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Title: An Amiable Charlatan

Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim

Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9664]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on October 14, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN AMIABLE CHARLATAN ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Keith M. Eckrich
and PG Distributed Proofreaders




AN AMIABLE CHARLATAN

BY

E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

(AUTHOR OF "MR. GREX OF MONTE CARLO," "THE DOUBLE TRAITOR", ETC.)


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILL GREF


[Illustration:
"No one can be more glad than Mrs. Delaporte and myself
that this little affair has been concluded so amicably."]


CONTENTS

CHAPTER

    I THE MAN AT STEPHANO'S

   II THE COUP IN THE GAMBLING DEN

  III CULLEN GIVES ADVICE

   IV THE WOOING OF EVE

    V MR. SAMUELSON

   VI THE PARTY AT THE MILAN

  VII "ONE OF US"

 VIII AT THE ALHAMBRA

   IX THE EXPOSURE

    X A BROKEN PARTNERSHIP

   XI MR. BUNDERCOMBE'S WINK

  XII THE EMANCIPATION OF LOUIS

 XIII "THE SHORN LAMB"

  XIV MR. BUNDERCOMBE'S LOVE AFFAIR

   XV LORD PORTHONING'S LESSON


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"No one can be more glad than Mrs. Delaporte and myself that this little
affair has been concluded so amicably"

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please! Nothing has happened"

"I haven't interrupted anything, have I--any little celebration, or
anything of that sort?"

"Eve was one of the first to congratulate me"




AN AMIABLE CHARLATAN



CHAPTER I--THE MAN AT STEPHANO's

The thing happened so suddenly that I really had very little time to make
up my mind what course to adopt under somewhat singular circumstances. I
was seated at my favorite table against the wall on the right-hand side in
Stephano's restaurant, with a newspaper propped up before me, a glass of
hock by my side, and a portion of the _plat du jour_, which happened to be
chicken _en casserole_, on the plate in front of me.

I was, in fact, halfway through dinner when, without a word of warning, a
man who seemed to enter with a lightfooted speed that, considering his
size, was almost incredible, drew a chair toward him and took the vacant
place at my table. My glass of wine and my plate were moved with smooth
and marvelous haste to his vicinity. Under cover of the tablecloth a
packet--I could not tell what it contained--was thrust into my hand.

"Sir," he said, raising my glass of wine to his lips, "I am forced to take
somewhat of a liberty. You can render me the service of a lifetime! Kindly
accept the situation."

I stared at him for a moment quite blankly. Then I recognized him; and,
transferring at once the packet to my trousers pocket, I drew another
glass toward me and poured out the remainder of my half-bottle of hock. So
much, at any rate, I felt I had saved!

"I shall offer you presently," my self-invited guest continued, with his
mouth full of my chicken, "the fullest explanation. I shall also ask you
to do me the honor of dining with me. I think I am right in saying that we
are not altogether strangers?"

"I know you very well by sight," I told him. "I have seen you here several
times before with a young lady."

"Exactly," he agreed. "My daughter, sir."

"Then for the sake of your daughter," I said, with an enthusiasm that was
not in the least assumed, "I can assure you that, whether as host or
guest, you are very welcome to sit at my table. As for this packet--"

"Keep it for a few moments, my young friend," the newcomer interrupted,
"just while I recover my breath, that is all. Have confidence in me.
Things may happen here very shortly. Sit tight and you will never regret
it. My name, so far as you are concerned, is Joseph H. Parker. Tell me,
you are facing the door, some one has just entered. Who is it?"

"A stranger," I replied; "a stranger to this place, I am sure. He is tall
and dark; he is a little lantern-jawed--a hatchet-shaped face, I should
call it."

"My man, right enough," Mr. Joseph H. Parker muttered. "Don't seem to
notice him particularly," he added, "but tell me what he is doing."

"He seems to have entered in a hurry," I announced, "and is now taking off
his overcoat. He is wearing, I perceive, a bowler hat, a dinner jacket,
the wrong-shaped collar; and he appears to have forgotten to change his
boots."

"That's Cullen, all right," Mr. Joseph H. Parker groaned. "You're a person
of observation, sir. Well, I've been in tighter corners than this--thanks
to you!"

"Who is Mr. Cullen and what does he want?" I asked.

"Mr. Cullen," my guest declared, sampling the fresh bottle of wine which
had just been brought to him, "is one of those misguided individuals whose
lack of faith in his fellows will bring him some time or other to a bad
end. My young friend, sip that wine thoughtfully--don't hurry over it--and
tell me whether my choice is not better than yours?"

"Possibly," I remarked, with a glance at the yellow seal, "your pocket is
longer. By the by, your friend is coming toward us."

"It is not a question of pocket," Mr. Parker continued, disregarding my
remark, "it is a question of taste and judgment; discrimination is perhaps
the word I should use. Now in my younger days--Eh? What's that?"

The person named Cullen had paused at my table. His hand was resting
gently upon the shoulder of my self-invited guest. Mr. Parker looked up
and appeared to recognize him with much surprise.

"You, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed. "Say, I'm delighted to see you--I am
sure! But would you mind--just a little lower with your fingers! Too
professional a touch altogether!"

Mr. Cullen smiled, and from that moment I took a dislike to him--a dislike
that did much toward determining the point of view from which I was
inclined to consider various succeeding incidents. He was by no means a
person of prepossessing appearance. His cheeks were colorless save for a
sort of yellowish tinge. His mouth reminded me of the mouth of a horse;
his teeth were irregular and poor.

Yet there was about the man a certain sense of power. His eyes were clear
and bright. His manner was imbued with the reserve strength of a man who
knows his own mind and does not fear to speak it.

"I am sorry to interrupt you at your dinner, Mr. Parker," he said, his
eyes traveling all over the table as though taking in its appointments and
condition.

"Of no consequence at all," Mr. Parker assured him; "in fact I have nearly
finished. If you are thinking of dining here let me recommend this chicken
_en casserole_. I have tasted nothing so good for days!"

Mr. Cullen thanked him mechanically. His mind, however, was obviously
filled with other things. He was puzzled.

"You must have a double about this evening, I fancy," he remarked. "I
could have sworn I saw you coming out of a certain little house in Adam
Street not a couple of minutes ago. You know the little house I mean?"

Mr. Parker smiled.

"Seems as though that double were all right," he said. "I am halfway
through my dinner, as you can see, and I'm a slow eater--especially in
pleasant company. Shake hands with my friend--Mr. Paul Walmsley, Mr.
Cullen."

My surprise at hearing my own name correctly given was only equaled by the
admiration I also felt for my companion's complete and absolute assurance.
Mr. Cullen and I exchanged a perfunctory handshake, which left me without
any change in my feelings toward him.

"Another of my mistakes, I suppose," Mr. Cullen said quietly. "I am afraid
on this occasion, however, that I must trouble you, Mr. Parker. An affair
of a few moments only. I won't even suggest Bow Street--at present. If you
could take a stroll with me--even into Luigi's office would do."

Mr. Parker put down his knife and fork with a little gesture of
irritation. His broad, good-natured face was for the moment clouded. "Say,
Cullen," he remonstrated, "don't you think you're carrying this a bit too
far, you know? There isn't a man I enjoy a half-hour's chat with more than
you; but in the middle of dinner--dinner with a friend too--"

"I try to do my duty," Mr. Cullen interrupted, "and I am afraid that I am
not at liberty to study your comfort."

Mr. Parker sighed heavily.

"Do you mind, Walmsley, having my plate kept warm and reminding the man
that I ordered asparagus to follow?" my new friend remarked, as he rose to
his feet. "Mr. Cullen wants a word or two with me in private, and Mr.
Cullen is a man who will have his own way."

I nodded as indifferently as possible and the two men walked off together
toward the entrance. Then I summoned my waiter.

"Bring me," I ordered, "a fresh portion of chicken and order some
asparagus to follow. Keep my friend's chicken warm and order him some
asparagus also."

Leaning back in my chair I tried to puzzle out the probable meaning of
this somewhat extraordinary happening. My acquiescence in the attitude
that had been so suddenly forced upon me was owing entirely to one
circumstance. Mr. Joseph H. Parker I had recognized at his first entrance
as a regular _habitue_ of the restaurant. He was usually accompanied by a
young lady who, from the first moment I had seen her, had produced an
effect upon my not too susceptible disposition for which I was wholly
unable to account, but which was the sole reason why I had given up my
club and all other restaurants and occupied that particular place for the
last fortnight.

I had put the two down as an American and his daughter traveling in
England for pleasure; and my continual presence at the restaurant was
wholly inspired by the hope that some opportunity might arise by means of
which I could make their acquaintance. Adventures, in the ordinary sense
of the word, had never appealed to me. I was privileged to possess many
charming acquaintances among the other sex, but not one of them had ever
inspired me with anything save the most ordinary feelings of friendship
and admiration.

The opportunity I desired had now apparently come. I had made the
acquaintance of Mr. Joseph H. Parker--made it in an unceremonious manner,
perhaps, but still under circumstances that would probably result in his
being willing to acknowledge himself my debtor. I had a packet of
something belonging to him in my pocket, which was presumably valuable.
His friend, Mr. Cullen, I detested, and the reference to Bow Street
puzzled me. However, I had no doubt that in a few minutes everything would
be explained. Meantime I permitted myself to indulge in certain very
pleasurable anticipations.

In the course of about a quarter of an hour Mr. Joseph H. Parker
reappeared. He came down the room humming a tune and apparently quite
pleased with himself. I took the opportunity of studying his personal
appearance a little more closely. He was not tall, but he was distinctly
fat. He had a large double chin, but a certain freshness of complexion and
massiveness about his forehead relieved his face from any suspicion of
grossness. He had a large and humorous mouth, delightful eyes and
plentiful eyebrows. His iron-gray hair was brushed carefully back from his
forehead. He gave one the idea of strength, notwithstanding the
disabilities of his figure. He smiled contentedly as he seated himself
once more at my table.

"Really," he began, "I scarcely know how to excuse myself, Mr. Walmsley.
However, thanks to you, we can now dine in comfort. Until now I fear I
have taken your good offices very much for granted; but I assure you it
will give me the greatest pleasure to make your closer acquaintance and to
impress upon you my extreme sense of obligation."

"You are very kind," I replied. "By the by, might I ask how you know my
name?"

"My young friend," Mr. Parker said, eying with approval the fresh portion
of chicken that had been brought him, "it is my business to know many
things. I go about the world with my eyes and ears open. Things that
escape other people interest me. Your name is Mr. Paul Walmsley. You are
one of a class of men that practically doesn't exist in America. You have
no particular occupation that I know of, save that you have a small estate
in the country, which no doubt takes up some of your time. You have rooms
in London, which you occupy occasionally. You probably write a little--I
have noticed that you are fond of watching people."

"You really seem to know a good deal about me," I confessed, a little
taken aback.

"I am not far from the mark, am I?"

"You are not," I admitted.

"As regards your lack of occupation," Mr. Parker went on, "I am not the
man to blame you for it. There are very few things in life a man can
settle down to nowadays. To a person of imagination the ordinary routine
of the professions and the ordinary curriculum of business life is a
species of slavery. We live in overcivilized times. There seems to be very
little room anywhere for a man to gratify his natural instincts for change
and adventure."

I murmured my acquiescence with his sentiments and my companion paused for
a few minutes, his whole attention devoted to his dinner.

"Might one inquire," I asked, after a brief pause, "as to your own
profession? You are an American, are you not?"

"I am most certainly an American," Mr. Parker assented.

"In business?" I asked.

Mr. Parker looked round. Our table was comparatively isolated.

"I am an adventurer," he replied mysteriously.

I stared at him and repeated the word. He beamed pleasantly upon me.

"An adventurer! My daughter, whom you have seen here with me, is an
adventuress. We live by our wits and we do pretty well at it. Sometimes we
live in luxury. Sometimes we are up against it good and hard. The Ritz one
day, you know, and Bloomsbury the next; but lots of fun all the time."

I looked at him a little blankly.

"To a certain extent I suppose you are joking?" I asked.

"To no extent at all," he assured me. "By the by, as regards that packet;
would you mind just slipping it under this newspaper?"

I withdrew it from my pocket and obeyed him at once. Mr. Parker's fingers
seemed to play with it for a moment and I noticed at that moment what a
strong and capable hand he seemed to have, with fingers of unusual length
and suppleness.

A dark faced _maitre d'hotel_, who presided over our portion of the room,
came up smiling, with an inquiry as to our coffee. He exchanged a casual
sentence or two with Mr. Parker, bowed and passed on. Mr. Parker, a moment
later, with a little smile lifted the newspaper. The packet had
disappeared. He noticed my look of surprise and seemed gratified.

"A mere trifle, that!" he declared. "I can assure you that I could have
taken it out of your pocket, if I had desired, without your feeling a
thing."

"Wonderful!" I murmured, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"Just a gift!" he continued modestly. "We all have our talents, you know.
I have ordered some special coffee."

I was beginning to think rapidly now.

"By the by," I asked, "what is Mr. Cullen's profession?"

"He is a detective," Mr. Parker answered, without hesitation; "and, to my
mind, a singularly bad one. For two months he has had what they call his
eye on me. Between ourselves I think he will have his eye on me still in
another two months' time. I am sure I hope so, for I frankly admit that
half the savor of life would be gone if my friend, Mr. Cullen, were to
finally give me up as a bad job and leave me alone."

I suppose that something of what I was feeling was reflected in my face. I
had always considered myself a man of the world and I was interested
enough in my fellows to enjoy mixing with all classes.

But there was the girl!

"You are thinking--!" my companion began softly.

"Your friend," I interrupted, "has just entered the restaurant. He is
coming toward this table."

