After thrashing about in his bed for seven sleepless hours, Barnes arose and gloomily breakfasted alone. He was not discouraged over his failure to arrive at anything tangible in the shape of a plan of action. It was inconceivable that he should not be able in very short order to bring about the release of the fair guest of Green Fancy. He realised that the conspiracy in which she appeared to be a vital link was far-reaching and undoubtedly pernicious in character. There was not the slightest doubt in his mind that international affairs of considerable importance were involved and that the agents operating at Green Fancy were under definite orders.
Mr. Sprouse came into the dining-room as he was taking his last swallow of coffee.
"Ah, good morning," was the bland little man's greeting. "Up with the lark, I see. It is almost a nocturnal habit with me. I get up so early that you might say it's a nightly proceeding. I'm surprised to see you circulating at seven o'clock, however. Mind if I sit down here and have my eggs?" He pulled out a chair opposite Barnes and coolly sat down at the table.
"You can't sell me a set of Dickens at this hour of the day," said Barnes sourly. "Besides, I've finished my breakfast. Keep your seat." He started to rise.
"Sit down," said Sprouse quietly. Something in the man's voice and manner struck Barnes as oddly compelling. He hesitated a second and then resumed his seat. "I've been investigating you, Mr. Barnes," said the little man, unsmilingly. "Don't get sore. It may gratify you to know that I am satisfied you are all right."
"What do you mean, Mr.—Mr.—?" began Barnes, angrily.
"Sprouse. There are a lot of things that you don't know, and one of them is that I don't sell books for a living. It's something of a side line with me." He leaned forward. "I shall be quite frank with you, sir. I am a secret service man. Yesterday I went through your effects upstairs, and last night I took the liberty of spying upon you, so to speak, while you were a guest at Green Fancy."
"The deuce you say!" cried Barnes, staring.
"We will get right down to tacks," said Sprouse. "My government,—which isn't yours, by the way,—sent me up here five weeks ago on a certain undertaking. I am supposed to find out what is hatching up at Green Fancy. Having satisfied myself that you are not connected with the gang up there, I cheerfully place myself in your hands, Mr. Barnes. Just a moment, please. Bring me my usual breakfast, Miss Tilly." The waitress having vanished in the direction of the kitchen, he resumed. "You were at Green Fancy last night. So was I. You had an advantage over me, however, for you were on the inside and I was not."
"Confound your impudence! I—"
"One of my purposes in revealing myself to you, Mr. Barnes, is to warn you to steer clear of that crowd. You may find yourself in exceedingly hot water later on if you don't. Another purpose, and the real one, is to secure, if possible, your co-operation in beating the game up there. You can help me, and in helping me you may be instrumental in righting one of the gravest wrongs the world has ever known. Of course, I am advising you in one breath to avoid the crowd up there and in the next I ask you to do nothing of the kind. If you can get into the good graces of—But there is no use counting on that. They are too clever. There is too much at stake. You might go there for weeks and—"
"See here, Mr. Sprouse or whatever your name is, what do you take me for?" demanded Barnes, assuming an injured air. "You have the most monumental nerve in—"
"Save your breath, Mr. Barnes. We may just as well get together on this thing first as last. I've told you what I am,—and almost who,—and I know who and what you are. You don't suppose for an instant that I, with a record for having made fewer blunders than any man in the service, could afford to take a chance with you unless I was absolutely sure of my ground, do you? You ask me what I take you for. Well, I take you for a meddler who, if given a free rein, may upset the whole pot of beans and work an irreparable injury to an honest cause."
"A meddler, am I? Good morning, Mr. Sprouts. I fancy—"
"Sprouse. But the name doesn't matter. Keep your seat. You may learn something that will be of untold value to you. I used the word meddler in a professional sense. You are inexperienced. You would behave like a bull in a china shop. I've been working for nearly six months on a job that you think you can clear up in a couple of days. Fools walk in where angels fear to tread. You—"
"Will you be good enough, Mr. Sprouse, to tell me just what you are trying to get at? Come to the point. I know nothing whatever against Mr. Curtis and his friends. You assume a great deal—"
"Excuse me, Mr. Barnes. I'll admit that you don't know anything against them, but you suspect a whole lot. To begin with, you suspect that two men were shot to death because they were in wrong with some one at Green Fancy. Now, I could tell you who those two men really were and why they were shot. But I sha'n't do anything of the sort,—at least not at present. I—"
"You may have to tell all this to the State if I choose to go to the authorities with the statement you have just made."
