"If there is a gang of diamond robbers or comic opera bandits in this city I'll bet my hand they could steal the sidewalks without being detected, much less captured. A scheme to rob all of Mrs.

Garrison's guests! The a.s.ses!"

"Don't get excited, sir. You'll burst a blood vessel, an' that's a good sight worse than a cut," cautioned Turk.

"Turk, in all your burglarious years, did you ever go about robbing a house in that manner?"

"Not in a million years."

"Well, what are we to do next?" demanded Quentin, reflectively, ignoring his former question and Turk's specific answer. "Shall we give the police all the information we have and land Mr. Courant in jail?"

"This is our game, sir, not th' police's. For th' Lord's sake, don't give anything up to th' cops. They'll raise particular thunder in their sleep, an' we gets th' rough ha! ha! from our frien's, th'

enemy. We pipes this little game ourself, an' we wins, too, if we succeed in keepin' th' police from gettin' nex' to anything they'd mistake for a clue."

Phil thought long and hard before sitting down at noon to write to d.i.c.key Savage. He disliked calling for help in the contest, but with a bandaged arm and the odds against him, he finally resolved that he needed the young New Yorker at his side. d.i.c.key was deliberation itself, and he was brave and loyal. So the afternoon's post carried a letter to Savage, who was still in London, asking him to come to Brussels at once, if he could do so conveniently. The same post carried a letter to Lord Bob, and in it the writer admitted that he might need reinforcements before the campaign closed. He also inclosed the clipping from the newspaper, but added a choice and caustic opinion of the efficiency of the Brussels police. He did not allude specifically to Courant, the duke, or to the queer beginning of the prince's campaign.

Early in the afternoon Mrs. Garrison sent to inquire as to his wound. In reply he calmly prepared for an appearance in person. Turk accompanied him, about four o'clock, in a cab to the house in Avenue Louise. There were guests, and Phil was forced to endure a rather effusive series of feminine exclamations and several polite expressions from men who sincerely believed they could have done better had they been in his place. Mrs. Garrison was a trifle distant at first, but as she saw Quentin elevated to the pedestal of a G.o.d for feminine worship she thawed diplomatically, and, with rare tact, a.s.sumed a sort of proprietorship. Dorothy remained in the background, but he caught anxious glances at his arm, and, once or twice, a serious contemplation of his half-turned face.

"I'll let her think the fellow was one of the diamond robbers for the present," thought he. "She wouldn't believe me if I told her he was in the employ of the prince, and the chances are she'd ruin everything by writing to him about it."

When at last he found the opportunity to speak with her alone he asked how she had slept.

"Not at all, not a wink, not a blink. I imagined I heard robbers in every part of the house. Are you speaking the truth when you tell all these people it is a mere scratch? I am sure it is much worse, and I want you to tell me the truth," she said, earnestly.

"I've had deeper cuts that didn't bleed a drop," said he. "If you must have the truth, Dorothy, I'll confess the fellow gave me a rather nasty slash, and I don't blame him, He had to do it, and he's just as lucky as I am, perhaps, that it was no worse. I wish to compliment your Brussels police, too, on being veritable bloodhounds. I observed as I came in that they have at last scented the blood on the pavement in front of the house and have washed away the stain fairly well."

"Wasn't the story in the morning paper ridiculous? You were very brave. I almost cried when I saw how the horrid detectives criticised you."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, because I was afraid you'd think like the rest--that I was a blundering idiot."

"You did not fear anything of the kind. Do you really think he was one of those awful diamond robbers who are terrorizing the town? I could not sleep another wink if I thought so. Why, last spring a rich merchant and his wife were drugged in one of the cafes, taken by carriage to Watermael, where they were stripped of their valuables and left by the roadside."

"Did you see an account of the affair in your morning paper?"

"Yes--there were columns about it."

"Then I think eight-tenths of the crime was committed at a city editor's desk. It's my opinion these diamond thieves are a set of ordinary pickpockets and petty porch climbers. A couple of New York policemen could catch the whole lot in a week."

"But, really, Phil, they are very bold and they are not at all ordinary. You don't know how thankful we are that this one was discovered before he got into the house. Didn't he have a knife?

Well, wasn't it to kill us with if we made an outcry?" She was nervous and excited, and he had it on the tip of his tongue to allay her fears by telling what he thought to be the true object of the man's visit.

"Well, no matter what he intended to do, he didn't do it, and he'll never come back to try it again. He will steer clear of this house,"

he said, rea.s.suringly.

A week, two weeks went by without a change in the situation. d.i.c.key Savage replied that he would come to Brussels as soon as his heart trouble would permit him to leave London, and that would probably be about the twentieth of August. In parentheses he said he hoped to be out of danger by that time. The duke was persistent in his friendliness, and Courant had, to all intents and purposes, disappeared completely. Prince Ugo was expected daily, and Mrs.

Garrison was beginning to breathe easily again. The police had given up the effort to find the Garrison robber, and Turk had learned everything that was to be known concerning the house in which Courant found shelter after eluding his pursuers on the night of the affray. Quentin's shoulder was almost entirely healed, and he was beginning to feel himself again. The two weeks had found him a constant and persistent visitor at Miss Garrison's home, but he was compelled to admit that he had made no progress in his crusade against her heart. She baffled him at every turn, and he was beginning to lose his confident hopes. At no time during their tete-a-tetes, their walks, their drives, their visits to the art galleries, did she give him the slightest ground for encouragement.

