; * V ^"^ 
 
 i BUCMEER 
 
 FREDERIC -S- 
 ISHAM 

 
 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER
 
 'A man would fight hard for you"
 
 THE 
 SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 By 
 
 FREDERIC S. ISHAM 
 
 Author of 
 
 UNDER THE ROSE 
 HALF A CHANCE, ETC. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BT 
 
 W. B, KING 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLlVP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1910 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
 
 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE LOST BONDS 
 
 CCTTTHAT? Another contribution from Mr. 
 W Chatfield Bruce?" 
 
 " Yes, ladies of the board, your treasurer re- 
 ceived this morning a check, drawn on the People's 
 National Bank, for ten thousand dollars, the amount 
 needed by the settlement for the new playground." 
 
 " Mr. Bruce seems very much interested in our 
 work; but then he enjoys the reputation of being a 
 most charitable young man." 
 
 Madam President beamed benignly about her; 
 most of the ladies were beaming; for the moment, 
 the routine of business was neglected. 
 
 " Quite a remarkable case ! " It was the treas- 
 urer who spoke. " Here we find a young man, 
 not more than six and twenty, preferring to spend 
 
 I 
 
 T'IOO 
 
 / 788
 
 2 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 his money in charitable matters, instead of fling- 
 ing it away in idle frivolities ! " 
 
 " I have heard he doesn't spend any of his in- 
 heritance on himself; that he lives only on what he 
 earns in some sort of clerical capacity in a whole- 
 sale store on lower Broadway." 
 
 " And yet " the speaker was a young girl, 
 with dark hair and blue eyes " Mr. Bruce does 
 not convey the impression of one so charitably in- 
 clined! I met him for the first time last evening 
 and his expression was that of veiled raillery, 
 ironical amusement, I might almost term it, when 
 I spoke to him of his numerous gifts : ' Believe 
 me, Miss Wood, I get more pleasure and diversion 
 out of giving, than the ladies of the board do in 
 receiving.' It was not so much his words as his 
 manner ! " 
 
 " By his deeds we will judge him," said Madam 
 President urbanely. " This is a cynical age ; al- 
 though if you had seen him, as I once did " 
 
 " How was that ? " asked the girl quickly. 
 
 " It was in one of the poorest quarters ; I 
 chanced to go there on an errand for one of our 
 societies. In a horribly squalid room Mr. Bruce
 
 THE LOST BONDS 3 
 
 who is immaculate himself sat surrounded by 
 a score of children, dirty, unkempt, eating some 
 sticky stuff he had given them and listening to him 
 talk. And what," impressively, " do you think he 
 was telling these poor waifs?" 
 
 "A biblical story?" 
 
 " Not at all. Something that sounded like the 
 Arabian Nights and related to the benevolent deeds 
 
 of a certain old Chinese river pirate." / 
 
 , i 
 
 Miss Wood laughed. " Well, I'm sure they were 
 interested." -.~ .-:.. - 
 
 " They were. I felt almost like murmuring 
 something disapproving to Mr. Bruce; but of 
 course could not, remembering " 
 
 " He would probably take upon himself to sup- 
 port, send to school and to care for these little dis- 
 reputable mites of humanity." 
 
 " Exactly ! Besides the stories, although about 
 pirates, were not quite what you would call im- 
 moral. They seemed to teach a lesson in their 
 
 i 
 way ; not the conventional one, it is true ! " 
 
 " At any rate he is charming," observed the treas- 
 urer. " He is welcomed in the smartest sets in 
 spite of his peculiarities."
 
 4 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " I hear he is to take part in the little Japanese 
 play to be given at your home, Miss Wood ? " 
 
 The girl answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce should be well-fitted for a role of 
 that sort," observed another lady. "He was born 
 in the Far East, or lived there. His father was a 
 missionary, I understand." 
 
 " No ; a physician ! " 
 
 " Official adviser to one of the viceroys, I have 
 heard!" 
 
 " From whom " a lady of the board who had 
 not yet spoken, raised her voice " did he inherit 
 his money ? " 
 
 " That," said Madam President, " is a question 
 I can not answer, Mrs. Van Dusen. Perhaps some 
 one else " She looked around her. 
 
 " I have been told his uncle was a forty-niner." 
 
 "Ah, one of those California fortunes! " 
 
 " But I really know nothing about it," Miss 
 Tucker, who had vouchsafed the information, con- 
 scientiously hastened to add. 
 
 "Any other business, ladies, to come before the 
 board ? " The president's tones were again short, 
 matter-of-fact "If not "
 
 THE LOST BONDS 5 
 
 "One moment before we adjourn!" The sec- 
 retary spoke; she was a plump, well-dressed 
 woman a little overdressed, perhaps. " Our 
 special gymnasium fund, I beg to report, has not 
 quite realized the proportions we had hoped. All 
 the people on our list have been seen; unfortunately, 
 the usual number of them had ' other calls.' ' 
 
 A suggestion of a cynical smile appeared on one 
 or two faces; that on the countenance of Miss 
 Tucker, the treasurer, was the most pronounced. 
 She was a lady of excellent qualities, descendant 
 of an " old " family ; not being blessed with means, 
 she contributed her time to the cause. 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Samuel Page was on your list? " 
 she said with a tightening of the lips. 
 
 " Yes." The secretary laughed good-naturedly. 
 " One always sees him just as a matter of form, 
 because he is so rich. Not that he ever gives; or 
 ever will ! Mr. Page certainly dislikes to part with 
 any of his worldly possessions." 
 
 " He has recently parted with a few of them, if 
 the morning paper is to be depended upon," re- 
 marked Madam President vivaciously. 
 
 "To charity? No?"
 
 6 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Didn't you read about it ? My husband called 
 my attention to it. Mr. Page claims to have lost 
 some bonds from his box in the People's National 
 safety deposit vault. Of course, the officials of the 
 bank think he is mistaken; that he must have mis- 
 laid them. No one ever loses anything that way. 
 I asked my husband and he said : ' Stole 'em him- 
 self, most likely! >: Madam President imitated a 
 gruff voice. " ' He's mean enough to rob himself, 
 if he can't anybody else ! ' The members of the 
 board laughed, all save Miss Wood, who seemed 
 rather preoccupied. 
 
 " The People's National," observed Miss Tucker 
 when the brief merriment had subsided. " That," 
 looking at a check she held in her hand, " is one 
 of the banks Mr. Bruce does business with. At 
 least, he has an account there." 
 
 " And a box, too, no doubt, if the amount of his 
 wealth is not overestimated ! " 
 
 " No doubt," said Madam President, with a 
 smile. " The People's National has vaults that are 
 supposed to be as impregnable as those of the Bank 
 of England." 
 
 " Which makes this alleged occurrence the more
 
 THE LOST BONDS 7 
 
 curious! But how much does Mr. Page claim is 
 missing? " 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars! " 
 
 " And haven't they any theory of how they might 
 have been taken? " 
 
 " No. Mr. Page hasn't been to his box for some 
 time. It is his belief the bonds, extracted in some 
 inexplicable manner, have already been sold. If 
 they had been registered he could better substan- 
 tiate his claim and trace them; but they weren't, 
 for fear, no doubt, of the information ' leaking 
 out ' to the tax commission. Anyhow, Mr. Page 
 has repeatedly sworn to having no personal prop- 
 erty like taxable bonds, and now his explanation 
 of their not being registered puts him in a peculiar 
 light, especially as the newspaper published a re- 
 production of his own sworn statement that he 
 never had any. My husband says that under the 
 circumstances the bank people can afford to laugh 
 at his claim." 
 
 " Serves him right! " From Miss Tucker, sotto 
 *uoce. She had approached Mr. Page several times 
 herself with a subscription list. 
 
 " If there was a thief, and I suppose of course
 
 8 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 there was, I'll warrant, he, also, is having a fine 
 laugh," said the secretary, smiling. 
 
 " Especially as the tax commission are threaten- 
 ing to sue Mr. Page on his own statements ! " went 
 on the president. " But I am forgetting. There 
 was one thing it is alleged the thief did leave be- 
 hind him, that Mr. Page showed to the police. A 
 tiny drawing on a scrap of paper; something that 
 looked like a spike, or a nail or needle, and an 
 animal that might have been a buffalo or a camel 
 anyway it seemed to have hump. This, Mr. 
 Page claimed, lay in the place where the bonds 
 had been. The police couldn't make anything out 
 of the crude drawing." 
 
 " Might not the thief have had in mind a certain 
 biblical quotation?" suggested one of the board. 
 
 " Mr. Page thought it might be the device of 
 some secret society; but the detectives scout the 
 idea. They seem, in fact, to take the bank officials' 
 view of the situation." 
 
 " But why," asked Miss Wood, " should Mr. Page 
 stir up all this trouble for himself to no purpose? " 
 
 " Since he had the grippe, some people say 
 well, he hasn't been quite the man he was," an-
 
 THE LOST BONDS 9 
 
 swered Madam President, tapping her forehead 
 lightly. 
 
 " And besides," said the secretary, " you forget, 
 my dear, the boxes in the security vaults are ab- 
 solutely closed to all who have not the right of 
 access to them." 
 
 The girl did not answer. " It is true, however, 
 there has been an unusually large number of rob- 
 beries in New York lately," observed Miss Tucker 
 tentatively. 
 
 " An epidemic," asserted a voice. 
 
 " It is really reprehensible the police do not find 
 the perpetrators ! " said the president in her most 
 severe tone. " A family coronet of diamonds here, 
 and wonderful rubies and sapphires there miss- 
 ing and never found; no trace of them! ' Another 
 Mysterious Robbery in High Life,' sensational 
 head-lines in the newspapers; and, after that 'no 
 clue to the perpetrators.' An outrage on society, 
 I call it this inaction of the authorities." 
 
 " Perhaps they are too busy collecting perquisites 
 in what is called the ' tenderloin,' to look after these 
 other matters," commented the secretary cynically. 
 
 " Ladies " warningly the president of the board
 
 io THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 spoke " I fear our talk has to-day drifted into un- 
 usually irrelevant channels. The blame is partly 
 my own." 
 
 " I believe we had transacted all necessary busi- 
 ness, Madam President," the secretary ventured to 
 remark, in mild apology for herself and her sister 
 members of the board if, indeed any apology were 
 needed ! 
 
 " Before we adjourn, there is one other little 
 matter," observed the treasurer. " Mr. Chatfield 
 Bruce's gift of ten thousand dollars his past 
 generosity I believe some action on the part of 
 the board " 
 
 " Move the board pass a resolution of thanks 
 and that the same be forwarded to the gentleman 
 by the secretary." 
 
 The motion was carried; also a motion to ad- 
 journ. The ladies began to put on their wraps; 
 Miss Wood was the first to go. As she descended 
 the steps of the old, down-town mansion, home of 
 one of the ladies of the board, a young man walk- 
 ing briskly by, glanced up. A sudden quick look 
 of recognition swept his face. 
 
 " Who is he; the young man who just bowed to
 
 II 
 
 Miss Wood?" a new member of the board in- 
 quired. 
 
 " That " Madam President, emerging from the 
 front door, paused at the head of the steps, to re- 
 gard the retreating figure of the person indicated 
 
 " that," impressively, " is our very good friend, 
 Mr. Chatfield Bruce."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A MEETING 
 
 MR. NATHAN GOLDBERG, importer of 
 French silks and ladies' goods, gazed in 
 indubitable satisfaction at the latest consignment of 
 boxes filled with divers articles from Paris. They 
 occupied a good deal of space in the rear of the 
 large store on lower Broadway, after having suc- 
 cessfully passed the customs. 
 
 " We are in a position to undersell the trade, 
 Mr. Bruce," he observed in a low tone to the young 
 man, head of one of the principal departments of 
 the large wholesale firm. 
 
 " I congratulate you." The speaker, hammer in 
 hand, turned. He was a young fellow, tall, ath- 
 letic, with light brown hair, fine, immovable fea- 
 tures, enigmatic mouth, and eyes which seemed at 
 once ironically humorous and impenetrable. His 
 dress was simple but immaculate. " Bought cheap, 
 I suppose," he added in a quiet voice. 
 
 12
 
 A MEETING 13 
 
 " Yes, and " Mr. Goldberg paused ; half-ques- 
 tioningly, half-tentatively regarded his employee. 
 He liked the young man whose social position and 
 little eccentricities dazzled as well as sometimes be- 
 wildered him. There were moments even, as now, 
 when the employer would have liked to " get 
 nearer " the other, but Mr. Bruce gave him not the 
 slightest pretext for confidences, apart from the 
 regular routine of business; his manner was re- 
 spectful, but distant. Somehow any desire on Mr. 
 Goldberg's part to create a closer, more personal 
 relationship with his clerk slowly vanished ; the keen 
 sharp eyes of the business man met the well-con- 
 tained gray ones of his employee. " Got the goods 
 at the lowest figure," said Mr. Goldberg. " Our 
 buyer was unusually fortunate." 
 
 The impersonal gaze of Chatfield Bruce fell; he 
 began to work on the box. " Came through all 
 right at the customs, then," he remarked in a 
 matter-of-fact tone. 
 
 Mr. Goldberg's glance shifted. " Naturally. 
 Our firm always deals square with the government, 
 and so we never have any trouble. Honesty's the 
 best policy; that's my maxim; eh, Mr. Bruce?"
 
 14 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 A faint trace of some emotion passed around the 
 corner of the young man's lips; he pounded at a 
 nail. " You may be sure I know that, Mr. Gold- 
 berg, or " 
 
 " You wouldn't work for me ! That's what you 
 mean? " jocosely. 
 
 Mr. Bruce made a deprecatory gesture ; continued 
 his task. Mr. Goldberg watched the supple move- 
 ments of his figure; the hands, thin, long, muscu- 
 lar; well-kept. Those hands rather fascinated Mr. 
 Goldberg. 
 
 " See here, Bruce ! " He liked occasionally to 
 call the young fellow by his last name, the way the 
 latter's swell friends did. " You ought not to be 
 doing that sort of thing, you know." 
 
 " Opening boxes ? " Bruce laughed. " Yes ; 
 I'm aware my salary demands a higher kind of 
 labor, but " straightening " things were for the 
 moment slack up-stairs, and well, it seemed as 
 if I wanted the exercise. But I shan't be at it 
 long; I promise shortly to return to my more im- 
 portant duties." 
 
 " Oh, I was only thinking it wasn't the kind of 
 job for a man with hands like yours. You've got
 
 A MEETING 15 
 
 the swagger society thing in hands. Now look at 
 mine," extending a stubby pair. " Not much alike, 
 are they? But if you find things slack, take a half 
 day off, not forgetting," jocularly, " to tell your 
 friends that the retailers will soon be supplied with 
 Goldberg's " Here he mentioned several brands 
 of articles that masqueraded under the firm name. 
 
 Bruce's smile was enigmatic. " Never forget 
 that," he remarked. And Goldberg, though slightly 
 puzzled, knew he told the truth. He lived in a big 
 house himself; the prestige of employing a man 
 like Bruce counted for something. Besides, oddly, 
 the young fellow really earned his salary. Not that 
 he needed it; Chatfield Bruce, Mr. Goldberg knew, 
 kept two sets of books. 
 
 One dealt with his inheritance which this eccen- 
 tric young man for some inexplicable reason never 
 touched, save for charitable purposes; the other 
 comprised a journal and ledger of his actual per- 
 sonal earnings and expenditures. He made a good 
 salary, lived modestly and was a careful spender, 
 although moving in the most exclusive sets. His 
 habits, which were orderly, made it possible for 
 one of his limited earning capacity to keep alive a
 
 1 6 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 large circle of friends; he could waive certain ex- 
 travagances with good grace : " Not for me, thank 
 you! You know my salary? Wait," with inimi- 
 table imitation of his employer's accents, " until I 
 am a member of the firm of Goldberg and Com- 
 pany." Protests of this character were indulgently 
 received ; he was humored as an " original." 
 
 " By the way, Bruce," the elder man continued, 
 " we're going to open our new country home at 
 Comscot with a grand house party. Will it be 
 swell enough for you to come ? " A little earnest- 
 ness mingled with the facetiousness of his tone. 
 
 " Why not ? " said the young man evenly. 
 "When is it?" 1 
 
 " In August ; your vacation time." 
 
