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Show "I thought possibly Mrs. Merrilees had arrived during the day " "Yes," Lydia affirmed, "she did this "afternoon, I believe.' The smile became even more remotely remote-ly regretful. "I'm sorry, but Mrs. Merrilees Mer-rilees Is not among our guests." Some instants later Lydia became conscious that she was staring, to the pained embarrassment of the young man. Hastily averting her gaze, she remarked the clock, and mechanically noted the hour: it was a quarter to eleven. "Are you sure?" she faltered. "Oh, quite." But Craven had promised to meet her there, had given her the necklace to deliver to Betty at the Margrave. Impossible that he could be mistaken as to his fiancee's hotel, he who had been flying round all afternoon, "getting "get-ting Betty settled" his very words ! Insensibly Lydia's eyes darkened and became informed with an expression expres-sion that had suited better the eyes of one by right of years more inured to mental anguish. "But surely this is the Margrave!" "Yes it is. Mrs. Merrilees may be at the Plaza, or the Savoy, or the Netherlands, Nether-lands, even the St. Regis not quite so near. If you care to sit down a moment, mo-ment, I'll inquire by telephone." "You're very kind," said Lydia ; "but I fancy I won't have to trouble you. Mrs. BeggarstafC will know. I hope I'm not mistaken in believing that she is stopping here?" The smile of the young man passed the bounds of strict decorum, as from a desk clerk to one of the public. He was enchanted to be able to answer reassuringly. "It was good of you to come over so late, dear to please an old woman." With this the Dowager Dragon took Betty Merrilees into her arms and kissed her on both cheeks. "Truth to tell, for the fun of it," said Mrs. Merrilees. "I was glad of an excuse ex-cuse to stay up. I'm possessed of a devil tonight. If I wasn't at heart a re- "We'd like to have your personal word of honor that you didn't turn this trick." Betty laughed, staccato. "But if I say I did?" Quoin shrugged. "That would end my interest." "And if it turns out I didn't eh?" "Then I may be able to tell you something some-thing to your advantage." Betty sat up sharply. "You mean you know where my necklace is?" "Did you smuggle it?" Quoin counter-questioned. A note of unimpeachable candor informed in-formed the woman's voice. "I give you my word of honor I did not. I know nothing about it. Beyond the fact that I myself placed a genuine necklace in that case, and saw a paste necklace come out of it " "There !" Mrs. Beggarstaff exclaimed with a look of triumph at Traft. The face of this last suddenly assumed as-sumed a most unbecoming brick-red hue. "That's all very well," he grumbled, "and I'm not doubting Betty a little bit; but," he stammered and gulped, "but I tell you now I can't believe be-lieve it of Tad, and as for Lydia " He made an exasperated gesture. "Quoin's crazy that's all !" "What's this?" Betty put in quickly. "Tad and Lydia?" She waited an instant, in-stant, her color waning. "What have they to do with my necklace?" "I'll tell you," said Quoin gently. "Craven gave his daughter your necklace, neck-lace, hidden in a Chinese puzzle box, to bring through the customs, counting on her exemption, as an alien, from rigid inspection." Mrs. Merrilees rose from her chair, staring fixedly at Quoin. "You know this to be a fact?" "I saw it in Miss Craven's possession. posses-sion. The rest is inference from contributory con-tributory circumstances." The detective endured her stare without flinching; though the color of his dark face deepened and his breath came a trace more quickly. Convinced at length of his sincerity, she turned away, moved to a window, and stood there with her back to the room, gazing gaz-ing thoughtfully out into the misty chiaroscuro of the plaza. "That's why we wanted your word you were on the level before we told you," Peter explained. "I see," said the woman in a gentler voice. "Please tell me about it." "Very well." Quoin responded with, the story, from his view and point, of Lydia's adventure in the fog. "It was your necklace in the box, the real thing, beyond mistake," he concluded. "But," Betty argued, bewildered, "I don't see " "Wait. I think I can make everything every-thing clear. When Southpaw shut the box and gave it up, on my demand, I watched him pretty closely, and saw him slip a playing card in with the necklace. After I got outside I opened the box up on my own account, partly to satisfy myself about the necklace, partly to have a look at that card. It was a knave of diamonds." Betty swung back from the window. "But what can that