"I expect, at the proper time, to tell it all to the State. Are you willing to listen to what I have to say, or are you going to stay on your high-horse and tell me to go to the devil? You interest yourself in this affair for the sake of a little pleasurable excitement. I am in it, not for fun, but because I am employed by a great Power to risk my life whenever it is necessary. This happens to be one of the times when it is vitally necessary. This is not child's play or school-boy romance with me. It is business."
Barnes was impressed. "Perhaps you will condescend to tell me who you are, Mr. Sprouse. I am very much in the dark."
"I am a special agent,—but not a spy, sir,—of a government that is friendly to yours. I am known in Washington. My credentials are not to be questioned. At present it would be unwise for me to reveal the name of my government. I dare say if I can afford to trust you, Mr. Barnes, you can afford to trust me. There is too much at stake for me to take the slightest chance with any man. I am ready to chance you, sir, if you will do the same by me."
"Well," began Barnes deliberately, "I guess you will have to take a chance with me, Mr. Sprouse, for I refuse to commit myself until I know exactly what you are up to."
Sprouse had a pleasant word or two for Miss Tilly as she placed the bacon and eggs before him and poured his coffee.
"Skip along now, Miss Tilly," he said. "I'm going to sell Mr. Barnes a whole library if I can keep him awake long enough."
"I can heartily recommend the Dickens and Scott—" began Miss Tilly, but Sprouse waved her away.
"In the first place, Mr. Barnes," said he, salting his eggs, "you have been thinking that I was sent down from Green Fancy to spy on you. Isn't that so?"
"I am answering no questions, Mr. Sprouse."
"You were wrong," said Sprouse, as if Barnes had answered in the affirmative. "I am working on my own. You may have observed that I did not accompany the sheriff's posse to-day. I was up in Hornville getting the final word from New York that you were on the level. You have a document from the police, I hear, but I hadn't seen it. Time is precious. I telephoned to New York. Eleven dollars and sixty cents. You were under suspicion until I hung up the receiver, I may say."
"Jones has been talking to you," said Barnes. "But you said a moment ago that you were up at Green Fancy last night. Not by invitation, I take it."
"I invited myself," said Sprouse succinctly. "Are you inclined to favour my proposition?"
"You haven't made one."
"By suggestion, Mr. Barnes. It is quite impossible for me to get inside that house. You appear to have the entree. You are working in the dark, guessing at everything. I am guessing at nothing. By combining forces we should bring this thing to a head, and—"
"Just a moment. You expect me to abuse the hospitality of—"
"I shall have to speak plainly, I see." He leaned forward, fixing Barnes with a pair of steady, earnest eyes. "Six months ago a certain royal house in Europe was despoiled of its jewels, its privy seal, its most precious state documents and its charter. They have been traced to the United States. I am here to recover them. That is the foundation of my story, Mr. Barnes. Shall I go on?"
"Can you not start at the beginning, Mr. Sprouse? What was it that led up to this amazing theft?"
"Without divulging the name of the house, I will say that its sympathies have been from the outset friendly to the Entente Allies,—especially with France. There are two branches of the ruling family, one in power, the other practically in exile. The state is a small one, but its integrity is of the highest. Its sons and daughters have married into the royal families of nearly all of the great nations of the continent. The present—or I should say—the late ruler, for he died on a field of battle not many months ago, had no direct heir. He was young and unmarried. I am not permitted to state with what army he was fighting, nor on which front he was killed. It is only necessary to say that his little state was gobbled up by the Teutonic Allies. The branch of the family mentioned as being in exile lent its support to the cause of Germany, not for moral reasons but in the hope and with the understanding, I am to believe, that the crown-lands would be the reward. The direct heir to the crown is a cousin of the late prince. He is now a prisoner of war in Austria. Other members of the family are held by the Bulgarians as prisoners of war. It is not stretching the imagination very far to picture them as already dead and out of the way. At the close of the war, if Germany is victorious, the crown will be placed upon the head of the pretender branch. Are you following me?"
"Yes," said Barnes, his nerves tingling. He was beginning to see a great light.
"Almost under the noses of the forces left by the Teutonic Allies to hold the invaded territory, the crown-jewels, charter and so forth, heretofore mentioned as they say in legal parlance, were surreptitiously removed from the palace and spirited away by persons loyal to the ruling branch of the family. As I have stated, I am engaged in the effort to recover them."
"It requires but little intelligence on my part to reach the conclusion that you are employed by either the German or Austrian government, Mr. Sprouse. You are working in the interests of the usurping branch of the family."