 " Ah ! I had made other plans. Still it may be 
 possible." Mr. Goldberg regarded him suspi- 
 ciously. " Shall we say for the first day or two, 
 i f I can make it ? " 
 
 " All right. There's going to be a big band (Mr. 
 Goldberg said 'pig pand ') and all kinds of such 
 nonsense, and the women will wear their biggest 
 diamonds in fact, I promised my wife the real, 
 bang-up thing. I can afford it." His glance shifted
 
 A MEETING 17 
 
 a moment to the boxes. " Business looks very good 
 just now." 
 
 " I shall do my best to accept, Mr. Goldberg, and 
 on second thought I really think I can arrange it, 
 many thanks ! " 
 
 " Don't mention it ! " A moment yet the em- 
 ployer lingered. " You haven't met my daughter, 
 I believe? She is one of those 'buds,' this year's, 
 don't you know, and will wear the Goldberg pearls 
 for the first time." 
 
 " Indeed ? That should make the occasion inter- 
 esting. The famous Goldberg pearls ! " 
 
 " You couldn't possibly find sixty-seven better 
 matched beauties anywhere; weight over fifteen 
 hundred!" 
 
 " Sixty-seven? Over fifteen hundred? " repeated 
 the young man slowly. " And perfect in color, I 
 presume ? " 
 
 " All pure white ; couldn't tell them apart, so 
 near the same size ! " 
 
 " Spheres, of course? " 
 
 "Of course; with no perceptible flaws; cost over 
 three hundred and seventy-five thousand francs, my 
 boy."
 
 i8 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Including the duty ? " Bruce's voice had a 
 faintly peculiar inflection. 
 
 " Oh, yes; of course! " hastily. 
 
 " But aren't you " Mr. Bruce smiled " rather 
 reckless in taking them out of the strong box into 
 the country? So many articles of value mysteri- 
 ously disappearing nowadays, don't you know? " 
 
 " Ever hear of anybody taking anything from 
 me ? " Mr. Goldberg's chest perceptibly swelled. 
 " Was born with my eyes open. But we can rely 
 upon you, then, for the house party? " 
 
 Mr. Bruce's reply was positive. Mr. Goldberg 
 turned; he felt satisfied with the assurance. 
 Bruce's name would look very well among those 
 who were to congregate at the Goldberg house. 
 Many wealthy people would be present, but no 
 others of the really inner set. Perhaps Mr. Gold- 
 berg, also, seemed to see in print something like 
 " Miss Goldberg, wearing the Goldberg pearls, went 
 out to an elaborate collation on the arm of Mr. 
 Chatfield Bruce." And the father of that young 
 lady hummed lightly as he walked away. 
 
 Mr. Bruce continued to work at one of the boxes. 
 Slowly but surely he conquered iron bands and
 
 A MEETING 19 
 
 fastenings; he removed long wire nails without 
 injuring those of his own supple fingers. Some- 
 times he paused to survey contemplatively the box, 
 and at such a moment his tall, slender figure ap- 
 peared to advantage among those other employees, 
 the regular corps of husky, perspiring box-openers. 
 Bruce's shirt for he labored without a coat 
 was spotless; it was equally so when, after wash- 
 ing his hands, he put on the coat he had carefully 
 hung on one of the pegs near by. The pointers 
 of the office clock indicated that the noon hour had 
 come and the young man walked to the door and 
 went out. 
 
 He stopped at two places, one a florist's, 
 where he purchased a tiny orchid of deep purple, 
 almost odorless. This he set in the button-hole 
 of his coat. The flower was unobtrusive, Malayan 
 in origin. Few knew its rarity. In buying it, Mr. 
 Bruce permitted himself a slight extravagance. 
 But he atoned by a frugal luncheon. His second 
 stop was at a restaurant of the white porcelain 
 variety, where a person with white gloves manipu- 
 lated pan-cakes in the front window. 
 
 Mr. Bruce mounted a stool, gave his order and
 
 20 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 and had started to read the newspaper he had pur- 
 chased at the door, when his neighbor at the long 
 table spoke to him. At the sound of that metallic 
 voice, the young fellow looked around into the 
 harshly wrinkled face of a man about seventy; a 
 countenance whereon parsimony and avarice had 
 set their seal. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Page ! Any news about the bonds ? " 
 perfunctorily. 
 
 " No, there isn't," curtly. As the old capital- 
 ist spoke he glanced sidewise at some one on the 
 other side of him. This individual, stocky, com- 
 monplace-looking, continued, however, to gaze un- 
 concernedly before him, while deliberately using his 
 knife and fork; only the lids of his nondescript 
 eyes lifted slightly. 
 
 Chatfield Bruce regarded the mirror in front of 
 them, the divers visages reflected there, and smiled. 
 The sight of a row of men eating at the " hurry-up " 
 counter has its comical features. The young man 
 stroked lightly, meditatively his upper lip. " Do 
 you know, I have a little theory about those bonds, 
 Mr. Page," he drawled. 
 
 "Perhaps you think they weren't taken at all?"
 
 A MEETING 21 
 
 snapped the other. " Like some folks " viciously 
 "pretend to tell me. That it's only a mistake 
 on my part. A mistake!" he repeated. "That 
 they're mislaid somewhere." 
 
 " No ; I don't think that. You know I have a 
 box at that vault, or did have," quietly, " until this 
 mishap of yours led me to make a change." 
 
 "Glad of it! That you've left them! I hope 
 they'll lose all their business." 
 
 " Of course I may be mistaken," Bruce continued 
 in the same even voice. " A theory is but a theory, 
 and I dare say, you've listened to a great many 
 already." 
 
 " A bushel of them ! " Mr. Page's tones con- 
 yeyed no great respect for theories. Again he 
 started to look in the direction of the man on the 
 other side. 
 
 "Have you ever thought of this? It came to 
 me the other day when removing my papers and 
 other little matters from the People's National. 
 Suppose another customer of the bank, while 
 ostensibly attending to the combination of his own 
 box, should manage to look over your shoulder and 
 learn the combination of yours when you were
 
 22 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 operating it. Perhaps your eyes are not so strong 
 as they once were and you might have to take 
 your time with the combination which would 
 favor his observation." 
 
 " Is it very likely I'd let any one look over my 
 shoulder long enough to find out the combination? 
 If there's any one standing near, I always know 
 which way he's looking and what he's about," suc- 
 cinctly. 
 
 " Suppose he managed to get one part of it, one 
 time; another part of it, another time?" continued 
 the other in a dispassionate, argumentative tone. 
 " Suppose he found out the first number of the 
 combination a year ago; the second, some while 
 later, and so on? Suppose he had made a sys- 
 tematic study of your habits, your business routine, 
 and determined at all hazards, no matter how long 
 it took him, to accomplish the seemingly impos- 
 sible? Suppose he had a bit of the gambler's 
 streak in his moral make-up? Liked to work long 
 chances? I put myself these questions, because I, 
 too, have securities that need to be guarded; not 
 exactly my own; left, as it were, in trust for 
 a purpose." Brace's eyes dropped slightly.
 
 A MEETING 23 
 
 " Though practically mine, if I chose to call them 
 so/' he added. 
 
 Mr. Page did not seem to hear the latter portion 
 of the young man's remarks ; with the first part 
 he was principally concerned. " I'm a careful 
 man," he said, " and a person would have to have 
 eyes in the back of his head ever to stand near 
 enough to me under the circumstances, to be able 
 to learn " 
 
 " A customer, papers in hand, could pass at the 
 right moment and detect more than you think, per- 
 haps, if he wore very strong glasses. Or " 
 glancing casually before him "there's the mirror 
 idea. The shiny lifted lid of a bright security box 
 of tin, in the hands of some one near by, ap- 
 parently searching for something therein, or de- 
 positing something, might answer a sinister pur- 
 pose. Or " He broke off; the reflection in the 
 glass of the man on the other side of Mr. Page had 
 for the moment caught Bruce's eye. " There are 
 a dozen different ways," he went on again, in the 
 same tone, " but I won't weary you with my 
 amateur theories. Will only call your attention to 
 the fact that in these calculations, the officials of
 
 24 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the safety deposit company are, also, to be reckoned 
 with." 
 
 " I reckon there isn't much in your theories," 
 said the old man dryly, " that hasn't already been 
 considered. I'm not saying a great deal ; however " 
 the thin mouth shut tightly " I'm like a cat 
 after a mouse, for patience, when it comes to " 
 
 " Waiter ! " the man next to Mr. Page called 
 sharply; the aged capitalist suddenly paused in 
 what he was saying. Bruce, too, spoke no more; 
 with an occasional glance at his newspaper, he ate 
 the frugal luncheon set before him. He did not lin- 
 ger over it long, finished before his neighbors, paid 
 his check and walked out. As he turned at the 
 front door, however, he looked back. The stocky 
 commonplace individual had at that moment leaned 
 over to speak with Mr. Page. 
 
 Bruce bent over the orchid. He seemed lost in 
 the contemplation of its beauty; breathed on the 
 leaves. They, strangely sensitive, opened wider. 
 The young man laughed softly.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 " LAVENDRE AMBREE " 
 
 SEVERAL days later, Mr. Bruce sauntered 
 meditatively along Fifth Avenue toward the 
 park. It was bright spring weather, and the air 
 was full of tonic qualities from the sea. Little 
 whiffs of perfumes, too, borne by the breezes from 
 near-by verdure and beds of flowers, regaled the 
 senses of passing pedestrians, susceptible to delicate 
 fragrance. The young man had a far-eastern keen- 
 ness in this regard ; had he been born in the shadows 
 of a Golden Pavilion, set in the conventional lake 
 of tranquillity, he would have delighted in the in- 
 cense box and the amicable competition of guessing 
 illusive odors. 
 
 On a day like this, all classes and conditions 
 were astir in the people's breathing space as he 
 stepped into and down one of the paths. The 
 tramps dozed; the children romped. A few more 
 
 25
 
 26 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 horsemen and women than usual were in evidence. 
 Machines of all the " makes," from the silent and 
 insinuating electric to the noisy and self-assertive 
 , taxicab, moved hither and thither. Mr. Bruce's in- 
 come at Messrs. Goldberg and Company's was not 
 sufficient, at least so he thought, to enable him to 
 own and to maintain a machine. So he walked. 
 
 He had not gone far, however, when a shiny 
 vehicle, of a beautiful blue, with a pretty monogram 
 on the door, passed him noiselessly ; then stopped at 
 the side of the path. Mr. Bruce saw white flowers 
 a tiny bouquet that adorned the interior of the 
 dainty vehicle then buds of other colors and a 
 girl's face beneath; blue eyes below a wave of black 
 hair, red lips slightly apart as she bent forward in 
 the sunlight. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mr. Bruce." She looked out 
 of the window. " I was just thinking of you." 
 
 Another would have expressed himself as for- 
 tunate. Mr. Bruce only bowed and very deferen- 
 tially waited for her to go on. 
 
 " We have at last settled on a Japanese play, the 
 one we plan to give in the autumn," she explained, 
 " and as you have consented to take part, I that
 
 "LAVENDRE AMBREE " 27 
 
 is, we wanted to ask if it, and your role, would 
 be acceptable." 
 
 " As I said when the matter was first broached 
 to me, I am quite at your disposal, Miss Wood. 
 But what is the play?" 
 
 " San Tankyo; The Beggar-Prince." 
 
 Bruce straightened slightly. "Not by ?" 
 He mentioned a name. 
 
 " Yes ; I remember, because " the girl's lips 
 curved "we once gave it in school." 
 
 He looked down. She fancied his expression had 
 changed in the least; that he was thinking deeply, 
 though he swung his stick with an assumption of 
 lightness. This surprised her, she did not quite 
 know why; she regarded him in the least curiously. 
 
 "If you have any objections?" she began. 
 
 "None at all," quickly. "What part " an 
 enigmatic expression crossing his clean-cut features 
 " did you wish me to take ? " 
 
 " There is but one man's role of any consequence, 
 that of the beggar-prince; the other men notably 
 the great Shogun are only talked about." 
 
 " The beggar-prince who " Bruce stopped sud- 
 denly; his laugh sounded a little strange to her.
 
 28 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 The girl's blue eyes widened in the least. " But 
 certainly " he checked himself " that is, if you 
 think I am equal to the role. Odd, though," he 
 added, "you should have chosen that particular 
 piece. Rank socialism, most people would call it ! " 
 
 " Then I venture to disagree with them." 
 
 His eyes dared to be amused. " You will set a 
 new fashion in problem plays," he observed. " But 
 what part did you take, Miss Wood, in school, if 
 I may ask ? " 
 
 " That of the beggar-prince." 
 
 " Ah ! " He looked at her, tall and straight ; an 
 ideal Rosalind or a beggar-prince. Yet he was 
 not thinking of her. She knew, too, his thoughts 
 were at the moment far off; remote from school- 
 girl entertainments, enthusiasms of the class-room. 
 Somehow he vaguely offended her ; at the same time, 
 it may have been interest, or that other feeling, 
 her sex's legitimate inheritance, swayed her to 
 linger. 
 
 " I will send you the part/' she observed, her 
 tone rather reserved. 
 
 " It will not be necessary," he answered. " I 
 have it."
 
 " LAVENDRE AMBREE " 29 
 
 " Indeed? " interested in spite of herself. 
 
 " Both in the original and the English." 
 
 " And you can read the former ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. It is one of many in a little drawer of 
 the desk of a tiny princess who lived two hundred 
 years ago. The manuscript is a dainty plaything 
 tied with a ribbon and beautifully decorated with 
 appropriate flowers. It looks both pretty and 
 harmless," he laughed. 
 
 Miss Wood had heard people say they did not 
 understand Chatfield Bruce; that he was a poseur, 
 a dilettante, or an arbiter elegantlarum, at will. 
 She might well believe that; he certainly seemed 
 in an eccentric mood at the present moment. The 
 girl felt inclined to leave him alone. Her gloved 
 hands tightened on the handle of her machine ; she 
 was about to nod, very stiffly, hardly perceptibly, 
 but instead, did something perverse. 
 
 "If you have any objective point, Mr. Bruce?" 
 Miss Wood's glance vaguely indicated a place in 
 her car. 
 
 "Alas; I haven't!" He laughed. At the in- 
 stant he seemed to her suddenly more natural. " A 
 half -holiday, you see, and Mr. Goldberg, my em-
 
 30 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 ployer, gives me an afternoon off. That is, on con- 
 dition." 
 
 "On condition?" She deigned to ask him the 
 question, although she held herself quite erect and 
 allowed her eyes to wander indifferently above 
 him. 
 
 " That I don't fail to mention, incidentally of 
 course, some of the Goldberg specialties to my; 
 ' swagger friends/ as he calls them." 
 
 "Should I be included in that class?" She 
 laughed in spite of herself. 
 
 "Can you ask? But in this instance I will for- 
 bear all mention of the specialties, even at the risk 
 of my employer's displeasure." 
 
 " Thanks." Her eyes began to show a slight im- 
 patience. " But if you " 
 
 " I am afraid you will think me ungracious," in 
 a matter-of-fact tone, " but " 
 
 " You prefer to walk ! " 
 
 " It is my custom. You see I can not afford to 
 cultivate the motor taste." 
 
 " No ? " He was very eccentric, she concluded. 
 
 The daintily gloved fingers again touched one of 
 the handles of the machine. He lifted his hat and
 
 " LAVENDRE AMBREE " 31 
 
 tall, graceful, he stood smiling at her. His ex- 
 pression was very impersonal; the look of one 
 pleased by the contemplation of something charm- 
 ing. So a connoisseur might regard an imperish- 
 able work of art, that held enshrined a spark from 
 the illusive flame of the beautiful. 
 
 She bowed at that moment to some one passing 
 on a horse, a well-put-up, stalwart man of about 
 thirty-five, with blond hair and sleepy-looking eyes. 
 The young fellow's glance followed hers; then 
 swung back. 
 
 " Isn't that " He paused. 
 
 " Sir Archibald Bamford. An eastern traveler 
 and scholar of note," she added perfunctorily. 
 " Au revoir!" 
 
