Under Cover Part 31

Monty gripped his friend's arm tightly. "Who is that girl?"

"Why, Ethel Cartwright," he rejoined, "a close friend of our hostess.

Why ask me?"

"Yes, yes," Monty said impatiently, "but what do you know about her?"

"Nothing except that she's a corker."

"You met her in Paris, didn't you?" Monty was persistent.

"Yes," his friend admitted.

"What was she doing there?"

Denby frowned. "What on earth are you driving at?"

"She was behind that door listening to us or trying to."

"So you thought that, too?" Denby cried quickly.

"Then you do suspect her of being the one they've got to work on the inside?" Monty retorted triumphantly.

"It can't be possible," Denby exclaimed, fighting to retain his faith in her. "You're dead wrong, old man. I won't believe it for a moment."

"Say, Steve," Monty cried, a light breaking in on him, "you're sweet on her."

"It isn't possible, it isn't even probable," said Denby, taking no notice of his suggestion.

"But the same idea occurred to you as did to me," Monty persisted.

"I know," Denby admitted reluctantly. "I began to be suspicious when she wanted to get hold of the pouch. You saw how mighty interested she was in it?"

"That's what startled me so," Monty told him. "But how could she know?"

"They've had a tip," Denby said, with an air of certainty, "and if she's one of 'em, she knows where the necklace was. Wouldn't it be just my rotten luck to have that girl, of all girls I've ever known, mixed up in this?"

"Old man," Monty said solemnly, "you are in love with her."

Denby looked toward the stairway by which he had seen her go.

"I know I am," he groaned.

"Oughtn't we to find out whether she's the one who's after you or not?"

Monty suggested with sound good sense.

"No, we oughtn't," Denby returned. "I won't insult her by trying to trap her."

"Flub-dub," Monty scoffed. "I suspect her, and it's only fair to her to clear her of that suspicion. If she's all right, I shall be darn glad of it. If she isn't, wouldn't you rather know?"

For the first time since he had met his old school friend in Paris, Monty saw him depressed and anxious. "I don't want to have to fight her," he explained.

"I understand that," Monty went on relentlessly, "but you can't quit now--you've got to go through with it, not only for your own sake, but in fairness to the Harringtons. It would be a pretty raw deal to give them to have an expose like that here just because of your refusal to have her tested."

"I suppose you're right," Denby sighed.

"Of course I am," Monty exclaimed.

"Very well," his friend said, "understand I'm only doing this to prove how absolutely wrong you are."

He would not admit even yet that she was plotting to betray him. Those memories of Paris were dearer to him than he had allowed himself to believe. Monty looked at him commiseratingly. He had never before seen Steven in trouble, and he judged his wound to be deeper than it seemed.

"Sure," he said. "Sure, I know, and I'll be as glad as you to find after all it's Lambart or one of the other servants. What shall we do?"

Denby pointed to the door from which Miss Cartwright had come. "Go in there," he commanded, "and keep the rest of the people from coming back here."

Monty's face fell. "How can I do that?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, recite, make faces, imitate Irving in 'The Bells,' do anything but threaten to sing, but keep 'em there as you love me."

Obediently Monty made for the door but stopped for a moment before pa.s.sing through it.

"And say, old man," he said a little hurriedly, nervous as most men are when they deal with sentiment, "don't take it too hard. Just remember what happened to Samson and Antony and Adam."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Monty had gone, Denby took out the pouch and placed it conspicuously on the floor so that anyone descending the stairs must inevitably catch sight of it. Then, as though thinking better of it, he picked it up and placed it on one of the small tables on which was an electric shaded lamp. After looking about him for a hiding-place from which he could command a view of it and yet remain undiscovered, he decided upon a door at the left of the hall.

He had waited there only a few seconds when Ethel Cartwright's steps were heard descending.

"Oh, Mr. Denby," she called, "you were right, the fan was in my room after all." Then, as she became conscious that the room was empty, she paused and looked about her closely. Presently her eyes fell on the precious pouch so carelessly left. For a moment the excitement bereft her of ability to move. Here, only a few yards from her, was what would earn her sister's safety and her release from Taylor's power.

But she was no fool and collecting her thoughts wondered how it was possible so precious a thing could be left open to view. Perhaps it was a trap. Perhaps in the big hall behind one of its many doors or portieres she was even now being watched. Denby had looked at her in a stern, odd manner, wholly different from his former way and Mr. Vaughan, of whom she had heard often enough as a pleasant, amiable fellow, had stared at her searchingly and harshly. An instinct of danger came to her aid and she glanced over to the door behind her which was slightly ajar.

She remembered certainly that it was closed when she had gone upstairs for her supposit.i.tious fan.

As calmly as she could she walked to the wall and touched the bell that would summon a servant. In a few seconds Lambart entered.

"Please find Mr. Denby," she said, "and say that I am here."

Before he could turn to go, she affected to discover the leathern pouch.

"Oh, Lambart," she exclaimed, "here's Mr. Denby's tobacco; he must have forgotten it."

The man took up the pouch, a.s.suming from her manner that she desired him to carry it to the owner. "No, I'll take it," she said, and reached for it. Lambart only saw what was to him an inexcusably clumsy gesture which dislodged it from his hand and sent it to the floor, in such a manner that it opened and the tobacco tumbled out. But the girl's gesture was cleverer than he knew for in that brief moment she had satisfied herself it was empty.