"Wrong again, Mr. Barnes,—but naturally. I am in the service of a country violently opposed to the German cause. My country's interest in the case is—well, you might say benevolent. The missing property belongs to the State from which it was taken. It represents a great deal in the shape of treasure, to say nothing of its importance along other lines. To restore the legitimate branch of the family to power after the war, the Entente Allies must be in possession of the papers and crown-rights that these misguided enthusiasts made away with. Of course, it would be possible to do it without considering the demands of the opposing claimants, arbitrarily kicking them out, but that isn't the way my government does business. The persons who removed this treasure from the state vaults believed that they were acting for the best interests of their superiors. In a sense, they were. The only fault we have to find with them is that they failed to do the sensible thing by delivering their booty into the hands of one of the governments friendly to their cause. Instead of doing so, they succeeded in crossing the ocean, conscientiously believing that America was the safest place to keep the treasure pending developments on the other side.
"Now we come to the present situation. Some months ago a member of the aforesaid royal house arrived in this country by way of Japan. He is a distant cousin of the crown and, in a way, remotely looked upon as the heir-apparent. Later on he sequestered himself in Canada. Our agents in Europe learned but recently that while he pretends to be loyal to the ruling house, he is actually scheming against it. I have been ordered to run him to earth, for there is every reason to believe that the men who secured the treasure have been duped into regarding him as an avowed champion of the crown. We believe that if we find this man we will, sooner or later, be able to put our hands on the missing treasure. I have never seen the man, nor a portrait of him. A fairly adequate description has been sent to me, however. Now, Mr. Barnes, without telling you how I have arrived at the conclusion, I am prepared to state that I believe this man to be at Green Fancy, and that in time the loot,—to use a harsh word,—will be delivered to him there. I am here to get it, one way or another, when that comes to pass."
Barnes had not taken his eyes from the face of the little man during this recital. He was rapidly changing his opinion of Sprouse. There was sincerity in the voice and eyes of the secret agent.
"What led you to suspect that he is at Green Fancy, Mr. Sprouse?"
"History. It is known that this Mr. Curtis has spent a great deal of time in the country alluded to. As a matter of fact, his son, who lived in London, had rather extensive business interests there. This son was killed in the Balkan War several years ago. It is said that the man I am looking for was a friend of young Curtis, who married a Miss O'Dowd in London,—the Honourable Miss O'Dowd, daughter of an Irish peer, and sister of the chap you have met at Green Fancy. The elder Curtis was a close and intimate friend of more than one member of the royal family. Indeed, he is known to have been a welcome visitor in the home of a prominent nobleman, once high in the counsels of State. This man O'Dowd is also a friend of the man I am looking for. He went through the Balkan War with him. After that war, O'Dowd drifted to China, hoping no doubt to take a hand in the revolution. He is that sort. Some months ago he came to the United States. I forgot to mention that he has long considered this country his home, although born in Ireland. About six weeks ago a former equerry in the royal household arrived in New York. Through him I learned that the daughter of the gentleman in whose house the senior Mr. Curtis was a frequent guest had been in the United States since some time prior to the beginning of the war. She was visiting friends in the States and has been unable to return to her own land, for reasons that must be obvious. I may as well confess that her father was, by marriage, an uncle of the late ruler.
"Since the invasion and overthrow of her country by the Teutonic Allies, she has been endeavouring to raise money here for the purpose of equipping and supporting the remnants of the small army that fought so valiantly in defence of the crown. These men, a few thousand only, are at present interned in a neutral country. I leave you to guess what will happen if she succeeds in supplying them with arms and ammunition. Her work is being carried on with the greatest secrecy. Word of it came to the ears of her country's minister in Paris, however, and he at once jumped to a quick but very natural conclusion. She has been looked upon in court circles as the prospective bride of the adventurous cousin I am hunting for. The embassy has conceived the notion that she may know a great deal about the present whereabouts of the missing treasure. No one accuses her of duplicity, however. On the other hand, the man in the case is known to have pro-German sympathies. She may be loyal to the crown, but there is a decided doubt as to his loyalty. Of course, we have no means of knowing to what extent she has confided her plans to him. We do not even know that she is aware of his presence in this country. To bring the story to a close, I was instructed to keep close watch on the man O'Dowd. The ex-attache of the court to whom I referred a moment ago set out to find the young lady in question. I traced O'Dowd to this place. I was on the point of reporting to my superiors that he was in no way associated with the much-sought-after crown-cousin, and that Green Fancy was as free from taint as the village chapel, when out of a clear sky and almost under my very nose two men were mysteriously done away with at the very gates of the place. In fact, so positive was I that O'Dowd was all right, that I had started for Washington to send my report back home and wait for instructions. The killing of those two men changed the aspect completely. You will certainly agree with me after I have explained to you that the one known as Andrew Roon was no other than the equerry who had undertaken to find the—young woman."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Barnes.