Mr. Parker's expression never changed. Not a muscle twitched. His tone was
even careless.

"Just as well, perhaps," he remarked, "that we worked that little
conjuring trick."

The detective stood once more at our table. My instinctive dislike of him
was now an accomplished thing. I hated his smile of subdued triumph, and
all my fundamental ideas as to law and order were seriously affected by
it. I was distinctly on the side of my new acquaintance.

"I am sorry to interrupt this little feast," Mr. Cullen said, "but I shall
have to trouble you both to come with me for a short time."

Mr. Parker carefully clipped the end of his cigar and leaned back in his
chair while he lit it.

"My friend Cullen," he remonstrated, "I have no objection to offering
myself up as a victim to your super-abundant energy and trotting about
with you wherever you choose; but when it comes to dragging my friends
into it, I just want to say right here that I think you are carrying
things a little too far--just a little too far, sir."

"If either of you seriously object to my request," Mr. Cullen replied
doggedly, "I can put the matter on a different basis."

"Who is this friend of yours and why should we go anywhere with him?" I
asked.

Mr. Parker shook his head mournfully.

"You may well ask," he sighed. "You may not think it, to look at his
ingenuous and honest expression, but the fact, nevertheless, remains that
Mr. Cullen is a misguided but zealous member of the Sherlock Holmes
fraternity: in short, a detective."

I rose to my feet with some alacrity.

"Anything in the shape of an adventure--" I began.

"Not much adventure about this," Mr. Parker interrupted gloomily, brushing
the ashes from his waistcoat and also rising. "We are probably going to be
searched for spoons. However if it must be--"

For the first time in my life I walked side by side with a detective. He
led us to the far end of the restaurant, into an apartment usually used by
the manager as a wine-tasting office, and carefully closed the door behind
us. Outside I caught the glimmer of a policeman's helmet.

"Every precaution taken, you perceive," Mr. Parker remarked. "In case we
should turn out to be desperate characters and, appalled by the fear of
discovery, should be driven to make a personal attack upon Mr. Cullen, a
myrmidon of the law is lurking near. Under those circumstances I shall
eschew violence. I shall submit myself peaceably to a second examination."

I found the affair, on the whole, interesting. I divested myself only of
my coat and waistcoat and Mr. Cullen's fingers did the rest. Only a single
and momentary frown betrayed his disappointment as, ten minutes later, he
unlocked the door.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I owe you my most profound apologies."

"That's all right, Cullen," Mr. Parker observed, patting him on the
shoulder; "but let's have this thing straight now. Are we to be allowed to
finish our dinner in peace or will you be turning up again with a new
idea? And if I take a box for the Tivoli presently, shall we have the
pleasure of seeing you bob in upon us?"

"So far as my present intentions are concerned," Mr. Cullen remarked
grimly, "you may rely upon remaining undisturbed. I am sorry, Mr.
Walmsley," he added, turning to me, "to have been the cause of any
annoyance to you this evening. My advice to you is, if you wish to escape
these inconveniences through life, to avoid the society of people whose
character is known to the police."

"I shall get you for libel yet, Cullen!" Mr. Parker declared, pulling down
his waistcoat.

"What I've done to annoy that man I can't imagine," he went on
impersonally. "Mind, he practises on me--I'm convinced of it."

Mr. Cullen left us abruptly and quitted the restaurant. I returned to our
table with my new friend.

"Really," he said, "I scarcely know how to apologize to you, Mr. Walmsley.
This sort of thing amuses me, as a rule; but I must admit that Mr. Cullen
is apt to get on one's nerves. A well-meaning man, mind, but unduly
persistent!"

I resumed my seat at the table. I was feeling a little dazed. Opposite,
talking to two ladies, was the smooth-faced _maitre d'hotel_ into whose
keeping I felt sure that packet had gone. Seated by my side was the
gentleman who had assured me with the utmost self-possession that he was
an adventurer. And standing in the doorway, looking at us, was the girl
who for the last few weeks had monopolized all my thoughts; who had played
havoc to such a complete extent with the principles of my life that, for
her sake, I was at that moment perfectly willing to range myself even
among the outcasts of the world.




CHAPTER II--THE COUP IN THE GAMBLING DEN

On seeing us the girl advanced into the room. I called Mr. Parker's
attention to her and he rose at once to his feet. It was a cold evening in
April and she was wearing a long coat trimmed with some dark-colored fur,
and a hat also trimmed with fur, but with something blue in it. She was
rather tall; she had masses of dark brown hair, a suspicion of a fringe,
and deep blue eyes. She came toward us very deliberately, with the same
grace of movement I had watched and admired night after night. She gave me
a glance of the slightest possible curiosity as she approached. Then her
father introduced us.

"This is Mr. Paul Walmsley, my dear," he said--"my daughter. Have you
dined, Eve?"

She shook hands with me and smiled very charmingly.

"Hours ago," she replied. "I didn't mean to come out this evening, but I
was so bored that I thought I would try and find you."

She accepted the chair I was holding and unbuttoned her cloak.

"You will have some coffee?" I begged.

"Why, that would be delightful," she agreed. "I am so glad to find you
with my father, Mr. Walmsley," she continued. "I know he hates dining
alone; but this evening I had an appointment with a dressmaker quite late
--and I didn't feel a bit like dinner anyhow."

"You come here often, don't you?" I ventured.

"Very often indeed," she replied. "You see it is not in the least
entertaining where we are staying and the cooking is abominable. Then
father adores restaurants. Do tell me what you have been talking about--
you two men--all the evening?"

"The truth!" Mr. Parker remarked, lighting another cigar. "My daughter
knows that I speak nothing else. It is a weakness of mine. Mr. Walmsley
and I were exchanging notes as to our relative professions. I told him
frankly that I was an adventurer and you an adventuress. I think by now he
is beginning to believe it."

She laughed very softly--almost under her breath; yet I fancied there was
a note of mockery in her mirth.

"Confess that you were very much shocked, Mr. Walmsley!" she said.

"Not in the least," I assured her.

She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly.

"Confess, then," she went on, "confess, Mr. Walmsley, that in all your
well-ordered life you have never heard such an admission made by two
apparently respectable people before."

"How do you know," I asked, "that my life has been well-ordered?"

"Look at yourself in the glass," she begged.

Scarcely knowing what I did, I turned round in my seat and obeyed her.
There is, perhaps, a certain preciseness about my appearance as well as my
attire. I am tall enough--well over six feet--but my complexion still
retains traces of my years in Africa and of my fondness for outdoor
sports. My hair is straight and I have never grown beard or mustache. I
felt, somehow, that I represented the things which in an Englishman are a
little derided by young ladies on the other side of the water.

"I can't help my appearance," I said, a little crossly. "I can assure you
that I am not a prig."

"Our young friend," Mr. Parker intervened, "has certainly earned his
immunity from any such title. To tell you the truth, Eve, he has already
been my accomplice this evening in a certain little matter. But for his
help, who knows that I might not have found myself up against it? Between
us we have even had a little fun out of Cullen."

Her expression changed. She seemed, for some reason, none too well
pleased.

"What have you been doing?" she asked me.

"I, personally, have been doing very little indeed," I told her. "Your
father entered the restaurant in a hurry about an hour ago and found it
convenient to seat himself at my table and help himself to my dinner. He
intrusted me, also, with a packet, which I subsequently returned to him."

"It is now," Mr. Parker declared, replying to his daughter's anxious
glance, "in perfectly safe hands."

She sighed and shook her head at him.

"Daddy," she murmured plaintively, "why will you run such risks? Even Mr.
Cullen isn't an absolute idiot, you know, and there might have been some
one else watching."

Mr. Parker nodded.

"You are quite right, my dear," he admitted. "To tell you the truth,
Cullen was really a little smarter than usual this evening. However,
there's always the luck, you know--our luck! If Mr. Walmsley had turned
out a different sort of man--but, then, I knew he wouldn't."

She turned her head and looked at me. She had a trick of contracting the
corners of her eyes just a little, which was absolutely bewitching.

"Will you tell me why you helped my father in this way, Mr. Walmsley?"

I returned her regard steadfastly.

"It never occurred to me," I said, "to do anything else--after I had
recognized him."

She smiled a little. My speech was obviously sincere. I think from that
moment she began to realize why I had occupied the little table, opposite
to the one where she so often sat, with such unfailing regularity.

"What about a music hall?" Mr. Parker suggested. "I hear there's a good
show on right across the street here. Have you any engagement for this
evening, Mr. Walmsley?"

"None at all," I hastened to assure him.

We left the place together a few minutes later and found a vacant box at
the Tivoli. Arrived there, however, Mr. Parker soon became restless. He
kept on seeing friends in the auditorium. We watched him, with his hat a
little on the back of his head, going about shaking hands in various
directions.

"How long have you been in England?" I asked my companion.

"Barely two months," she replied. "Do look at father! Wherever he goes
it's the same. The one recreation of his life is making friends. The
people he is speaking to to-night he has probably come across in a
railroad train or an American bar. He makes lifelong friendships every
time he drinks a cocktail, and he never forgets a face."

"Isn't that a little trying for you?" I asked.

She laughed outright.

"If you could only see some of the people he brings up and introduces to
me!"

We talked for some time upon quite ordinary subjects. As the time passed
on, however, and her father did not return, it seemed to me she became
more silent. She told me very little about herself and the few personal
things she said were always restrained. I was beginning to feel almost
discouraged; she sat so long with a slight frown upon her forehead and her
head turned away from me.

"Miss Parker," I ventured at last, "something seems to have displeased
you."

"It has," she admitted.

"Will you please tell me what it is?" I asked humbly. "If I have said or
done anything clumsy give me a chance, at any rate, to let you see how
sorry I am."

She turned and faced me then.

"It is not your fault," she assured me; "only I am a little annoyed with
my father."

"Why?"

"I think," she went on, "it is perfectly delightful that he should have
made your acquaintance. It isn't that at all. But I do not think he should
have made use of you in the way he did. He is utterly reckless sometimes
and forgets what he is doing. It is all very well for himself, but he has
no right to expose you to--to--"

"To what risk did he expose me?" I demanded. "Tell me, Miss Parker--was he
absolutely honest when he told me he was an adventurer?"

"Absolutely!"

"Was I, then, an accomplice in anything illegal to-night?"

"Worse than illegal--criminal!" she told me.

Now my father had been a judge and I had a brother who was a barrister;
but the madness was upon me and I spoke quickly and convincingly.

"Then all I have to say about it is that I am glad!" I declared.

"Why?" she murmured, looking at me wonderingly.

"Because he is your father and I have helped him," I answered under my
breath.

For a few moments she was silent. She looked at me however; and as I
watched her eyes grow softer I suddenly held out my hand, and for a moment
she suffered hers to rest in it. Then she drew away a little.

She was still looking at me steadfastly; but something that had seemed to
me inimical had gone from her expression.

"Mr. Walmsley," she said slowly, "I want to tell you I think you are
making a mistake. Please listen to me carefully. You do not belong to the
order of people from whom the adventurers of the world are drawn. What you
are is written in your face. I am perfectly certain you possess the
ordinary conventional ideas as to right and wrong--the ideas in which you
have been brought up and which have been instilled into you all your life.
My father and I belong to a different class of society. There is nothing
to be gained for you by mixing with us, and a great deal to be lost."

"May I not judge for myself?" I asked.

"I fear," she answered, looking me full in the face and smiling at me
delightfully, "you are just a little prejudiced."

"Supposing," I whispered, "I have discovered something that seems to me
better worth living for than anything else I have yet found in the world I
know of--if that something belongs to a world in which I have not yet
lived--do you blame me if for the sake of it I would be willing to climb
down even into----"

She held out her finger warningly. I heard heavy footsteps outside and the
rattle of the doorhandle.

"You are very foolish!" she murmured. "Please let my father in."

Mr. Parker returned in high good humor. He had met a host of acquaintances
and declared that he had not had a dull moment. As for the performance he
seemed to have forgotten there was one going on at all.

"I am for supper," he suggested. "I owe our friend here a supper in return
for his interrupted dinner."

"Supper, by all means!" I agreed.

"Remember that I am wearing a hat," Eve said. "We must go to one of the
smaller places."

In the end we went back to Stephano's. We sat at the table at which I had
so often watched Eve and her father sitting alone, and by her side I
listened to the music I had so often heard while I had watched her from
what had seemed to me to be an impossible distance.

Mr. Parker talked wonderfully. He spoke of gigantic financial deals in
Wall Street; of operations which had altered the policy of nations; of
great robberies in New York, the details of which he discussed with
amazing technical knowledge.

He played tricks with the knives and forks, balanced the glasses in
extraordinary fashion, and reduced our waiters to a state of numbed and
amazed incapacity. Every person who entered he seemed to have some slight
acquaintance with. All the time he was acknowledging and returning
greetings, and all the time he talked.

We spoke finally of gambling; and he laughed heartily when I made mild fun
of the gambling scare that was just then being written up in all the
papers and magazines.

"So you don't believe in baccarat tables in London!" he said. "Very good!
We shall see. After we have supped we shall see!"

We stayed until long past closing time. Mr. Parker continued in the
highest good humor, but Eve was subject at times to moods of either
indifference or depression. The more intimate note which had once or twice
crept into our conversation she seemed now inclined to deprecate. She
avoided meeting my eyes. More than once she glanced toward the clock.

"Haven't you an appointment to-night, father?" she asked, almost in an
undertone.

"Sure!" Mr. Parker answered readily. "I have an appointment, and I am
going to take you and Mr. Walmsley along."

"I am delighted to hear it!" I exclaimed quickly.

"I'll teach you to make fun of the newspapers," Mr. Parker went on. "No
gambling hells in London, eh? Well, we shall see!"

