because it makes me so glad to get back to you.” She sat on the arm of his chair and patted his head affectionately.

“But look here,” said Michael with an affectation of reproof, “whenever I want a little trot around the country and suggest leaving, you begin – ”

She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him.

“Oh, that’s very different. When we do separate I always want to be the one to leave, not to be left.”

“It is much easier to go than to stay,” he agreed, “and I’ve been pretty lonely these last six weeks.”

“But you’ve had a lot of business to attend to,” she reminded him.

“That’s finished two weeks ago.”

“And then you’ve had the insidious Lambart and all the Scotch you wanted.”

“’Tisn’t nearly as much fun to drink when you’re away,” he insisted. “It always takes the sport out of it not to be stopped.”

“Oh, Fibber!” she said, shaking her head.

“Well, most of the sport,” he corrected. He held her off at arm’s length and regarded her with admiration. “Do you know, I sometimes wonder what ever made you marry me.”

“Sometimes I wonder, too,” she answered, “but not often! I really think we’re the ideal married couple, sentimental when we’re alone, and critical when we have guests.”

“That’s true,” he admitted proudly, “and most people hate each other in private and love each other in public.” Michael hugged her to emphasize the correctness of their marital deportment.

“You are a dear old thing,” she said affectionately.

“Do you know I don’t feel a bit married,” he returned boyishly, “I just feel in love.”

“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me,” she said, rising and kissing him. “But I’ve got to go and find Ethel now.”

“You’ve made me feel fairly dizzy,” he asserted, still holding her hand, “I need a drink to sober up.”

“Oh, Michael,” she cried reprovingly, and drew away from him “I believe you’ve been trying to get around me just for that!”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said smiling. “Now, do you?”

“No, I don’t, Mikey,” she admitted. “But be careful, here’s Monty and Nora.”

“Heavens!” cried Nora, looking in, “still lecturing, you two?”

“You do look rather henpecked,” Monty said, addressing his host.

“Yes,” Michael sighed, “we’ve been having a dreadful row, but I’m of a forgiving nature and I’m going to reward her. Monty, touch that button there, I want Lambart.”

Alice looked at him in wonderment. “What do you mean?”

“Wait,” he said with a chuckle. “Lambart,” he commanded, as the butler stood before him, “bring it in.” There was respect in his tone. “It ought to be at its best now.”

On a silver salver Lambart bore in and presented to his mistress a large liqueur glass filled with a clear liquid of delicate mauve hue.

Alice looked at it a little fearfully. “Oh, Mikey,” she said, “is this another new invention?”

“My best,” he said proudly.

“Can’t I share it?” she pleaded.

“No more than I can my heart,” he said firmly. “It is to be named after you.”

Heroically she gulped it down.

“Oh, how sweet it is,” she exclaimed.

“I know,” he admitted. “But as it isn’t sugar you needn’t mind. I use saccharin which is about a thousand times as sweet. And the beauty of saccharin,” he confided to the others, “is that it stays with you. When I first discovered this Crême d’Alicia as I call it, I tasted it for days.”

“It’s a perfectly divine color,” Nora remarked enthusiastically. “I’ve always dreamed of a dress exactly that shade. How did you do it?”

“Experimenting with the coal tar dyes,” he said proudly. “I’m getting rather an expert on coal tar compounds. That color was Perkins’ mauve.”

“That was more than mauve,” Nora insisted. “I’ve plenty of mauve things.”

He raised his hand. “No you don’t, Nora! You don’t get the result of my years of close study like that. I’ll make you each a present of a bottle before you go. We’ll have it with coffee every night. Mauve was the foundation upon which I built.”

“It’s a little rich for me, Mikey dear,” his wife said anxiously. “I think it will make a far better winter cordial. I’m going upstairs to see Ethel now.”

He watched her disappear and then turned to Nora and Monty with a twinkle in his eye. “I think after my labors I need a little cocktail. In France they call this the heure de l’aperitif, as Monty probably knows, and I have a private bar of my own. Don’t give me away, children.”

Nora looked at her companion with a frown. She had been looking for his coming, and now when he was here, he had nothing to say.

“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded suddenly.