"He came up here because he had reason to believe that the—er—girl was either at Green Fancy or was headed this way. I was back here in thirty-six hours, selling Dickens. I saw the bodies of the two men at the county-seat, and recognised both of them, despite the fact that they had cut off their beards. Now, they could not have been recognised, Mr. Barnes, except by some one who had known them all his life. And that is why I am positive that the man I am looking for is up at Green Fancy."
Barnes drew a long breath. His mind was made up. He had decided to pool issues with the secret agent, but not until he was convinced that the result of their co-operation would in no way inflict a hardship upon the young woman who had appealed to him for help. He was certain that she was the fair propagandist described by Sprouse.
"Is it your intention to lodge him in jail if you succeed in capturing your man, Mr. Sprouse, and to apply for extradition papers?" he asked.
"I can't land him in jail unless I can prove that he has the stolen goods, can I?"
"You could implicate him in the general conspiracy."
"That is for others to say, sir. I am only instructed to recover the treasure."
"And the young woman, what of her? She would, in any case, be held for examination and—"
"My dear sir, I may as well tell you now that she is a loyal subject and, far from being in bad grace at court, is an object of extreme solicitude to the ambassador. Up to two months ago she was in touch with him. From what I can gather, she has disappeared completely. Roon was sent over here for the sole purpose of finding her and inducing her to return with him to Paris."
"And to take the treasure with her, I suppose," said Barnes drily.
"Naturally."
"Well," began Barnes, introducing a harsh note into his voice, "I should say that if she is guilty of receiving this stolen property she ought to be punished. Jail is the place for her, Mr. Sprouse."
Sprouse put down his coffee cup rather suddenly. A queer pallor came into his face. His voice was low and a trifle husky when he made reply.
"I am sorry to hear you say that, sir."
"Why, may I ask?"
"Because it puts an obstacle in the way of our working together in this matter."
"You mean that my attitude toward her is—er—not in keeping with your ideas?"
"You do not understand the situation. Haven't I made it plain to you that she is innocent of any intent to do wrong?"
"You have said so, Mr. Sprouse, but your idea of wrong and mine may not jibe."
"There cannot be two ways of looking at it, sir," said Sprouse, after a moment. "She could do no wrong."
Whereupon Barnes reached his hand across the table and laid it on Sprouse's. His eyes were dancing.
"That's just what I want to be sure about," he said. "It was my way of finding out your intentions concerning her."
"What do you mean?" demanded Sprouse, staring.
"Come with me to my room," said Barnes, suppressing his excitement. "I think I can tell you where she is,—and a great deal more that you ought to know."
In the little room upstairs, he told the whole story to Sprouse. The little man listened without so much as a single word of interruption or interrogation. His sharp eyes began to glisten as the story progressed, but in no other way did he reveal the slightest sign of emotion. Somewhat breathlessly Barnes came to the end.
"And now, Mr. Sprouse, what do you make of it all?" he inquired.
Sprouse leaned back in his chair, suddenly relaxing. "I am completely at sea," he said, and Barnes looked at him in surprise.
"By Jove, I thought it would all be as clear as day to you. Here is your man and also your woman, and the travelling bag full of—"
"Right you are," interrupted Sprouse. "That is all simple enough. But, my dear Barnes, can you tell me what Mr. Secretary Loeb's real game is? Why has he established himself so close to the Canadian line, and why the mobilisation? I refer to his army of huskies."
"Heirs-apparent usually have some sort of a bodyguard, don't they?"
Sprouse was staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. He either did not hear the remark or considered it unworthy of notice. When he finally lowered his eyes, it was to favour Barnes with a deep, inscrutable smile.
"I dare say the first thing for me to do is to advise the Canadian authorities to keep a sharp lookout along the border."
Barnes insisted that the first thing to be considered was the release of Miss Cameron. He held forth at some length on the urgency of immediate action.
"If we can't think of any other way to get her out of this devilish predicament, Sprouse, I shall apply to Washington for help."
"And be laughed at, my friend," said the secret agent. "In the first place, you couldn't give a substantial reason for government investigation; in the second place the government wouldn't act until it had looked very thoroughly into the case; in the third place, it would be too late by the time the government felt satisfied to act, and in the fourth place, it is not a matter for the government to meddle in at all."