To my great relief Eve made no spoken objection to my inclusion in the
party. When at last we left a large and handsome motor car was drawn up
outside waiting for us.

"A taxicab," Mr. Parker explained, "is of no use to me--of no more use
than a hansom cab. I have to keep a car in order to slip about quietly.
Now in what part of London shall we look for a gambling hell, Mr.
Walmsley? I know of eleven. Name your own street--somewhere in the West
End."

I named one at random.

"The very place!" Mr. Parker declared; "the very place where I have
already an appointment. Get in. Say, you Londoners have no idea what goes
on in your own city!"

We drove to a quiet street not very far from the Ritz Hotel. Mr. Parker
led us across the pavement and we entered a block of flats. The entrance
hall was dimly lit and there seemed to be no one about. Mr. Parker,
however, rang for a lift, which came promptly down.

"You two will stay here," he directed, "for two or three minutes. Then the
lift will come down for you."

He ascended and left us there. I turned at once to Eve, who had scarcely
spoken a word during the drive from the restaurant.

"I do wish you would tell me what is troubling you, Miss Parker," I
begged. "If I am really in the way of course you have only to say the word
and I'll be off at once."

She held my arm for a moment. The touch of her fingers gave me
unreasonable pleasure.

"Please don't think me rude or unkind," she pleaded. "Don't even think
that I don't like your coming along with us--because I do. It isn't that.
Only, as I told my father before supper, you don't belong! You ought not
to be seen at these places, and with us. For some absurd reason father
seems to have taken a fancy to you. It isn't a very good thing for you. It
very likely won't be a good thing for us."

"Do please change your opinion of me a little," I implored her. "I can't
help my appearance; but let me assure you I am willing to play the
Bohemian to any extent so long as I can be with you. There isn't a thing
in your life I wouldn't be content to share," I ventured to add.

She sighed a little petulantly. She was half-convinced, but against her
will.

"You are very obstinate," she declared; "but, of course, you're rather
nice."

After that I was ready for anything that might happen. The lift had
descended and the porter bade us enter. We stopped at the third floor. In
the open doorway of one of the flats Mr. Parker was standing, solid and
imposing. He beckoned us, with a broad smile, to follow him.

To my surprise there were no locked doors or burly doorkeepers. We hung up
our things in the hall and passed into a long room, in which were some
fifteen or twenty people. Most of them were sitting round a _chemin de
fer_ table; a few were standing at the sideboard eating sandwiches. A
dark-haired, dark-eyed, sallow-faced man, a trifle corpulent, undeniably
Semitic, who seemed to be in charge of the place, came up and shook hands
with Mr. Parker.

"Glad to see you, sir--and your daughter," he said, glancing keenly at
them both and then at me. "This gentleman is a friend of yours?"

"Certainly," Mr. Parker replied. "I won't introduce you, but I'll answer
for him."

"You would like to play?"

"I will play, certainly," Mr. Parker answered cheerfully. "My friend will
watch--for the present, at any rate."

He waved us away, himself taking a seat at the table. I led Eve to a divan
at the farther corner of the room. We sat there and watched the people.
There were many whose faces I knew--a sprinkling of stock-brokers, one or
two actresses, and half a dozen or so men about town of a dubious type. On
the whole the company was scarcely reputable. I looked at Eve and sighed.

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

"This is no sort of place for you, you know," I ventured.

"Here it comes," she laughed; "the real, hidebound, respectable
Englishman! I tell you I like it. I like the life; I like the light and
shade of it all. I should hate your stiff English country houses, your
highly moral amusements, and your dull day-by-day life. Look at those
people's faces as they bend over the table!"

"Well, I am looking at them," I told her. "I see nothing but greed. I see
no face that has not already lost a great part of its attractiveness."

"Perhaps!" she replied indifferently. "I will grant you that greed is the
keynote of this place; yet even that has its interesting side. Where else
do you see it so developed? Where else could you see the same emotion
actuating a number of very different people in an altogether different
manner?"

"For an adventuress," I remarked, "you seem to notice things."

"No one in the world, except those who live by adventures, ever has any
inducement to notice things," she retorted. "That is why amateurs are such
failures. One never does anything so well as when one does it for one's
living."

"The question is arguable," I submitted.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Every question is arguable if it is worth while," she agreed carelessly.
"Look at all those people coming in!"

"I don't understand it," I confessed. "These places are against the law,
yet there seems to be no concealment at all! Why aren't we raided?"

"Raids in this part of London only take place by arrangement," she assured
me. "This place will reach its due date sometime, but every one will know
all about it beforehand. They are making a clear profit here of about four
hundred pounds a night and it has been running for two months now. When
the raid comes Mr. Rubenstein--I think that is his name--can pay his five-
hundred-pound fine and move on somewhere else. It's wicked--the money they
make here some nights!"

"You seem to know a good deal about it," I remarked.

"The place interests father," she told me. "He comes here often."

"And you?"

"Sometimes. I am not always in the humor."

I looked at her long and thoughtfully. Her beauty was entirely the beauty
of a young girl. There were no signs of late hours or anxiety in her face.
She puzzled me more than ever.

"I wish I knew," I said, "exactly what you mean when you call yourself an
adventuress."

She laughed.

"It means this," she explained: "To-night I have money in my purse, jewels
on my fingers, a motor car to ride home in. In a week's time, if things
went badly with us, I might have nothing. Then father or I, or both of us,
would go out into the world to replenish, and from whomever had most of
what we desired we should take as opportunity presented itself."

"Irrespective of the law?"

"Absolutely!"

"Irrespective of your sense of right and wrong?"

"My sense of right and wrong, according to your standards, does not
exist."

I gave it up. She seemed thoroughly in earnest, and yet every word she
spoke seemed contrary to my instinctive judgment of her. She pointed to
the table.

"Look!" she whispered. "These people don't seem as though they had all
that money to gamble with, do they? Look! There must be at least a
thousand or fifteen hundred pounds upon the table."

It was just as she said these words that the thing happened. From
somewhere among the little crowd of people gathered round the table there
came the sound of heavy stamping on the floor, and in less than a moment
every light in the room went out. The place was in somber darkness. Then,
breaking the momentary silence, there came from outside a shrill whistle.
Again there was a silence--and then pandemonium! In a dozen different keys
one heard the same shout:

"The police!"

Eve gripped my arm. My matchbox was out in a moment and I struck a match,
holding it high over my head. As it burned a queer little halo of light
seemed thrown over the table. The door was wide open and blocked with
people rushing out. The banker was still sitting in his place. At first I
seemed to have the idea that Mr. Parker was by his side. Then, to my
astonishment, I saw him at the opposite end of the table, standing as
though he had appeared from nowhere. A stentorian voice was heard from
outside:

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please! Nothing has happened. The lights
will be on again immediately."

Almost as he spoke the place was flooded with light.

The faces of the people were ghastly. A babel of voices arose.

"Where are the police?"

"Where are they?"

"Who said the police?"

The little dark gentleman whose name was Rubenstein stood upon a chair.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, "nothing whatever has happened--
nothing! The electric lights went out owing to an accident, which I will
investigate. It seems to have been a practical joke on the part of the
lift man, who has disappeared. There are no police here. Please take your
places. The game will proceed."

They came back a little reluctantly, as though still afraid. Then suddenly
the banker's hoarse voice rang out through the room. All the time he had
been sitting like an automaton. Now he was on his feet, swaying backward
and forward, his eyes almost starting from his head.

"Lock the doors! The bank has been robbed! The notes have gone! Mr.
Rubenstein, don't let any one go out! I tell you there was two thousand
pounds upon the table. Some one has the notes!"

There was a little murmur of voices and a shriek from one of the women as
she clutched her handbag. Mr. Parker, bland and benign, rose to his feet.

"My own stake has disappeared," he declared; "and the pile of notes I
distinctly saw in front of the banker has gone. I fear, Mr. Rubenstein,
there is a thief among us."

Mr. Rubenstein, white as a sheet, was standing at the door. He locked it
and put the key in his pocket.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "play is over for to-night. We are,
without a doubt, the victims of an attempted robbery. The lights were
turned out from the controlling switch by the lift man, who has
disappeared. I will ask you to leave the room one by one; and, for all our
sakes, I beg that any unknown to us will submit themselves to be
searched."

There was a little angry murmur. Mr. Rubenstein looked pleadingly round.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he begged, "you will not object, I am sure. I am a
poor man. Two thousand pounds of my money has gone from that table--all
the money I kept in reserve to make a bank for you. If any one will return
it now nothing shall be said. But to lose it all--I tell you it would ruin
me!"

The perspiration stood out on his forehead. He looked anxiously round, as
though seeking for sympathy. Mr. Parker came over to his side.

"Say, Mr. Rubenstein," he declared, "there isn't any one here who wants
you to lose a five-pound note--that's a sure thing! But there is just one
difficulty about this searching business: How can you identify your notes?
If I, for instance, were to insist that I had brought with me two thousand
pounds in banknotes in my pocket--which, let me hasten to assure you, I
didn't--how could you deny it?"

"My notes," Mr. Rubenstein replied feverishly, "all bear the stamp of
Lloyd's Bank and to-day's date. They can all be recognized."

"In that case," Mr. Parker continued, "I recommend you, Mr. Rubenstein, to
insist upon searching every person here not thoroughly known to you; and I
recommend you, ladies and gentlemen," he added, looking round, "to submit
to be searched. It will not be a very strenuous affair, because no one can
have had time to conceal the notes very effectively. I think you will all
agree with me that we cannot allow our friend, who has provided us with
amusement for so many nights, to run the risk of a loss like this. Begin
with me, Mr. Rubenstein. No--I insist upon it. You know me better than
most of your clients, I think; but I submit myself voluntarily to be
searched."

"I thank you very much indeed, sir," Mr. Rubenstein declared quickly. "It
is very good of you to set the example," he continued, thrusting his hand
into Mr. Parker's pockets. "Ah! I see nothing here--nothing! Notes in this
pocket--ten, twenty, thirty. Not mine, I see--no Lloyd's stamp. Gold! A
pleasant little handful of gold, that. Mr. Parker, I thank you, sir. If
you will be so good as to pass into the next room."

I brought Eve up. We were recognized as having been sitting upon the divan
and Mr. Rubenstein, with a bow and extended hand, motioned to us to pass
on.

"You will visit us again, I trust," he said, "when we are not so
disturbed."

"Most certainly!" Mr. Parker promised in our names. "Most certainly, Mr.
Rubenstein. We will all come again. Good night!"

We walked out to the landing and, descending the stairs, reached the
street and stepped into the motor car that was waiting for us. It rolled
off and turned into Piccadilly.

"How much was it, father?" Eve asked suddenly, from her place in the
corner.

"I am not sure," Mr. Parker answered. "There is a matter of eight hundred
pounds in my right shoe, and a little more than that, I think, in my left.
The note down my back was, I believe, a hundred-pound one. Quite a
pleasant little evening and fairly remunerative! The lift man will cost me
a hundred--but he was worth it."

I sat quite still. I felt that Eve's eyes were watching me. I set my teeth
for a moment; and I turned toward her, my cigarette case in my hand.

"You don't mind?" I murmured as I lit a cigarette.

She shook her head. Her eyes were still fixed upon me.

"Where can we drop you?" Mr. Parker inquired.

"If the evening is really over and there are no more excitements to come,
you might put me down at the Milan Court," I told him, "if that is
anywhere on your way."

Mr. Parker lifted the speaking tube to his lips and gave an order. We
glided up to the Milan a few minutes later.

"I have enjoyed my evening immensely," I assured Eve impressively, "every
moment of it; and I do hope, Mr. Parker," I added as I shook hands, "that
you and your daughter will give me the great pleasure of dining with me
any night this week. If there are any other little adventures about here
in which I could take a hand I can assure you I should be delighted. I
might even be of some assistance."

They both of them looked at me steadfastly. Then Eve at last glanced away,
with a little shrug of the shoulders, and Mr. Joseph H. Parker gripped my
hand.

"Say, you're all right!" he pronounced. "You just ring up 3771A Gerrard
to-morrow morning between ten and eleven."




CHAPTER III--CULLEN GIVES ADVICE

At ten o'clock the following morning my telephone bell rang and a visitor
was announced. I did not catch the name given me, and it was only when I
opened the door to him in response to his ring that I recognized Mr.
Cullen. In morning clothes, which consisted in his case of a blue serge
suit that needed brushing and a bowler hat of extinct shape, he seemed to
me, if possible, a little more objectionable than I had found him the
previous night. He presented himself, however, in a wholly non-aggressive
spirit.

"Mr. Walmsley," he said, as he took the chair to which I motioned him, "I
have called to see you very largely in your own interests."

I murmured something to the effect that I was extremely obliged.

"I have made inquiries concerning you," he went on, "and I find that you
not only have a blameless record but that you are possessed of
considerable means, and that you belong to a highly esteemed county
family."

"And what of it, Mr. Cullen?" I asked.

"This," he answered, "that I feel it my duty to warn you against the
companions with whom you spent a portion of last evening."

"You mean Mr. and Miss Parker?"

"I mean Mr. and Miss Parker."

"Are you making any definite charges against this young lady and
gentleman?" I inquired after a moment's pause.

"Very definite charges indeed!" he replied. "I warn you, Mr. Walmsley,
that this man and his daughter are in bad repute with us, and to be seen
associated with them is to bring yourself under police surveillance. We
had a special warning when they sailed from New York, and since their
arrival in London they have already been concerned in two or three very
shady transactions."

"If they break the law," I inquired, "why do you not arrest them?"