 The car glided away as noiselessly as it had ap- 
 proached. Mr. Bruce stood smiling after it. 
 Then he seemed to forget his intention to exercise, 
 and sank on to a bench. People went by; people 
 looked at him. His eyes studied the green foliage. 
 The squirrels scampered ; the children played ; he did 
 not move. Not far distant a fellow in shabby at- 
 tire who had long been watching him, threw himself 
 now on the green and stretched himself luxuriously.
 
 32 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " This here game is about the best I've had for 
 some time," said the man in shabby attire to him- 
 self. " Dozing on the green ! I'll have to ask Mr. 
 Bolger, the chief, to label this job: 'To be con- 
 tinued in our next ' ! " 
 
 But the " game " was so easy the man fell 
 asleep. He awoke with a start, a guilty twinge of 
 conscience, and looked quickly toward the bench 
 where he had last seen Mr. Bruce. The " shadow " 
 breathed a sigh of relief; that gentleman was still 
 there. On his knee sat a child, one of the tots of 
 the park, and he was talking to it. At the moment 
 Mr. Bruce's face wore an illusive, innocuous ex- 
 pression, not unlike that of the strange " deity of 
 the child " in the heathen temple at Canton. It 
 would have puzzled one to say whether the young 
 man was interested, amused, or only ironically 
 sedulous over a mite of a human book whose pages 
 would record What? No doubt the usual com- 
 monplace story. 
 
 Mr. Bruce at length set this budding document 
 of life gently down; bade it g6 to " nursie " (talk- 
 ing with a policeman) ; then observing the day was
 
 " LAVENDRE AMBREE " 33 
 
 waning, the young man got up and stepped again 
 briskly on his way. 
 
 That evening he passed in the seclusion of his 
 rooms. They were oddly furnished from a western 
 standpoint. In one corner a pale light sifted down 
 upon a beautiful silver Kwan-on, goddess of mercy. 
 Where had Mr. Bruce procured it? A museum 
 would have given a large sum for it. Two ancient 
 Chinese gold screens, with ever vernal foliage of 
 powdered malachite, had been set in one of the 
 walls. A single vase, which had been a-making 
 when the Celestial Kingdom was in its infancy, re- 
 posed on an unpretentious stand. 
 
 An anomalous note it might have been so in- 
 tended a single red bud, one such as Marjorie 
 Wood had worn that day in her gown, stood out 
 on a straight stem from the receptacle. It consti- 
 tuted a ringing, singing little bit of color. A faint 
 smile swept Mr. Bruce's lips as he looked at it. 
 
 He was not especially fond of roses, yet he had( 
 purchased this one and set it there, out-of-place, in 
 the wonderful old vase. For a few moments he
 
 34 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 continued to regard it ; then started. His keen sense 
 detected another scent than that of the bud. He 
 knew many perfumes and their classifications well; 
 had studied closely the odoriferous principles of 
 balsams and plants, the endless combinations sold 
 under fancy names. Some one had been in his 
 rooms. A lady! One who used lavendre ambree 
 as a scent. 
 
 For some time Mr. Bruce sat thinking. Then he 
 walked over to the Kwan-on and looked at it 
 steadily; the eyes seemed to change in the shadows, 
 to become more mysterious. A sudden gleam of 
 intelligence, enlightenment sprang from Chatfield 
 Bruce's gaze. He sank down before the lovely 
 green of the cypress and the pine, with the im- 
 perishable white plum blossoms shining between, an 
 amused look in his eyes. From consideration of 
 lavendre ambree, his thoughts led him, where? He 
 put out his hand for a book. 
 
 The Japanese play! What a peculiar, whim- 
 sical, human document! And what a coincidence 
 that, way back in feudal times, there should have 
 been Truly was there nothing new under the 
 sun ! Bruce fingered the delicate parchment ; re-
 
 "LAVENDRE AMBREE" 35 
 
 garded the beautiful Japanese characters. He, 
 play that part! And commanded to, by her? 
 
 The lamp shone softly as he continued to read. 
 An insect fluttered near. He waved it from de- 
 struction; then reached toward the rose, drew it 
 closer.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 
 
 f'VT'OU admitted some one to my rooms during 
 JL my absence yesterday, Stebbins ? " 
 
 The janitor of the Macleroy apartments regarded 
 the speaker in surprise. " No one, Mr. Bruce." 
 
 The young man's gaze passed over the other. 
 Mr. Stebbins' honest physiognomy withstood that 
 look unflinchingly. Bruce moved toward the door 
 opening upon the street. 
 
 "Of course, sir, many people go in and out of 
 the building in the course of the day," called after 
 him the janitor. " And a body can't always keep 
 track of them all, what with showing new parties 
 unoccupied apartments, and the wife down sick, 
 and no one to help me in looking after the 
 place!" 
 
 " Not to mention the time occupied in certain 
 necessary little excursions to a small German place 
 
 36
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 37 
 
 around the corner," interrupted Mr. Bruce with a 
 sympathetic smile. 
 
 Mr. Stebbins smiled, too. " You don't mean to 
 say there's been a thief " 
 
 " Shall we say an intruder? " 
 
 " Anything missing? " 
 
 " Nothing of importance. Apparently only a 
 little of my stationery gone! " 
 
 " I'll mention the matter to the police, sir." 
 
 " Not worth while. The person left no clue 
 that would be tangible to them." And Mr. Bruce 
 stepped out. 
 
 Pausing before Madison Square Garden not long 
 thereafter, an announcement of a circus being given 
 inside attracted him. It was an idle Saturday after- 
 noon; the hours promised to hang heavily, so he 
 went in. As he was passing to his place, a young 
 woman in a box turned to regard him. She had 
 bright golden hair, eyes rather greenish, and figure, 
 opulent. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Bruce ? " 
 
 He stopped; looked down upon the pink and 
 white features of Miss Flossie Burke, niece of Mr. 
 Samuel Page. She put out her hand.
 
 38 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " It is some time since we have met, Mr. Bruce," 
 she went on lightly. 
 
 " I believe it is some time since I have had that 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Pleasure ? " she laughed, her gaze upon him. 
 "If it had been such a pleasure it would not have 
 been such a long time." 
 
 His look narrowed in the least. Occasionally it 
 could be very hard and cutting, seeming to peer 
 through the gloss of personalities, feminine and 
 otherwise. Perhaps he remembered he had once 
 found diversion, a very little, in going about with 
 Miss Flossie. Perhaps they had flirted, slightly. 
 She had not been adverse to the pastime, with him 
 as with others. But he had soon tired of it and 
 found the ennui which had suggested her as an 
 antidote, returning. So he had quietly dropped 
 out of the train of her admirers. 
 
 " Who would have thought to see you here ? " she 
 now went on, with flattering glance, as if she had 
 never had cause to feel piqued with him. 
 
 " Rather surprised myself ! " he answered, his 
 look swerving toward her friends. 
 
 A, merry party for the day, they were not quite,
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 39 
 
 however, of the set Miss Flossie had once mingled 
 with ; she had rather " dropped out," the last year 
 or so. Lack of clothes, said cynical rumor. Uncle 
 Samuel Page was too " near " to " dress up " his 
 impecunious niece, who had come to live with them, 
 to the high Paris standard. Party gowns at two 
 hundred and fifty dollars or so each, had, repeated 
 the gossips, become out of the question for her. A 
 ten dollar hat Mr. Page regarded as more than 
 adequately decorative for any young woman; 
 especially since he had sustained monetary losses! 
 It was even rumored Miss Flossie had threatened 
 to join the innumerable band of her sister toilers and 
 take to millinery out of revenge. She had already 
 embarked in sundry enterprises; tried china-paint- 
 ing, book-binding and decorating, and, it was whis- 
 pered, had done her turn at surreptitious and dis- 
 tinctly enterprising reporting for the social pages 
 of one of the very sensational New York news- 
 papers. 
 
 " Must have been the allurement of the posters 
 at the door brought me in," went on Mr. Bruce, 
 regarding with rather critical eyes his whilom 
 friend. As he spoke, he bent slightly over her;
 
 40 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 inhaled softly, once or twice. Her gaze suddenly 
 lifted; her form with its rich lines, more sugges- 
 tive of Titian than Botticelli, stirred. 
 
 " Lavendre ambree! " he laughed. " You are 
 still partial to it" 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " it is not very expensive." 
 And then " Odd you should remember it ! " she 
 added hastily. 
 
 Her glance fell, lingered an instant on one of his 
 hands on the back of a chair or on a massive gold 
 ring he wore; odd, oriental in design. 
 
 Bruce answered carelessly. His look in the least 
 questioning, met hers that lifted, a peculiar gleam 
 now in the greenish depths; then with a conven- 
 tional word abruptly he turned. 
 
 Miss Flossie looked after him; her lips were 
 compressed. Some one spoke to her; she did not 
 hear. 
 
 At the far end of the auditorium, an usher 
 guided Mr. Bruce to an orchestra place. In front 
 of him a long row of seats was occupied by chil- 
 dren in holiday attire. They buzzed like busy bees. 
 Several ladies seemed to have charge of them; 
 one of the former in the immediate proximity of
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 41 
 
 the young man spoke to him. He answered, not 
 quite certain, at first, whether she was Mrs. Wol- 
 cott, president of one of the chanty boards he 
 couldn't remember which one or Miss Tucker, 
 its secretary. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Bruce," said the lady. It was Miss 
 Tucker, he remembered now. " Here they all 
 are!" 
 
 " They? " he repeated. 
 
 " The little tots from the settlement to whom 
 you were good enough to send tickets for the 
 circus." 
 
 " Oh, did I? " said Bruce absently. " Rum little 
 beggars, aren't they ! " languidly. 
 
 Another lady near by, a friend of Miss Tucker, 
 and herself secretary of the influential board of 
 another charity, now broke into the conversation: 
 
 " Mr. Bruce ! The very person I wanted to see ! 
 Good news ! " 
 
 He looked at her; placed her also. She was 
 beaming with satisfaction. 
 
 " We have raised the necessary amount." 
 
 He betrayed no enthusiasm. 
 
 " You remember, Mr. Bruce, you pledged seventy-
 
 42 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 five thousand dollars toward our new buildings, pro- 
 vided we could raise a like sum. I we have 
 realized that happy contingency." 
 
 " And the time clause to my offer ? " The young 
 man spoke slowly. 
 
 " Does not expire until next week. We can de- 
 pend upon you ? " 
 
 " Of course." Mr. Bruce did not remain long. 
 Perhaps he found the anomalous antics of the ele- 
 phants tiresome, for he soon got uj> and went out. 
 He seemed a little absent-minded. 
 
 Seventy-five thousand dollars ! That was a good 
 deal of money to raise in a few days. Of course 
 he could not repudiate a promise. Did he regret 
 for the moment his own generosity? The charity 
 was an excellent one, no doubt 
 
 But seventy-five thousand dollars? Why did he 
 hesitate? He had not hesitated in the past when 
 called upon. He experienced an unusual restless- 
 ness. Whither should he wend his way now? 
 
 To his friend, Ting Lee's? Ting, the philoso- 
 pher! He, Bruce, wanted to, must consider a mat- 
 ter of moment; the little shop offered an excellent
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 43 
 
 place for quiet and meditation. But it would be 
 best to wait until dark before going there. 
 " Seventy-five thousand dollars ! " 
 
 Does gaiety ever really reign along the " Great 
 White Way " ? Sometimes it seems to. It bore 
 the semblance this night as on other nights. Mil- 
 lionaire phantoms mingled with beggar phantoms. 
 Self-satisfied ghosts rubbed elbows with less con- 
 tented wraiths. The theaters belched forth ephem- 
 eral hosts ; the restaurants swallowed many of them ; 
 others vanished somewhere. Mr. Bruce smiled 
 slightly; these abstract fancies occurred to him at 
 times. 
 
 They mingled with practical considerations; the 
 abrupt need of eliminating the possible effect of 
 another's star, momentarily in juxtaposition with 
 his own, and evincing strong symptoms of being 
 influenced by some law of specific gravity or mutual 
 attraction. The elusive taxicab, a Teutonic restau- 
 rant with two entrances and the subway combined 
 to assist to the consummation wished for. The 
 superfluous influence, a masculine skulker from offi-
 
 44 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 cialdom, a police spy, was lost in the unknown. 
 Mr. Bruce was alone shortly after he had ascended 
 from the subterranean tube ; he had dispensed with 
 this fidus Achates of the " force," who showed a pre- 
 dilection to cling closer than a brother. The stars, 
 burnished to their brightest now, called his solitary 
 attention to the heavens' great white way. 
 
 It is a long stretch from Rector's to Ting Lee's ; 
 from the place of pandemonium to the palace of 
 tranquillity. Once in the latter abode, the metrop- 
 olis and its fevered activities faded from the young 
 man's mind. 
 
 Ting knew his occasional caller's mood. When 
 the latter had seated himself, the other did not dis- 
 turb him; nor did Mrs. Ting. She moved as se- 
 rene in her own household as the mists across the 
 heavens; one was dreamily aware of, without re- 
 senting her presence. Bruce sipped his tea ; a beau- 
 tiful piece of milk-white jade, suspended by a scarlet 
 thread, stirred in the air. 
 
 " Good pearls, Ting! " The young man, looking 
 at a case near by, observed. " Where from? " 
 
 " The branch of the Hwang-ho, near the sea of 
 stars," answered in dialect, the host.
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 45 
 
 "You planted them?" 
 
 " Yes ; Ting's garden." 
 
 " And the matrices ? " 
 
 " Take out ; fill with white wax. No see ? " 
 
 Bruce looked down; his lip curved; perhaps he 
 recalled a questionable traffic of the unsophisticated 
 children of the plains. But any expression on his 
 face passed as a breath from glass. 
 
 " Alice same weight other pearls," said Ting 
 softly. 
 
 "But the skin?" 
 
 " Alice same." 
 
 The caller was silent. Ting waited patiently. 
 Why not? He had a son who would finish any 
 business left undone. Mrs. Ting sank placidly 
 down somewhere; shimmered to rest. Bruce con- 
 tinued to surround the citadel of his purpose if 
 he had a definite one with that multiple circum- 
 locution his host could understand and appreciate. 
 The young man observed formalities; lapsed into 
 Chinese and began: 
 
 " Ting, there is a favor I am here to ask. I want 
 you to procure for me " 
 
 " S-sh ! " The soft sound from Mrs. Ting's lips
 
 46 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 was like the whirring of the night beetle's wings. 
 It was followed by; ruder noises; voices, laughter 
 without. 
 
 Those within looked at one another ; understood ; 
 a party was " doing Chinatown ". The young man 
 stepped quickly into a back room. Almost imme- 
 diately afterward a gay gathering of both sexes 
 under the chaperonage of a loud-voiced guide, in- 
 vaded with no ceremony Ting's place. 
 
 They did not, for the most part, linger long, how- 
 ever. Here was not much suggestive of mystery, 
 or novelty; only an orderly little shop and an or- 
 derly little shopkeeper and his wife. 
 
 " Really, it doesn't seem as if we have a right 
 to ' break in ' quite like this," a girl's voice said. 
 
 " One doesn't ' break into ' an Oriental's house, 
 Miss Wood," a man's buoyant voice returned. 
 The speaker was large, florid-looking, handsome. 
 His tones betrayed amusement. " One just en- 
 ters; if he objects, one ejects him, and takes pos- 
 session." 
 
 She answered; Bruce could not hear what. 
 " Sir Archibald Bam ford is quite right, Miss 
 Wood," said a man's softer voice. " Sir Archi-
 
 AT THE CIRCUS 47 
 
 bald has had a large experience in the Far East and 
 knows." 
 
 " Oh, you, Senor Caglioni, are his secretary and 
 have to say that," gaily. 
 
 " Really, Miss Wood, you are wrong." The 
 voice was again Sir Archibald's. " The only way 
 we English ever get on with the beggars is to 
 make them fear us." 
 
 " Do you * get on ' ? " she laughed. " From 
 newspaper accounts, I should say you are always 
 ' getting out ' with them." 
 
 She and nearly all of the others left. The florid 
 Englishman and his secretary lingered. The for- 
 mer's face was cold, commanding; the latter's eyes, 
 like Ting's, seemed to veil strange shadows; 
 peeped like shiny, soulless black beads out of a 
 face, almost, not quite, European. Sir Archibald 
 Bamford spoke in the Pidgin-English of Shanghai 
 where the dialect is elaborate. 
 