“I’m wondering where Steven is,” he returned anxiously. “A blow-out oughtn’t to keep him all this time.”

“But what makes you jump so?” she insisted. “You never used to be like this. Is it St. Vitus’s dance?”

He turned to her with an assumption of freedom from care.

“I am a bit nervous, Nora,” he admitted. “You see, Steven and I are in a big deal together, and, er, the markets go up and down like the temperature and it keeps me sorts of anxious.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve gone into business?” she said.

“Not exactly,” he prevaricated, “and yet I have in a way. It’s something secret.”

“Well,” said Nora, with sound common sense, “if it frightens you so, why go in for it?”

“Well, everything was kind of tepid in Paris,” he explained.

“Tepid in Paris?” she cried.

“Why, yes,” he told her. “Paris can’t always live up to her reputation. I’d been there studying French banking systems so long that I wanted some excitement and joined Steve in his scheme.”

“Oh, Monty,” she said interested, and sitting on the couch at his side, “if it’s really exciting, tell me everything. Are you being pursued?”

He looked at her aggrieved. “Now what do you suggest that for?” he demanded.

“But what is it?” she insisted.

“I can’t tell you,” he said decidedly. “Steve is one of my oldest friends and I promised him.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about him,” she cried a little impatiently. “You and he went to college together and sang, ‘A Stein on the Table,’ and went on sprees together and made love to the same girls, and played on the same teams. I know all that college stuff.”

“But we didn’t go to college together,” he said.

“Alice said you did,” she returned, “or to school or something together, but don’t take that as an excuse to get reminiscent. I hate men’s reminiscences; they make me so darned envious. I wish I’d been a man, Monty.”

“I don’t,” said he smiling.

“Don’t try to flirt with me,” she exclaimed, as he edged a little nearer.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“You don’t know how,” she said and smiled provokingly.

For a moment Monty forgot pearls and Customs and all unpleasant things.

“Teach me,” he entreated.

“It can’t be taught,” she said. “It’s got to be born in you.” She cast her eyes down and looked alluringly at him through curling lashes. There was the opportunity for Monty to see whether he had any skill at the ancient game, but a sudden numbing nervousness took hold of him. And while he could have written a prize essay on what he should have done, he had not the courage to make the attempt.

“Well?” she said presently. “Go on.”

“I wonder where Steve is?” he said desperately.

“You’re hopeless,” she cried exasperated. “I don’t know where ‘Steve’ is, and I don’t care. I hope he’s under the car with gasoline dripping into his eyes.”

Poor Monty groaned; for it was equally true that he at this particular moment was anxious to forget everything but the pretty girl at his side.

“Nora,” he said nervously, “for the last year there’s been something trembling on my lips – ”

“Oh, Monty,” she cried ecstatically, “don’t shave it off, I love it!”

He rose, discomfited, to meet his hostess coming toward him with Miss Ethel Cartwright, a close friend of hers whom he had never before met. He noticed Michael quietly working his unobtrusive way back to the position where Alice had left him, wiping his moustache with satisfaction.

“Monty,” said Mrs. Harrington, “I don’t think you’ve ever met my very best friend, Miss Cartwright.”

“How do you do,” the girl said smiling.

“Be kind to him, Ethel,” Michael remarked genially. “He’s a nice boy and the idol of the Paris Bourse.”

“And an awful flirt,” Nora chimed in. “If I had had a heart he would have broken it long ago.”

“Do you know,” Alice said, “it has never occurred to me to think of Monty as a flirt. Are you a flirt, Monty?”

“No,” he said indignantly.

“You needn’t be so emphatic when I ask you,” she said reprovingly. She sighed. “I suppose it’s one of the penalties of age. I’ve known him a disgracefully long time, Ethel, before the Palisades were grown-up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get down to meet you, Alice,” Miss Cartwright said, “I did mean to, but business detained me.”

“Business in August!” Nora commented.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” her hostess observed. “We were disgraced by having in our merry party a smuggler who was caught with the goods and narrowly escaped Sing Sing.”

“There you go again,” Monty grumbled. “I hate the very sound of the word.”

“I say, Ethel,” Michael observed, watching her closely, “you do look a bit pale. Business in weather like this doesn’t suit you. No bad news, I hope?”