"Because I have had bad luck--rotten bad luck!" Mr. Cullen declared
firmly. "I am perfectly convinced that this Mr. Parker, as he calls
himself, has been financing one of the greatest artists in banknote
counterfeits ever known to the police. I am perfectly convinced that Mr.
Parker left this young man in Adam Street last night, with a packet of
notes upon his person for which he had just paid two hundred pounds, and
if I could have arrested him then the game would have been up. He dodged
me by going into the Cecil, leaving by the back way and coming through the
Savoy; but I picked him up again within two minutes of his reaching
Stephano's.

"Obviously with your collusion--you'll pardon me, sir, but there the facts
are--he was seated at your table as though in the middle of a dinner. I
had him searched, but there wasn't a thing on him. I am not going to ask
you what he did with the notes he had--whether he palmed them off on you
or not--but I will simply say that between the time of his entering
Stephano's and the time of my searching him he got rid of a thousand
pounds' worth of counterfeit notes."

"Sounds very clever of him!" I remarked. "How do you know that he didn't
get rid of them to some one in either the Cecil or the Savoy?"

"Because," Mr. Cullen explained, "he was followed by one of my men through
both places and not lost sight of for a single second. You see, I made
sure he would come to Stephano's and I was on the other side of the
Strand, but I had left a man in case he went the other way. I tell you he
was under the strictest surveillance the whole time, except during the few
minutes--I might almost say seconds--when he disappeared in the
restaurant."

"Anything else against him?" I asked.

"I am not inclined," Mr. Cullen continued slowly, "to mention specifically
the various cases that have come under my notice and in which I believe
him to be concerned; but, among other things, he is a frequenter of half
the gambling houses in London and a tout for their owners. Trouble follows
wherever he goes. But, Mr. Walmsley, mark my words! I am not a man given
to idle speech and I assure you that within a few weeks--perhaps within a
few days--I shall have him; aye, and the young lady, too! You don't want
to be mixed up in this sort of business, sir. I am here to give you the
advice to sheer off! They'll only rob you and bring you, too, under
suspicion."

I lit a cigarette and stood on the hearthrug with my hands behind me.

"Mr. Cullen," I said, "it is, of course, very kind of you to come to me in
this disinterested manner. You don't seem to have anything to gain by it,
so I will accept your attitude as being a bona fide one. I will, if I may,
be equally frank with you. I met both Mr. Parker and his daughter last
night for the first time----"

"Then that dinner was a plant!" Mr. Cullen interrupted swiftly. "I knew
it!"

I ignored the interruption.

"For the first time," I repeated; "and I find them both most delightful
companions. As to how far our acquaintance may progress, that is entirely
a matter for chance to decide. You have doubtless come here with very good
motives, but I see no reason why I should accept your statements
concerning Mr. Parker and his daughter. You understand? My suggestion is
that you are mistaken. Until I have proved them to be other than they
represent themselves to be," I added with infinite subtlety, "I shall
continue to derive pleasure from their society."

Mr. Cullen rose at once to his feet.

"My warning has been given, sir," he said. "It only remains for me now to
wish you good morning, and to assure you most regretfully that your name
will be added to those whom Scotland Yard thinks it well to watch and that
your movements from place to place will be noted."

"I trust that Scotland Yard will benefit," I replied politely, and showed
him out.

At half past ten I rang up 3771A Gerrard. The telephone was answered
almost immediately by a man, apparently a servant. I inquired for Mr.
Parker and in a moment or two I heard his voice at the telephone.

"This is Joseph H. Parker speaking. Who are you?"

"I am Paul Walmsley. You told me I might ring up between ten and eleven."

"Sure!" was the prompt reply. "My dear fellow, I am delighted to hear from
you. None the worse for our little adventure last night, I hope?"

"Not in the least," I assured him. "On the contrary I am looking forward
to another."

"You shall have one," was the delighted answer.

"What about--What is it, Eve? Excuse me for one moment, Mr. Walmsley."

Mr. Parker was apparently dragged away from the telephone. I waited
impatiently. He returned in a moment or two. His voice sounded as though
he were a little irritated.

"Sorry," he said. "I was going to make a little suggestion to you for this
evening, but my daughter here doesn't fall in with it. They will have
their own way--these girls."

"It's very disappointing!" I said. "Don't you think you could prevail on
her?"

"Look here!" Mr. Parker continued. "I'll tell you what: Let's meet
accidentally at dinner tonight. I'll talk Eve round before then. You drop
into Stephano's for dinner at about seven-thirty. Then, when you see us
there, you can come over and join us."

"Thank you very much," I replied heartily. "By the by, I suppose you
couldn't tell me your address? I should like to send Miss Parker some
flowers."

Mr. Parker obviously hesitated.

"Better not," he decided regretfully--"not this morning, at any rate. Eve
is a bit peculiar; and if you come into our little scheme and it goes
wrong the less you know of us the better. See you later!"

I did see Mr. Parker later, but not quite so late as the time appointed.
He was in the American bar at the Milan when I looked in there just before
luncheon and was talking to two of the most ferocious and objectionable-
looking ruffians I had ever seen in my life. He glanced at me blandly, but
without any sign of recognition, save that I fancied I caught the
slightest twitch of his left eyebrow. I took the hint and did not join
him. My reward came presently; for, after leaving the room with his two
acquaintances, Mr. Parker strolled back again, and coming straight over to
me clapped me on the shoulder.

"This is capital!" he exclaimed. "We meet tonight?"

"Without a doubt," I assured him.

He drew me a little on one side.

"Say," he inquired, scratching the side of his chin, "have you any
objection to a bit of a scrap?"

"Not the slightest," I replied, "so long as Miss Parker is out of it!"

"Good boy!" Mr. Parker pronounced. "Yes; we'll keep her out of it, all
right. I shall count on you then. Just keep yourself in reserve. We'll
talk it over at dinner time. You just stroll in casually and I'll call you
over. By the by," he added, lowering his voice, "did you see those two
fellows I was with?"

"I saw them!" I confessed. "They were just a trifle noticeable."

Mr. Parker came a little nearer to me. He accentuated his words by beating
on the palm of his left hand with two fingers of his right.

"Absolutely, my dear Walmsley, two of the most unmitigated and desperate
ruffians on either continent!"

"They looked it," I agreed heartily.

"Their record," Mr. Parker continued--"their police record, I mean--is one
of the most wonderful things ever put on paper. The marvelous thing is
how, even for a few minutes, they should be out of prison! Did you notice
the one with the cast in his eye?"

"I did," I admitted.

"They used to call him Angel Jake," Mr. Parker proceeded confidentially.
"He was sentenced to death once for shooting a policeman, but there was
some technicality--he was tried in the wrong court--so he got off."

"A very interesting acquaintance," I remarked with utterly wasted sarcasm.

"They're fairly up to their necks in trouble, both of them, on the other
side," Mr. Parker declared with relish; "and they're kind o' looking for
it here."

I took him by the arm and led him out of the bar into a retired corner of
the smoking room. We sat upon a divan and had the room almost to
ourselves.

"How is Miss Parker this morning?" I asked.

"Fine!" her father replied. "I told her about the flowers and it made her
quite homesick. Girls miss that sort of thing, you know; and over here,
living under a sort of cloud, as it were, one can't risk making many
friends."

It was a very good opening for me and I took advantage of it.

"Why do you choose to live under a cloud, Mr. Parker?" I asked.

"My dear fellow," he replied earnestly, "I don't altogether choose. I have
been frank with you. It's my life."

"If it were only a question of money----" I began tentatively.

"A question of money!" Mr. Parker interrupted. "Isn't everything a
question of money? Say, what do you mean exactly?"

"I mean that I admire your daughter, sir--I admire her immensely," I told
him. "If she'd have me I'd marry her to-morrow, I am not what you would
call a wealthy man, but I have enough money for all reasonable purposes."

Mr. Parker was clearly staggered. He stroked his waistcoat for a moment in
an absent sort of way.

"This takes my breath away!" he exclaimed. "Let us understand exactly what
it means."

"It means," I told him bluntly, "that I'll make a settlement upon your
daughter and give you enough to live on."

He looked first at me and then at the carpet. He began to whistle softly.

"And they always told me," he murmured under his breath, "that you
Britishers were so cautious! Why, you know nothing about us at all except
what I've told you, and goodness knows that isn't much of a
recommendation! Besides, I may not have told you half!"

"I am willing to take my risk," I declared. "I simply don't care. Once in
a lifetime a man has that feeling for a woman. If he is wise he goes nap
on it. I have never had it before and I am not going to let go. I feel
that if I do I may regret it all my life. I don't want any other woman in
this world except your daughter, and what I possess in life worth having I
am willing to give to make sure of her."

Mr. Parker sat for several moments in profound silence. I could not make
out what his mood was, He seemed neither unduly depressed nor elated. He
was obviously puzzled, however--puzzled to know precisely what to do or
what to say. He sat in the middle of the divan with one thumb in his
waistcoat pocket and the other hand flat upon the table. His round face
was innocent of smile or frown. Yet I knew he was taking what I had said
seriously, though for some reason or other it did not seem to give him
unqualified pleasure.

"Well, well!" he said at last. "You've spoken up like a man, anyway--and
like a man who knows what he wants. I can't tell how to answer you. I have
never lived on any one yet. Sponging's never been in my line. I have
enjoyed living on my wits. And Eve--she's a little that way, too. Makes me
kind of sorry I've let her go about with me so much. It's a wonderful
cloak of respectability you'd throw over us; but I'm wondering whether
it's large enough!"

"As my wife--" I began.

"Oh, yes! you'd gather her in all right to start with," he interrupted;
"but there are other things," he added, turning a little toward me and
looking me in the face. "Suppose she didn't turn out just as you thought!
She's a wild, high-spirited sort of creature--is Eve. She loves the music
and the rattle of life. I can't fancy her in one of those out-of-the-way,
God-forsaken little mudholes you call an English village, sitting in an
early-Victorian drawing-room all the afternoon, waiting for the vicar's
wife to come to tea, and taking a walk before dinner for entertainment,
with an umbrella and mackintosh."

"You've been reading Jane Austen," I told him.

"Never heard of her," he replied promptly. "I once--but never mind. Just
keep this to yourself for a bit, my boy. If we come to any arrangement
there are one or two things we've got on that we might have to drop. We'll
think this over. So long until this evening."

He bustled away then, evidently anxious to escape any further
conversation. I went about my business, which consisted of a visit to my
lawyer's and a couple of rubbers of bridge at my club before dinner.

At half past seven precisely I strolled into Stephano's. I had scarcely
taken my table before Mr. Parker and Eve entered. Contrary to his usual
custom, Mr. Parker was wearing a dress coat, white waistcoat and white
tie; and Eve looked exquisite in a low-necked gown of white silk. Mr.
Parker, according to his promise, at once beckoned me over.

"My dear boy," he said, "I insist upon it that you sit down and dine with
us. Last night I dined with you. To be literal, I ate off your plate.
Tonight I return the compliment."

I had no idea of refusing, but I was watching Eve with some anxiety. Her
attitude seemed a little negative. However, she welcomed me pleasantly.

"Well," she asked, "is your conscience beginning to prick yet?"

"My conscience," I replied, "is about as imaginary a thing as my early-
Victorian drawing-room. I can assure you I have the most profound
admiration for your father. I think he is one of the cleverest men I ever
met."

She seemed a little taken aback. My tone, I felt quite sure, was
convincing.

"Of course," she remarked, "it is possible I have formed a wrong idea of
Englishmen. I have met only one or two."

"I should say it is highly probable," I agreed. "What scheme of villainy
is before us to-night? I claim a share in it at any rate."

She shook her head.

"Not to-night, I am afraid."

Mr. Parker, with the menu in front of him, was busy with the waiter and a
_maitre d'hotel_. I dropped my voice a little.

"Why not? Are you going to the theater?"

"To the opera."

"You love music?" I asked.

She leaned a little toward me. Her hair almost brushed my cheek as she
whispered:

"We love jewelry!"

I flatter myself that not a muscle of my face moved.

"No place like the opera!" I remarked. "You should do well there with a
little luck."

This time I certainly scored. She looked at me fixedly for a moment. Then
she laughed softly.

"I want a pearl necklace," she said.

"What about the one you have on?"

She held it out toward me.

"Imitations, unfortunately," she sighed. "They may look very nice, but
they don't feel like the real thing."

"Why can't I go to the opera with you?" I suggested.

"Because there are no vacant seats anywhere near ours," she replied. "You
see we happen to know whom we are going to sit near."

"Anyhow, I think I shall go," I decided, "I may be able to come and talk
to you between the acts at any rate."

Mr. Parker, having finished giving his orders, joined in the conversation,
and we dined together quite cheerily. For educated Americans they seemed
very ignorant of English life, and I was not surprised to hear that it was
their first visit to Europe. They listened with interest to a great deal
that I told them. It was only as we were preparing to leave the place that
I asked Mr. Parker a definite question.

"Tell me," I whispered, "have you really any plans for to-night?"

He nodded. "Sure! We are in luck just now. There's nothing like backing
it."

"Are those fellows I saw you with this morning at the Milan in it? If so I
am going to take Miss Parker away. There are limits--"

He patted me on the back.

"That little affair is off for to-night at any rate. A lady we are very
anxious to meet is going to the opera. The little girl wants a pearl
necklace. Well, we shall see!"

"You've thought over what I said? Have you mentioned it to her?"

"Only kind of hinted at it. It's no good putting it too straight to her.
She's got the bit between her teeth and she'll need to be humored."

Eve had gone to fetch her cloak and we were alone outside the door. I
looked at him steadfastly--he was so very pink and white, so very
cheerful, so utterly optimistic!

"You've never seen the inside of an English prison, have you, Mr. Parker?"
I asked.

He stared at me blankly.