 " Where does that door lead ? What's behind ? 
 There's always something behind. Pipes, eh ? " 
 
 " No pipes ; nothing," said Ting. 
 
 " That means something, of course." 
 
 " No go in," put in the owner.
 
 48 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Too anxious by half! " And laughing roughly 
 the honorable gentleman brushed Ting and Mrs. 
 Ting unceremoniously away with his big elbows. 
 Then walking to a door, he looked in. The room 
 was vacant; only the curtain of a low window 
 waved suggestively. 
 
 " There's been no opium here," said the secretary 
 in a subdued tone, sniffing. " And you will miss 
 the others." 
 
 "That wouldn't do," laughed Sir Archibald. 
 " At least to miss one of them ! " he added and went 
 out. 
 
 Ting looked down; neither he nor his wife spoke, 
 but in their eyes was a new, strange light. Between 
 them, the wonderful milky jade wound and un- 
 wound on its scarlet thread.
 
 MR. SAMUEL PAGE sat in his office in the 
 sky. In the old days Mr. Page had been a 
 dusty mole with a nook in a basement; but times 
 change, and in the process of evolution, the mole 
 and the rodents alike take wings. Mr. Page's office, 
 in dimensions suggested a big nest ; not a particularly 
 tidy one. He peered down upon the city like a 
 bird looking for titbits; he usually sat near the 
 window-sill. 
 
 He occupied that favorite place now. A stocky, 
 commonplace man, with nondescript eyes, was 
 seated in the center of the room. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Bolger, what I'd like to know is, 
 are you going to get the bonds ? " 
 
 " I expect to." 
 
 "Expect?" Mr. Page's tone was not exactly 
 agreeable. 
 
 A resentful light shone for an instant in the 
 49
 
 50 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 other's glance, but he was accustomed to unreason- 
 able patrons and answered now steadily : " The 
 case isn't an easy one. There has been only one real 
 clue to go by: the fact that in the safety deposit 
 vault a record is kept of every one going in or out, 
 and the time put down." 
 
 Mr. Page did not reply immediately; he was not 
 in the best of humors. Bolger apparently had 
 " nothing definite " to offer him ; the old story ! 
 The impatient capitalist felt prone to speak his 
 mind, but refrained; perhaps he gaged his man. 
 Mr. Bolger had a certain professional independence; 
 having done his best, he refused to be criticized. 
 He had, too, a number of successful coups to his 
 credit. He had brought the powerful Macduffie 
 crowd of wire-tappers to justice; had enabled the 
 police to convict the celebrated Major B. E. F. 
 Harold de Mohnville, Bond Street diamond swin- 
 dler, and had landed in a prison cell one Augus- 
 tus Gus, for short Young, equally noted express 
 robber. 
 
 Mr. Page by an effort now managed to suppress 
 the irritation he experienced over the tardy progress 
 of his own case. "Well, you looked up all the
 
 AN EPISODE 51 
 
 people who were at the vault at the same time as 
 myself?" 
 
 " As I told you, I investigated their habits, their 
 haunts, if they had any. Was there a clique; any 
 connection between them? I could discover none. 
 Nearly all belonged to separate and distinct walks 
 in life. One," thoughtfully, "moved in the smart 
 circles, where most of the affairs occurred. Was at 
 the reception at Morrow's remember him, head 
 of the Venezuelan asphalt deal, some called it a 
 swindle? When his wife's emeralds were taken, 
 Morrow called me in but the only clue in that case 
 was a certificate of asphalt stock, value nil, left 
 where the jewels had been." 
 
 " The man that took my bonds left a bit of gib- 
 berish drawing." 
 
 " You have that drawing, still ? " 
 
 Mr. Page shifted. "Thought I had," he said 
 testily. " Locked it in a desk drawer at home, but 
 it's gone." 
 
 " Gone ? You are sure ? " 
 
 " There isn't any one can tell better when he's 
 lost anything, than I can," was the irritated re- 
 tort.
 
 52 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " But who would take it in your own house? 
 What object would any one have?" 
 I "That's it!" Mr. Page made a gesture. "I 
 have questioned everybody and no one knows any- 
 thing about it." 
 
 The detective considered. Mr. Page was ad- 
 vanced in years; his eyesight was poor, and in 
 cleaning out the drawers of his desk the bit of 
 crude draftsmanship might have gone the way of 
 all rubbish. A simple explanation was probably the 
 most reasonable. He saw that the old gentleman, 
 .who had obstinately insisted upon keeping the paper, 
 was chagrined by the incident, and changed the 
 subject. " Do you happen to know Sir Archibald 
 Bamford, Mr. Page?" 
 
 " I know of him," was the somewhat surprised 
 reply. 
 
 Bolger answered the unspoken question on the 
 other's lips. " He is among those who chanced to 
 be at the vault on one occasion when you were 
 there. He took a box shortly after his arrival in 
 this country and not long before the disappearance 
 of your bonds."
 
 AN EPISODE 53 
 
 "Others took boxes about the same time, I pre- 
 sume? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Some of whom were there afterward when I 
 was?" 
 
 " Quite true. Please do not infer " 
 
 Mr. Page coughed dryly. " Sir Archibald has 
 wealth and large estates in England; has repre- 
 sented his government in the Far East in some con- 
 fidential capacity, and " 
 
 Bolger waved his hand. " His name came up 
 only incidentally. There's no doubt of his prom- 
 inence. But," rising quickly, " this is neither here 
 nor there. What is more to the point is, I am 
 leaving town for a short time and you may not 
 hear from me for a few days." 
 
 " You are going in connection with this business 
 of mine? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " That, I prefer not to say." 
 
 The old man looked at him ; after all, Bolger was 
 considered most capable. " I believe you know
 
 54 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 more than you claim to about those bonds of mine," 
 said Mr. Page eagerly; " that you're on the track? " 
 But the detective was not to be lured from his 
 manner; that professional bearing, impregnable, 
 mysterious, the other had come to detest, would 
 not be lightly discarded. " I may have an idea," 
 answered Mr. Bolger, " but ideas," modestly, 
 " aren't what you want." 
 
 On that same day about the same time Mr. Bolger 
 was departing for somewhere, on business known 
 only to himself, Chatfield Bruce, on pleasure bent, 
 arrived at the picturesque little village of Com- 
 scot. The trip had been a hot and dusty one, but 
 the young man, unlike some of his fellow travelers, 
 appeared neither sooty nor ill-humored. A sum- 
 mer pongee suit, as immaculate as when the silk 
 had left the looms at Chefoo, fitted perfectly the 
 lithe figure; his shirt was very fine and cool; he 
 carried his light straw hat in his hand. Although 
 of a frugal disposition, he more than liberally tipped 
 a stout lad for looking after his small baggage. 
 Then, while others, in a fine perspiration, waited in 
 the closed omnibus or dilapidated hacks, to be taken
 
 AN EPISODE 55 
 
 to their destinations, he started to walk across the 
 village to the road up the hill. 
 
 The day was pleasant, though sultry; the shady 
 paths enjoyable. On either hand queer little stores 
 and houses offered a homely and agreeable change 
 from the monotonous sky-scrapers or Fifth Avenue 
 palaces. And if the casual stranger did not find 
 a wealth of poetry about old-fashioned American 
 clapboards, there were glimpses of the sea through 
 green interspaces, to appeal to the imagination and 
 gratify the visual longings. 
 
 These latter effects, to Chatfield Bruce, appeared 
 essentially worthy of contemplation. Close at hand, 
 the intrusive large-small object, the twig of a vine, 
 the branch of a tree, seemed to insist on the im- 
 portance of little things in nature's larger panorama. 
 A rose danced against the illimitable; a fly on a 
 leaf was outlined upon the infinite. He paused, 
 then moved slightly ; the picture changed. A white 
 pleasure yacht suddenly became apparent on the 
 blue sea, twined around before him with honey- 
 suckle buds. The boat appeared very pretty in that 
 irregular frame of bright, waving flowers; an im- 
 posing pleasure-craft, no doubt, at closer range.
 
 56 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Bruce tried to decipher the name. He could make 
 out an " M," but no more. 
 
 Minnie ; Mary ; Molly ; it might be any of these ; 
 or Marjorie! Why Marjorie? An odd name; 
 what had made him think of it? Some one he 
 knew, or had met ? 
 
 The chug! chug! of a heavy motor-car laboring 
 upward caused him to turn, to see a girl's figure, 
 the film of a veil, black hair athwart a white brow 
 and blue eyes a face distinct, yet intangible, with 
 dust around it like mist, red lips shining through, 
 as a flower afar in some shadowy screen. Bruce 
 stepped back slightly the road was narrow. A 
 man's form screened hers from his; Sir Archibald, 
 big and florid, sat at her right on the front seat. 
 An instant Bruce heard, amid those explosive, per- 
 sistent, mechanical sounds, vague protestations in a 
 masculine voice concerning American roads, then a 
 girl's light laugh ; then he, she, vanished from view. 
 
 Bruce gazed after them while the cloud of dust 
 slowly settled. For a time he seemed to forget him- 
 self at the wayside. Then once more he walked 
 on; at first slowly, then more quickly. The road 
 became steeper. On one side the hill descended
 
 AN EPISODE 57 
 
 with considerable abruptness ; on the other, the bank 
 had been cut into for the thoroughfare, leaving a 
 perpendicular wall of earth about six feet high. 
 Beyond this, a tangle of green wood that had been 
 allowed by the owner to run wild was further 
 guarded by a thick hedge. 
 
 From somewhere in the distance amid this large 
 estate, the young man fancied he had heard once 
 or twice the report of a firearm the proprietor or 
 his friends after rabbits, perhaps. He had turned 
 his head, on his face the sudden, alert expression 
 of one not unaccustomed to danger, when the sound 
 of a weapon was heard from the thicket, near at 
 hand. Instinctively Bruce moved; as he did so, a 
 bit of lead grazed his hat. 
 
 Quick as a flash he sprang toward the hedge, 
 but the sandy earth gave way before him; his 
 hands seemed to touch only thorns. At the same 
 time he heard a branch break as before retreating 
 footsteps. Realizing the fruitlessness of pursuit, 
 he stood motionless and listened. Only silence! 
 
 No; the death-like hush was broken by a bird's 
 song. The young man wheeled and dusted his 
 clothes. Fortunately the sandy soil left no marks
 
 58 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 he could not remove. He regarded his hat; it was 
 chipped. Rather ruefully he smoothed the straw 
 with his finger; fortunately, the injury was not 
 irreparable. He moved the ribbon slightly to cover 
 it; one does not like to buy two new straw hats 
 a season.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A HOAX? 
 
 THE Goldberg country mansion, built on the 
 brow of a hill, commanded a felicitous pros- 
 pect. On three sides were to be seen other houses 
 on rather lower hills. Below nestled the town; be- 
 yond shone the waters of the sea. By day the 
 waves gleamed like diamonds, twinkling unceasingly 
 at Comscot's latest landed proprietor, as he gazed 
 contentedly down from his spacious and lofty bal- 
 cony. 
 
 " Very fine, eh, Bruce ? " said Mr. Goldberg to 
 his employee. The latter had but a short time be- 
 fore arrived and was being guided over the place 
 by the other. " That view of the bay alone is 
 worth the price. No better outlook anywhere! 
 Needn't be bothered with one's neighbors here; 
 they're far enough away." 
 
 "Who are they?" 
 
 The host mentioned several names; then point- 
 59
 
 6o THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 ing with his finger to the left " Mr. Wood's place. 
 Good house, but he can hardly see the water from 
 where he is." 
 
 " Mr. Wood spends the summer, here, then ? " 
 Bruce remarked carelessly. 
 
 " When he and his daughter are not on the other 
 side of the pond!" 
 
 Mr. Bruce continued to look in that direction. 
 "The grounds appear extensive; plenty of forest 
 reserves, the real primeval sort. Passed them on 
 my way up," he added, running a long white finger, 
 slightly scratched, around the band of his hat. 
 
 "If it were my place, I'd clean up a bit; have 
 cinder paths and a road for automobiles. That 
 little place to the right, farther down," again in- 
 dicating with a gesture, " belongs to Colonel Man- 
 yan, an old arm/ officer. The dilapidated, rambling 
 shack you can just see through the trees over there 
 is the property of Mr. Samuel Page. He got the 
 place on a mortgage for almost nothing; squeezed 
 a widow, client of his," with a wink. " Pet game 
 of the old fellow; makes a business of being pro- 
 fessional trustee. Pretty small graft ! " contempts 
 ously.
 
 A HOAX? 61 
 
 " There are certainly less reprehensible forms of 
 grafting." Some thought, as Mr. Brace's glance 
 passed over the grounds of his employer's estate, 
 caused the young man to smile. Was it at Mr. 
 Goldberg's assumption of virtue; that "holier than 
 thou " pose he involuntarily assumed on certain 
 occasions ? 
 
 " Heard he had rented it," went on the elder 
 man ; " but am not sure. Sorry for the man he 
 does business with. The old skinflint's got a nice 
 niece, though," he added. " Miss Flossie Burke. 
 She and my daughter have struck up quite a friend- 
 ship lately. She's going to be one of our guests 
 here." 
 
 "Here?" quickly. 
 
 " Yes ; glad you got around early, Bruce ; you 
 can help * make things go.' There'll be a lot of 
 people; special car from the city, and what with 
 the neighbors " Bruce regarded him with sudden 
 inquiry. " Sir Archibald Bamford is going to be 
 here," he added. 
 
 If Mr. Bruce experienced surprise, he did not 
 show it; his features, perhaps, appeared a trifle 
 more immovable. The other, then, had met knew
 
 62 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Sir Archibald! Through what combination of cir- 
 cumstances ? 
 
 " Sir Archibald, passing here the first time with 
 Mr. Wood and party in their motor, seemed struck 
 with the house, and asked to stop. As they were 
 admiring it, I happened along, and Mr. Wood 
 we're both on the Metropolitan New Process Gas 
 Board introduced me. I invited Sir Archibald 
 in to inspect the interior, and he accepted. We 
 became quite friendly." 
 
 Bruce was looking out over the bay; he did not 
 speak. 
 
 " They told me they knew you " The young man 
 lifted his eyes. " That is, Miss Wood did, after 
 asking if I wasn't the Mr. Goldberg she had heard 
 Mr. Bruce mention? She had evidently been talking 
 about you to Sir Archibald. You must know her 
 well ? " with interest. To know at all, Miss Mar- 
 jorie Wood, of one of the wealthiest and most ex- 
 clusive old circles, was, from Mr. Goldberg's point 
 of view, an achievement for any young man and 
 stamped him with a big hall-mark of social elegi- 
 bility. 
 
 Bruce's firm lips smiled faintly. " I can scarcely
 
 A HOAX? 63 
 
 claim that honor; I have met Miss Wood but once 
 or twice." 
 
 Mr. Goldberg returned unctuously to Sir Archi- 
 bald. " Told him about the little doings we were 
 going to have to-day, and ' Of course, you are 
 intending to ask all the neighbors ? ' he laughed. 
 Which, I took it, was a way of including himself. 
 So I sent invitations to Sir Archibald, his secretary, 
 Seiior Caglioni, and the Woods," concluded the 
 speaker, " and they are coming." 
 
 The young man said nothing; he seemed almost 
 absent-minded. The elder noted that lack of en- 
 thusiasm perhaps was a little annoyed by it. But 
 then, he remembered Bruce had the entree of places 
 where lords and sirs were not unknown quan- 
 tities; where, indeed, they congregated rather 
 plentifully at times. So Mr. Goldberg strove him- 
 self to assume an indifferent air. " Democratic 
 sort of chap, Sir Archibald," he observed, " in spite 
 of his formal manner." 
 
 Mr. Bruce's comment, if he had seen fit to make 
 one, was interrupted by the approach of a work- 
 man who had come from the house, in his hand a 
 bag filled presumably with tools.
 
 64 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Think you'll find the job all right now, Mr. 
 Goldberg," he remarked cheerfully, and, upon that 
 person's curtly observing " it was quite time," re- 
 torted something about its not being his fault ; that 
 one or two delicate pieces of mechanism, for the 
 locks, taking time to make, had not come until the 
 last minute. Which excuses being silently re- 
 ceived, the man walked a little uncertainly down 
 the steps, and, shouldering his bag below, passed 
 out of the premises. 
 