mean?" "It's a question I think Craven can answer if he will. Anyhow, we're safe in assuming the card was intended for him, and certainly it must have had some significance. That, if you'll permit, per-mit, establishes a secret bond of understanding un-derstanding between two known blacklegs black-legs and Thaddeus Craven." "But why didn't you tell me this at the time?" "Because, very naturally, I wasn't at all sure you wanted to be told." "If you'll please explain " "Quoin means," Peter interrupted, "you've been such a consistent performer, per-former, he hesitated to do anything calculated to cramp your style, if this thing was what it looked like a frame-up frame-up between you and Tad to' beat the customs." "But what right had you to jump at any such conclusion?" Betty insisted. "Because I knew you knew real gems from false and the necklace you had shown us that very morning was counterfeit." coun-terfeit." "It isn't possible!" Betty protested hotly. "I saw it myself." "So did I ; and was interested enough well, you'll recall I asked to see them in a strong light? You were so satisfied satis-fied you never looked twice. But I was positive then that they were false, and even more positive later, when I saw the real collar in the puzzle box." "Still I don't understand." "If you remember, Craven took his time about fetching that box from the purser. It was a good ten minutes before be-fore he got back. He had time and to spare to open your despatch box and substitute the counterfeit for the genuine genu-ine duplicate key you knew nothing about, of course." "Look here " Peter began excitedly, excited-ly, then checked and turned sullen. "Well?" Mrs. Beggarstaff demanded, while Betty and Quoin obliged the young man by looking their curiosity. "Oh, I don't like to say it," he muttered mut-tered unwillingly. "You've made out too strong a case against him as it is and I've always had a sneaking fondness fond-ness for old Tad." (TO BE CONTINUED.) fs lf SHEEP'S ( CLOTHING By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE AtW f "THE IONE WOLF," "THE BRASS BOWL" UElz. CHAPTER XII Continued. 14 "Anyway," Lydia returned, "I've the address in my pocketbook. Mrs. Beggarstaff Beg-garstaff is stopping there too, you know, and I'm to lunch with her Monday Mon-day !" "To be sure!'1 Craven opened his arms and stepped toward her. "My dear, dear girl, you don't know what a ielp you are to me !" Lydia didn't move or speak ; but her direct and searching gaze proved disconcerting. dis-concerting. With arms almost about her, Craven hesitated, his look at once abashed and aggrieved, "My dear Liddy!" he expostulated. The girl sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, father. No, please don't say anything more. I'm glad to be of service ; and perhaps, in the course of time, I shall understand you better. But tonight" She made a helpless gesture, in unfeigned sadness. "There are too many misunderstandings between be-tween us, and I don't seem able to think clearly enough to reconcile them tonight. Tomorrow, I hope " She was at the door before Craven found a reply. "At your pleasure, my lady!" he laughed, not' pleasantly. "I confess it's a new thought to me, that a man in my position may have no secrets se-crets from his child." "Please don't say any more tonight," Lydia begged, with her hand on the knob. "Oh, very well I" he returned with a shrug and grimace of strained patience. "But half a minute !" Opening the door for her, he followed out into the hall, where a stolid bellboy was waiting for his answer to the knave of clubs. To him Craven presented pre-sented a piece of silver. . "See my daughter down to the ladies' entrance," he said, "the Forty-sixth " street elevator, you understand and after that send up the gentleman who brought that note, by the Broadway elevator." "Yes, sir," the youth mumbled adoringly ador-ingly to his tip. Craven stood watching the figures of Lydia and the bellboy diminish down the perspective of the long corridor, until they turned a corner CHAPTER XIII. -w The taxicab chose the northwest corner cor-ner of Fifty-sixth street as the most inconvenient in-convenient spot attainable to blow out a rear shoe. But Lydia had drawn luckily in New York's gigantic lottery of chauffeurs. This man knew his business. busi-ness. Before the girl had recovered from the shock of the tire explosion and the subsequent shaking up he had brought his machine to a standstill, jumped down, and was communing ,with himself in terms of confidential profanity concerning the ruined tire. Then, opening the door, he an-T an-T nounced that this was the last stop. "Sorry," he