"I am not thinking about you or myself," I went on. "She's so dainty and
sweet! She looks like a child who has never known an hour of rough usage
in her life. They wouldn't leave her much of that, you know."

I had certainly succeeded in making an impression this time. Mr. Parker's
smooth forehead was wrinkled; his face was clouded.

"You are right, Mr. Walmsley," he admitted. "I wish--I wish she would
listen to reason. We'll have a talk together--the three of us--soon.
You've no idea how difficult it is! She doesn't know fear--can't realize
danger. Hush! Here she comes. It will only set her against you if she
thinks you are trying to influence me behind her back."

Mr. Parker's car was waiting and we drove together to Covent Garden. I
left them in the vestibule and went to call on some of my friends. My
sister had a box in the second tier and I was fortunate enough to find her
there and alone with her husband. Almost directly underneath us in the
stalls Mr. Parker and Eve were sitting; and next Mr. Parker was a woman
wearing a pearl necklace. I asked my sister her name. She raised her
lorgnette and looked over the side of the box.

"Lady Orstline," she told me. "Her husband is a South African
millionaire."

"Are those real pearls she is wearing?" I inquired.

"My dear Paul," she laughed, "why not? Her husband is enormously wealthy
and they say that her jewels are wonderful. Unlike so many of those
people, she really does select very fine stones, independent of size.
Those pearls she is wearing now, for instance, are quite small, but their
luster is exquisite. What an extraordinary fat man is sitting next her--
and what a pretty girl!"

"Americans," I remarked.

"They look it," she agreed. "Quite the Gibson type of girl, isn't she?"

The curtain went up and we turned our attention to the stage. As a rule I
find music soothing; but that night proved an exception--perhaps because
my moderately well-ordered life had crumbled into pieces; because I was
conscious of a new and overmastering passion--the music appealed to me in
an altogether different way. My enjoyment was no longer impersonal--a
matter of the brain and the judgment. I felt the excitement of it
throbbing in my pulses. The gloomy, half-lit auditorium seemed full of
strange suggestions. I felt in real and actual touch with the great things
that throbbed beneath. I was no longer an auditor--a looker-on. I had
become a participator.

The hours passed as though in a dream. I talked to my sister and her
husband, and exchanged the usual gossip with their callers. I even paid a
call or two on my own account; but I have no recollection of whom I went
to see or what we talked about. I had no chance to visit either Mr. Parker
or Eve, for neither of them left their places and they were in the middle
of a row; but I took good care that we were close together in the
vestibule toward the end. With a little shiver I saw that Lady Orstline
was there too--next Mr. Parker. I was a few feet behind them both, with my
sister. I found myself watching almost feverishly.

As usual there was a block outside, and the few yards between us and the
door seemed interminable. I had none of the optimism of those others. I
was filled with vague fears of some impending disaster. Suddenly, with a
shiver, I recognized Cullen, scarcely a couple of yards away, also
watching, wedged in among the throng. His lips were drawn closely
together; his opera hat was well over his forehead; his eyes never left
Mr. Parker. He looked to me there like a lean-faced rat preparing for its
spring.

I followed the exact direction of his steadfast gaze and I became cold
with apprehension. Lady Orstline was just in front of me; by her side was
Eve, and immediately behind her Mr. Parker, I tried to lean over, but in
the crush it was impossible.

"Some one you want to speak to, Paul?" my sister asked.

"There's a man there--if I can only get at him."

The little crowd in front of us was suddenly thrown into disorder by
having to let through two people whose carriage had been called. We seemed
to lose ground in the confusion, for a moment or two later I noticed Lady
Orstline standing outside the door, and my heart sank as I realized that
her neck was bare. Almost at the same instant I saw her hand fly up and
heard her voice.

"My necklace!" she called out. "Policeman, don't let any one pass out! My
necklace has been stolen--my pearls!"

The confusion that followed was indescribable. The doors were almost
barricaded. My sister and her husband and I were allowed through easily
enough, as we were known to be subscribers, but almost every one else
seemed to be undergoing a sort of cross-examination. My brother-in-law was
disposed to be irritable.

"Why can't the silly woman look after her jewels?" he exclaimed. "Another
advertisement, I suppose."

"Can we drop you anywhere, Paul?" my sister inquired. "Or would you like
to give us some supper?"

I had been staring out of the window. There was not a sign anywhere of Eve
or her father; nor had I been able to catch a glimpse of Mr. Cullen.

"I am sorry," I replied; "but I am supping with some friends at
Stephano's. Could you set me down there?"

My sister raised her eyebrows as she gave the order. We were already in
the Strand.

"Really, Paul," she remonstrated, "at your time of life--you are thirty-
four years old, mind--I think you might leave Stephano's to the other
generation!"

"Second childhood!" I explained as I descended. "In any case I really have
an appointment here. Give you supper any other night with pleasure. Many
thanks!"

My first intention had been not to enter the place at all, but to return
at once to Covent Garden. Some impulse, however, prompted me to glance
round the room first. To my amazement Eve and her father were already
seated at their usual table--Eve drawing off her gloves and her father
with the wine list in his hand. I made my way toward them. I suppose my
expression indicated a certain stupefaction, for directly I got there Eve
began to laugh softly up into my face.

"We aren't ghosts!" she declared. "Did you think _you_ were the only
person who could leave the opera house in a hurry?"

"I saw you in the vestibule," I ventured. "I never saw you get away."

"No more did our friend Cullen," Mr. Parker remarked, smiling. "I really
am beginning to feel sorry for that man. We were within a yard or two of
him and he was watching us good and hard. I think he had an idea that Eve
had a weakness for pearls."

"Oh, don't!" I exclaimed rather sharply. "Even in joke it isn't exactly
wise, is it, with people passing all the time?"

"Joke!" Mr. Parker repeated. "Precious little joke about it, I can assure
you. I dare say it looked simple enough to you, but it was really quite a
complicated business. Never mind, Eve has her pearls--and that's the great
thing."

Then he thrust his hand into his trousers pocket and, without the least
attempt at concealment, produced and plumped upon the table in front of
him the pearl necklace which only a few minutes before I had seen upon the
neck of Lady Orstline.

"Look much better on Eve when they've been re-strung, won't they?" he
observed. "Gee whiz! What lovely stones they are!"

"Put it away!" I gasped. "For Heaven's sake, put it away!"

"Why should I?" he asked coolly.

My heart suddenly seemed to stop beating. I felt as though the end of the
world had come. With the light of triumph ablaze in his narrow black eyes,
Mr. Cullen was standing by our table!

"Good evening, Mr. Parker!" he said in a tone from which he struggled to
keep the note of triumph. "Good evening, young lady!"

The hand of Mr. Parker had suddenly covered the pearl necklace. Mr. Cullen
was looking steadily toward it.

"I trust," he continued, "that my arrival was not inopportune. I haven't
interrupted anything, have I--any little celebration, or anything of that
sort?"

"On the contrary, we are always pleased to see you," Mr. Parker declared
warmly. "Sit right down, Mr. Cullen! You'll join us, I trust? We were just
thinking of ordering a little supper."

Mr. Cullen shook his head. "Perhaps," he advised, "it would be better to
postpone that order."

"Postpone it?" Mr. Parker repeated, glancing at the clock. "Why, it's late
enough now. Good Heavens, is that the time?"

Mr. Cullen and I both glanced at the clock at the other end of the room.
It was twenty minutes to twelve. The detective looked back with a smile.

"You are a past master, Mr. Parker," he said, "in the accomplishment that,
I believe, in your country goes by the name of bluff; but there are
limits, you know. I shall have to ask you and your daughter and Mr.
Walmsley here to accompany me at once to Bow Street. And," he added,
suddenly leaning across the table, "move your right hand, please! Don't
make a disturbance--for Luigi's sake! If you want trouble you can have
it."

Mr. Parker raised his hand at once.

"Trouble?" he echoed. "That's the last thing I'm looking for."

Mr. Cullen smiled grimly.

"Ah! I thank you," he said. "A pearl necklace, I see! You must allow me to
take charge of this, please."

Mr. Parker's look of surprise was admirably done.

"That is my daughter's necklace," he explained. "The fastening has become
loose."

"Exactly!" Mr. Cullen sneered. "I am now going to ask you all three to
come with me without any further delay to Bow Street."

"This man is mad!" Mr. Parker sighed, leaning back in his place--"stark,
staring mad! His interference with my meals is becoming unwarrantable."

"If you take my advice you will avoid a scene," the detective said,
leaning a little over the table. "Believe me, I am not to be trifled with.
If you do not come willingly there are other means. I am simply trying to
avoid a disturbance in a public restaurant."

Mr. Parker rose reluctantly to his feet.

"Eve, dear," he said, "I suppose we may as well obey this very autocratic
person. The sooner we go the sooner we shall be back to supper. Mr.
Walmsley, I owe you my most profound apologies. I had no idea when I asked
you to join us that you would become involved in anything disagreeable."

"Don't mind me," I begged him. "I am glad to come. Perhaps we had better
get it over as soon as possible."

"We shall be back," Mr. Parker explained to Luigi, who had strolled up to
see what was happening, "in twenty minutes. Prepare, if you please, three
oyster cocktails, some grilled cutlets, and saute potatoes. Thank you,
Luigi. In twenty minutes, mind!"

We passed out toward the entrance. Mr. Cullen was walking with almost
professional proximity to his companion. Eve and I were a few steps in the
rear.

"Eve," I whispered, drawing her for a moment close to me, "remember that
whatever comes of this--whatever happens--there is no word I have ever
said to you, or to your father about you, which I do not mean and shall
not always mean."

She looked at me a little curiously. From the first her own demeanor had
been singularly unmoved. During the last few seconds, however, she had
grown paler. She suddenly took my hand and gave it a little squeeze.

"You really are a little more than nice!" she said.

We drove to the police station and Mr. Cullen ushered us at once into a
private room, where an inspector was seated at a table.

"Mr. Hennessey, sir," he began, "I have a charge of theft against this man
and his daughter. I watched them at the opera house to-night. At the
entrance they were both of them hustling Lady Orstline. As you may have
heard, she cried out suddenly that her pearl necklace had been stolen. I
rushed for these two, but by some means or other they got away. I followed
them to Stephano's restaurant and discovered them with the necklace on the
table in front of them; The man Parker was showing it to the other two. He
attempted to conceal it, but I was just in time."

The inspector nodded.

"Very good, Mr. Cullen," he said. "Where is the necklace?"

The detective produced it proudly and laid it upon the table before him.
The inspector dipped his pen in the ink.

"What is your name?" he asked Mr. Parker.

"Joseph H. Parker," was the reply. "I am an American citizen and this is
my daughter. Mr. Cullen appears to be a person of observation. It is true
we were at the opera. It is perfectly true we were within a few yards of
Lady Orstline when she called out that her necklace was stolen. There's
nothing remarkable about that, however, as we occupied adjacent stalls.
What I want to point out to you is, though, if you'll allow me, that the
necklace I had on the table before me at Stephano's when Mr. Cullen
suddenly popped round the screen--the necklace you are now looking at,
sir--is of imitation pearls, valued at about ten pounds. I bought it in
the Burlington Arcade; it belongs to my daughter, and I was simply
examining the clasp, which is scarcely safe."

There was a moment's breathless silence. To me Mr. Parker's statement
seemed too good to be true; yet he had spoken with the easy confidence of
a man who knows what he is about. Standing there, the personification of
respectability, a trifle indignant, a trifle contemptuous, his words could
not fail to carry with them a certain amount of conviction. The inspector
rang a bell by his side.

"What are your daughter's initials?" he asked quickly.

"E.P.--Eve Parker," Mr. Parker replied. "Look at the back of the gold
clasp. There you are," he pointed out--"E.P."

Mr. Cullen and the inspector both bent over the necklace. The inspector
gave a brief order to a policeman.

"The initials on the clasp are certainly E.P.," the inspector admitted
slowly. "I do not pretend to be a judge of jewelry myself. However, I have
sent for some one who is."

A man in plain clothes entered the room. The inspector beckoned to him,
showed him the necklace and whispered a question. The man examined the
pearls for barely five seconds. Then he handed them back.

"Very nice imitation, sir," he pronounced. "There's a place in Bond Street
where I should imagine these came from, and another in the Burlington
Arcade. Their value is from seven to ten pounds."

The inspector dismissed him. He handed the necklace back to Mr. Parker and
rose to his feet.

"I can only express my most profound regret, sir," he said, "on behalf, of
the force. Such a mistake is inexcusable. Mr. Cullen will, I am sure, join
in offering you every apology."

Mr. Cullen was standing a few yards back. He was biting his lip until it
was absolutely colorless. There was a look in his face that was quite
indescribable.

"If I have made a mistake this time," he muttered; "if I have been
premature--I apologize; but--but--"

Mr. Parker turned to the inspector.

"You know," he said, "I fancy this young man's got what they call on this
side a 'down' on me! He's got an idea that I'm a crook--follows me about;
doesn't give me a moment's peace, in fact. Say, Mr. Inspector, can't I put
this thing right somehow--take him to my banker's--"

"Banker's!" Mr. Cullen ejaculated softly. "The only use you have for a
banker is to fleece him!"

"Mr. Cullen!" the inspector exclaimed, frowning.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I am sorry if I forgot myself." He turned
abruptly toward the door. "I offer you my apologies, Mr. Parker," he said,
looking back; "also the young lady. But--some day the luck may be on my
side."

The door slammed behind him. Mr. Parker turned toward the inspector.

"That young man, Mr. Inspector," he said complainingly, "puts altogether
too much feeling into his work. I may have been a bit sarcastic with him
once or twice; but if it comes to a lifelong vendetta, or anything of that
sort, why, he's beginning to look for trouble--that's all! I'm getting
sick of the sight of him. If ever I lunch or dine out he's there. If I go
to a theater he's about. Whatever harmless amusement I go in for he's
there looking on. Just give him a word of caution, Mr. Inspector. I'm a
good-tempered man, but this can't go on forever."