 "Confounded safe people!" As Mr. Goldberg 
 spoke, he involuntarily raised his hand to some- 
 thing slightly bulging in the inner pocket of his 
 carefully buttoned coat. " Did you smell the fel- 
 low's breath? Whisky! That's what caused the 
 hitch. The idea of not finishing their work un- 
 til noon to-day ! " 
 
 Bruce's glance had caught the movement. " You 
 have concluded, then, to let your daughter wear the 
 pearls, Mr. Goldberg?" 
 
 " What's the use of having pearls, if you don't 
 let people see them? Which reminds me," joc- 
 ularly feeling in his pocket, "here's a letter came 
 to-day."
 
 A HOAX? 65 
 
 The young man took it. The scrawl was rudely 
 written; he read: 
 
 " The same party, or parties, who got the Page 
 bonds, the Morrow emeralds and a few other trifles, 
 accept with pleasure the kind invitation of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Goldberg to attend the garden party and 
 housewarming at Comscot." 
 
 Bruce laughed. " Well, what do you think 
 of it?" 
 
 " A hoax. One of my friends who's been see- 
 ing that French Raffles what's his name ? 
 Lupin, at the theater, is having a little fun with 
 me. You have no idea what jokers those ' scat ' 
 and * peenuckle ' fellows of my club are. Or," 
 shrewdly, " it may have been sent by one of those 
 women folks who are envious of the pearls and 
 thinks it might scare my daughter into not wear- 
 ing them. In any case, I've had one of the best 
 private strong-boxes in the country fitted up here. 
 And what's more, only the architect and the safe 
 people and myself know where it is. But amuse 
 yourself any way you want while I look after these 
 electric light chaps," with a glance at ssveral men
 
 66 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 stringing bulbs in the garden. " You're to have 
 a room here, you know." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Bruce, " I've engaged 
 one at the inn. You'll be pretty well crowded here, 
 and, as I told you, I prefer it down in the town. 
 More independent, you see." 
 
 The other, likewise accustomed to plain speaking, 
 answered Bruce could suit himself, and walked 
 away. Left alone, the young man stepped into a 
 billiard-room that opened upon the balcony. For 
 a few moments he touched the balls idly, his stroke 
 singularly firm and caressing; then set himself a 
 most difficult test. The balls scampered around 
 the table wildly, came together gently, and finally 
 nestled almost touching. An instant he regarded 
 them, as if well-satisfied with the accuracy of his 
 eye, the sureness of his nerves, then leaned on his 
 cue. 
 
 His shapely, yet muscular fingers, showing 
 slightly the scratches from his vain endeavor to 
 break through the hedge back of Mr. Wood's place, 
 held briefly his attention. He regarded the marks 
 with an intentness that told he was thinking deeply.
 
 A HOAX? 67 
 
 At the same time his expression seemed one of 
 alertness, that of some woodland creature intent 
 upon an unexpected sound, or interruption, real 
 or fancied, in his forest fastness. A faint inden- 
 tation appeared on his brow ; he looked out through 
 the screened door, to where, afar, a dark fringe 
 marked the outline of the forest on the green hill- 
 side. 
 
 Some one passed on the lawn below, a person 
 with a dark face; viewed profile-wise, it might 
 have seemed the set, bronze countenance of an 
 American Indian. From Brace's point of view, 
 the slant eyes were hardly discernible. This person, 
 like the workman who had gone down a short 
 time before, carried a bundle. He went by like 
 a shadow, with characteristic gliding motion, 
 around a corner of the house, and a few moments 
 later, from presumably kitchenward (the big 
 house had a half-open summer kitchen) came a 
 grudging voice that greeted this last-comer. 
 
 It was better late than never the speaker was 
 the housekeeper, no doubt though things had 
 come to a pretty pass when one was glad to get
 
 68 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 even heathen for servants in the country. There 
 were Irish gardeners, an English coachman, Ger- 
 man and Swedish housemaids, and this latest ar- 
 rival constituted a second Oriental for the kitchen, 
 or to serve the guests. The house might soon be 
 compared to the tower of Babel. Did he know 
 how to " wait on " people ? 
 
 The answer was not discernible to Bruce y he 
 seemed in nowise amused. The tones died 
 away, silence ensued. Apparently the belated 
 one had merged quietly into his place, after the 
 deft way of his kind; henceforth there would 
 be no ruffling of the surface on his account. 
 He was now but a cog that moved without fric- 
 tion. 
 
 Bruce had started to turn once more to the 
 billiard table when from down the road came a 
 rattling of wheels. 
 
 A vehicle drew near, drove in the grounds and 
 stopped. It was one of the antiquated " hacks " 
 from the station, but the gay garments of her within 
 brightened it. She sprang out with a fluttering of 
 skirts, asked a question of the driver, and ran hur- 
 riedly up the steps.
 
 A HOAX? 69 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Burke?" Chatfield 
 Bruce had stepped out through a long French win- 
 dow on to the balcony. As he stood there, cue in 
 hand, his glance, for the first few seconds, seemed 
 to dart incisively upon her. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce ! " A faint flush came to the creamy 
 cheek, an instant's perturbation to the greenish 
 eyes. " I didn't expect " 
 
 " Don't say it ! " he laughed. 
 
 " Then I won't ! " She straightened ; bit her lip 
 as if momentarily annoyed, then laughed too. "Of 
 course I should have expected you here, if I had 
 given the matter any thought." 
 
 "Quite so!" he said easily, almost too easily. 
 And then " Pardon me ! " reaching before her to 
 touch the bell of the front door. 
 
 " Thanks ! " She suddenly as if by an irresisti- 
 ble impulse looked at him; had he been watchful 
 now, he might have seen in that glance something 
 to ponder over. Though brief, it might have been 
 likened to the casual light on a gun that betrays to 
 the observant scout the hostile outpost in the deep 
 gloaming. But Mr. Bruce had not seen; his man- 
 ner had relaxed, become careless, unmindful.
 
 70 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 The front door of the house opened; he heard 
 skipping girlish steps within, and, a moment later, 
 the sound of Miss Flossie's ardent kisses.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 INCIDENTS 
 
 /^HATFIELD BRUCE had drawn a little aside 
 ^^ from the merry throng to observe the sunset. 
 He had to manoeuver deftly to this end, but finally 
 was enabled to avail himself of an opportune break 
 in conversation to step into a slightly secluded angle 
 of the house. There, he seemed to forget his sur- 
 roundings, to become wholly absorbed in shifting 
 hues and effects. These in turn had faded and 
 now, from the darkening dome, shone a myriad of 
 critical stars. 
 
 A moment Bruce yet continued to regard them, 
 his face pale in the white light; then abruptly 
 wheeled. As he stirred, some one in the shadow, 
 not far off, who had been observing him, also 
 moved; but the young man seemed not to have 
 noticed this person. Had he done so, it is unlikely 
 Mr. Bruce would have recognized in him the in- 
 dividual he had seen in the spick-and-span white
 
 72 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 restaurant several weeks before, sitting near Mr. 
 Samuel Page. The nondescript eyes the young 
 fellow had studied in the mirror on that occasion 
 were now dimmed by glasses just in the least 
 shaded ; an " imperial " adorned Mr. Bolger's chin, 
 and a mustache, conservatively French, his upper 
 lip. 
 
 The detective's gaze was puzzled as Mr. Bruce 
 walked away; he peered down the hill below where 
 the young man had been standing, but only the 
 spectral trees and the dim landscape afar met his 
 look. He fancied that in one of the bushes half 
 discernible below he could hear a sound as of a 
 person moving, but was not sure. He concluded at 
 length it was only the rustling of the leaves and 
 turned to the grosser flare of the artificial lights in 
 lamps and lanterns now illumining the grounds and 
 gardens. 
 
 He saw Mr. Bruce again, his face no longer wear- 
 ing that intent, rapt look, but marked with an 
 expression, at once light and conventional. Withal, 
 keenly alert ! While Chatfield Bruce's lips breathed 
 witticisms, or permitted themselves platitudes, his 
 eyes seemed to see, to telegraph a good deal to his
 
 INCIDENTS 73 
 
 brain. He talked now to Colonel Manyan, a near- 
 by resident, and Mr. Bolger vaguely felt the young 
 fellow was intuitively weighing, considering the 
 rough and the fine points of that particular" in- 
 dividuality. Why? Through a habit of quiet 
 analysis ? 
 
 The military, or ex-military man (he had re- 
 tired, or been retired, from the army) seemed rather 
 an important person; a bachelor. Financial ad- 
 versity had, the detective knew, buzzed about his 
 ears; he appeared, however, one not easily abashed 
 by creditors. His bearing was more erect than 
 that of many people who pay their bills. Bolger 
 approached; while seeming to study the architec- 
 tural outlines of the new house, he strove to catch 
 their words. He heard but part of them. Their 
 conversation was conventional; it bore upon Uncle 
 Sam's bizarre little group of islets in the Far East. 
 Then the tones of others intervened; among them, 
 Miss Flossie Burke's. That young woman talked 
 gaily ; the observer noticed, however, a slight irrele- 
 vancy in her replies. He became also presently 
 aware she took a furtive interest in something, or 
 somebody beyond those she conversed with.
 
 74 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 The green eyes, lifting capriciously, now this 
 way, then that, seemed to focus, for a moment, on 
 the clean-cut profile of Chatfield Bruce. Bolger 
 looked thoughtfully down; when he lifted his gaze 
 again, Bruce had gone. Perhaps it was a part of 
 his social policy to bestow upon any one but a 
 few moments of his time and attention. Miss 
 Flossie Burke, however, still remained near; she 
 was not conversing quite so rapidly as she had been ; 
 the least touch of constraint had fallen on her gaiety. 
 Bolger now studied an almost imperceptible petu- 
 lancy of the girl's full red lips ; then his eyes shift- 
 ing, met those of Mr. Goldberg, not far from 
 them. 
 
 There was a faintly preoccupied expression on 
 that person's face. The observer could guess at the 
 cause. Had the host become somewhat anxious at 
 Sir Archibald's non-appearance? No doubt he had 
 given one or two of his guests to infer that the dis- 
 tinguished visitor, whose family occupied several 
 pages in Burke's Peerage, was going to be there, 
 and the new r s had become disseminated through- 
 out the gathering. People glanced quickly, ques- 
 tioningly at every new-comer; the late arrivals fell
 
 INCIDENTS 75 
 
 under a mild bane of silent disapproval because they 
 were not some one else. 
 
 Mr. Bolger was also slightly disappointed. He 
 had wanted to see Sir Archibald. The latter's ac- 
 ceptance of the invitation to be present at Mr. 
 Goldberg's that evening the detective had regarded 
 as a fortunate coincidence; he even found in it 
 subject for thought. There were acts within acts 
 in this drama he did not understand. He wanted 
 to converse with Miss Burke, to become acquainted 
 with her, but refrained for reasons of prudence. 
 That young woman might have heard his voice once 
 or twice on other occasions. Her faculties were 
 keen. So he discreetly annexed unto himself a gos- 
 sipy old dowager and asked her to supper, which 
 was now announced. 
 
 Chatfield Bruce had been delegated to take Miss 
 Goldberg in or rather, out, for the elaborate 
 collation was served out-of-doors, beneath the 
 greenwood trees. There were buffets and many 
 tables that would accommodate from six to eight 
 or ten guests. Mr. and Mrs. Goldberg, the latter 
 a refined pretty woman, were at one of the tables 
 and the former called to Mr. Bruce and his daughter
 
 76 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 to join them. Bolger found another table close by. 
 At Mr. Goldberg's table were, also, Miss Flossie 
 Burke, Colonel Manyan, and two other couples. 
 Miss Burke, who was opposite Mr. Bruce and Miss 
 Goldberg, regarded them with seemingly casual, 
 though really sharp scrutiny. Miss Goldberg 
 would have been generally considered merely nice- 
 looking, but the ornaments she wore were regal. 
 
 "Are they real?" The voice must have be- 
 longed to one of those " jokers " of whom Mr. 
 Goldberg had spoken. 
 
 The company, moved by the daring facetious- 
 ness of the remark, laughed. " How about it, Mr. 
 Bruce?" The jovial one on the other side of the 
 hostess was a short, red-faced man, the head of 
 a big wholesale store, a block below Mr. Goldberg's 
 on Broadway. " You're nearest them." 
 
 Between Bruce and the detective a vase of 
 flowers on the latter's table intervened; Bolger 
 moved it slightly, as if unconsciously. He dis- 
 cerned the other's now grave features, his earnest 
 downward look toward the somewhat embarrassed, 
 not wholly displeased, Miss Goldberg. " They ap- 
 pear so to me," said the young man quietly, in the
 
 INCIDENTS 77 
 
 tone of one who felt, perhaps, the conversation had 
 taken a turn in rather questionable taste. 
 
 But others were not so fastidious. " Are you a 
 judge?" Colonel Manyan, next to Miss Burke, 
 asked in his habitually loud military manner; he 
 had been partaking rather freely of the punch and 
 champagne. 
 
 Bruce met his gaze. A slight impediment in the 
 other's accents impressed itself on the young man 
 accustomed to note trifles. In his youth the 
 colonel had probably been a stutterer; had cured 
 himself, almost ; only in moments of excitement, or 
 alcoholic stimulation, a trace of the old affliction be- 
 came manifest. " Are you a judge? " he repeated. 
 
 " That depends," Bruce said lightly. 
 
 " Upon what ? " Miss Flossie leaned forward. 
 
 " Upon what you would call a ' judge.' ' Chat- 
 field Bruce smiled back at her. " Pearl collecting," 
 toying with his boutonniere, " is rather too ex- 
 pensive a hobby for many of us. Outside of the 
 buyers and sellers, actually in the pearl business, 
 there are not many, I fancy, who can claim to be 
 real experts." 
 
 " Right ! " Colonel Manyan's accents rang out.
 
 78 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Nevertheless, some of us think we are versed. 
 In my own time I have seen a lot of fine pearls, 
 many the best product of the Sulu Seas, and allow 
 me to observe," to Mr. Goldberg, " your daughter's 
 seem truly magnificent. Transcendently lovely ! " 
 The long word cost him a slight effort. " That is," 
 he added, with a laugh, " from this distance ! " 
 
 " Oh, they won't look any worse close to," re- 
 torted the proud owner. " Those pearls will bear 
 inspection. My dear," to his daughter, " let Colonel 
 Many an see them." 
 
 At his table Bolger started slightly and shifted 
 the vase of flowers farther aside. Miss Goldberg 
 unclasped the shining rope; it slid from her hand 
 over the military man's outstretched fingers. Colo- 
 nel Manyan's gaze lighted. " By Jove ! " he said. 
 
 " Ever see anything finer ? " Mr. Goldberg de- 
 manded, leaning back. 
 
 " Never ! " Some of the vibrant quality had 
 gone out of the military man's voice. " By Jove! " 
 he repeated, thickly, almost in a murmur. 
 
 " May I see them ? " Miss Flossie's breath 
 seemed to come a little faster. 
 
 " Certainly ; pass them along," said the owner.
 
 INCIDENTS 79 
 
 Colonel Manyan released them reluctantly. The 
 girl gave a rapturous exclamation: 
 
 " Ah ! " The pearls nestled in her rosy palm. 
 " How nice they feel ! " 
 
 " Put them on," said Goldberg. 
 
 " No ; no ! It would be so hard to take them 
 off!" She made a gesture. "Begone, tempta- 
 tion!" 
 
 The rope of pearls went now to Chatfield Bruce. 
 The young fellow had moved his chair slightly away 
 from the table. A servant was just filling his glass, 
 the one that contained a light claret, for Bruce had 
 not touched his champagne. This servant was 
 swarthy, an Oriental a Chinaman. He stood 
 back now in the half-light, without motion; only 
 a slight sheen on some silk material he wore varied 
 to the flutterings of the night wind. Behind, the 
 lanterns on the tree branches seemed imbued with a 
 sudden spirit of life. They waved, danced. Trail- 
 ing shadows ran this way and that. Mr. Bruce 
 glanced at the pearls. 
 