He knew that the division of the late Vernon Cartwright’s fortune was very disappointing and might narrow the girls’ income considerably.

“It turned out all right, thank you,” the girl answered nervously.

“How’s Amy?” Mr. Harrington asked. He was fond of the Cartwrights and had known them from childhood. “Why isn’t she here?”

“It isn’t to be a big party, Michael,” his wife reminded him. “Men are so scarce in August I didn’t ask Amy. She’s all right, I hope, Ethel?”

“Yes, thanks,” Miss Cartwright answered.

“I wonder where Steve is?” Monty said for the fifth time. “He ought to have that tire fixed by now.”

“I hope he hasn’t smashed up,” said Alice.

“So do I,” Michael retorted. “It was a mighty good car – almost new – and I left a silver pocket-flask in it, I remember.”

“Is someone else coming?” Ethel Cartwright asked.

“A perfectly charming man, a Steven Denby.”

“Steven Denby?” Miss Cartwright cried, her face lighting up. “Really?”

“Do you know him then?” Mrs. Harrington asked.

“Indeed I do,” she answered.

“What, you know Steve?” Monty asked in surprise.

“Tell us about him,” Nora besought her.

“Yes, who is he?” Michael wanted to know. “Alice has been trying to rouse me to the depths of my jealous nature about him!”

“Isn’t he fascinating?” Alice observed.

“I can only tell you all,” Ethel Cartwright declared, “that I know him. I met him in Paris a year ago.”

“Didn’t you like him?” Alice inquired.

“I did, very much,” the girl said frankly.

Nora spoke in a disappointed manner. “Well, he’s evidently yours for this week-end.”

“I daresay he won’t even remember me,” the other girl returned.

“Oh, I bet he will,” said Nora, who was able to give Ethel credit for her charm and beauty. “I shall just have to stick around with Monty – a wild tempestuous flirt like Monty!”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Monty said with an air of condescension, “not particularly.”

“It’s time to dress, good people,” Michael reminded them.

“Come on, Nora,” Alice said rising. “Come, Monty. Ethel, you’ll have to amuse yourself, as Michael isn’t to be depended on.”

“You wrong me, my dear,” Michael retorted. “I’m going for my one solitary cocktail and then I’ll be back.”

“And only one, remember,” Alice warned him.

“You know me, my dear,” he said, “when I say one.”

“You sometimes mean only one at a time,” she laughed. “You are still the same consistent old Michael. And by the way, if Mr. Denby does happen to turn up, tell him we’ll be down soon.”

“I’ll send him in to Ethel if he comes.”

“Yes, please do,” the girl said brightly.

When she was left alone in the big hall, the coolest apartment in the big house during the afternoon, Ethel Cartwright went to the French windows and looked out over the smooth lawns to the trees at the back of them. A long drive wound its way to the highroad, up which she could see speeding a big motor. The porte-cochère was at the other side of the house and she retraced her steps to the hall she had left with the hope of meeting the man she had liked so much a year ago in Paris.

A minute later he was ushered in, but did not at first see her. Then, as he looked about the big apartment, he caught sight of the girl, and stood for a moment staring as though he could hardly venture to believe it was she.

“Miss Cartwright,” he cried enthusiastically, “is it really you?”

She took his outstretched hands graciously. “How do you do, Mr. Denby,” she said.

“Mr. Harrington told me to expect a surprise,” he cried, “but I was certainly not prepared for such a pleasant one as this. How are you?”

“Splendid,” she answered. “And you?”

“Very, very grateful to be here.”

“I wondered if you’d remember me,” she said; “it’s a long time ago since we were in Paris.”

“It was only the day before yesterday,” he asserted.

“And what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Oh, I thought I’d run over and see if New York was finished yet.”

“Are you still doing – nothing?” she demanded, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.

He looked at her with a smile. “Still – nothing,” he answered.

“Ah,” she sighed, “I had such hopes of you, a year ago in Paris.”

“And I of you,” he said, boldly looking into her eyes.

Her manner was more distant now. “I’m afraid I don’t admire idlers very much. Why don’t you do something? You’ve ability enough, Mr. Denby.”

