"I'm sorry. I touched that chord unthinkingly. I merely wanted to have your full comprehension--and sympathy."

"You had both already. I would not have dared to intrude if I did not realize that a man talking to another man can raise points which are lost sight of when a woman--_the_ woman--is the other party to the debate."

"Would you care to hear a brief record of my life during the last few years?"

"Go right ahead! I'm not a gossip. If I know something of the truth, I may be able to stop a rill of scandal one of these days. There's bound to be chatter, even though old Mr. Willard comes East."

"You know the name, then?"

"Certainly. Mrs. Van Ralten was speaking about him tonight--not very favorably, either. Said she couldn't understand how such a man could have such a daughter."

"Mrs. Van Ralten is a remarkably intelligent woman," said Power dryly.

"I never saw Nancy's mother; but I imagine that this is a case of exclusive heredity, because there never were two more diverse natures than Nancy's and her father's. She is the soul of honor, and would give her life for a principle; while he bartered his own daughter for a few thousand dollars. If I were not convinced of that, do you believe I would besmirch her good name and my own by so much as tonight's mild adventure in an Italian cafe?"

"I can give you easy a.s.surance on that head. I have seldom been so surprised as when I saw the pair of you leaving the place and entering a cab."

"That was a mere episode, a first meek onslaught on the proprieties, so to speak. You will understand fully when I have told you the whole story."

They talked, or rather Power talked and Dacre listened, till a clock struck twelve somewhere. Carriages began to roll along the neighboring avenues, and lamps occasionally flitted past the hotel. Two or three vivacious groups crossed the veranda, and a porter turned on a lamp.

Then Power found that his English friend had placed their chairs in a sort of alcove formed by a disused doorway flanked on each hand by a huge palm growing in a wooden tub which held a ton of earth, or more; so they were well screened.

"You meant to force me to confess," he said, smiling.

"Yes. It might have been merely folly on your part."

"But now?"

"Now it is Fate's own contriving. You don't want to escape; but you couldn't if you did. Or, that is awkwardly put. What I mean is----"

Dacre's meaning was clear enough; but he never completed the sentence. A cab, laden with luggage, drove up, and a slightly built, elderly man alighted.

"This the Ocean House?" he inquired, when a porter hurried forward.

"Yes, sir," and the man took a portmanteau from the driver.

"Hold on, there! I'm not sure I shall want a room. How far is 'The Breakers' from here, Mrs. Marten's house?"

"Quite a ways," said the cabman. "Two miles an' a bit."

The new arrival seemed to consider the distance and the lateness of the hour.

"Is Mrs. Marten in Newport, do you know?" he asked.

"Yep. I tuk her downtown this evenin'."

"Alone?"

"Guess that's so."

"Where was she going?"

"Wall, ye see, I was on the box, an' de lady was inside; so we didn't git anyways sociable."

The stranger evidently bethought himself, and turned to the porter again. He could not know that a Harvard man was merely speaking in the vernacular. "Have you a Mr. Power staying here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Is he here now?"

"If he isn't in the hotel, he'll be at the Casino. Shall I ring up his room, sir?"

"No, no. I'll see him in the morning. It's too late to go any farther tonight, and I'm rather tired and shaken up. My train was derailed, and we are hours behind time. Give me a decent room. I suppose I can have breakfast at eight o'clock?"

"Any time you like, sir."

The cab went off, and the inquisitive visitor entered the building. The two men seated behind the palms had not uttered a syllable while the foregoing conclave was in progress.

"Mr. Francis Willard, I presume?" murmured Dacre, when the retreating footsteps had died away.

"Yes," said Power.

"Three days ahead of the time stated in his letter, I presume further."

"That must be so."

"Foxy. He fits your description. What are you going to do now?"

"Finish my yarn, if I am not wearying you, and leave Newport at seven A.M. instead of nine-ten. The fox broke cover just a little too soon."

"By gad, yes! I think I'll recognize that cabman again. If I come across him, I'll tip him for you. He deserves it.... The swine! To start pumping the townsfolk before he was ten seconds in the place, and about his own daughter, too! Dash his eyes--wait till someone refers him to me for news of you! I'll head him into the open country quick enough--trust me!"

Dacre's comments might sound rather incoherent; but it was painfully evident that Nancy's father had created a bad first impression, and he was one of those unhappy mortals who could not afford to do that, because he never survived it.

CHAPTER IX

THE CHASE

In the morning Power's first care was to ascertain the position of the room allotted to Willard. As he imagined, it proved to be in the back part of the hotel, every apartment in the front section being occupied by season residents. Shortly before six o'clock, therefore, he drove away in an open carriage, confident that nothing short of an almost incredible chance would bring the older man to vestibule or porch at that early hour. Halting the vehicle at a corner near Nancy's abode, he walked to the house, and surprised the earliest servants astir by bidding one of them wake Mrs. Marten at once, as he had news of her father.

"Nothing serious," he added, with a rea.s.suring smile at a housemaid whose alarmed face showed an immediate sense of disaster. "Mrs. Marten is leaving Newport today, I think, and my message may decide her to start sooner--that is all."

But Nancy had seen him from her bedroom window, and now fluttered downstairs in a dressing gown.

"What is it, Derry?" she asked, and mistress and maid evidently shared the feminine belief that such an untimely call presaged something sensational and therefore sinister.