 " There is one test," he said lightly, " you might 
 have applied." His shoulder turned slightly from 
 Mr. Goldberg; the necklace flashed in the air;
 
 8o THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 lights gleamed on it. His fingers, somewhat 
 scratched, caught Miss Flossie's eyes; but the ex- 
 pression of his face that had been conventionally 
 nonchalant now arrested and held Bolger's glance. 
 
 Against a darker background, Bruce's features 
 seemed chiseled with cameo-like distinctness. A 
 light that comes of the calm contemplation of the 
 faultlessly beautiful shone for a second time that 
 evening from his eyes. They seemed to caress, 
 without covetousness, the pure, iridescent spheres; 
 to linger on them with a high, unselfish delight. 
 The pleased curvings of his fine lips paid them 
 tribute. 
 
 " Two rings, one within another, on every per- 
 fect globule," they heard him say in low tones; 
 then he paused, and got up, as if the better to return 
 the ornaments to their owner. His tall figure 
 threw a shadow across the lawn; he was smiling 
 once more down on the people at the table. " The 
 test is not infallible, but " 
 
 With a gallant gesture he was about to replace 
 the rope on Miss Goldberg's neck, when his pur- 
 pose was accidentally arrested. The Chinaman, 
 apparently mindful only of glasses that needed re-
 
 ""V/-E 
 
 He got up as if the better to return the ornaments Page 80
 
 INCIDENTS Si 
 
 plenishing, had stretched out his arm toward the 
 delicate crystal between that young lady and Bruce ; 
 but instead of filling the glass, the Oriental had 
 suddenly straightened. 
 
 At the sound of a voice a footstep behind, 
 that caused him to throw a quick glance over his 
 shoulder? The abrupt movement brought him in 
 sharp contact with Bruce's arm. A few drops of 
 wine splashed on the young man's sleeve and the 
 pearls slipped from his fingers. With a quick 
 movement Bruce stooped and caught them before 
 they fell- to the ground, and, whipping a hand- 
 kerchief from his coat, he wiped away the mois- 
 ture. 
 
 The Oriental, recovering himself, bent very 
 low, murmuring an abject apology. A frown had 
 sprung to Bruce's face; he said something hastily, 
 in some dialect, his tone sharply rasping. Bolger 
 would have given much to have known what it was. 
 The detective had, at that instant, involuntarily risen 
 from his seat. What was happening; was anything 
 happening of moment ? A puff of wind agitated 
 the lanterns; one or two went out. Along the 
 horizon the vague warmth of heat-lightning made
 
 82 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 itself manifest; a hemlock, on the second, stood 
 out with spectral-like vividness. 
 
 Bolger's pulses beat faster. Around him, heads 
 began unaccountably to nod this way and that, as 
 if a gust of air had affected them; a murmur rose. 
 What was it? What were the people at his table 
 saying? Chatfield Bruce yet held the pearls, the 
 wonderful white glowing pearls. But a few mo- 
 ments had elapsed since he had taken them. 
 
 "Sir Archibald! Sir Archibald!" Yes, that 
 was what they were murmuring, whispering not 
 exactly agog, or agape but very curious, unde- 
 niably ! 
 
 " Beastly motor broke down, don't you know. 
 Deuced inconvenient ! Sorry ! Very ! " A 
 voice, broadly accented, slightly bored, fell upon 
 gratified ears; it was Sir Archibald himself who 
 was speaking. Mr. Goldberg had not raised ex- 
 pectations in vain. 
 
 The Englishman came forward from the direc- 
 tion of the house, followed by the other late 
 arrivals. Bolger's glance swerved an instant to 
 him, then returned to Chatfield Bruce. 
 
 That gentleman no longer had the pearls; he
 
 INCIDENTS 83 
 
 had returned them to Miss Goldberg. There was 
 no doubt about that; Bolger saw them very dis- 
 tinctly. He gave a half sigh, as of relief; he had 
 momentarily felt quite unlike himself. Decidedly 
 the Page case had got on his nerves; yes, de- 
 cidedly, he said in his own mind as the host's 
 daughter, moving with a proud inner consciousness 
 of the fortune she again wore on her neck, stepped 
 forward with her parents, to greet Sir Archibald 
 and those who had come with him.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ON THE GREEN 
 
 MR. BRUCE held back; he even, perhaps, 
 showed a tendency to withdraw a little. 
 But no one regarded him ; the last arrivals Sir 
 Archibald and his explanations which he, in the 
 same language and the same cold, monotonous 
 tones, reiterated several times absorbed general 
 attention. 
 
 Did Mr. Bruce feel himself deposed, over- 
 shadowed by another in the estimation of the proud 
 possessor of the pearls? Any young man of 
 democratic predilection might have felt slightly 
 piqued under the circumstances. Miss Goldberg's 
 smile for nobility was not to be measured. Bruce's 
 expression, however, seemed only that of a person 
 listening courteously, observing conventionally a 
 scene in which he had no great concern. His eyes 
 
 I 
 
 passed casually over Mr. Wood and lingered but a 
 
 84
 
 ON THE GREEN 85 
 
 moment on Sir Archibald. Yet in that brief period 
 his gaze appeared to harden. 
 
 Or was it only the light of one of the lamps, 
 shining on his features, that threw a glint like a 
 spark from his look ? It faded almost immediately ; 
 melted into vague distance, as he turned from the 
 Englishman's rather massive face to an indefinite 
 background. From the distance, beyond the house, 
 came the pounding of the engine of a car. Some 
 one was endeavoring to repair a defect in the mech- 
 anism of the motor that had finally conveyed Sir 
 Archibald thither. 
 
 " How delightfully unaffected Sir Archibald ap- 
 pears just like one of us ! " the dowager, Mr. 
 Bolger's companion remarked enthusiastically. 
 
 Sir Archibald was, in his heavy way, very courte- 
 ous to all, notably to Miss Goldberg, regal with 
 gems. 
 
 " But what a magnet, those pearls, for him who 
 took the Morrow emeralds, the Page bonds," went 
 on the dowager. " That subtle and mysterious per- 
 son whose detection is so much desired ! " 
 
 Chatfield Bruce moved farther away. The sup- 
 per was practically over, and jtliss Goldberg evinced
 
 86 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 an unmistakable desire to attach herself to Sir Archi- 
 bald. Perhaps Mr. Bruce argued that, on the 
 whole, he would not be committing a social faux 
 pas by almost imperceptibly eliminating himself 
 from the proximity of that prominent central group 
 and merging into the general, kaleidescopic whole. 
 At any rate, with charming modesty and unob- 
 trusiveness, he was about to do so, when Miss 
 Marjorie Wood's eyes chanced to rest on him. 
 Of course, he came forward at once; there was 
 nothing else to do. Did she, however, divine from 
 his manner what had been his intention, notice even 
 now an instant's hesitation in moving toward her 
 she, who was accustomed to being seen first, and 
 sought out, too, by those with whom she was ac- 
 quainted, however slightly? 
 
 The hint of coldness in Miss Wood's blue eyes 
 soon vanished. The young man laughed it down ; 
 he seemed to charm her as he did so many others. 
 His greeting of Sir Archibald was easy, conven- 
 tional; his long, slim fingers met the other's big 
 ones with apparent glad frankness. The gaiety on 
 Brace's features contrasted with the stolid reticence 
 of the Briton.
 
 ON THE GREEN 87 
 
 " You and Bruce should enjoy knowing each 
 other," Mr. Wood, a refined looking man of about 
 sixty, said in his friendliest fashion. " You have 
 something in common the Orient. I have no- 
 ticed that people who have lived long in the Far 
 East seem to like to get together, to exchange odd 
 experiences, no doubt." 
 
 The younger man disclaimed any adventures out 
 of the ordinary. Mr. Wood, as if pleased by this 
 modesty, smiled indulgently. He and Bruce were 
 members of the same club; the elder had rather 
 sought out the other on occasions, finding him in- 
 teresting to talk to, when he would talk. He ap- 
 peared disposed to do so now ; in fact, exerted 
 himself and was at his best. Mr. Wood laughed, 
 but Sir Archibald's face remained Sphinx-like. 
 
 It may be, he was interested in Miss Wood, or 
 a conversation between her and Miss Flossie 
 Burke. That young woman had rushed to the 
 other. They had met somewhere once, an occasion 
 probably remembered more by Samuel Page's niece 
 than by Mr. Wood's daughter. 
 
 Miss Marjorie responded lightly to that effusive 
 greeting. She had come prepared to enjoy the
 
 83 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 novelty of the event; of being set down among those 
 to whom she was for the most part a stranger. 
 It was Sir Archibald who had evinced a desire to 
 be asked here. Why? She couldn't imagine. Of 
 course it was jolly; and it had been jollier still to 
 meet with a mishap on the way. Sir Archibald 
 had taken it so seriously; seemed so unduly an- 
 noyed! Her look swept the gaily lighted grounds; 
 the house with every window agleam, then returned 
 to the damask-spread board, the half-filled glasses. 
 " I'm afraid we have interrupted your little table 
 party ? " 
 
 " Not at all. We were only admiring Miss Gold- 
 berg's pearls; passing them around, don't you 
 know." 
 
 "Indeed?" Miss Wood, herself, wore no orna- 
 ments. 
 
 " And Mr. Bruce was just alluding to some 
 test, or something of the kind." Sir Archibald 
 looked around. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce ? " Marjorie Wood's tones con- 
 veyed an accent of surprise. " Then that was what 
 he appeared so taken with when we came up that 
 when the servant brushed against him, he "
 
 ON THE GREEN 89 
 
 " Dropped them upon Miss Goldberg's neck ! " 
 laughed Flossie Burke. 
 
 " No ; I meant I thought " 
 
 "Isn't it charming? The arrangement of the 
 grounds, I mean that pavilion for dancing?" 
 Sir Archibald had taken a step or two in their 
 direction and directed his remark to Miss Wood. 
 " A pavilion ? Just fancy ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he twirled his heavy mustache, 
 while his lazy eyes, slightly expectant, turned now 
 to Miss Burke; she, among many others, had not 
 yet been presented to him. If the observer wanted 
 a reason for that gentleman's rather abrupt action 
 at the moment, here was a simple one. Miss 
 Flossie's charms were unmistakable; she at once 
 began to entertain Sir Archibald, her manner, that 
 of society, a haphazard, frothy way of talking at 
 not to one. 
 
 The host's basso, calling for chairs and another 
 table to be placed against the one from which they 
 had risen, broke in on them, and they seated them- 
 selves again. 
 
 Senor Caglioni appeared presently. Undersized, 
 wiry, the secretary carried himself with an odd
 
 90 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 briskness. A black beard adorned a countenance, 
 at once swarthy and secretive. With all his as- 
 sumption of Portuguese ancestry, there was some- 
 thing un-European about him. Perhaps that alien 
 intimation lay in the eyes that offered to the ob- 
 server only the surface lights of dark shining beads, 
 and, yes, conveyed in their setting, though remotely, 
 some reminder of a " slant." He held himself with 
 an assurance in the least forced, and when the 
 host made him acquainted with those at the table, 
 bowed to each after the ceremonious fashion of the 
 East. As he regarded the people, however, his 
 gaze lacked somewhat in steadfastness. This was 
 especially marked when the host called Bruce by 
 name. 
 
 It might have been the secretary found the in- 
 cisive directness of Chatfield Bruce's glance in the 
 least disconcerting td eyes grown sensitive from 
 the glare of oriental suns. For, meeting that gaze, 
 Sefior Caglioni's lids fluttered like the wings of 
 an insect, his body described, possibly, a greater 
 curve. Bruce nodded carelessly, almost curtly, and 
 turned again to Miss Wood. 
 
 " The motor has been repaired, Sir Archibald,"
 
 ON THE GREEN 91 
 
 Caglioni murmured, taking a place near the foot 
 of the table. 
 
 " Good ! My secretary is quite a mechanic," ex- 
 plained Sir Archibald. " Couldn't resist helping 
 overhaul the parts, don't you know." 
 
 " Mechanic ? " observed Mr. Wood lightly. 
 " And a linguist, a stenographer, a sportsman ! A 
 man of many accomplishments!" he added. 
 
 "A sportsman?" exclaimed Miss Burke viva- 
 ciously. 
 
 Mr. Wood laughed. " Don't know as I ought 
 quite to call the sefior that, though! He put in a 
 good part of to-day among the tangles and under- 
 brush of my place, but brought back only one soli- 
 tary bunny." 
 
 The senor made a deprecatory shrug. " I am not 
 a very good shot." 
 
 " Aren't you ? " Bruce had turned and was look- 
 ing at him curiously ; then his gaze became more dis- 
 tant, as if some far-away baffling impression had 
 suddenly assailed him. An instant, and he regained 
 his customary light poise. " Your place, Mr. 
 Wood, or the rear of it, looks a likely spot for 
 poachers."
 
 92 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " As a matter of fact it is inaccessible," Mr. 
 Wood replied. " You may not have noticed, just 
 walking by." Again Bruce's eyes lifted to Caglioni, 
 and he drummed with his fingers on the table. 
 
 The evening wore on. Bruce talked very little 
 now. The wine before him, neglected, had long 
 since ceased to effervesce ; became but a flat golden 
 surface. On Marjorie Wood's cheeks the rosebuds 
 that had unfolded their hues to the rush of the 
 night wind on the way thither had deepened; she 
 was speaking; he, resting his head on his hand, 
 seemed content to look at her and listen. 
 
 Across the lawn a faint mist, the end of a cloud 
 hanging low, passed like a wraith; in the grass 
 a sibilant sound of insects mingled with the human 
 murmur. It, both, were drowned by the band; a 
 waltz this time, The Merry Widow again vied 
 with the bursting bubbles for votaries. People of 
 an accord deserted buffets and tables. 
 
 As Sir Archibald and Miss Goldberg passed to- 
 ward the pavilion, the watchful Bolger saw Sefior 
 Caglioni leave his chair and approach them. But 
 although his lips addressed Sir Archibald, the sec- 
 retary's gaze caressed furtively the rope on Miss
 
 ON THE GREEN 93 
 
 Goldberg's neck; as it did so, the pupils of his 
 brown eyes seemed slowly to dilate. The smoke 
 of a cigar in the hand of a neighbor floated be- 
 fore the intent look of the observer. A second it 
 blurred the picture. When that slight haze had 
 swept away, Sir Archibald and his partner had 
 moved on. Sefior Caglioni had turned, as if in- 
 voluntarily, toward the host; a gleam of sardonic 
 humor shot from his eyes. The detective who saw, 
 experienced momentary wonder, half-apprehension. 
 What did it mean? 
 
 At that moment Chatfield Bruce, with Miss Wood 
 at his side, each mindful only of the other, stepped 
 lightly toward the dancers.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 
 
 BRUCE guided without effort, faultlessly; he 
 could not have done otherwise. The young 
 man was pagan in his appreciation of certain forms 
 of dancing and rhythm; the motion-epics of the 
 Far East, based on the varying moods of nature, 
 were for him especial delectation. The Viennese 
 waltz he had not liked so well, even while he had 
 perforce glided to its three-four reiteration. The 
 dance had seemed, as it were, naive; wanting in 
 suggestion of symbolism. Its barrenness in this re- 
 gard failed to impress him now. 
 
 He gazed down. The girl's face, so near his 
 shoulder, revealed no cynical doubts; he regarded 
 it on a sudden, with an airy, almost boyish trust. 
 He experienced an unreasoning pleasure; yes, joy! 
 He did not know why; he did not care. It did 
 not admit of argument or reason. It was as if, 
 
 94
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 95 
 
 standing at the foot of a temple's steps on the dull 
 banks of the Pei-ho, in the first flush of youth's 
 golden dream, he had been about to embark, when 
 at the river's edge he saw her, with hair dark as 
 an eastern princess' and eyes like the blue flowers 
 that lie in the desert beyond the walled cities 
 saw her and took her with him, wherever that might 
 be! 
 
 It happened like something out of space, out of 
 time like the birth of a star or the death of one ! 
 Only the environment now, the actual surrounding 
 figures, seemed unreal, wooden. His eyes had a 
 new ardor. An odd sense of possession dominated 
 him. She was his ! his ! Did he not always at- 
 tain what he coveted? His! He drew her closer, 
 very gently; so gently, she did not seem to notice. 
 Oh, for the magic carpet of China, that might whisk 
 them up to the plain of Han, the sea of stars ! But 
 one could take, carry off what was of great worth 
 without oriental sorcery! If he only would 
 One! two! three! the rhythms continued. 
 