"Well, something has to be done at once," said Barnes doggedly. "I gave her my promise. She is depending on me. If you could have seen the light that leaped into her glorious eyes when I—"
"Yes, I know. I've heard she is quite a pretty girl. You needn't—"
"Quite a pretty girl!" exclaimed Barnes. "Why, she is the loveliest thing that God ever created. She has the face of—"
"I am beginning to understand O'Dowd's interest in her, Mr. Barnes. Your enthusiasm conveys a great deal to me. Apparently you are not alone in your ecstasies."
"You mean that he is—er—What the dickens do you mean?"
"He has probably fallen in love with her with as little difficulty as you have experienced, Mr. Barnes, and almost as expeditiously. He has seen a little more of her than you, but—"
"Don't talk nonsense. I'm not in love with her."
"Can you speak with equal authority for Mr. O'Dowd? He is a very susceptible Irishman, I am told. Sweethearts in a great many ports,—and still going strong, as we say of the illustrious Johnny Walker. From all that I have heard of her amazing beauty, I can't blame him for losing his heart to her. I only hope he loses his head as well."
"I don't believe he will get much encouragement from her, Mr. Sprouse," said Barnes stiffly.
"If she is as clever as I think she is, she will encourage him tremendously. I would if I were in her place."
"Umph!" was Barnes's only retort to that.
"Is it possible that you have never had the pleasure of being transformed into a perfect ass by the magic of a perfect woman, Mr. Barnes? You've missed a great deal. It happened to me once, and came near to upsetting the destinies of two great nations. Mr. O'Dowd is only human. He isn't immune."
"I catch the point, Mr. Sprouse," said Barnes, rather gloomily. He did not like to think of the methods that might have to be employed in the subjugation of Mr. O'Dowd. "There is a rather important question I'd like to ask. Is she even remotely eligible to her country's throne?"
"Remotely, yes," said Sprouse without hesitation.
Barnes waited, but nothing further was volunteered.
"So remotely that she could marry a chap like O'Dowd without giving much thought to future complications?" he ventured.
"She'd be just as safe in marrying O'Dowd as she would be in marrying you," was Sprouse's unsatisfactory response. The man's brow was wrinkled in thought. "See here, Mr. Barnes, I am planning a visit to Green Fancy to-night. How would you like to accompany me?"
"I'd like nothing better," said Barnes, with enthusiasm.
"Ever been shot at?"
"No."
"Well, you are likely to experience the novelty if you go with me. Better think it over."
"Don't worry about me. I'll go."
"Will you agree to obey instructions? I can't have you muddling things up, you know."
Barnes thought for a moment. "Of course, if the opportunity offers for me to communicate with Miss Cameron, I don't see how I—"
Sprouse cut him off sharply. He made it quite plain to the would-be cavalier that it was not a sentimental enterprise they were to undertake, and that he would have to govern himself accordingly.
"The grounds are carefully guarded," said Barnes, after they had discussed the project for some time. "Miss Cameron is constantly under the watchful eye of one or more of the crowd."
"I know. I passed a couple of them last night," said Sprouse calmly. "By the way, don't you think it would be very polite of you to invite the Green Fancy party over here to have an old-fashioned country dinner with you to-night?"
"Good Lord! What are you talking about? They wouldn't dream of accepting. Besides, I thought you wanted me to go with you."
"You could offer them diversion in the shape of a theatrical entertainment. Your friends, the Thespians, would be only too happy to disport themselves in return for all your—"
"It would be useless, Mr. Sprouse. They will not come."
"I am perfectly aware of that, but it won't do any harm to ask them, will it?"
Barnes chuckled. "I see. Establishing myself as an innocent bystander, eh?"
"Get O'Dowd on the telephone and ask him if they can come," said Sprouse. "Incidentally, you might test his love for Miss Cameron while you are about it."
"How?" demanded Barnes.
"By asking him to call her to the telephone. Would you be sure to recognise her voice?"
"I'd know it in Babel," said the other with some fervour.
"Well, if she comes to the 'phone and speaks to you without restraint, we may be reasonably certain of two things: that O'Dowd is friendly and that he is able to fix it so that she can talk to you without being overheard or suspected by the others. It's worth trying, in any event."
"But there is Jones to consider. The telephone is in his office. What will he think—"
"Jones is all right," said Sprouse briefly. "Come along. You can call up from my room." He grinned slyly. "Such a thing as tapping the wire, you know."