“It’s so difficult to get a thrill out of business,” he complained.

“And you must have thrills?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “it’s such a dull old world nowadays.”

“Then why,” she exclaimed jestingly, “why don’t you take to crime?”

“I have thought of it,” he laughed, “but the stake’s too high – a thrill against prison.”

“So you want only little thrills then, Mr. Denby?”

“No,” he told her, “I’d like big ones better. Life or even death – but not prison. And what have you done since I saw you last? You are still doing nothing, too?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling.

“And you’re still Miss Cartwright?”

“Only Miss Cartwright,” she corrected.

“Good,” he said, looking at her steadily. “By George, it doesn’t seem a year since that week in Paris. What made you disappear just as we were having such bully times?”

“I had to come back to America suddenly. I had only an hour to catch the boat. I explained all that in my note though. Didn’t you even take the trouble to read it?”

He looked at her amazed. “I never even received it.” There was a touch of relief in his voice. “So you sent me a note! Do you know, I thought you’d dropped me, and I tell you I hit with an awful crash.”

“I sent it by a porter and even gave him a franc,” she smiled. “I ought to have given him five.”

“I’d willingly have given him fifty,” Denby said earnestly. “It wasn’t nice to think that I’d been dropped like that.”

“And I thought you’d dropped me,” she said.

“I should say not,” he exclaimed. “I was over here six months ago and I did try to see you, but you were at Palm Beach. I can’t tell you how often I’ve sent you telepathic messages,” he added whimsically. “Ever get any of ’em?”

“Some of them, I think,” she said smiling. “And now to think we’ve met here on Long Island. It’s a far cry to Paris.”

“For me it’s people who make places – the places themselves don’t matter – you and I are here,” he said gently.

The girl sighed a little. “Still, Paris is Paris,” she insisted.

“Rather!” he answered, sighing too. “Do you remember that afternoon in front of the Café de la Paix? We had vin gris and watched the Frenchman with the funny dog, and the boys calling La Presse, and the woman who made you buy some ‘North Wind’ for me, and the people crowding around the newspaper kiosks.”

In the adjoining room Nora was strumming the piano, and was now playing “Un Peu d’Amour.” She had looked in the hall and finding the stranger so wholly absorbed in Ethel Cartwright, had retired to solitude.

“And do you remember the hole in the table-cloth?” Ethel demanded.

“And wasn’t it a dirty table-cloth?” he reminded her. “And afterwards we had tea in the Bois at the Cascade and the Hungarian Band played ‘Un Peu d’Amour.’” He looked at the girl smiling. “How did you arrange to have that played just at the right moment?”

They listened in silence for a moment to the dainty melody, and then she hummed a few bars of it. Her thoughts were evidently far away from Long Island.

“And don’t you remember that poor skinny horse in our fiacre?” she asked him. “He was so tired he fell down, and we walked home in pity.”

“Ah, you were tender-hearted,” he sighed.

“And we had dinner at Vian’s afterwards,” she reminded him, and then, after a pause: “Wasn’t the soup awful?”

“Ah, but the string-beans were an event,” he asserted. “And that evening, I remember, there was a moon over the Bois, and we sat under the trees. Have you forgotten that?”

“I don’t think that would be very easy,” she said softly.

“And we went through the Louvre the next day,” he said eagerly, “the whole Louvre in an hour, and the loveliest picture I saw there was —you.”

Denby glanced up with a frown as Lambart’s gentle footfall was heard, and rose to his feet a trifle embarrassed by this intrusion. Lambart came to a respectful pause at Miss Cartwright’s side.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but there is a gentleman to see you.” She took a card that was on the tray he held before her.

“To see me?” she cried, startled, gazing at the card. Denby, watching her closely, saw her grow, as he thought, pale. “Ask him to come in. Mr. Denby,” she said, “will you forgive me?”

“Surely,” he assented, walking toward the great stairway. “I have to dress, anyway.”

“Your room is at the head of the stairs,” Lambart reminded him. “All your luggage is taken in, sir.”

Denby looked down at her. “Till dinner?” he asked.