 After the first few tentative moments, the im- 
 portant, crucial test of a partner, Marjorie Wood 
 had resigned herself to Bruce with a confidence all
 
 96 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 would be well. She yielded unreservedly to the 
 glad measures; it was quite primeval, dancing like 
 that, under the stars. The latter seemed to whirl 
 around bewilderingly ; mad, dancing stars, when 
 one tried to sort them out! Chimerical points of 
 light ! Venus, Mars, the Dipper, all became 
 merged, mixed! She laughed softly, and Bruce 
 again looked down at blue eyes like bright 
 merry flowers now, dancing in the breeze. The 
 parted red lips were curved to a smile; a flying 
 tress of dark hair touched his cheek. At that mo- 
 ment Chatfield Bruce and Marjorie Wood nearly 
 collided with Sir Archibald. 
 
 The young man, just in time caught sight, for an 
 instant, of the heavy, now rubicund face ; a flare of 
 white pearls, agitated by the swift whirling and 
 Miss Goldberg's rapid breathing. Then Bruce, 
 with a slight tightening of his arm about the slender, 
 supple waist, swept deftly away from the threaten- 
 ing danger, and Miss Wood remained unaware of 
 that narrow margin of escape from what, in this 
 instance, owing to Sir Archibald's bulk, would have 
 been a distinct physical shock. 
 
 The music came to an end. She regarded Chat-
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 97 
 
 field Bruce blithely; he had not disappointed her. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Wood ! " Mocking irony, 
 futility of words, though he bent to the part, eyes 
 agleam. 
 
 Her small, white-gloved hand rested now on his 
 arm ; she found herself walking away with him quite 
 naturally across the lawn, through shaded paths 
 to the verge of the more thickly wooded park. 
 She hardly noted which way they went; he still 
 seemed to guide her as he had in the dance. Only 
 now he talked joyous fantastic nonsense, like a 
 boy! She answered, unreasoningly vibrant, re- 
 sponsive to his mood, as if some of the magic of 
 the night had crept into and swayed her thoughts, 
 too. Though now and then she looked at him with 
 eyes a little questioning, whimsically surprised, as 
 if asking, was he the incisive, sometime ironical, 
 man of the world she had conceived him to be? 
 
 Did he read, between her gay words, the intrusive 
 query? If so, he swept it aside, light as thistle- 
 down and continued to lead her on arbitrarily, j 
 with implied authority. Her hand like a lily leaf 
 seemed about to fall from his black sleeve. He 
 looked at it ; it yet lingered though so lightly,
 
 t)8 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 as if it might float off and away for ever, on an 
 instant. 
 
 They paused, at length, where the bank descended 
 precipitately. How beautiful the valley sleeping be- 
 neath its diaphanous mantle of haze! The world, 
 typified by the concourse of small red dots of light, 
 human habitations, how far away! The blithe 
 words died on the girl's lips; her gaze, beneath 
 sweeping lashes, looked out from shadows of in- 
 effable dreaminess. Bruce, too, ceased to speak, 
 but the glad light of his glance rested only on her; 
 the pale perfect contour of her face, the hair, black 
 as the wing of a night bird. He who a few mo- 
 ments before had held her in his arms, a white- 
 robed, youthful Aphrodite, radiating with life, 
 would not now have dared to touch her. Yet a 
 spell of wonderful nearness seemed to have fallen 
 on them. 
 
 To hold them so still! A moment; an eternity! 
 Below, a stone or bit of gravel became loosened and 
 fell. She stirred; their glances met. A brighter, 
 more intense light shone abruptly from his, as if 
 the glad diffused rays were suddenly gathered and 
 focused into points of fire and warmth, that played
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 99 
 
 on her like a clear white flame, sending with dis- 
 concerting swiftness a flood of color to her cheeks, 
 stirring fuller, stronger pulsations from finger-tips 
 to throat, awakening something, beneath her breast, 
 that beat hard, wildly! 
 
 Loud sang the insects ; their rhythmic intonations 
 seemed to fill the land. Afar, the wood appeared 
 to fade away; only the trees, near at hand, were 
 very insistent, very black, and yet unreal, too, as 
 if with their up-curving branches they had been 
 metamorphosed into many-storied pagodas, stand- 
 ing in some far-eastern garden, full of odors and 
 strange fragrances. Out of the night she heard 
 her name whispered or was it but fancy ? 
 
 Near by, a distinct sound, the sharp crackling of 
 a branch, broke startlingly the stillness. Again 
 as if a footfall in the wooded park, close to them, 
 had encountered a dead limb on the ground. She 
 looked that way; her hand brushed her brow. 
 Stepping toward them from beneath one of the 
 pagoda-like trees, she saw a dark form, that 
 stopped, seemed to hesitate at sight of them, then 
 came forward and turned, acting as if he had not 
 observed them, and stole with quick, now noiseless
 
 ioo THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 tread toward the brightly lighted house. The re- 
 flection of pale rays played on him; the curious 
 profile with high cheek bones; the glittering eyes. 
 Then he was gone. 
 
 "Why" she gave an odd little laugh "that 
 was a Chinaman." 
 
 " One of the servants." Bruce suddenly straight- 
 ened, throwing back his head, as if at the same time 
 to throw something from him. " Mr. Goldberg has 
 several of them." 
 
 " How strange " The words died away. 
 
 " On the contrary, they make excellent servants." 
 
 " I mean his appearing like that, from the " 
 
 " My dear Miss Marjorie ! " The voice was Sir 
 Archibald's. He had approached from the direction 
 opposite to which they were looking. " I have been 
 searching for you everywhere; to claim my dance, 
 don't you know." The words were commonplace, 
 but his glance, passing from one to the other, 
 seemed to darken. 
 
 Bruce laughed lightly; his eyes now had the cold 
 gleam of a simitar in the moonlight. 
 
 " The dance is half over," Sir Archibald went 
 on.
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 101 
 
 Marjorie Wood turned. " I am sorry." In her 
 voice was an accent of constraint. 
 
 " The fault is mine," murmured Bruce. 
 
 Sir Archibald did not answer, but held out his 
 arm stiffly. With a quick backward glance the girl 
 moved toward him and Bruce watched them walk 
 away. 
 
 When a short time later, he again started toward 
 the house, the lawn was nearly deserted; most of 
 the guests had crowded to the platform. Toward 
 the west a bank of black clouds had blotted out the 
 stars; a faint reverberation, afar, made itself heard. 
 In the direction from whence it came, above the 
 tree-tops, the red moon, like a sickle, swung mena- 
 cingly. Bruce regarded it. Not far from the lunar 
 effect, grim shadows were reaching out; creeping 
 farther across the sky. 
 
 From them, his glance turned slowly to the well- 
 filled platform. Through rapidly moving figures 
 the young man saw, for an instant, Miss Wood; 
 above the broad, rather heavy shoulders of her 
 partner, he catfght a fleeting impression of her face. 
 Did she dance as lightly as she had danced a short
 
 102 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 time ago? The flutter of her white gown held his 
 look, then, like the creamy tip of a wave that ere 
 the eye has hardly seen it is lost in effervescence, 
 it vanished in the vortex. 
 
 He looked down; his long fingers pressed close 
 his palm; the shadows lay on his face. 
 
 " A penny for your thoughts ! " The voice was 
 Miss Burke's. She had stepped to his side from the 
 buffet, where a number of couples yet lingered. 
 " But, perhaps, you are wondering with the others," 
 not awaiting his answer, " what Sir Archibald's 
 mission to this country may be ? " 
 
 "Sir Archibald's mission?" He looked at her 
 quickly, with, she might almost have fancied, swift 
 inquiry. 
 
 "A tender one, if rumor can be relied on!" 
 Her laugh sounded the least bit artificial. " He met 
 Miss Wood first in Europe," she continued. 
 
 He did not answer. Did she find his silence dis- 
 appointing as if something she had reached for, 
 had proved illusory? 
 
 " It may be, though, that you know more of Sir 
 Archibald's mission than the rest of us?" 
 
 "I?" crisply.
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 103 
 
 "As a friend of Mr. Wood!" 
 
 " Acquaintance," he corrected. 
 
 " Oh ! " Her glance swung toward the platform; 
 again he suffered the silence to grow. Her foot 
 tapped the earth and her brows drew together. 
 
 " Do you see that person over there ? " she said 
 suddenly. 
 
 " What person ? " Her backward glance had 
 been swift, significant. 
 
 "The French-looking one, with the imperial, 
 standing near the platform. He is watching Miss 
 Goldberg or the pearls ! That," she added 
 sharply, as noting the effect of her words on him, 
 " is Mr. Bolger." 
 
 "Bolger?" 
 
 " You have never heard of him? " 
 
 " Is he," perfunctorily, " a detective? " 
 
 Miss Burke's laugh rang out; it was rather a 
 peculiar laugh, caressing or cruel, one could hardly 
 tell which. " By the way, did I ever speak to you 
 about that drawing left in my uncle's box when 
 the bonds were taken?" 
 
 "Did you?" he murmured politely. "I hardly 
 remember."
 
 104 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " You are not interested ? " 
 
 " On the contrary ! " patiently. 
 
 " Perhaps," she observed, more quickly, " he who 
 left the drawing in Mr. Page's box would be. In- 
 terested, I mean! If he knew it may prove of im- 
 portance yet, in the case! Although neither Mr. 
 Bolger nor my uncle noted at the time, that bit of 
 paper did bear something distinguishing; incrimi- 
 nating ! " Did he start now ? At last ! She was 
 not sure. His countenance, in the shadow, could 
 hardly be seen; he raised his head suddenly. 
 
 " Let us hope you are right." He smiled. "If 
 I were to give you any advice it would be : Guard 
 carefully that paper ! " 
 
 The reply that sprang to her lips was interrupted ; 
 with a sudden exclamation, half -apprehensively she 
 caught his arm. A zigzag fork of lightning was 
 launched unexpectedly from the sky. It left the 
 eyes dazzled, almost blinded. At the same time the 
 summer squall that had been gradually drawing 
 nearer, suddenly broke. The wind dissipated the 
 dancers, played havoc with the festoons of flowers, 
 the electric bulbs and the many Chinese lanterns. 
 It tore some of the last, lighted with candles, from
 
 A STARTLING SEQUENCE 105 
 
 the trees and sent them scurrying hither and thither. 
 A few caught fire, soared across the lawn like great 
 blazing beetles, and, vanishing over the hill-top, 
 were lost in the night. 
 
 Under the shelter of a tree, Bruce, with Miss 
 Flossie clinging closer, stood a moment watching 
 those who hurried from the platform. 
 
 " It is such a moment as this," the young man 
 laughed, " that he to whom you referred just now 
 would avail himself of for his nefarious pur- 
 pose." 
 
 As he spoke, his eyes rested on Miss Goldberg, 
 running, with Senor Caglioni, toward the house. 
 But Bruce's glance lingered only an instant on her, 
 then passed to one behind, gay as a nymph laugh- 
 ing at the terrors of the storm-god. For Miss 
 Wood, the squall was a diverting incident; fitting, 
 it may be, her mood, now mercurial, restless, wel- 
 coming any change. 
 
 A second, Bruce so saw her, a fleet, blithe vision ; 
 coming after her, Sir Archibald, somewhat too far 
 behind for the buoyant cavalier the moment seemed 
 to call for. A second, or the part of a second, the 
 flash of Bruce's gaze thus perceived her; and then
 
 io6 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 something, startling, unlooked-for, altered the pic- 
 ture. 
 
 One of the lanterns, a flaming mass of paper> 
 swept directly toward her. The burning tissue, 
 caught in the gusts, seemed to spring almost vi- 
 ciously at her. The wind held it to her gown. She 
 tried to brush it away, but in vain; her dress, of the 
 flimsiest material, in turn, became ignited. 
 
 Miss Flossie Burke heard Chatfield Bruce say 
 something, felt his arm fiercely whipped from her 
 fingers which had involuntarily closed upon it. 
 What followed afterward she hardly knew. She 
 only saw in her bewilderment, a turmoil of people, 
 one more conspicuous than the others, who threw 
 off his coat, wrapped it around the flames, beating 
 them with his hands. 
 
 His movements had been lightning-like; she had 
 scarcely followed them. He was kneeling on the 
 grass now, striking in that same fierce manner, with 
 the incredible swiftness she was vaguely cognizant 
 of when he had torn himself away from her. Sir 
 Archibald, too, lent his assistance rather late, Miss 
 Burke afterward remembered thinking.
 
 IT all happened very quickly and was soon over; 
 what harm had been done remained to be seen. 
 Miss Flossie with others pressed excitedly forward. 
 Was he much injured, badly burned? She had 
 seen his hands and arms enveloped by the flames. 
 None noted the shape her inquiries took ; the excess 
 of agitation in the girl's greenish eyes. She and a 
 number of others were waved back. Authority 
 stepped in ; among the guests was a doctor. 
 
 Miss Wood, happily, proved to have been un- 
 harmed by the flames, but Mr. Bruce had suffered 
 a few actual injuries; his right hand, especially, 
 showed several bad burns. He, however, made 
 light of it ; not, apparently, through a desire to emu- 
 late the conventional after-role in instances of the 
 kind, but rather to escape the importunities of those 
 who insisted on making too much of it. 
 
 The hand was duly bound and bandaged, where- 
 107
 
 io8 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 upon Bruce announced his intention of returning 
 to his inn in the village. To this Mr. Wood offered 
 strenuous objections. The least he, Mr. Wood, 
 could do under the circumstances, he asserted, was 
 to offer the young man the hospitality of his home, 
 not far distant. To permit Bruce to walk down to 
 the tavern in the town, in his condition, was out 
 of the question; not to be thought of! The young 
 man needed care and attention. 
 
 To which Bruce replied he had been " looked af- 
 ter " already, very well indeed ; felt now quite able 
 to look after himself. Besides he dwelt on this 
 were not all his little belongings at the inn? He 
 had with him, with a faint attempt at jocularity, but 
 the clothes he had on and those were slightly dam- 
 aged. Mr. Wood, equally persistent, answered his 
 grip or trunk could be sent for; he would speak at 
 once to his man about that. 
 
 Perhaps the twinges in his hand, arms and shoul- 
 ders made Bruce less combative, under pressure, 
 than he wished to be; perhaps Sir Archibald's un- 
 expected intervention at the moment assisted further 
 in undermining his resolution. A remark, inter- 
 jected by the Englishman, urged the advisability of
 
 A NEW ENVIRONMENT 109 
 
 sacrificing for that night what would be, at best, 
 a questionable freedom and independence in a stuffy 
 little inn, for the charming thraldom of a home. 
 
 There was a glint behind the lazy light in Sir 
 Archibald's eyes as he voiced this sentiment; the 
 words, well-modulated, drawling, were, neverthe- 
 less, in the least challenging. Bruce regarded the 
 stolid, emotionless face an instant ; then, with a faint 
 smile, acquiesced. So, willy-nilly, not long after he 
 found himself carried off, Mr. Wood's guest, and 
 Mr. Bolger, who had both heard and seen, stared 
 after the young man when he had really gone or 
 been whisked away. 
 
 It may be the detective reflected at the moment 
 on the mockery of fate; the irony of circumstances. 
 Here was the mauvais sujet of his investigations set 
 on the pedestal of a Hector! It constituted a new 
 page in his experiences ; anger, and chagrin mingled 
 in his emotions. He, too, took his departure; he 
 had no further interest in the pearls that night. 
 They were safe; the garden party was practically 
 over; this little contretemps had taken the edge off 
 further merry-making. 
 
 Chatfield Bruce, between Miss Wood and her
 
 no THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 father on the rear seat of the car, was whirled on. 
 He said nothing, nor did they, after a few desultory 
 remarks, speak ; a tacit silence seemed to have taken 
 possession of them. In front, the forms of Sir 
 Archibald and his secretary, in the vague light, 
 wavered this way and that, like shadows. The 
 Englishman and Senor Caglioni were, also, in either 
 quiescent or reflective moods; the latest, unlooked- 
 for member of the party might have wondered 
 what thoughts moved them during that journey. 
 
