"We've got to find out who it is," Denby said decidedly, "and then, Monty, we'll have some sport."

"Then we'll have some shooting," Monty returned in disgust. "Where is that confounded necklace anyway? Is Michael carrying it around without knowing it?"

"Still in my pouch," Denby returned.

As he said this, Miss Cartwright very gently opened a door toward which his back was turned. Terrified at the thought of Taylor's possible intrusion, she had been spurred to some sort of action, and had sauntered back to the big hall with the hope of overhearing something that would aid her.

"I know they mean business," she heard Denby say, "and this is going to be a fight, Monty, and a fight to a finish."

The thought that there might presently be scenes of violence enacted in the hospitable Harrington home, scenes in which she had a definite role to play, which might lead even to the death of Denby as it certainly must lead to his disgrace, drove her nearly to hysteria. Taylor had inspired her with a great horror, and at the same time a great respect for his power and courage. She did not see how a man like Steven Denby could win in a contest between himself and the brutal deputy-surveyor.

"Oh," she sighed, "if they were differently placed! If Steven stood for the law and Taylor for crime!"

Everything favored Taylor, it seemed to her. Denby was alone except for Monty's faltering aid, while the other had his men at hand and, above all, the protection of the law. It was impossible to regard Taylor as anything other than a victor making war on men or women and moved by nothing to pity. What other man than he would have tortured her poor little sister, she wondered.

To a woman used through the exigencies of circ.u.mstances to making her living in a business world where compet.i.tion brought with it rivalries, trickeries and jealousies, the ordeal to be faced would have been almost overwhelming.

But the Cartwrights had lived a sheltered life, the typical happy family life where there is wealth, and none until to-day had ever dared to speak to Ethel as Taylor had done. She was almost frantic with the knowledge that she must play the spy, the eavesdropper, perhaps the Delilah among people who trusted her.

As she was debating what next to do, she heard Monty's voice as it seemed to her fraught with excitement and eager and quick.

"Will you have a cigarette, d.i.c.k?" she heard him call. Instantly Steven Denby wheeled about and faced the door through which she appeared to saunter languidly. Something told her that Monty had discovered her.

"Still talking business?" she said, attempting to appear wholly at ease.

"I've left my fan somewhere."

"Girls are always doing that, aren't they?" Denby said pleasantly. There was no indication from his tone that he suspected she had been listening. "We'll have to find it, Monty."

"Sure, Steve, sure," Monty returned. He was not able to cloak his uneasiness.

"Steve?" the girl queried brightly. "As I came in, I thought I heard you call him 'd.i.c.k.'"

"That was our private signal," Denby returned promptly, relieving poor Monty of an answer.

"That sounds rather mysterious," she commented.

"But it's only commonplace," Denby a.s.sured her. "My favorite parlor trick is making breaks--it always has been since Monty first knew me--and invented a signal to warn me when I'm on thin ice or dangerous ground. 'Will you have a cigarette, d.i.c.k' is the one he most often uses."

"But why 'd.i.c.k?'" she asked.

"That's the signal," Denby explained. "If he said 'Steve,' I shouldn't notice it, so he always says 'd.i.c.k,' don't you, Monty?"

"Always, Steve," Monty answered quickly.

"Then you were about to make a break when I came in?" she hinted.

"I'm afraid I was," Denby admitted.

"What was it? Won't you tell me?"

"If I did," he said, "it would indeed be a break."

"Discreet man," she laughed; "I believe you were talking about me."

He did not answer for a moment but looked at her keenly. It hurt him to think that this girl, of all others, might be fencing with him to gain some knowledge of his secret. But he had lived a life in which danger was a constant element, and women ere this had sought to baffle him and betray.

He was cautious in his answer.

"You are imaginative," he said, "even about your fan. There doesn't seem to be a trace of it, and I don't think I remember your having one."

"Perhaps I didn't bring it down," she admitted, "and it may be in my room after all. May I have that promised cigarette to cheer me on my way?"

"Surely," he replied. Very eagerly she watched him take the pouch from his pocket and roll a cigarette.

Her action seemed to set Monty on edge. Suppose Denby by any chance dropped the pouch and the jewels fell out. It seemed to him that she was drawing nearer. Suppose she was the one who had been chosen to "work inside" and s.n.a.t.c.hed it from him?

"Miss Cartwright," he said, and noted that she seemed startled at his voice, "can't I get your fan for you?"

"No, thanks," she returned, "you'd have to rummage, and that's a privilege I reserve only for myself."

"Here you are," Denby broke in, handing her the slim white cigarette.

She took it from him with a smile and moistened the edge of the paper as she had seen men do often enough. "You are an expert," she said admiringly.

He said no word but lighted a match and held it for her. She drew a breath of tobacco and half concealed a cough. It was plain to see that she was making a struggle to enjoy it, and plainer for the men to note that she failed.

"What deliciously mild tobacco you smoke," she cried. Suddenly she stretched out her hand for the pouch. "Do let me see."

But Denby did not pa.s.s it to her. He looked her straight in the eyes.

"I don't think a look at it would help you much," he said slowly. "The name is, in case you ever want to get any, 'without fire.'"

"What an odd name," she cried. "Without fire?"

"Yes," he answered. "You see, no smoke without fire." Without any appearance of haste he put the pouch back in his pocket.

"You don't believe in that old phrase?"

"Not a bit," he told her. "Do you?"

She turned to ascend the stairs to her room.

"No. Do make another break sometime, won't you--d.i.c.k?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DO MAKE ANOTHER BREAK SOMETIME, WON'T YOU--d.i.c.k?" _Page 186_.]

"I most probably shall," he retorted, "unless Monty warns me--or you."

She turned back--she was now on the first turn of the staircase. "I'll never do that. I'd rather like to see you put your foot in it--you seem so very sure of yourself--Steve." She laughed lightly as she disappeared.