Sprouse had installed a telephone in his room, carrying a wire upstairs from an attachment made in the cellar of the Tavern. He closed the door to his little room on the top floor.
"With the landlord's approval," he explained, pointing to the instrument, "but unknown to the telephone company, you may be sure. Call him up about half-past ten. O'Dowd may be up at this unholy hour, but not she. Now, I must be off to discuss literature with Mrs. Jim Conley. I've been working on her for two weeks. The hardest part of my job is to keep her from subscribing for a set of Dickens. She has been on the point of signing the contract at least a half dozen times, and I've been fearfully hard put to head her off. Conley's house is not far from Green Fancy. Savvy?"
Barnes, left to his own devices, wandered from tap-room to porch, from porch to forge, from forge to tap-room, his brain far more active than his legs, his heart as heavy as lead and as light as air by turns. More than once he felt like resorting to a well-known expedient to determine whether he was awake or dreaming. Could all this be real?
The sky was overcast. A cold, damp wind blew out of the north. There was a feel of rain in the air, an ugly greyness in the road that stretched its sharply defined course through the green fields that stole timorously up to the barren forest and stopped short, as if afraid to venture farther.
The ring of the hammer on the anvil lent cheer to the otherwise harsh and unlovely mood that had fallen upon Nature over night. It sang a song of defiance that even the mournful chant of sheep on the distant slopes failed to subdue. The crowing of a belated and no doubt mortified rooster, the barking of faraway dogs, the sighing of journeying winds, the lugubrious whistle of Mr. Clarence Dillingford,—all of these added something to the dreariness of the morning.
Mr. Dillingford was engaged in lustily beating a rug suspended on a clothes line in the area back of the stables. His tune was punctuated by stifled lapses followed almost immediately by dull, flat whacks upon the carpet. From the end of the porch he was visible to the abstracted Barnes.
"Hi!" he shouted, brandishing his flail at the New Yorker. "Want a job?"
Barnes looked at his watch. He still had an hour and a half to wait before he could call up O'Dowd. He strolled across the lot and joined the perspiring comedian.
"You seem to have a personal grudge against that carpet," he said, moving back a few yards as Dillingford laid on so manfully that the dust arose in clouds.
"Every time I land I say: 'Take that, darn you!' And it pleases me to imagine that with every crack Mr. Putnam Jones lets out a mighty 'Ouch!' Now listen! Didn't that sound a little like an ouch?" Mr. Dillingford rubbed a spot clean on the handle of the flail and pressed his lips to it. "Good dog!" he murmured tenderly. "Bite him! (Whack!) Now, bite him again! (Whack!) Once more! (Whack!) Good dog! Now, go lie down awhile and rest." He tossed the flail to the ground and, mopping his brow, turned to Barnes. "If you want a real treat, go into the cellar and take a look at Bacon. He is churning for butter. Got a gingham apron on and thinks he's disguised. He can't cuss because old Miss Tilly is reading the first act of a play she wrote for Julia Marlowe seven or eight years ago. Oh, it's a great life!"
Barnes sat down on the edge of a watering-trough and began filling his pipe.
"You are not obliged to do this sort of work, Dillingford," he said. "It would give me pleasure to stake—"
"Nix," said Mr. Dillingford cheerily. "Some other time I may need help more than I do now. I'm getting three square meals and plenty of fresh air to sleep in at present, and work doesn't hurt me physically. It DOES hurt my pride, but that's soon mended. Have you seen the old man this morning?"
"Rushcroft? No."
"Well, we're to be on our way next week, completely reorganised, rejuvenated and resplendent. Fixed it all up last night. Tommy Gray was down here with two weeks' salary as chauffeur and a little extra he picked up playing poker in the garage with the rubes. Thirty-seven dollars in real money. He has decided to buy a quarter interest in the company and act as manager. Everything looks rosy. You are to have a half interest and the old man the remaining quarter. He telegraphed last night for four top-notch people to join us at Crowndale on Tuesday the twenty-third. We open that night in 'The Duke's Revenge,' our best piece. It's the only play we've got that provides me with a part in which I have a chance to show what I can really do. As soon as I get through spanking this carpet I'll run upstairs and get a lot of clippings to show you how big a hit I've made in the part. In one town I got better notices than the star himself, and seldom did I—"
"Where is Crowndale?" interrupted Barnes, a slight frown appearing on his brow. He had a distinct feeling that there was handwriting on the wall and that it was put there purposely for him to read.