The inspector himself escorted us to the door.

"I beg, Mr. Parker," he said, "that you will take no more notice of Mr.
Cullen's little fit of temper. As regards your complaint, I promise you
that I will talk to him seriously. Allow me to send for a taxicab for you.
Oh! I beg your pardon--that is your own car. I only regret that we should
have wasted a few minutes of your evening. Good night, gentlemen! Good
night, madam!"

We left Bow Street amid many manifestations of courtesy and good will.

"Where shall I tell him to go to, sir?" the policeman asked as he closed
the door.

"Back to Stephano's!" Mr. Parker ordered.

We glided down into the Strand. Mr. Parker glanced at his watch.

"We shall just about make those grilled cutlets," he remarked. "Gives you
kind of an appetite--this sort of thing! Say, what's the matter with you,
Mr. Walmsley?"

"Oh, nothing particular!" I answered. "Only I was just wondering what in
the name of all that's miraculous can have become of Lady Orstline's
necklace!"

We descended at Stephano's and were ushered to our table, where the oyster
cocktails were waiting. Mr. Parker took my arm.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "you may even know that before you go to sleep
to-night."

*       *       *       *       *

I thought of Mr. Parker's words an hour or so later when I was preparing
to undress. I emptied first the things from my trousers pockets. The
feeling of something unfamiliar in one of them brought a puzzled
exclamation to my lips. I dragged it out and held it in front of me. My
heart gave a great leap, the perspiration broke out upon my forehead, My
knees shook and I sat down on the bed. Without the slightest doubt in the
world it was Lady Orstline's pearl necklace!




CHAPTER IV--THE WOOING OF EVE

I spent a very restless and disturbed night. I rose at six o'clock the
following morning, and at ten o'clock I rang up 3771A Gerrard. My inquiry
was answered almost at once by Mr. Parker himself.

"Is that you, Walmsley?"

"It is," I replied. "I have been waiting to ring you up since daylight! I
want you to understand--"

"You come right round here!" Mr. Parker interrupted soothingly. "No good
getting fussy over the telephone!"

"Where to?" I asked. "You forget I don't know your address. I should have
been round hours ago if I had known where to find you."

"Bless my soul, no more you do! We are at Number 17, Banton Street--just
off Oxford Street, you know."

"I am coming straightaway," I replied.

I was there within ten minutes. The place seemed to be a sort of private
hotel, unostentatious and unprepossessing. A hall porter, whose uniform
had seen better days and whose linen had seen cleaner ones, conducted me
to the first floor. Mr. Parker himself met me on the landing.

"Come right in!" he invited. "I saw you drive up. Eve is in there."

He ushered me into a large sitting room of the type one would expect to
find in such a place, but which, by dint of many cushions, flowers, and
feminine knickknacks, had been made to look presentable. Eve was seated in
an easy-chair by the fire. She turned round at my entrance and laughed.

"Where's my necklace, please?" she demanded.

"The necklace," I replied, as severely as I could, "is by this time on its
way to Lady Orstline--if it is not actually in her hands."

"You mean to say you have sent it back?" Mr. Parker exclaimed
incredulously.

"Certainly!" I replied. "I posted it to her early this morning."

Mr. Parker's expression was one of blank bewilderment.

"Say, do I understand you rightly?" he continued, coming up and laying his
great hand upon my shoulder. "You mean to say that, after all we went
through because of that miserable necklace, you've gone and chucked it? Do
you know it was worth twenty-five thousand pounds?"

"I don't care whether it was worth twenty-five thousand pounds or twenty-
five thousand pennies!" retorted I. "It belonged to Lady Orstline--not to
you or your daughter or to me. I know that you are a skillful conjurer and
I won't ask you how it found its way into my pocket. I am only glad I have
had an opportunity of returning it to its owner."

Mr. Parker shook his head ponderously. He turned to Eve.

"This," he said solemnly, "is the young man who asked leave to join us!
What do you think of him, Eve?"

"Nothing at all!" she replied flippantly. "He is absolutely useless!"

"If you think," Mr. Parker went on, "we are in this business for our
health, I want you to understand right here that you are mistaken. I never
deceived you. I told you the first few seconds we met that I was an
adventurer. I am. I brought off a coup last night with that necklace, and
you've gone and queered it! It isn't for myself I mind so much," he
concluded, "but there's the child there, I was going to have the pearls
restrung and let her wear them a bit--until the time came for selling
them."

"Look here!" I said. "Let us understand one another. It's all very well to
live by your wits; to make a little out of people not quite so smart as
you are; to worry through life owing a little here and there, borrowing a
bit where you can and taking good care to be on the right side when
there's a bargain going. That, I take it, is more or less what is meant by
being an adventurer. But when it comes to downright thieving I protest!
The penalties are too severe. I beg you, Mr. Parker, to have nothing more
to do with it!"

I went on, speaking as earnestly as I could and laying my hand upon his
shoulder.

"I ask you now what I asked you yesterday: Give me your daughter! Or if I
can't win her all at once let me at any rate have the opportunity of
meeting her and trying to persuade her to be my wife. I promise you you
shan't have to do any of these things for a living--either of you. Be
sensible, Miss Parker--Eve!" I begged, turning to her; "and please be a
little kind. I am in earnest about this. Come on my side and help me
persuade your father. I am not wealthy, perhaps, as you people count
money, but I am not a poor man. I'll buy you some pearls."

Eve threw down the book she had been reading and leaned over the side of
her chair, looking at me. She seemed no longer angry. There was, indeed, a
touch of that softness in her face which I had noticed once before and
which had encouraged me to hope. Her forehead was a little puckered, her
dear eyes a little wistful. She looked at me very earnestly; but when I
would have moved toward her she held out her hand to keep me back.

"You know," she said, "I think you are quite nice, Mr. Walmsley. I rather
like this outspoken sort of love-making. It's quite out of date, of
course; but it reminds me of Mrs. Henry Wood and crinolines and woolwork,
and all that sort of thing. Anyhow, I like it and--I rather like you, too.
But, you see, it's how long?--a matter of thirty-six hours since I met you
first! Now I couldn't make up my mind to settle down for life with a man
I'd only known thirty-six hours, even if he is rash enough to offer to
pension my father and remove me from a life of crime."

"The circumstances," I persisted, "are exceptional. You may laugh at it as
much as you like; but there are very excellent reasons why you should be
taken away from this sort of life."

She shrugged her shoulders a little dubiously.

"There again!" she protested. "I am not so sure that I want to be taken
away from it. I like adventures--I adore excitement; in fact I must have
it."

"You shall," I promised. "I'll take you to Paris and Monte Carlo. We'll go
up to Khartum and take a caravan beyond. You shall go big-game shooting
with me in Africa. I'll take you where very few women have been before.
I'll take you where you can gamble with life and death instead of this
sordid business of freedom or prison. We'll start for Abyssinia in three
weeks if you like. I'll find you excitement--the right sort. I'll take you
into the big places, where one feels--and the empty places, where one
suffers."

Her eyes flashed sympathetically for a moment.

"It sounds good," she admitted, "and yet--am I ungrateful, I wonder?--
there's no excitement for me except where men and women are. I'm afraid
I'm a daughter of Babylon."

"Doomed from her infancy to a life of crime, I fear," Mr. Parker declared,
pinching a cigar he had just taken out of a box. "She loves the rapier
play--the struggle with men and women. Takes risks every moment of the
time and thrives on it. All the same, Mr. Walmsley, there's something very
attractive about the way you are talking. I am not going to let my little
girl decide too hastily. Our sort of life's all very well when we are
number one and Mr. Cullen's number two. We can't have the luck all the
time, though."

"I haven't dared to mention it in plain words," I answered, "because the
thought, the mere thought, of what might happen to Miss Eve is too
horrible! But the risk is there all the time. One doesn't deal in forged
notes or steal pearl necklaces for nothing; and you've an enemy in Cullen
if ever any one had. He means to get you both, and if you give him the
least chance he'll have no mercy."

I looked at them anxiously. The whole thing seemed to me so momentous.
Neither of them showed the slightest signs of fear or apprehension. Mr.
Parker, with his newly lit cigar in the corner of his mouth, was smiling a
smile of pleasant contentment. Eve, leaning back in her chair, with her
hands clasped round the back of her head, was gazing at me with a
bewitching little smile on her lips.

"I am not a bit afraid of Mr. Cullen," she declared softly.

"Between you and me," her father remarked, knocking the ash from his
cigar, "there's only one darned thing in this world we are afraid of and
that, thank the Lord, isn't this side of the Atlantic!"

The smile faded from Eve's lips. For a moment she closed her eyes--a
shiver passed through her frame.

"Don't!" she begged weakly.

"I guess I'll leave it at that," her father agreed. "Now this little
proposition of yours, Mr. Walmsley, has just got to lie by for a little
time--perhaps only for a very short time. It's a kind of business for us
to make up our minds to part with our liberty or any portion of it.
Meanwhile, if you'd like to take Eve for a motor ride round and meet me
for luncheon, why, the car's outside, and if Eve's agreeable I can pass
the time all right."

I looked at her eagerly. She rose at once to her feet.

"Why, it would be charming, if you have nothing to do, Mr. Walmsley," she
assented. "I'll put my hat on at once."

"I have nothing to do at any time now but to respect your wishes," I
answered firmly, "and wait until you are sensible enough to say Yes to my
little proposition."

She looked back at me from the door with a twinkle in her eyes.

"You know," she said, "before I came over I was told that Englishmen were
rather slow. I shall begin to doubt it. You wouldn't describe yourself
exactly as shy, would you, Mr. Walmsley?"

"I don't know about that," I replied; "but we have other traits as well.
We know what we want; very often we get it."

Mr. Parker rose to his feet. He put his hand on my shoulder. He was the
very prototype of the self-respecting, conscientious, prospective father-
in-law.

"Young fellow," he confessed, "I shall end by liking you!" I drove with
Eve for about two hours. We went out nearly as far as Kingston and wound
up in the heart of the West End. I tried to persuade her to walk down Bond
Street, but she shook her head.

"To tell you the truth," she confided, "I am not very fond of being seen
upon the streets. You know how marvelously clever dad is; still we have
been talked about once or twice, and there are several people whom I
shouldn't care about meeting."

I sighed as I looked out of the window toward the jewelers' shops.

"I should very much like," I said, "to buy you an engagement ring."

She laughed at me.

"You absurd person! Why, I am not engaged to you yet!"

"You are very near it," I assured her. "Anyhow, it would be an awfully
good opportunity for you to show me the sort of ring you like."

She shook her head.

"Not to-day," she decided. "Somehow or other I feel that if ever I do let
you, you'll choose just the sort of ring I shall love, without my
interfering. Where did we say we'd pick father up?"

"Here," I answered, as the car came to a standstill outside the Cafe
Royal. "I'll go in and fetch him."

I found Mr. Parker seated at a table with two of the most villainous
specimens of humanity I had ever beheld. They were of the same class as
the men with whom he had been talking at the Milan, but still more
disreputable. He welcomed me, however, without embarrassment.

"Just passing the time, my dear fellow!" he remarked airily. "Met a couple
of acquaintances of mine. Will you join us?"

"Miss Parker is outside in the car," I explained. "If you don't mind I
will go out and wait with her. You can join us when you are ready."

"Five minutes--not a moment longer, I promise!" he called out after me.
"Sorry you won't join us."

I took my place once more by Eve's side. Perhaps my tone was a little
annoyed.

"Your father is in there," I said, "with two of the most disreputable-
looking ruffians I have ever seen crawling upon the face of the earth.
What in the world induces him to sit at the same table with them I cannot
imagine."

"Necessity, perhaps," she remarked. "Very likely they are highly useful
members of our industry."

Mr. Parker came out almost immediately afterward. I suggested the Ritz for
luncheon. They looked at each other dubiously.

"To be perfectly frank with you, my dear fellow," Mr. Parker explained, as
he clambered into the car and took the place I had vacated by his
daughter's side, "it would give us no pleasure to go to the Ritz. We have
courage, both of us--my daughter and I--as you may have observed for
yourself; but courage is a different thing from rashness. We have been
enjoying a very pleasant and not unlucrative time for the last six weeks,
with the--er--natural result that there are several ladies and gentlemen
in London whom I would just as soon avoid. The Ritz is one of those places
where one might easily come across them."

"The Carlton? Prince's? Claridge's? Berkeley?" I suggested. "Or what do
you say to Jules' or the Milan grill-room?"

Mr. Parker shook his head slowly.

"If you really mean that you wish me to choose," he said, "I say
Stephano's."

"As you will," I agreed. "I only suggested the other places because I
thought Miss Parker might like a change."

We drove to Stephano's. It struck me that Luigi's greeting was scarcely so
cordial as usual. He piloted us, however, to the table usually occupied by
Mr. Parker. On the way he took the opportunity of drawing me a little
apart.

"Mr. Walmsley, sir," he said, "can you tell me anything about Mr. Parker
and his daughter?"

"Anything about them?" I repeated.

"That they are Americans I know," he continued, "and that the young lady
is beautiful--well, one has eyes! It is not my business to be too
particular as to the character of those who frequent my restaurant; but
twice Mr. Parker has been followed here by a detective, and last night, as
you know, they left practically under arrest. It is not good for my
restaurant, Mr. Walmsley, to have the police so often about, and if Mr.
Parker and his daughter are really of the order of those who pass their
life under police supervision, I would rather they patronized another
restaurant."

I only laughed at him.