said, "but I got no spare tire, and if I had I'd need half an hour to make the change. Now I'll have to wait for the repair car." A prey to vague mistrust, Lydia got out. Southward the avenue lay black and lonely save for the lurching lights of an ungainly bus groping over the wet asphalt ; to the north the plaza was like a well in the air, shot through and through with glimmering light. "I don't know what to do," Lydia ventured In her distress. "I'm a stranger in New York" With a pang she realized how fatal such an admission admis-sion might prove. But her chauffeur was a prosaic soul, who had never chartered his car to a gang, and recked little of the terrors of New York for the overseas immigrant. "The clock says a dollar twenty," he responded, with a disgusted jerk restoring re-storing the "flag" to perpendicular. "Oh!" said Lydia brightly, after a blank moment; and found her purse. "Please tell me the way to the nearest cab rank." "Cab rank" was a term not in the chauffeur's vocabulary; but he grappled grap-pled manfully with its occult significance. sig-nificance. "You mean stand," he explained, ex-plained, not, unkindly. "If you don't mind walking a couple o' blocks, I'll take you to the Margrave. That's about the nearest, and anyway I got to telephone for the repair car." "Thank you," said Lydia timidly gratitude leaping in her heart to that kind destiny which had ordered this accident in just this "pot. The Margrave Mar-grave ! Lydia marched resolutely into the hotel.;- She would be delayed not five minutes longer than if she was to engage en-gage another cab Immediately. Let Craven object if he cared to, when informed in-formed ! She had every reasonable excuse ex-cuse for desiring to rid herself of her responsibility as quickly as possible and wash her hands of the whole matter: mat-ter: she never wanted to see the collar again. It was evidently defective hearing flljne that caused the desk clerk to require re-quire a repetition of the name. , "Mrs. Merrilees." The clerk retired to consult the room rack, and presently returned with the official smile, Impersonally apologetic. "I'm Sorry, but Mrs. Merrilees Is Not Among Our Guests." spectable widow woman, I'd cut loose and misbehave scandalous. For two cents I'd head a mob to burn the customhouse cus-tomhouse and lynch that man Loeb." Divested of her wraps, she sailed tempestuously into the drawing room of the Beggarstaff suite where Peter Traft uprose from comfort in a wing chair and bowed politely. "No wonder they call him 'Loeb the poor Indian' !" he commented. "Though I believe the poor man would die happy if he could get just one long, lingering slant at you as you look tonight. Rip-pin' Rip-pin' !" "I feel like rippin' something or somebody, Peter," Betty declared with a brief, metallic laugh. Then she deigned to notice the other man present. pres-ent. "Oh, you, is it, Mr. Quoin? Hardly expected to find you here." "Deep regrets !" the detective replied cheerfully and for that was shown a cold if adorable shoulder. "Oh, come now, Betty!" Peter protested. pro-tested. "Don't cut up rough with Quoin. Angels could do no more than he has done today." "He still has a sneaking suspicion that I really did smuggle that necklace. Do you believe it too?" "Don't ask me : I might tell you." "And you?" Mrs. Merrilees demanded demand-ed hotly of the Dowager Dragon. "I don't think you above anything I'd stoop to if you want the truth, my dear. I myself wasted several hours today trying to make the customs look foolish, and how shall I say it, Peter?" "Didn't get away with it." "Much as I disapprove of slang thank you, Peter." "So all three of you are against me !" Mrs. Merrilees lounged more deeply in her chair, swept their faces with insolent in-solent eyes, and laughed unpleasantly. "Well, I've been spoiling for a row all day, and now I'm going to have one or know the reason why." "Make your mind easy about that," Peter advised gravely. "As a tidy young disturber of the peace, Betty, you show class." "Shut up, Peter!" Again her glance challenged the three. "What's up?" she demanded in sudden suspicion. "You didn't call me over here now just to tell me you believe me capable of smuggling that collar you know you didn't !" "No, my dear," Mrs. Beggarstaff re-piled re-piled ; "but we did want to talk with you about it." "Well?" "It's this way, Mrs. MerrHees," Quoin volunteered : "We're all your friends, and all my Interest in this matter is purely unprofessional as far as you are personally involved." Mrs. Merrilees nodded brusquely, but focused an interested regard on the face of the detective. "Proceed," she said sweetly. J |