"About five hours' walk from Hornville," said Dillingford, grinning. "Twenty-five cents by train. We merely resume a tour interrupted by the serious illness of Mr. Rushcroft. Rather than impose upon our audiences by inflicting them with an understudy, the popular star temporarily abandons his tour. We ought to sell out in Crowndale, top to bottom."
The amazing optimism of Mr. Dillingford had its effect on Barnes. Somehow the day grew brighter, the skies less drear, a subtle warmth crept into the air.
"You may count on me, Dillingford, to put up my half interest in the show. I will have a fling at it a couple of weeks anyhow. If it doesn't pan out in that time,—well, we can always close, can't we?"
"We certainly can," said the other, with conviction. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least, however, to see you clean up a very tidy bit of money, Mr. Barnes. Our season ordinarily closes toward the end of June, but the chances are we'll stay out all summer if things go right. Congratulations! Glad to see you in the profession." He shook hands with the new partner. "Keep your seat! Don't move. I'll shift a little so's the wind won't blow the dust in your eyes." He obligingly did so and fell upon the carpet with renewed vigour.
Barnes was restless. He chatted with the rug-beater for a few minutes and then sauntered away. Miss Thackeray was starting off for a walk as he came around to the front of the Tavern. She wore a rather shabby tailor-suit of blue serge, several seasons out of fashion, and a black sailor hat. Her smile was bright and friendly as she turned in response to his call. As he drew near he discovered that her lips were a vivid, startling red, her eyes elaborately made up, and her cheeks the colour of bismuth. She was returning to form, thought he, in some dismay.
"Where away?" he inquired.
"Seeking solitude," she replied. "I've got to learn a new part in an old play." She flourished the script airily. "I have just accepted an engagement as leading lady."
"Splendid! I am delighted. With John Drew, I hope."
"Nothing like that," she said loftily. Then her wide mouth spread into a good-natured grin, revealing the even rows of teeth that were her particular charm. "I am going out with the great Lyndon Rushcroft."
"Good! As one of the proprietors, I am glad to see you on our—er—programme, Miss Thackeray."
"Programme is good," she mused. "I've been on a whole lot of programmes during my brief career. What I want to get on some time, if possible, is a pay-roll. Wait! Don't say it! I was only trying to be funny; I didn't know how it would sound or I wouldn't have said anything so stupid. You've done more than enough for us, Mr. Barnes. Don't let yourself in for anything more. This thing will turn out like all the rest of our efforts. We'll collapse again with a loud report, but we're used to it and you're not."
"But I'm only letting myself in for a couple of hundred," he protested. "I can stand that much of a loss without squirming."
"You know your own business," she said shortly, almost ungraciously. "I'm only giving you a little advice."
"Advice is something I always ignore," he said, smiling. "Experience is my teacher."
"Advice is cheaper than experience, and a whole lot easier to forget," she said. "My grandfather advised my father to stay in the hardware business out in Indiana. That was thirty years ago. And here we are to-day," she concluded, with a wide sweep of her hand that took in the forlorn landscape. She said more in that expressive gesture than the most accomplished orator could have put into words in a week.
"But there is always a to-morrow, you know."
"There may be a to-morrow for me, but there are nothing but yesterdays left for dad. All of his to-morrows will be just like his yesterdays. They will be just as empty of success, just as full of failure. There's no use mincing matters. We never have had a chance to go broke for the simple reason that we've never been anything else. He has been starring for fifteen years, hitting the tanks from one end of the country to the other. And for just that length of time he has been mooning. There's a lot of difference between starring and mooning."
"He may go down somewhat regularly, Miss Thackeray, but he always comes up again. That's what I admire in him. He will not stay down."
Her eyes brightened. "He is rather a brick, isn't he?"
"Rather! And so are you, if I may say so. You have stuck to him through all—"
"Nothing bricky about me," she scoffed. "I am doing it because I can't, for the life of me, get rid of the notion that I can act. God knows I can't, and so does father, and the critics, and every one in the profession, but I think I can,—so what does it all amount to? Now, that will be enough about me. As for you, Mr. Barnes, if you have made up your mind to be foolish, far be it from me to head you off. You will drop considerably more than a couple of hundred, let me tell you, and—but, as I said before, that is your business. I must be off now. It's a long part and I'm slow study. So long,—and thanks!"
