"Go on."

"Last night, Dan"--she raised her glorious eyes to his--"last night, I ... I trusted you."

His face hardened ever so slightly; yet when he took thought the tense lines about his eyes and mouth softened. And she drew a deep breath, knowing that she had all but won.

"I trusted you," she continued softly. "Do you know what that means? I trusted _you_."

He nodded, eyes to hers, fascinated, with an odd commingling of fear and hope and satisfied self-love. "Now I am unconnected with the affair. No one knows that I had any hand in it. Besides, no one knows me--that I--steal." Her tone fell lower. "The police have never heard of me. Dan!"

"I--believe----"

"I could get away," she interrupted; "and then, if they stopped you----"

"You're right, by the powers!" He struck the table smartly with his fist. "You do that and we can carry this through. Why, lacking the jewels, I _am_ Maitland--I am even wearing Maitland's clothes!" he boasted. "I went to his apartments this morning and saw to that, because it suited my purpose to _be_ Maitland for a day or two."

"Then----?" Her gaze questioned his.

"Waiter!" cried Anisty. And, when the man was deferential at his elbow: "Call a cab, at once, please."

"Certainly, sir."

The rest of the corps of servants was at the other end of the big room.

Anisty made certain that they were not watching, then stealthily passed the canvas bag to the girl. She bent her head, bestowing it in her hand-bag.

"You have made me ... happy, Dan," came tremulously from beneath the hat-brim.

Whatever doubts may have assailed him when it was too late, by that remark were effaced, silenced. Who could mistrust her sincerity?...

"Then when and where may I see you again?" he demanded.

"The same place."

It was a bold move; but she was standing; the waiter was back, announcing the cab in waiting, and he dared not protest. Yet his pat _riposte_ commanded her admiration.

"No. Too risky. If they are watching here, they may be there, too." He shook his head decidedly. The flicker of doubt was again extinguished; for undoubtedly Maitland had escorted her home that morning; her reference had been to that place. "Somewhere else," he insisted, confident that she was playing fair.

She appeared to think for an instant, then, fumbling in her pocket-book, extracted a typical feminine pencil stub,--its business-end looking as though it had been gnawed by a vindictive rat,--and scribbled hastily on the back of a menu card:

"_Mrs. McCabe, 205 West 118th Street. Top floor. Ring 3 times._"

"I shall be there at seven," she told him. "You won't fail me?"

"Not if I'm still at liberty," he laughed.

And the waiter smiled at discretion, a far-away and unobtrusive smile that could by no possibility give offense; at the same time it was calculated to convey the impression that, in the opinion of one humble person, at least, Mr. Maitland was a merry wag.

"Good-by ... Dan!"

Anisty held her fingers in his hard palm for an instant, rising from his chair.

"Good-by, my dear," he said clumsily.

He watched her disappear, eyes humid, temples throbbing. "By the powers!" he cried. "But she's worth it!"

Perhaps his meaning was vague, even to himself. He resumed his seat mechanically and sat for a time staring dreamily into vacancy, blunt fingers drumming on the cloth.

"No," he declared at length. "No; I'm safe enough ... in _her_ hands."

Once secure from the public gaze, the girl crowded back into a corner of the cab, as though trying to efface herself. Her eyes closed almost automatically; the curve of laughing lips became a doleful droop; a crinkle appeared between the arched brows; waves of burning crimson flooded her face and throat.

In her lap both hands lay clenched into tiny fists--clenched so tightly that it hurt, numbing her fingers: a physical pain that, somehow, helped her to endure the paroxysms of shame. That she should have stooped so low!...

Presently the fingers relaxed, and her whole frame relaxed in sympathy.

The black squall had passed over; but now were the once tranquil waters ruffled and angry. Then languor gripped her like an enemy: she lay listless in its hold, sick and faint with disgust of self.

This was her all-sufficient punishment: to have done what she had done, to be about to do what she contemplated. For she had set her hand to the plow: there must now be no drawing back, however hateful might prove her task....

The voice of the cabby dropping through the trap, roused her. "This is the Martha Washington, ma'am."

Mechanically she descended from the hansom and paid her fare; then, summoning up all her strength and resolution, passed into the lobby of the hotel and paused at the telephone switchboard.

VIII

DANCE OF THE HOURS

Four P. M.

The old clock in a corner of the study chimed resonantly and with deliberation: four double strokes; and while yet the deep-throated music was dying into silence the telephone bell shrieked impertinently.

Maitland bit savagely on the gag and knotted his brows, trying to bear it. The effect was that of a coarse file rasped across raw quivering nerves. And he lay helpless, able to do no more toward endurance than to dig nails deep into his palms.

Again and again the fiendish clamor shattered the echoes. Blinding flashes of agony danced down the white-hot wires strung through his head, taut from temple to temple.

Would the fool at the other end never be satisfied that he could get no answer? Evidently not: the racket continued mercilessly, short series of shrill calls alternating with imperative rolls prolonged until one thought that the tortured metal sounding-cups would crack. Thought!

nay, prayed that either such would be the case, or else that one's head might at once mercifully be rent asunder....

That anguish so exquisite should be the means of releasing him from his bonds seemed a refinement of irony. Yet Maitland was aware, between spasms, that help was on the way. The telephone instrument, for obvious convenience, had been equipped with an extension bell which rang simultaneously in O'Hagan's quarters. When Maitland was not at home the janitor-valet, so warned, would answer the calls. And now, in the still intervals, the heavy thud of unhurried feet could be heard upon the staircase. O'Hagan was coming to answer; and taking his time about it.

It seemed an age before the rattle of pass-key in latch announced him; and another ere, all unconscious of the figure supine on the divan against the further study wall, the old man shuffled to the instrument, lifted receiver from the hook, and applied it to his ear.

"Well, well?" he demanded with that impatience characteristic of the illiterate for modern methods of communication. "Pwhat the divvle ails ye?"

"Rayspicts to ye, ma'am, and 'tis sorry I am I didn't know 'twas a leddy."