“Till dinner,” she said, and watched him pass out of sight. She was a girl whose poise of manner prevented the betrayal of vivid emotion in any but a certain subdued fashion. But it was plain she was laboring now under an agitation that amounted almost to deadly fear.

A few seconds later Daniel Taylor strode in with firm assured tread and looked at the luxurious surroundings with approval.

“Good evening, Miss Cartwright,” he exclaimed genially. “Good evening.”

“My sister,” she returned, trembling, “nothing’s happened to her? She’s all right?”

“Sure, sure,” he returned reassuringly, “I haven’t bothered her; the little lady’s all right, don’t you worry.”

“Then what do you want here?” she cried alarmed. No matter what his manner this man had menace in every look and gesture. She had never been brought into contact with one who gave in so marked a degree the impression of ruthless strength.

“I thought I’d drop in with reference to our little chat this afternoon,” he remarked easily. “Nice place they’ve got here.”

“But I don’t understand why you have come,” she persisted.

“You haven’t forgotten our little conversation, I hope?”

“Of course not,” she said.

“Well,” he continued, “you said when I needed you, you’d be ready.” He looked about him cautiously as though fearing interruption. “I said it might be a year, or it might be a month, or it might be to-night. Well, it’s to-night, Miss Cartwright. I need you right now.”

“Now?” she said puzzled. “Still, I don’t understand.”

He lowered his voice. “A man has smuggled a two hundred thousand dollar necklace through the Customs to-day. For various reasons which you wouldn’t understand, we allowed him to slip through, thinking he’d fooled us. Now that he believes himself safe, it ought to be easy to get that necklace. We’ve got to get it; and we’re going to get it, through one of our agents.” He pointed a forefinger at her. “We’re going to get it through you.”

“But I shouldn’t know how to act,” she protested, “or what to do.”

Taylor smiled. “You’re too modest, Miss Cartwright. I’ve seen some of your work in my own office, and I think you’ll be successful.”

“But don’t you see I’m staying here over Sunday?” she explained. “I can’t very well make an excuse and leave now.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he told her.

“What do you mean, then?” she demanded.

“That the man who smuggled the necklace is staying here, too. His name is Steven Denby.”

“Steven Denby!” the girl cried, shrinking away from him. “Oh, no, you must be mad – he isn’t a smuggler.”

“Why isn’t he?” Taylor snapped.

“I know him,” she explained.

“You do?” he cried. “Where did you meet him?”

“In Paris,” she replied.

“How long have you known him?”

“Just about a year,” she answered.

“What do you know about him?” Taylor asked quickly. It was evident that her news seemed very important to him. “What’s his business? How does he make his living? Do you know his people?”

“I don’t think he does anything,” she said hesitatingly.

“Nothing, eh?” Taylor laughed disagreeably. “I suppose you think that’s clear proof he couldn’t be a smuggler?”

“I’m sure you are wrong,” she said with spirit; “he’s my friend.”

“Your friend!” Taylor returned. His manner from that of the bluff cross-examiner changed to one that had something confidential and friendly in it. “Why, that ought to make it easier.”

“Easier?” she repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you can get into his confidence. See?”

“But you’re wrong,” she said indignantly. “I’m sure he is absolutely innocent.”

“Then you’ll be glad of a chance to prove we’re wrong and you’re right.”

“But I couldn’t spy on a friend,” she declared.

“If your friend is innocent it won’t do him any harm,” Taylor observed, “and he’d never know. But if he’s guilty he deserves punishment, and you’ve no right to try and protect him. Any person would only be doing right in helping to detect a criminal; but you,” – he paused significantly, – “it’s just as much your duty as it is mine.” He showed her his gold badge of authority for a brief moment, and although it terrified her there was too much loyalty in her nature to betray a friend or even to spy upon one.

“No, no! I can’t do it,” she said.

“So you’re going back on your agreement,” he sneered. “Two can play that game. Suppose I go back on mine, too?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she cried horrified at his threat.

“Why not?” he returned. “It’s give and take in this world.”

“But I couldn’t be so contemptible.”

Taylor shrugged his shoulders. “If I were you I’d think it over,” he recommended.

“But supposing you’re wrong,” she said earnestly. “Suppose he has no necklace?”