He sat down on the Tavern steps and watched her as she swung off down the road. To his utter amazement, when she reached a point several hundred yards below the Tavern, she left the highway and, gathering up her skirts, climbed over the fence into the narrow meadow-land that formed a frontage at the bottom of the Curtis estate. A few minutes later she disappeared among the trees at the base of the mountain, going in the direction of Green Fancy. He had followed her with his gaze all the way across that narrow strip of pasture. When she came to the edge of the forest, she stopped and looked back at the Tavern. Seeing him still on the steps, she waved her hand at him. Then she was gone.
"Where ignorance is bliss," he muttered to himself, and then looked at his watch. Ten minutes later he was in Sprouse's room, calling for Green Fancy over an extension wire that had cost the company nothing and yielded nothing in return. After some delay, O'Dowd's mellow voice sang out:
"Hello! How are you this morning?"
"Grievously lonesome," replied Barnes, and wound up a doleful account of himself by imploring O'Dowd to save his life by bringing the entire Green Fancy party over to dinner that night.
O'Dowd was heart-broken. Personally he would go to any extreme to save so valuable a life, but as for the rest of the party, they begged him to say they were sorry to hear of the expected death of so promising a chap and that, while they couldn't come to his party, they would be delighted to come to his funeral. In short, it would be impossible for them to accept his kind invitation. The Irishman was so gay and good-humoured that Barnes took hope.
"By the way, O'Dowd, I'd like to speak with Miss Cameron if she can come to the telephone."
There was a moment of silence. Then: "Call up at twelve o'clock and ask for me. Good-bye."
Promptly on the stroke of twelve Barnes took down the receiver and called for Green Fancy. O'Dowd answered almost immediately.
"I warned you last night, Barnes," he said without preamble. "I told you to keep out of this. You may not understand the situation and I cannot enlighten you, but I will say this much: no harm can come to her while I'm here and alive."
"Can't she come to the telephone?"
"Won't ye take my word for it? I swear by all that's holy that she'll be safe while I've—"
Barnes was cautious. This might be the clever O'Dowd's way of trapping him into serious admissions.
"I don't know what the deuce you are talking about, O'Dowd," he interrupted.
"You lie, Barnes," said the other promptly. "Miss Cameron is here at my elbow. Will you have her tell you that you lie?"
"Let her say anything she likes," said Barnes quickly.
"Don't be surprised if you are cut off suddenly. The coast is clear for the moment, but—Here, Miss Cameron. Careful, now."
Her voice, soft and clear and trembling with eagerness caressed Barnes's eager ear.
"Mr. O'Dowd will see that no evil befalls me here, but he refuses to help me to get away. I quite understand and appreciate his position. I cannot ask him to go so far as that. Help will have to come from the outside. It will be dangerous—terribly dangerous, I fear. I have no right to ask you to take the risk—"
"Wait! Is O'Dowd there?"
"He has left the room. He does not want to hear what I say to you. Don't you understand?"
"Keeping his conscience clear, bless his soul," said Barnes. "It is safe for you to speak freely?"
"I think so. O'Dowd suspected us last night. He came to me this morning and spoke very frankly about it. I feel quite safe with him. You see, I've known him for a long, long time. He did not know that I was to be led into a trap like this. It was not until I had been here for several hours that he realised the true state of affairs. I cannot tell you any more at present, Mr. Barnes. So great are the other issues at stake that my own misfortunes are as nothing."
"You say O'Dowd will not assist you to escape?"
"He urges me to stay here and take my chances. He believes that everything will turn out well for me in the end, but I am frightened. I must get away from this place."
"I'll manage it, never fear. Keep a stiff upper lip."
"Wha—keep a what?"
He laughed. "I forgot that you don't understand our language, Miss Cameron. Have courage, is what I should have said. Are you prepared to fly at a moment's notice?"
"Yes."
"Then, keep your eyes and ears open for the next night or two. Can you tell me where your room is located?"
"It is one flight up; the first of the two windows in my room is the third to the right of the entrance. I am confident that some one is stationed below my windows all night long."
"Are you alone in that room?"
"Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Van Dyke occupy the rooms on my left, Mr. De Soto is on my right."
"Where does Loeb sleep?"
"I do not know." He detected a new note in her voice, and at once put it down to fear.
"You still insist that I am not to call on the authorities for help?"
"Yes, yes! That must not even be considered. I have not only myself to consider, Mr. Barnes. I am a very small atom in—"
"All right! We'll get along without them," he said cheerily. "Afterwards we will discuss the importance of atoms."
"And your reward as well, Mr. Barnes," she said. Her voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur. He heard the receiver click on the hook, and, after calling "hello" twice, hung up his own with a sigh. Evidently O'Dowd had warned her of the approach of a less considerate person than himself.