Under Cover Part 40

"When I am ready no doubt I shall," he returned.

"You wouldn't do that?" she cried, beginning to realize that she was to have no easy victory if indeed victory were to be her reward.

"I regret the necessity," he said. "These methods don't particularly appeal to me, but we have declared war, and there's no choice."

"But I don't understand," she said nervously.

"Don't you?" he said, coming nearer and looking at her closely. "Don't you understand that you are a beautiful woman and I am a man? Have you forgotten that it's nearly three, and you are in my room, the room next which you begged to be moved? They were a little puzzled at your wanting that key so badly, and when you're found here _en negligee_--for you will be found here--I think I know the world well enough to judge what construction will be placed upon that discovery."

For the moment she forgot about everything but the personal aspect of the situation in which she found herself. That this man of all others should be willing to compromise her reputation awakened the bitterest contempt for him.

"I thought at least _you_ were a _man_!" she cried.

"I am," he returned without heat. "That's just it, Miss Cartwright, I'm a man, and you are a woman."

"And I thought you were my friend," she exclaimed indignantly.

"Please don't bandy the name of friendship with me," he said with a sneer. "You of all women that live, to dare to talk like that! You knew I liked you--liked you very much, and because you were so sure of it, you wheedled me into betraying myself. You smiled and lied and pledged our friendship, and called to mind those days in Paris, which were the happiest recollections of all my life. And yet it was all done so that you might get enough out of me to lead me, with a prison sentence awaiting me, to the man who gives you your orders." He took a few swift paces up and down the room. "This indignation of yours is a false note.

We'll keep to the main facts. You are sworn to betray me, and I am sworn to defeat you."

"Don't think that," she said wretchedly; "I wasn't--"

"And when I told you the truth," he went on inexorably, "you asked me to go into the garden where they were waiting for me."

"I couldn't help it," she said, as calmly as she was able.

"And when you thought I was sending the necklace here you trumped up a flimsy excuse so that you might be able to steal in here and get it. Is that sort of thing in your code of friendship?"

"I wasn't trying to trap you," she explained. "I thought you were innocent, and I wanted to convince them of it, too."

"No doubt," he said tauntingly, "and when you found out I was guilty, you still tried to save me, I suppose, by asking me to walk into their trap?"

The girl made an effort to defend her course of action. She knew that without the admission of the truth he must feel his point of view una.s.sailable, but she wanted him not to think too hardly of her.

"After all," she declared, "you had broken the law. You are guilty. Why should my behavior be so called into account?"

"It isn't that at all," he returned impatiently. "You didn't play the game fairly. You used a woman's last weapon--her s.e.x. Well, I can play your game, too, and I will. You shall stay here till morning."

"You don't dare to keep me!" she cried.

"Oh, yes, I do," he retorted easily.

She a.s.sumed as well as she could an air of bravado, a false air of courage that might convince him she was not so easily frightened as she felt.

"And you think the possible loss of my reputation is going to frighten me into letting you go?"

"I do," he said readily.

"Well, you're wrong," she a.s.sured him, "I have only to tell them the truth about the necklace and what I'm doing here--"

"But the truth is so seldom believed," he reminded her, "especially when you've no evidence to support it. A lie is a much more easily digested morsel."

"All the evidence I need," she a.s.serted, "is in that locked drawer."

"Quite so," he admitted. "I'd forgotten that, only it happens you're wrong again." He drew the necklace from his pocket and showed it to her.

"It's a beauty, isn't it?"

Moving over to the table he scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Manufacturing evidence," he returned calmly.

"Meanwhile," she said, gathering courage, "I propose to leave this room."

"An excellent idea from your way of thinking," he said, looking up.

"Naturally I'm interested to know how."

"I'll show you," she responded, and moved quickly to the bell b.u.t.ton which she pushed violently. "Now, Mr. Denby," she cried triumphantly.

"This is my first shot! When the servants come, I shall take the necklace with me."

She was disappointed to see no trace of alarm on his face. Instead, he answered her calmly enough.

"What a pity you did that--you'll regret it so very soon."

"Shall I?" she said satirically, and watched him go to the window. As he did so, a low whistle was heard coming from the lawn beneath. Then he took the necklace, wrapped it in the note he had written, and tossed it through the opening.

"I hardly think you'll take it with you," he observed suavely.

"I shall get it," she returned. "I shall tell the Harringtons exactly what you are, and that you threw it on the lawn."

"Wrong again, Miss Cartwright," he said patiently. "If you'll stand where I am, you will see the retreating figure of my friend Monty, who has it with him. Monty managed rather well, I think. His whistle announced the coast was clear."

"But he can't get away with those men out there," she reminded him.

"Monty waited until they were gone," he repeated. "For the moment, your friends of the secret service have left us."

"Then I'll tell Mr. Harrington about Monty, that he's your accomplice."

He shook his head. "I hardly think they'd believe that even from you.

That Montague Vaughan, whose income is what he desires it to be, should lower himself to help me, is one of the truthful things n.o.body could possibly credit. If you could ring in some poor but honest young man it would sound so much more probable, but Monty, no."

She looked at him like a thing stricken. Her poor bravado fell from her.

She felt beaten, and dreaded to think what might be the price of her failure.

"And since you forced me," he added, "I've had to play my last card. The note that I threw to Monty was a letter to you. He'll leave it where it can easily be found."

"A letter to me!" she repeated.