"We can do it," Ethel said eagerly. "I've only one cabin trunk, and it weighs nothing. Why disturb them?"

When they had moved the baggage down the halls to the smaller room, there was no key to lock the door which led to a connecting room.

"Whose is that?" Ethel demanded.

"Mr. Denby's," she was told. "I always give men big rooms, because they're so untidy. Michael will know where the key is. He has every one of the hundred keys with a neat label on it. He's so methodical in some things. By the time you're ready for bed I'll have it."

A few minutes later the intervening door was safely locked and Mrs.

Harrington had left the girl, feeling that perhaps she, too, would be nervous if she had not her Michael close at hand.

Directly the girl was alone she sprang out of bed and hurriedly put on a white silk negligee. So far her plans had prospered admirably. The bedroom from which she had moved was so situated that if she were to undertake the search of Denby's room, she must pa.s.s the rooms of her host and hostess and also that of Nora Rutledge. And this search was imperative. Out in the darkness Taylor and his men were waiting impatiently. Presently a band of men, armed in all probability, would sally forth from the house and might just as likely capture the Customs officers. Supposing Taylor took this as treachery on her part and denounced her before the Harringtons? Nothing would save Amy then.

If only she could discover the necklace and give the signal in time so that the deputy-surveyor could come legitimately into the house! She told herself that she must control this growing nervousness; that her movements must be swift and sure, and that she must banish all thought of the man she had met in Paris, or the punishment that would be his.

Fortunately his guests could not escape Michael and his big cigars; and cigars, as she knew from her father's use of them, are not consumed as a cigarette may be and thrown quickly away.

The key turned in the lock stiffly and it seemed to her, waiting breathless, that the sound must be audible everywhere. But as quiet still ruled outside in the corridors, she pushed the door half-open and peered into the room. It was dark save for the moonlight, but she could see to make her way to a writing-table, on which was an electric lamp.

She turned it on and then looked about her nervously. It was a large, well-furnished room, and to the right of her a big alcove with a bed in it. There was a large French window leading to the balcony which Taylor had noted and proposed to use if she were successful in her search.

She did not dare to look out, for fear the search party might see her, so she centered her attention upon the locked drawer in which the necklace was awaiting her. There was a bra.s.s paper-knife lying on the table, heavy enough she judged, to pry open any ordinary lock. Very cautiously she set about her work. It called for more strength than she had supposed, but the lock seemed to be yielding gradually when there fell upon her anxious ear sounds of footsteps coming down the corridor.

She sprang to her feet and listened intently, and was satisfied herself that she was in imminent danger. Putting out the light she turned to run to her room, and in doing so knocked the paper-knife to the floor. To her excited fancy it clattered hideously as it fell, but she reached her room safely and locked the door.

She was hardly in shelter before Denby came into his room and switched on the light. He was still smoking the first third of his host's famous cigar. He sauntered to the window and looked over the lawn and wondered what luck the searchers would have. He had permitted himself to be urged by Harrington to a course of inactivity. It was not his wish to be brought face to face with his enemy while he had the jewels in a place they would instantly detect. He took the pearls from their hiding-place and threw them carelessly on the table. Then seeing the paper-knife on the floor he stooped to pick it up. But lying near it were little splinters of white wood that instantly arrested his attention. He knelt down, lit a match, and examined them without disturbing them in any way.

And then his eyes travelled upward, until the scratches by the lock were plain.

Experience told him plainly that the drawer had been attempted and that recently, in fact, within a half-hour since Monty had placed his pouch there with the pearls as he supposed in it.

While he was standing there motionless, sounds in the hall outside disturbed him. Presently a knock sounded on the door. Before answering he picked up the pearls and placed them in his pocket. Then he called out: "Who is it?"

"It's me," came Monty's voice in answer.

"Come in," he called.

Monty entered nervously. "Everything all right?" he demanded.

"Yes," his friend said, and then looked at him. Monty's appearance was slightly dishevelled. "What's happened?" he asked.

Monty ignored the question. "I was afraid everything might be all wrong," he cried. "This is the first time I've been able to swallow comfortably for an hour. I thought my heart was permanently dislocated."

"What's been happening downstairs?" Denby inquired.

"Nothing," Monty told him, "and it's the limit to have nothing happen."

"I thought Harrington was organizing a search party."

"Oh, we searched," Monty admitted. "I was nominally in charge, but Lambart was the directing genius. He was an officer's orderly in his youth and is some tactician, believe me." Monty pointed to his muddied knees. "He stretched clothes-lines over the paths to catch the tramps, and I was the first victim. We looked everywhere, all of us, Lambart, the under-butler, two chauffeurs and I, and we didn't even flush a cat."

"That's odd," his listener commented. "They'll be back. They're not frightened away by you fellows with lanterns. They'll be back."

"I bet they will," Monty grumbled, "and with the militia."

"Don't lose your nerve now, old man," Denby counselled.

"I wish I could," Monty cried. "This certainly is getting on it. It's a lesson not to get discontented with my lot. I've got that creepy feeling all the time that they're coming closer to us."

"But that's the real sport of it," Denby pointed out.

"Sport be d.a.m.ned," he said crossly. "Your ideas about foxes and mine don't coincide. I don't think he likes being hunted. And at that he's got something on us; he knows who's chasing him."

"So shall we soon," he was reminded.

"Yes," Monty grumbled, "when we're shot full of holes."

"Don't be afraid of getting shot at," Denby said smiling. "You amateurs have no idea how few shots. .h.i.t the mark even at short range. I've been shot at three times and I've not a scar to show."

"Job must be your favorite author," Monty commented sourly. "I hate the noise. I'm scared to death; I thought I wanted excitement, but life on a farm for me hereafter."

"But, my dear boy," Denby said more seriously, "you are not in this.

They're after me and this." He held up the necklace. "You're a spectator merely."

"Rot!" Monty cried. "I'm what they call an accessory and if you think I'm going to clear out now, all I can say is you ought to know me better than that. I want to be doing something; it's the talking that gets on my nerves. They'll be here soon, you may bet on that. They're going to search this room."

"Somebody's done that already," he was told.

"Who?" Monty cried anxiously. "That girl?"

"I think not. Her room is in the other wing, as I found out indirectly.

To come here she'd have to run an awful risk. If she comes it will be later, when everyone is asleep."

"Then who could it have been?" Monty demanded. He turned suddenly on his heel.

There was someone even now listening at the door. Then there was a faint, discreet knock. He dropped into the nearest chair and looked at the other man with a blanched face.

"Pinched!" he cried.

"Hsh!" the other commanded softly, and then louder: "Come in."

The smiling face of Michael Harrington beamed upon them. In his hands he carried a tray whereon two generous highb.a.l.l.s reposed.

"h.e.l.lo, boys," he cried genially, "I've brought up those two nightcaps I promised you. Nothing like 'em after excitement such as we've had."

"You never looked so good to me, Michael," Monty cried affectionately.

"Now, Denby," Michael said, handing him the gla.s.s in Lambart's best manner.

"Thanks, all the same," his guest returned, "but I don't think I will--not yet at any rate."