"My dear Luigi," I protested, "be careful how you turn away custom. Mr.
Parker is, I should think, no better or any worse than a great many of
your clients."

"If one could but keep the police out of it!" Luigi observed. "Could you
drop a word to the gentleman, sir? Since I have seen them in your company
I have naturally more confidence, but it is not good for my restaurant to
have it watched by the police all the time."

"I'll see what can be done, Luigi," I promised him.

Mr. Parker was twice called up on the telephone during luncheon time. He
seemed throughout the meal preoccupied; and more than once, with a word of
apology to me, he and Eve exchanged confidential whispers. I felt certain
that something was in the air, some new adventure from which I was
excluded, and my heart sank as I thought of all the grim possibilities
overshadowing it.

I watched them with their heads close together, Mr. Parker apparently
unfolding the details of some scheme; and it seemed to me that, after all,
the wisest thing I could do was to bid this strange pair farewell after
luncheon and return either to the country or cross over to Paris for a few
days. And then a chance word, a little look from Eve, a little touch from
her fingers, as it occurred to her that I was being neglected, made me
realize the absolute impossibility of doing anything of the sort.

For a person of my habits of life and temperament I had certainly fallen
into a strange adventure. Not only had Eve herself come to mean for me
everything that was real and vital in life, but I was most curiously
attracted by her terrible father. I liked him.

I liked being with him. He was a type of person I had never met before
in my life and one whom I thoroughly appreciated. I sat and watched him
during an interval of the conversation.

Geniality and humor were stamped upon his expression. "I am enjoying
life!" he seemed to say to everybody. "Come and enjoy it with me!" What
a man to be walking the tight rope all the time--to be risking his
character and his freedom day by day!

"If there is anything more on hand," I said, trying to make my tone as
little dejected as possible, "I should like to be in it."

Mr. Parker scratched his chin.

"I am not sure that you really enjoy these little episodes."

"Of course I don't enjoy them," I admitted indignantly. "You know that. I
hate them. I am miserable all the time, simply because of what may happen
to you and to Miss Eve."

Mr. Parker sighed.

"There you are, you see!" he declared. "That's the one kink in your
disposition, sir, which places you irrevocably outside the class to which
Eve and I belong. Now let me ask you this, young man," he went on: "What
is the most dangerous thing you've ever done?"

"I've played some tough polo," I remembered.

"That'll do," Mr. Parker declared. "Now tell me: When you turned out you
knew perfectly well that a broken leg or a broken arm--perhaps a cracked
skull--was a distinct possibility. Did you think about this when you went
into the game? Did you think about it while you were playing?"

"Of course I didn't," I admitted.

"Just so!" Mr. Parker concluded triumphantly. "That's where the sporting
instinct comes in. You know a thing is going to amuse and excite you.
Beyond that you do not think."

"But in this case," I persisted, "I think it is your duty to think for
your daughter's sake."

Eve flashed upon me the first angry glance I had seen from her.

"I think," she decided coldly, "it is not worth while discussing this
matter with Mr. Walmsley. We are too far apart in our ideas. He has been
brought up among a different class of people and in a different way.
Besides, he misses the chief point. If I weren't an adventuress, Mr.
Walmsley, I might have to become a typist and daddy might have to serve in
a shop. Don't you think that we'd rather live--really live, mind--even for
a week or two of our lives, than spend dull years, as we have done, upon
the treadmill?"

"I give it up," I said. "There is only one argument left. You know quite
well that the pecuniary excuse exists no longer."

She looked at me and her face softened.

"You are a queer person!" she murmured. "You are so very English, so very
set in your views, so very respectable; and yet you are willing to take us
both--"

"I am only thinking of marrying you," I interrupted.

"Well, you were going to make daddy an allowance, weren't you?"

"With great pleasure," I assured her vigorously; "and I only wish you'd
take my hand now and we'd fix up everything to-morrow. We could go down
and see my house in the country, Eve--I think you'd love it--and there are
such things, even in England, you know, as special licenses."

"You dear person!" she laughed. "I can't be rushed into respectability
like this."

Perhaps that was really my first moment of genuine encouragement, for
there had been a little break in her voice, something in her tone not
altogether natural. If only we had been alone--if even another summons to
the telephone had come just then for her father! Fortune, however, was not
on my side. Instead, the waiter appeared with the bill and diverted my
attention. Eve and her father whispered together. The moment had passed.

"Anything particular on this afternoon, Walmsley? "Mr. Parker asked as he
rose to his feet.

"Not a thing," I replied.

"I have just got to hurry off," he explained; "a little matter of
business. Eve has nothing to do for an hour or so--"

"I'll look after her if I may," I interposed eagerly.

"Don't be later than half past five, Eve," her father directed as he went
off, "and don't be tired."

We followed him a few minutes later into the street. A threatening shower
had passed away. The sky overhead was wonderfully soft and blue; the air
was filled with sunlight, fragrant with the perfume of barrows of lilac
drawn up in the gutter. Eve walked by my side, her head a little thrown
back, her eyes for a moment half closed.

"But London is delicious on days like this!" she exclaimed. "What are you
going to do with me, Mr. Walmsley?"

"Take you down to the Archbishop of Canterbury and marry you!" I
threatened.

She shook her head.

"I couldn't be married on a Friday! Let us go and see some pictures
instead."

We went into the National Gallery and wandered round for an hour. She knew
a great deal more about the pictures than I did, and more than once made
me sit down by her side to look at one of her favorite masterpieces.

"I want to go to Bond Street now," she said when we left, "I think it will
be quite all right at this time in the afternoon, and there are some weird
things to be seen there. Do you mind?"

We walked again along Pall Mall. Passing the Carlton she suddenly clutched
at my arm. A little stifled cry escaped her; the color left her cheeks. We
increased our speed. Presently she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Heavens, what an escape!" she exclaimed. "Do you think he saw me?"

"Do you mean the young man who was getting out of the taxicab?"

She nodded.

"One of our victims," she murmured; "daddy's victim, rather. I didn't do a
thing to him."

"I am quite sure he didn't see you," I told her. "He was struggling to
find change."

She sighed once more. The incident seemed to have shaken her.

"The worst of our sort of life is," she confided, "that it must soon come
to an end. We have victims all over the place! One of them is bound to
turn up and be disagreeable sooner or later."

"I should say, then," I remarked, "that the moment is opportune for a
registrar's office and a trip to Abyssinia."

"And leave daddy to face the music alone?" she objected. "It couldn't be
done."

We turned into a tea shop and sat in a remote corner of the place. I had
made up my mind to say no more to her that day, but the opportunity was
irresistible.

There was a little desultory music, a hum of distant conversation, and Eve
herself was thoughtful. I pleaded with her earnestly.

"Eve," I begged, "if only you would listen to me seriously! I simply
cannot bear the thought of the danger you are in all the time. Give it up,
dear, this moment--to-day! We'll lead any sort of life you like. We'll
wander all over Europe--America, if you say the word. I am quite well
enough off to take you anywhere you choose to go and still see that your
father is quite comfortable. You've made such a difference in such a short
time!"

She was certainly quieter and her tone was softer. She avoided looking at
me.

"Perhaps," she said very gently, "this feeling you speak of would pass
away just as quickly."

"There isn't any fear of that!" I assured her. "As I care for you now,
Eve, I must care for you always; and you know it's torture for me to think
of you in trouble--perhaps in disgrace. As my wife you shall be safe.
You'll have me always there to protect you. I should like to take you even
farther afield for a time--to India or Japan, if you like--and then come
back and start life all over again."

"You're rather a dear!" she murmured softly. "I will tell you something at
any rate. I do care for you--a little--better than I've ever cared for any
one else; but I can't decide quite so quickly."

"Give up this adventure to-night!" I begged. "I hate to mention it, Eve,
but if money--I put my checkbook in my pocket to-day. If your father would
only--"

She stopped me firmly.

"After the things you have told me," she said, "I don't think I could bear
to have him take your money to-day. I can't quite do as you wish; but what
you have said shall make a difference, I promise you. I can't say more.
Please drive me home now."




CHAPTER V--MR. SAMUELSON

The moment I opened my paper the next morning the very announcement I had
dreaded to find was there in large type! I read the particulars
breathlessly: DARING BURGLARY IN HAMPSTEAD--LADY LOSES TWO THOUSAND
POUNDS' WORTH OF JEWELRY. The burglary had taken place at the house of a
Mr. and Mrs. Samuelson, in Wood Grove, Hampstead. It appeared that a
dinner party had been given at the house during the evening, which had
engaged the attention of the whole of the staff of four servants, and that
for an hour or so the upper premises were untenanted.

Upon retiring to rest Mrs. Samuelson found that her jewel case and the
whole of her jewelry, except what she was wearing, had been stolen. As no
arrest had yet been made the references to the affair were naturally
guarded. The paragraph even concluded without the usual formula as to the
police having a clew. On the whole, I put the paper down with a slight
feeling of relief. I felt that it might have been worse.

I breakfasted at nine o'clock, after having read the announcement through
again, trying to see whether there was any possible connection between it
and my friends. Then I lit a pipe and sat down to wait until I could ring
up 3771A Gerrard. About ten o'clock, however, my own telephone bell rang,
and I was informed that a gentleman who desired to see me was waiting
below. I told the man to send him up, and in a moment or two there was a
knock at my door. In response to my invitation to enter a short, dark,
Jewish-looking person, with olive complexion, shiny black hair and black
mustache, presented himself. He carried a very immaculate silk hat and was
dressed with great neatness. He had the air, however, of a man who is
suffering from some agitation.

"Mr. Walmsley, I believe?" he asked. "Mr. Paul Walmsley?"

"That is my name."

"Know you by hearsay quite well, sir," my visitor assured me, with a flash
of his white teeth. "Very glad to meet you indeed. I have done business
once or twice with your sister, the Countess of Aynesley--business in
curios. You know my place, I dare say, in St. James Street. My name is
Samuelson." I could scarcely repress a little start, which he was quick to
notice. "Perhaps you've been reading about that affair at my house last
night?" he asked.

"That is precisely what I have been doing," I admitted. "Please sit down,
Mr. Samuelson." I wheeled an easy-chair up for him and placed a box of
cigarettes at his elbow. "Quite a mysterious affair!" I continued. "It is
almost the first burglary I have ever read of in which the police have not
been said to possess a clew."

Mr. Samuelson, who seemed gratified by his reception, lit a cigarette and
crossed his legs, displaying a very nice pair of patent boots, with gray
suede tops.

"It is a very queer affair, indeed," he told me confidentially. "The
police have been taking a lot of trouble about it, and a very intelligent
sort of fellow from Scotland Yard has been in and out of the house ever
since."

"Any clew at all?" I asked.

"Rather hard to say," Mr. Samuelson replied. "You'll be wondering what
I've come to see you about. Well, I'll just explain. Of course there's
always the chance that some one may have entered the house while we were
all at dinner--crept upstairs quietly and got away with the jewel case;
but this Johnny I was telling you about, from Scotland Yard, seems to have
got hold of a theory that has rather knocked me of a heap. Very delicate
matter," Mr. Samuelson continued, "as you will understand when I tell you
that he thinks it may have been one of my guests who was in the show."

"Seems a little far-fetched to me," I remarked; "but one never knows."

"You see," Mr. Samuelson explained, "there's no back exit from my house
without climbing walls and that sort of thing, and it happened to be a
particularly light evening, as you may remember. There are policemen at
both ends of the road, who seem unusually confident that no one carrying a
parcel of any sort passed at anything like the time when the thing was
probably done. This is where the Johnny from Scotland Yard comes in. He
has got the idea into his head that the jewels might have been taken away
in the carriage of one of my guests."

"Well," I remarked, "I should have thought you would have been the best
judge as to the probability of that. You hadn't any strangers with you, I
suppose?"

"Only two," Mr. Samuelson replied. "We were ten, altogether," he went on,
counting upon his fingers--"and a very nice little party too. First of
all my wife and myself. Then Mr. and Mrs. Max Solomon--Solomon, the great
fruiterers in Covent Garden, you know; man worth a quarter of a million of
money and a distant connection of my wife--very distant, worse luck! Then
there was Mr. Sidney Hollingworth, a young man in my office; but he
doesn't count, because he stayed on chatting with me about business after
the others had gone, and he was with us when the theft was discovered.
Then there was my wife's widowed sister, Mrs. Rosenthal. We can leave her
out. That's six. Then there was Alderman Sir Henry Dabbs and his wife. You
may know the name--large portmanteau manufacturers in Spitalfields and
certain to be Lord Mayor before long. His wife was wearing jewelry herself
last night worth, I should say, from twenty to twenty-five thousand
pounds; so my wife's little bit wouldn't do them much good, eh?"

"It certainly doesn't seem like it," I admitted. "So far, your list of
guests seems to have been entirely reputable."

"The only two left," Mr. Samuelson concluded, "are an American gentleman
and his daughter, a Mr. and Miss Parker whom we met on the train coming up
from Brighton--a very delightful gentleman and most popular he was with
all of us. The young lady, too, was perfectly charming. To hear him talk I
should have put him down myself as a man worth all the money he needed,
and more; and the young lady had got that trick of wearing her clothes and
talking as though she were born a princess. Real style, I should have
said--both of them. Still, the fact remains that they came in a motor car
with two men-servants; that it waited for them; and that this detective
from Scotland Yard--Mr. Cullen, I think his name is--has fairly got his
knife into them."

"And now," I remarked, smiling, "you are perhaps coming to the object of
your visit to me?"

