Under Cover Part 24

"For me it's people who make places--the places themselves don't matter--you and I are here," he said gently.

The girl sighed a little. "Still, Paris is Paris," she insisted.

"Rather!" he answered, sighing too. "Do you remember that afternoon in front of the Cafe de la Paix? We had _vin gris_ and watched the Frenchman with the funny dog, and the boys calling _La Presse_, and the woman who made you buy some 'North Wind' for me, and the people crowding around the newspaper kiosks."

In the adjoining room Nora was strumming the piano, and was now playing "_Un Peu d'Amour_." She had looked in the hall and finding the stranger so wholly absorbed in Ethel Cartwright, had retired to solitude.

"And do you remember the hole in the table-cloth?" Ethel demanded.

"And wasn't it a dirty table-cloth?" he reminded her. "And afterwards we had tea in the Bois at the Cascade and the Hungarian Band played '_Un Peu d'Amour_.'" He looked at the girl smiling. "How did you arrange to have that played just at the right moment?"

They listened in silence for a moment to the dainty melody, and then she hummed a few bars of it. Her thoughts were evidently far away from Long Island.

"And don't you remember that poor skinny horse in our fiacre?" she asked him. "He was so tired he fell down, and we walked home in pity."

"Ah, you were tender-hearted," he sighed.

"And we had dinner at Vian's afterwards," she reminded him, and then, after a pause: "Wasn't the soup awful?"

"Ah, but the string-beans were an event," he a.s.serted. "And that evening, I remember, there was a moon over the Bois, and we sat under the trees. Have you forgotten that?"

"I don't think that would be very easy," she said softly.

"And we went through the Louvre the next day," he said eagerly, "the whole Louvre in an hour, and the loveliest picture I saw there was--_you_."

Denby glanced up with a frown as Lambart's gentle footfall was heard, and rose to his feet a trifle embarra.s.sed by this intrusion. Lambart came to a respectful pause at Miss Cartwright's side.

"Pardon me," he said, "but there is a gentleman to see you." She took a card that was on the tray he held before her.

"To see me?" she cried, startled, gazing at the card. Denby, watching her closely, saw her grow, as he thought, pale. "Ask him to come in. Mr.

Denby," she said, "will you forgive me?"

"Surely," he a.s.sented, walking toward the great stairway. "I have to dress, anyway."

"Your room is at the head of the stairs," Lambart reminded him. "All your luggage is taken in, sir."

Denby looked down at her. "Till dinner?" he asked.

"Till dinner," she said, and watched him pa.s.s out of sight. She was a girl whose poise of manner prevented the betrayal of vivid emotion in any but a certain subdued fashion. But it was plain she was laboring now under an agitation that amounted almost to deadly fear.

A few seconds later Daniel Taylor strode in with firm a.s.sured tread and looked at the luxurious surroundings with approval.

"Good evening, Miss Cartwright," he exclaimed genially. "Good evening."

"My sister," she returned, trembling, "nothing's happened to her? She's all right?"

"Sure, sure," he returned rea.s.suringly, "I haven't bothered her; the little lady's all right, don't you worry."

"Then what do you want here?" she cried alarmed. No matter what his manner this man had menace in every look and gesture. She had never been brought into contact with one who gave in so marked a degree the impression of ruthless strength.

"I thought I'd drop in with reference to our little chat this afternoon," he remarked easily. "Nice place they've got here."

"But I don't understand why you have come," she persisted.

"You haven't forgotten our little conversation, I hope?"

"Of course not," she said.

"Well," he continued, "you said when I needed you, you'd be ready." He looked about him cautiously as though fearing interruption. "I said it might be a year, or it might be a month, or it might be to-night. Well, it's to-night, Miss Cartwright. I need you right now."

"Now?" she said puzzled. "Still, I don't understand."

He lowered his voice. "A man has smuggled a two hundred thousand dollar necklace through the Customs to-day. For various reasons which you wouldn't understand, we allowed him to slip through, thinking he'd fooled us. Now that he believes himself safe, it ought to be easy to get that necklace. We've got to get it; and we're going to get it, through one of our agents." He pointed a forefinger at her. "We're going to get it through you."

"But I shouldn't know how to act," she protested, "or what to do."

Taylor smiled. "You're too modest, Miss Cartwright. I've seen some of your work in my own office, and I think you'll be successful."

"But don't you see I'm staying here over Sunday?" she explained. "I can't very well make an excuse and leave now."

"You don't have to leave," he told her.

"What do you mean, then?" she demanded.

"That the man who smuggled the necklace is staying here, too. His name is Steven Denby."

"Steven Denby!" the girl cried, shrinking away from him. "Oh, no, you must be mad--he isn't a smuggler."

"Why isn't he?" Taylor snapped.

"I know him," she explained.

"You do?" he cried. "Where did you meet him?"

"In Paris," she replied.

"How long have you known him?"

"Just about a year," she answered.

"What do you know about him?" Taylor asked quickly. It was evident that her news seemed very important to him. "What's his business? How does he make his living? Do you know his people?"

"I don't think he does anything," she said hesitatingly.

"Nothing, eh?" Taylor laughed disagreeably. "I suppose you think that's clear proof he couldn't be a smuggler?"

"I'm sure you are wrong," she said with spirit; "he's my friend."

"Your friend!" Taylor returned. His manner from that of the bluff cross-examiner changed to one that had something confidential and friendly in it. "Why, that ought to make it easier."