"Hush! Say nothing," whispered Wesson, to both of us at once. "Not a word, remember!"

I thought it very wise of him and was more than willing to follow his advice. But Edgerly was not so easily quieted.

"I caught this fellow creeping out of your chamber," he said, without mincing matters. "Yes," he added, as if he thought he might be contradicted, "there is the key he used in the lock now."

Wesson looked strangely at me.

"I have no doubt Mr. Camwell can explain his conduct," he said, and again I noticed the thoughtfulness he used, in referring to me by the name I had registered at Cook's office. "If he will consent to accompany me to my room for a few minutes I shall be glad to hear anything he has to say."

Edgerly sneered again.

"Camwell!" he echoed. "Why, that isn't even his right name. It will do to travel under, but when he signs checks he writes at the end the words, 'Donald Camran.'"

"How do you know that?" asked Wesson, in a startled way. "You are making some grave charges."

"He tells the truth," I interposed, anxious to end the scene. "The name he gave is my right one. Why I used the other is a private matter. I shall be glad to accede to your suggestion, Mr. Wesson, and hold an interview with you in private."

"If you and Miss Carney will excuse us, then--" said Wesson, tentatively.

"Miss Carney!" echoed Edgerly, with a laugh that made me half inclined to try conclusions with him again, now that we were less unevenly matched. "Miss Carney! Ha, ha!"

Wesson was evidently watching us, prepared to interfere again, should it be necessary. He managed to end the affair by a display of finesse, asking Edgerly to meet him at two o'clock at the Sea View House, and saying pleasantly to Miss May that he would keep me but a few minutes. I saw the other two going in opposite directions before I followed the Bostonian into his room, which seemed the only thing I could do after what he had heard about me.

"Well?" said Wesson, good naturedly, when he had closed the door and, at my suggestion, locked it. "You were in my room? Yes. Do you care to tell me why? I leave it entirely to you, Mr. Camran. If you choose to tell, well and good. If not I shall be perfectly satisfied."

His courtesy was complete and, knowing what I did, seemed to me well advised.

"Mr. Wesson," I said, "you have just saved me from a disagreeable and possible dangerous situation. That man had a loaded revolver--I had nothing. He is in the best of health; I, as you know, have recently recovered from a long illness. Had you appeared two minutes later it is no exaggeration to say you would probably have found a dead man on that floor."

"In that case I am glad I came when I did," he replied, affably. "What was the row about?"

I told him briefly of the previous encounter on the balcony at St. Croix and the incentives to the present affair.

"Strange!" he answered. "There doesn't seem much to found a murderous attack on in those two things, does there? Had you never met him before this trip?"

"Never."

"How did he know your right name?"

I explained the exchange of my check for the cash he won of me in the smoking room of the Madiana.

A peculiar look came into Wesson's face.

"That was about five weeks ago," he said, musingly.

"About that."

He covered his eyes with one hand a few moments as if in deep thought.

When he looked up he had regained the pleasant expression with which the interview began.

"Now, about your being in my room, Mr. Camran. Do you wish to say anything in regard to that?"

I took from my pocket the package I had found in his trunk and silently held it up for his inspection.

"You intend to retain those things, I presume," he said, with excessive politeness.

"With your permission," I answered, not to be outdone in courtesy by a thief.

"Certainly," he said. "And the bracelet, will you do me the favor to find some way in which it may be returned to the owner?"

What a cool rascal he was! I could not help admiring his _sang froid_, the like of which I had never seen or heard of.

"The shirt stud, I think is yours," he went on, affably, "and the earrings belong to your cousin? Yes, that was my impression. Let me, if I may be so bold, advise you to keep them under better surveillance in the future. Now, that I may not be blamed by Miss Carney for keeping you too long, let me say that if you have finished we will call this interview at an end, except for one question. Do you intend to do anything disagreeable about the matter?"

Still as cool as an iceberg, as unruffled as a bank of pansies.

"I shall do nothing," I answered. "The service you rendered a few moments ago puts me under a great obligation. Rest a.s.sured, sir, you have nothing to fear from me."

He walked hospitably to the door and opened it.

"You had best avoid another rupture with Mr. Edgerly," he said, in a friendly tone. "He is quick tempered and, as you have well observed, you are not strong enough to contend with him. As to pistols, he is a dead shot. He can knock a penny off a wall at two hundred paces."

I thanked him for his advice and went to find Miss May, whom I was not surprised to discover in an excited state, and bathed in tears.

"Oh," she cried, when she saw me, "let us return to New York as soon as we can! You have had nothing but trouble ever since I have been with you. Take me to America and end this unfortunate agreement of ours. I knew you and that man would have trouble again. If the other one had not appeared you would now be dead, and he--"

Her sobbing broke out again, terrifically. All at once it occurred to me that the news of the recovered jewels would partially comfort her.

"Marjorie," I said, "Marjorie, my love! There is a silver lining to the cloud to-day, a golden lining, a diamond lining. Yes," as she looked intently at me through her tears, "I know where my stud is, and your earrings, and Miss Howes'--"

Instead of giving the joyful cry I expected my companion uttered a long wail and lay limp in the arms I stretched out to catch her.

I cursed my indiscretion and, laying her gently on a sofa, rang for aid.

CHAPTER XXII.

TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT.

It seemed as if I never would learn that my companion could not bear sudden surprises, or mysterious hints. Her delicate nature took alarm at the least departure from the conventional. Before the arrival of the servant I was tempted to imprint on her pale cheeks the kisses she had always denied me, but a spark of manliness still left in my composition prevented.

Her swoon was but momentary. Before the slow bell boy could arrive she had roused herself and begged me to admit no one, saying she would be all right again in a few moments. Realizing that I had probably rung already, she asked me to make some excuse to the servant when he arrived and not to open the door wide enough for him to see her. When the boy had come and gone I began my apologies in the most profuse way.

"Do not excuse yourself, I beg," she answered. "I was very foolish. You speak of being a convalescent, but you will begin to think I am the invalid. I will try my best not to disturb you again."