"Exactly!" Mr. Samuelson admitted. "The fact of it is that in the course
of conversation your name was mentioned. I forget exactly how it cropped
up, but it did crop up. Mr. Parker, it seems, has the privilege of your
acquaintance--at any rate he claims it. Now if his claim is a just one,
and if you can tell me Mr. Parker is a friend of yours--why, that ends the
matter, so far as I am concerned. I am not going to have my guests worried
and annoyed by detectives for the sake of a handful of jewels. I thank
goodness I can afford to lose them, if they must be lost, and I can
replace them this afternoon without feeling it. Now you know where we are,
Mr. Walmsley. You understand exactly why I have come to see you, eh?"

I pressed another cigarette upon him and lit one myself.

"I do understand, Mr. Samuelson," I told him, "and I appreciate your visit
very much indeed. I am exceedingly glad you came. Mr. Parker told you the
truth. He is a gentleman for whom I have the utmost respect and esteem. I
consider his daughter, too, one of the most charming young ladies I have
ever met. I am planning to give a dinner party, within the course of the
next few evenings, purposely to introduce them to some of my friends with
whom they are as yet unacquainted; and I am hoping that almost immediately
afterward they will be staying with my sister at her place down in
Suffolk."

"With the Countess of Aynesley?" Mr. Samuelson said slowly.

"Certainly!" I agreed. "I am quite sure my sister will be as charmed with
them as I and many other of my friends are."

Mr. Samuelson rose to his feet, brushed the cigarette ash from his
trousers and took up his hat.

"Mr. Walmsley," he said, holding out his hand, "I am glad I came. You have
treated me frankly and in a most gentlemanly manner. I can assure you I
appreciate it. Not under any circumstances would I allow friends of yours
to be irritated by the indiscriminate inquiries of detectives. The jewels
can go hang, sir!"

He shook hands with me and permitted me to show him out, after which he
marched down the corridor, humming gayly to himself, determined to have me
understand that a trifling loss of two thousand pounds' worth of jewelry
was in reality nothing. I stood for some time with my back to the fire,
smoking thoughtfully. Then the telephone bell rang. My gloomier
reflections were at once forgotten. It was Eve who spoke.

"Good morning, Mr. Walmsley!"

"Good morning, Miss Eve!" I replied.

"Are you very busy this morning?" she asked.

"Nothing in the world to do!" I answered promptly.

"Then please come round," she directed, ringing off almost at once.

I was there in ten minutes. The hall porter, who had not yet completed his
morning toilet, conducted me upstairs. In the morning sunlight the whole
appearance of the place seemed shabbier and dirtier than ever. Inside the
sitting room, however, everything was different. My own flowers had
apparently been supplemented by many others. Mr. Parker, as pink-and-white
as usual, looking the very picture of content and good digestion, was
smoking a large cigar and reading a newspaper. Eve was seated at the
writing table, but she swung round at my entrance and held out both her
hands.

"The flowers are lovely!" she murmured. "Do go and sit down--and talk to
daddy while I finish this letter."

I shook hands with Mr. Parker. He laid down the newspaper and smiled at
me.

"A pleasant dinner last night, I trust?" I inquired.

His eyes twinkled.

"Most humorous affair!" he declared. "I wouldn't have missed it for
worlds."

"From a business point of view----" I began dryly.

Mr. Parker shook his head.

"Mr. Samuelson's jewels," he complained, "were like his wines, all sparkle
and outside--no body to them. Two thousand pounds indeed! Why, we shall be
lucky if we clear four hundred!" The man's coolness absolutely took me
aback. For a moment I simply stared at him. "He'll be round to see you
this morning, sometime, about my character," Mr. Parker proceeded.

"He has already paid me a visit," I said grimly. "He was round at ten
o'clock this morning."

"You don't say!" Mr. Parker murmured.

He looked at me hopefully. His expression was like nothing else but the
wistful smile of a fat boy expecting good news.

"Oh, of course I told him the usual thing!" I admitted. "I told him you
were a close personal friend; a sort of amateur millionaire; a person of
the highest respectability--everything you ought to be, in fact. He went
away perfectly satisfied and determined to have nothing to do with the
guest theory."

Mr. Parker patted me on the shoulder.

"My boy," he said, "I knew I could rely on you."

"I propose," I continued, elaborating upon the scheme that had come into
my head on the way, "to do more than this for you. I am asking some
friends to dine to-night whom I wish you and your daughter to meet. You
will then be able to refer to other reputable acquaintances in London
besides myself."

Eve turned round in her chair to listen. Mr. Parker, whose first
expression had been one of unfeigned delight, suddenly paused.

"My boy," he expostulated, "I don't want to take advantage of you. Do you
think it's quite playing the game on your friends to introduce to them two
people like ourselves? You know what it means."

"I know perfectly well," I agreed; "but, as some day or other I'm going to
marry Eve, it seems to me the thing might as well be done."

They were both perfectly silent for several moments. They looked at each
other. There were questions in his face--other things in hers. I strolled
across to the window.

"If you'd like to talk it over," I suggested, "don't mind me. All the same
I insist upon the party."

"It's uncommonly kind of you, sure!" Mr. Parker said thoughtfully. "The
more I think it over, the more I feel impressed by it; but, do you know,
there's something about the proposition I can't quite cotton to! Seems to
me you've some little scheme of your own at the back of your head. You
haven't got it in your mind, have you, that you're sort of putting us on
our honor?"

"I have no ulterior motive at all," I declared mendaciously.

Eve rose to her feet and came across to me. She was wearing a charming
morning gown of some light blue material, with large buttons, tight-
fitting, alluring; and there was a little quiver of her lips, a
provocative gleam in her eyes, which I found perfectly maddening.

"I think we won't come, thank you," she decided.

"Why not?"

"You see," she explained, "I am rather afraid. We might get you into no
end of trouble with some of your most particular friends. There are one or
two people, you know, in London, especially among the Americans, who might
say the unkindest things about us."

"No one, my dear Eve," I assured her stolidly, "shall say anything to me
or to any one else about my future wife."

For a moment her expression was almost hopeless. She shook her head.

"I don't know what to do with him, daddy!" she exclaimed, turning toward
her father in despair.

"I'm afraid you'll have to marry him if he goes on," Mr. Parker declared
gloomily; "that is," he added, as though he had suddenly perceived a ray
of hope about the matter, "unless we should by any chance get into trouble
first."

"Meantime," I ventured, "we will dine at eight o'clock at the Milan."

Mr. Parker groaned.

"At the Milan!" he echoed. "Worse and worse! We shall be recognized for
certain! There's a man lives there whom I did out of a hundred pounds--
just a little variation of the confidence trick. Nothing he can get hold
of, you understand; but he knows very well that I had him. Look here,
Walmsley, be reasonable! Hadn't you better drop this chivalrous scheme of
yours, young fellow?"

"The dinner is a fixture," I replied firmly. "Can I borrow Miss Eve,
please? I want to take her for a motor ride."

"You cannot, sir," Mr. Parker told me. "Eve has a little business of her
own--or, rather, mine--to attend to this morning."

"You are not going to let her run any more risks, are you?"

Mr. Parker frowned at me.

"Look here, young man," he said; "she is my daughter, remember! I am
looking after her for the present. You leave that to me."

Eve touched me on the arm.

"Really, I am busy to-day," she assured me. "I have to do something for
daddy this morning--something quite harmless; and this afternoon I have to
go to my dressmaker's. We'll come at eight o'clock."

"We'll come on this condition," Mr. Parker suddenly determined: "My name
is getting a little too well known, and it isn't my own, anyway. We'll
come as Mr. and Miss Bundercombe or not at all."

"Why on earth Bundercombe?" I demanded.

"For the reason I have just stated," Mr. Parker said obstinately. "Parker
isn't my name at all; and, between you and me, I think I have made it a
bit notorious. Now there is a Mr. Bundercombe and his daughter, who live
out in a far-western State of America, who've never been out of their own
country, and who are never likely to set foot on this side. She's a pretty
little girl--just like Eve might be; and he's a big, handsome fellow--just
like me. So we'll borrow their names if you don't mind."

"You can come without a name at all, so long as you come," was my final
decision as I took my leave.




CHAPTER VI--THE PARTY AT THE MILAN

The dinner party, which I arranged for in the Milan restaurant, was, on
the whole, a great success. My sister played hostess for me and confessed
herself charmed with Eve, as indeed was every one else. Mr. Parker's
stories kept his end of the table in continual bursts of merriment. One
little incident, too, was in its way exceedingly satisfactory. Mr. and
Mrs. Samuelson were being entertained by some friends close at hand, and
they appeared very much gratified at the cordiality of our greeting. I
talked with Mr. Samuelson during the evening, and I felt that, so far as
he was concerned at any rate, not a shadow of suspicion remained in his
mind as to my two guests.

We sat a long time over dinner. Eve was between a cousin of mine--who was
a member of Parliament, a master of foxhounds, and in his way quite a
distinguished person--and the old Earl of Enterdean, my godfather; and
they were both of them obviously her abject slaves. No one seemed in the
least inclined to move and it was nearly eleven o'clock before we passed
into the private room I had engaged, where coffee and some bridge tables
awaited us. We broke up there into little groups. I left Eve talking to my
sister and was on my way to try to get near her father when the Countess
of Enterdean, a perfectly charming old lady who had known me from boyhood,
intercepted me.

"My dear Paul," she said, "I cannot thank you enough for having given us
the opportunity of meeting these most delightful Americans, and I really
must tell you this--I had meant to keep it a secret, but from you I
cannot; I knew all the time that the name of Bundercombe was familiar to
me, and suddenly it came over me like a flash! Directly I asked Mr.
Bundercombe in what part of America his home was, of course it was all
clear to me. What a small world it is! Do you know," she concluded
impressively, "that it was just these two people, Mr. Bundercombe and his
daughter, who were so amazingly kind to Reggie when he was out in the
States on his way to Dicky's ranch!"

I was for a moment absolutely thunderstruck.

"Did you--er--remind Mr. Bundercombe of this?" I asked.

She shook her head. She had the pleased smile of a benevolent conspirator.

"I will tell you why I did not, Paul," she explained. "Reggie is in town--
just for a few days. I have sent him a telephone message and he is wild
with delight. He has only just arrived from Scotland; but I told him Mr.
Bundercombe and his daughter were here, and he is rushing into his clothes
as fast as he can and is coming round. It will be so delightful for him to
meet them again, and I really must try to think myself what I can do to
repay all their kindness to Reggie."

I felt completely at my wit's end! I saw the whole of my little scheme,
which up to now had proved so successful, threatened with instant
destruction. Lady Enterdean passed on, probably to take some one else into
her confidence. I crossed the room to the little group surrounding my
friend, and as soon as I got near him I touched him on the shoulder.

"Just one word with you, Mr. Bundercombe," I begged.

The little circle of men let him through with reluctance. I passed my arm
through his and led him out toward the foyer.

"You seem," I declared bitterly, "to have chosen the most unfortunate
personality! I wish to goodness you had remained Mr. Parker! This infernal
name of yours, Bundercombe, has got us into trouble."

"In what way?" he asked quickly.

"Lady Enterdean has just been to me," I told him. "She has a son who has
been traveling in the States and who was wonderfully entertained by two
people of the name of Bundercombe in the very place you told me to say you
came from."

"Well, that goes all right!" Mr. Parker remarked complacently. "We're
getting the credit for it."

"Precisely," I admitted. "The only trouble is that Lady Enterdean has just
telephoned to her son to come down at once and renew his acquaintance with
you and Eve."

Mr. Parker whistled softly. His face had become a blank.

"My! We do seem to be up against it!" he confessed uneasily.

"The young man," I continued, "will be here in ten minutes--perhaps
sooner--prepared to grasp you both by the hand and exchange
reminiscences."

Mr. Parker shook out a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped
his forehead.

"Kind of warm out here!" he remarked. "I'll just have to talk to Eve for a
minute or two."

He had no sooner left me than I found I was absolutely compelled to devote
myself to one or two of my guests who wished to play bridge, and others of
whom I had seen little at dinner time. I kept looking anxiously round and
at last the blow fell! The door opened and Lord Reginald Sidley was
announced. He looked eagerly round the room.

"Hope you don't mind my butting in, old chap!" he said as he shook hands
with me. "The mater telephoned that old Bundercombe and his daughter were
here, so I just rushed round as quick as I could. Regular bricks they were
to me out West! I don't see them anywhere."

I glanced round the room. Just at that moment a waiter from the restaurant
presented himself. He brought me a card upon a salver.

"The gentleman asked me to give you this, sir," he announced.

I picked it up. On the back of a plain visiting card were a few hasty
words, scrawled in pencil:

"So sorry--but Eve is not feeling quite herself and begged me to take her
home at once quietly. My respects and apologies to you and all your
delightful guests."

I read it out and passed it to Reggie. His face fell.

"If that isn't a sell!" he exclaimed. "Fancy your knowing them! Isn't Miss
Bundercombe a topper!"

"She is certainly one of the most charming young women I ever met in my
life," I admitted.

"I am glad, at any rate," Lady Enterdean declared, "that they have found
their way to London. I shall make a point of calling on them myself
tomorrow. Now, Paul, you must go and play bridge. They are waiting for
you. Don't bother about me --I'll amuse myself quite well strolling round
and talking to my friends." I made up a rubber of bridge, chiefly with the
idea of distracting my thoughts. Presently, while my partner was playing
the hand, I rose and crossed the room to the sideboard for some
cigarettes. I found Lady Enterdean peering about with her lorgnette fixed
to her eyes, apparently searching for something.

"Lost anything, Lady Enterdean?" I asked.

"A most extraordinary thing has happened, my dear Paul!" she declared,
resting her hand on the bosom of her gown. "I am perfectly certain it was
there a quarter of an hour ago--my cameo brooch, you know, the one that
old Sir Henry brought home from Italy."

"Too large to lose anyway," I remarked cheerfully as I joined in the
search.

We pulled aside a table and I almos