And, to further disturb his sense of contentment, she was delighted--positively delighted--over the coming of Prince Ugo. For a week she had talked of little save the day when he was to arrive.

Quentin endured these rapturous a.s.saults n.o.bly, but he was slowly beginning to realize that they were battering down the only defense he had--the inward belief that she cared for him in spite of all.

Frequently he met the Duke Laselli at the Garrisons'. He also saw a great deal of the de Cartiers and Mile. Gaudelet. When, one day, he boldly intimated to Dorothy that de Cartier was in love with Louise and she with him, that young lady essayed to look shocked and displeased, but he was sure he saw a quick gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. And he was positive the catch in her breath was not so much of horror as it was of joy. Mrs. Garrison did all in her power to bring him and the pretty French girl together, and her insistence amused him.

One day her plans, if she had any, went racing skyward, and she, as well as all Brussels society, was stunned by the news that de Cartier had deserted his wife to elope with the fair Gaudelet! When Quentin laconically, perhaps maliciously, observed that he had long suspected the nature of their regard for one another, Mrs.

Garrison gave him a withering look and subsided into a chilling unresponsiveness that boded ill for the perceiving young man. The inconsiderate transgression of de Cartier and the unkindness of the Gaudelet upset her plans cruelly, and she found that she had wasted time irreparably in trying to bring the meddling American to the feet of the French woman. Quentin revelled in her discomfiture, and Dorothy in secret enjoyed the unexpected turn of affairs.

She had seen through her mother's design, and she had known all along how ineffectual it would prove in the end. Philip puzzled her and piqued her more than she cared to admit. That she did not care for him, except as a friend, she was positive, but that he should persistently betray signs of nothing more than the most ordinary friendship was far from pleasing to her vanity. The truth is, she had expected him to go on his knees to her, an event which would have simplified matters exceedingly. It would have given her the opportunity to tell him plainly she could be no more than a friend, and it would have served to alter his course in what she believed to be a stubborn love chase. But he had disappointed her; he had been the amusing companion, the ready friend, the same sunny spirit, and she was perplexed to observe that he gave forth no indication of hoping or even desiring to be more. She could not, of course, know that this apparently indifferent young gentleman was wiser, far wiser, than the rest of his kind. He saw the folly of a rash, hasty leap in the dark, and bided his time like the cunning general who from afar sees the hopelessness of an attack against a strong and watchful adversary, and waits for the inevitable hour when the vigil is relaxed.

There was no denying the fact that with all his confidence his colors were sinking, while hers remained as gallantly fluttering as when the struggle began. He was becoming confused and nervous; a feeling of impotence began slyly, devilishly to a.s.sail him, and he frequently found himself far out at sea. The strange inactivity of the prince's cohorts, the significant friendliness of the duke, the everlasting fear that a sudden move might catch him unawares began to tell on his peace of mind. Both he and Turk watched like cats for the slightest move that might betray the intentions of the foe, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing. The house in which Courant found safety was watched, but it gave forth no secrets. The duke's every movement appeared to be as open, as fair, as unsuspicious as man's could be, and yet there was ever present the feeling that some day something would snap and a crisis would rush upon them. Late one afternoon he drove up to the house in Avenue Louise, and when Dorothy came downstairs for the drive her face was beaming.

"Ugo comes to-morrow," she said, as they crossed to the carriage.

"Which means that I am to be relegated to the dark," he said, dolefully.

"Oh, no! Ugo likes you and I like you, you know. Why, are we not to be the same good friends as now?" she asked, suddenly, with a pretty show of surprise.

"Oh, I suppose so," he said, looking straight ahead. They were driving rapidly toward the Bois de la Cambre. "But, of course, I'll not rob the prince of moments that belong to him by right of conquest. You may expect to see me driving disconsolately along the avenue--alone."

"Mr. Savage will be here," she said, sweetly, enjoying his first show of misery.

"But he's in love, and he'll not be thinking of me. I'm the only one in all Christendom, it seems to me, who is not in love with somebody, and it's an awful hardship."

"You will fall really in love some day, never fear," she volunteered, after a somewhat convulsive twist of the head in his direction.

"Unquestionably," he said, "and I shall be just as happy and as foolish as the rest of you, I presume."

"I should enjoy seeing you really and truly in love with some girl.

It would be so entertaining."

"A perfect comedy, I am sure. I must say, however, that I'd feel sorry for the girl I loved if she didn't happen to love me."

"And why, pray?"

"Because," he said, turning abruptly and looking straight into her eyes, "she'd have the trouble and distinction of surrendering in the end."

"You vain, conceited thing!" she exclaimed, a trifle disconcerted.

"You overestimate your power."

"Do you think I overestimate it?" he demanded, quickly.

"I don t--don't know. How should I know?" she cried, in complete rout. In deep chagrin she realized that he had driven her sharply into unaccountable confusion, and that her wits were scattering hopelessly at the very moment when she needed them most.

"Then why do you say I overestimate it?" he asked, relentlessly.

"Because you do," she exclaimed, at bay.

"Are you a competent judge?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, grasping for time.

"I mean, have you the right to question my power, as you call it?