 But the young man leaning back, seemed oblivious 
 of them; sitting as still as he might; mindful, no 
 doubt, only of physical pain. Sometimes Miss 
 Wood's blue eyes turned furtively to regard him at 
 her side. Once Bruce's injured arm was thrown 
 slightly against her as they encountered a rut the 
 driver negotiated rather too quickly ; the young man 
 made no sound to indicate the ensuing twinge that 
 must have shot through him. But she saw his lips 
 press tightly; noted a slight movement of the upper 
 muscles of the cheek. An ornament on her breast 
 stirred. She bent forward quickly and spoke to 
 the driver; in clear, well-controlled tones told him 
 to go more slowly.
 
 A NEW ENVIRONMENT in 
 
 Whereupon Bruce, for the first time, swerved 
 his look to regard her, half -grate fully, half-depre- 
 catorily. She, however, had turned her head 
 from him and was gazing from the car. He saw 
 very little of her face; but he felt, as before, the 
 flutter of her veil. All the strange, unreal journey 
 which lasted, in truth, but a little while he was 
 aware of that. Out of the darkness and the night, 
 amid acute sense of pain, he had continued con- 
 scious of the fine silk now flecking his cheek like 
 the touch of a butterfly; then whipping faintly 
 against his breast. 
 
 A few more jars, slighter ones owing to the 
 chauffeur's caution, a turn in the road here, another 
 there, and the car drew up. As Bruce got out he 
 was dimly aware that the squall passing with its 
 fierce patter of rain, had left the night more beau- 
 tiful than before. Every cloud, every convolution 
 of mist had been driven from the sky; the stars 
 were almost too bright. 
 
 It was Sir Archibald who assisted Miss Wood 
 from the car; she went toward the house with him 
 and the secretary and waited at the top of the steps 
 for her father and Mr. Bruce. Mr. Wood paused
 
 ii2 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 to speak to the chauffeur, telling him to go down 
 to the tavern in the village for his new guest's lug- 
 gage, whereupon the latter intervened. It was late 
 now, he observed after midnight; landlord and 
 help went to bed early in these country inns, but 
 they were up with the sun. The next morning the 
 chauffeur could procure for him, Bruce, his suit- 
 case, all he had brought with him; he would not 
 need it until he rose, which might not be until long 
 after the barnyard fowls. 
 
 Mr. Wood listened courteously to these remarks 
 and then bade his man consider them his instruc- 
 tions. After which the old gentleman, with a felici- 
 tous phrase, waved Chatfield Bruce toward the open 
 door of his home. 
 
 The young man, however, lingered yet a mo- 
 ment. While speaking about the baggage, he had 
 glanced about him as if to convey to his mind an 
 impression of the outer aspect of the house, spacious 
 and rambling, and the grounds surrounding it. He 
 even held back a moment longer to refer now to 
 the giant trees that lined the roadway through which 
 they had come. Yes, the place was not one of those 
 newer estates being created on every hand; Mr.
 
 A NEW ENVIRONMENT 113 
 
 Wood who loved the old house and gardens for 
 their associations answered warmly. 
 
 Sir Archibald remained at the side of Marjorie 
 Wood as the two men ascended the steps ; his eyes, 
 slightly questioning, rested an instant on Chatfield 
 Bruce, but the latter did not seem to notice. They 
 entered now a home whose interior did not belie 
 its outward appearance. Rosewood, of the early 
 American school, adorned the two front lower 
 apartments. Chandeliers, with egg-like crystals, 
 threw a soft luster on several portraits, one or two 
 of which, in the flowing attire of a past period, 
 suggested a strong family resemblance to Marjorie 
 Wood. 
 
 Passing on, up the broad staircase leading to the 
 second story, Mr. Wood showed his guest into a 
 great chamber in the wing. It was rather remote, 
 he remarked, throwing open the glass doors leading 
 to a veranda; but its quietude commended it for a 
 guest, a " little done up " ; laying momentarily his 
 hand on Brace's shoulder. He would send at once 
 his man Simpson, with dressing-gown and other 
 little necessities. If, during the night, his guest 
 needed anything, he had but to ring. To which
 
 H4 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Mr. Bruce answered he did not anticipate the ne- 
 cessity of disturbing the household, and Mr. Wood, 
 with a few last friendly words, took his departure. 
 
 The young man seated himself ; waited. On the 
 mantel a clock ticked loudly. " After twelve ! " 
 " after twelve ! " The pendulum seemed to beat the 
 words; his eyes lowered to the rug on the floor. 
 Simpson was slow an English servant, no doubt. 
 An irregularity in the hand-woven stuff at his feet 
 held his glance. Why had the oriental workman 
 turned this one detail upside-down? To differen- 
 tiate from a factory-fabric? Or through mere 
 childish whimsicality? 
 
 " After twelve " " after twelve " A loud per- 
 sistent little clock, it had a very pronounced way 
 of telling off the seconds. How rapidly they were 
 passing! Bruce stirred; some one rapped, entered 
 Simpson ! 
 
 He was well-laden, with this and that dangling 
 on one arm, and a vase of roses held to him. He 
 laid over the back of a chair the articles that 
 dangled ; " Mr. Wood's compliments ! " Placed on 
 a table, the flowers ; " Miss Wood's compliments ! " 
 That is, the servant hastened to add, presumably
 
 A NEW ENVIRONMENT 115 
 
 voicing his young mistress' words, if the gentle- 
 man didn't mind them in his room; some people 
 were averse to sleeping with them. 
 
 Mr. Bruce entertained no prejudice of the kind. 
 No ; there was nothing else he required ; Simpson 
 could go. Only, a last injunction; let no one rap 
 on the door in the morning; if he, Bruce, could 
 sleep late, he wished to. Simpson went. The 
 young man stepped to the table, bent over the 
 flowers and breathed deeply ; then suddenly straight- 
 ened. The receding footsteps had died away; he 
 was alone. 
 
 But was he ? On the veranda he fancied he heard 
 a slight noise and went swiftly to the long glass 
 doors opening upon it. Drawing aside the curtains 
 w T hich closed behind him, he stepped out. 
 
 Only the shadows met his gaze ; against the rail, 
 a branch, swayed by the wind, grated. It was that 
 sound he had heard; his eyes, sweeping along the 
 veranda, striving to penetrate the surrounding dark- 
 ness, could detect no human form. The rain had 
 enhanced the fragrance from the garden below ; the 
 sweet odor of her flowers seemed augmented an 
 hundredfold; to assail him with sense-drugging per-
 
 ii6 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 fumes. He could almost forget the burning sen- 
 sation of pain. The insect tones that pierced the 
 air were as shrill as those in the spirit-haunted for- 
 ests of the Shoguns. His glance swept toward the 
 trees confronting him now ; he looked down toward 
 the ground. 
 
 His next move, sudden, unexpected, that of one 
 who had made up his mind to some hazardous 
 course, would have greatly surprised Mr. Wood, 
 or his daughter, could they have seen it ; two other 
 members of the household, perhaps, would not have 
 been so amazed. 
 
 When Chatfield Bruce was shown by Mr. Wood 
 to his room, Caglioni and Sir Archibald, after wish- 
 ing Miss Wood good night, passed into those apart- 
 ments reserved for their accommodation at the 
 other end of the hall. The Englishman, with a sig- 
 nificant look at his secretary, left the door of his sit- 
 ting-room partly ajar; then motioned Caglioni to sit 
 at a table, commanding a view of the door of the dis- 
 tant apartment into which Bruce had been ushered 
 for the night Bam ford himself sank into a chair, 
 with his back to his own threshold and the hall,
 
 A NEW' ENVIRONMENT 117 
 
 lighted a cigar and bent over a Chinese checker- 
 board of many squares, that lay on the table. 
 
 " Tell me when Mr. Wood comes out," Sir Archi- 
 bald, apparently engrossed only in the men on the 
 board, observed. 
 
 It was a game he and his secretary often 
 played at night before retiring, even to the wee 
 hours, a complicated pastime invented by a complex 
 people. But this evening Sir Archibald and Cag- 
 lioni who had now slipped into a business suit - 
 made but a pretense of engaging in a battle of " go." 
 The former smoked fast ; his big fingers toyed only 
 in desultory fashion with the small pieces. They 
 seemed very tiny, diminutive buttons of stone, for 
 his large, strong hands ; but he was known to move 
 them with unerring, magic precision; one or two 
 viceroys, over sour " champagne " in a tea-pot, had, 
 in the past, confessed the Englishman's victory. 
 
 Mr. Wood, Caglioni shortly afterward murmured, 
 had left Mr. Bruce's room. Simpson, the host's 
 man, would, no doubt, soon repair thither, Sir 
 Archibald in a low voice answered. Meanwhile 
 they continued to wait; talked in suppressed tones. 
 
 The door of Caglioni's room commanded a view
 
 u8 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 of the veranda? Yes; then the secretary knew 
 what he was to do; must hold himself in readiness. 
 It was really fortunate circumstances had compelled 
 Bruce to come here to-night ; but what did the other 
 think of the pearls? abruptly. 
 
 "Ma foi! Mr. Goldberg is wise," Caglioni 
 laughed softly, "a veritable Nathan of his kind! 
 The multitude gaze and admire. His daughter gets 
 all the credit of being bedecked like a duchess; he 
 rubs his hands, and, sapristi, takes no risk." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " Sir Archibald looked up 
 quickly. 
 
 " That the Midas of lower Broadway emulates 
 the example of the noblesse of Park Row, or Ken- 
 sington ; he keeps the priceless gems under lock and 
 key, and parades for the ignorant or uninitiated 
 He finished the sentence with a snap of the fingers. 
 
 Bam ford, although not prone to outward signs 
 of emotion, started now. He forgot the pieces on 
 the board and stared ahead through waves of smoke. 
 
 " Diable! You did not perceive?" Caglioni's 
 hand waved airily. 
 
 The other's face wore a strange expression. 
 " Not that ! " he said slowly. Then the hand
 
 A NEW ENVIRONMENT 119 
 
 over the board closed. " But why did you not tell 
 me this before? " 
 
 "When you were with Miss Goldberg? In the 
 automobile?" Caglioni's accents were furtively 
 querulous. " Is it important? " 
 
 Sir Archibald did not answer at once. " You 
 are sure ? " he said at length. 
 
 " I ? " he shrugged. " With my experience ? 
 Who once dealt in that very kind of merchandise? 
 I could almost tell from what stream in the Celestial 
 Kingdom those substitutes were taken." 
 
 Sir Archibald was silent. The secretary twitched 
 nervously, then suddenly stiffened. " The man 
 Simpson!" he half -whispered, his tones tense, his 
 eyes no longer bead-like, but glittering like those of 
 a viper. " He is going in." 
 
 " He will soon come out. And then " 
 
 Caglioni glided into the room adjoining. Sir 
 Archibald leaned back as if surveying a strategic 
 arrangement of the bits of stone on the board. 
 Simpson at length came down the hall. The Eng- 
 lishman closed his door leading to it, crossed to the 
 secretary's chamber and entered. The apartment 
 was vacant. Sir Archibald looked out upon the ve-
 
 120 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 randa; that, too, was now deserted. He fancied 
 he saw something dark below, gliding toward, then 
 into the forest, but was not sure. The leaves, wet 
 with rain, glistened between; the cigar went out in 
 his hand as his eyes continued to scrutinize the 
 darkness.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A NIGHT GUEST 
 
 CHATFIELD BRUCE' S procedure that would 
 have awakened the surprise of Mr. Wood 
 had he witnessed it, consisted of a series of odd 
 acts. Reentering quickly his room, the young man 
 shot the bolt of the door leading into the hall, then 
 stepped to the doors opening on to the veranda. 
 A key on the inside of one of them he took out, 
 placed it on the outside, and was about once more 
 to leave the chamber, when he paused. 
 
 His glance swerved involuntarily back ; some new 
 thought seemed to move him. Crossing the apart- 
 ment again, he pushed the bolt from the detaining 
 clasp, fastened that door with the key and then 
 slipped the latter into his pocket. After which, 
 adjusting the curtains carefully before the double 
 glass doors, so that no one without could see in, 
 he returned to the balcony, drew those doors to, 
 locked them, and kept possession of that key also. 
 
 121
 
 122 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 At one end of the upper veranda was a heavy 
 trelliswork which he had foreseen might serve his 
 purpose. Now by its aid, he let himself down from 
 the balcony to the ground. It was not easy to do 
 so; but no other course remained. He had to do 
 it, and quickly; though he experienced a con- 
 sciousness of taxing his less injured, left hand, al- 
 most beyond endurance. He endeavored, however, 
 to set aside the pain with a kind of Manchu forti- 
 tude, to call whimsically to mind at the moment a 
 far-eastern stoicism. But a well-defined ego in him 
 repudiated, perhaps a little to his surprise, a philoso- 
 phy of the melting-pot; that nothing matters very 
 much. He had not lost his capacity to feel. 
 
 In spite of the danger and tenseness of the mo- 
 ment, he could smile at his thoughts; he was still 
 very young; the Old East had not aged him; the 
 ingenuousness of the West yet vibrated in his being. 
 He glanced toward a lighted curtain at the side of 
 the house. Was it fancy, or had he detected for an 
 instant the silhouette of a girl's head and shoulders 
 passing thereon, the brief uplifting of an arm? 
 Now was the curtain only blank ; a dull yellow ! 
 
 One self of him seemed to crave no more than the
 
 A NIGHT GUEST 123 
 
 privilege of standing there; to dream sonnet- 
 fashion, or in madrigals ! Another self, acting sub- 
 consciously, it may be, made him vividly aware of 
 a footstep it was not a branch this time ! on 
 the veranda above. The sound acted like a stimu- 
 lating tonic to that second self, and transformed 
 him into life and action. With senses alert, he 
 moved swiftly from the house. 
 
 The earth was wet, soggy ; but, though he stepped 
 with the lightness of a forest creature, on soft sod- 
 den leaves, the twigs on the ground broke be- 
 neath him; might have been heard by others, very 
 attentive at the moment; but he did not look back. 
 Had he done so, he would have noticed the yellow 
 curtain he had regarded, thrust aside a little, in the 
 thin slant of light, a girl's face gazing out an in- 
 stant. Then the curtain fell back into place; the 
 white gleam went; the succeeding yellow, too. 
 
 Bruce plunged into the darkness, but he knew 
 whither he was going. Through interspaces in the 
 foliage, the stars held him to his course. To all 
 appearances he had been able to leave the house 
 without attracting attention. Stopping many times, 
 he could hear no one coming after him; caught only
 
 124 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 those murmurings like a deep pulsation from the 
 heart of the woodland. He did not, however, tell 
 himself with certainty his absence would not be 
 noticed, nor even that he would escape being fol- 
 lowed. He did not underestimate a certain wake- 
 fulness and watchfulness under the circumstances 
 on Sir Archibald's part. Bruce knew well that in- 
 dividual's reputation for alertness and persistency. 
 Sir Archibald, in his capacity as private agent and 
 adviser of his majesty's government in the Far East, 
 displayed the same traits that made him renowned 
 as a pursuer of big game. He would wait for 
 hours, days, on his platform for a tiger, knew how 
 to entice what he wished to bring down, beneath 
 his stand, or how to get others to " drive " for him 
 quick, agile ones, like Caglioni! Where had 
 Bruce seen the secretary? A fugitive resemblance 
 he had felt earlier in the evening again played hide- 
 and-seek in the young man's brain. Even in this 
 moment of excitation, he found himself trying to re- 
 call under what possible circumstances they could 
 have met before that night. 
 
 He continued to move on. A lack of evidence he 
 was followed did not altogether serve to reassure
 
 A NIGHT GUEST 125 
 
 him on that score. Of course, the possibility ex- 
 isted of the secretary's being even closer than he 
 thought ; the slant eyes, with their suggestion of an 
 ancestry, not altogether Portuguese, recalled to him 
 certain wonder-tales of the East; of mysterious, 
 half-human creatures, possessing the power to track 
 others, dog-humans, themselves always unseen; un- 
 heard. 
 
 Absurd superstition! Bruce dismissed the phan- 
 tasy. He paused once more, at the side wall of 
 the estate which he had now reached, to listen. 
 Time was precious; nevertheless, he allowed a min- 
 ute or two to pass thus. Leaning against the damp 
 stone, he caught only the tinkle, tinkle of the rain- 
 drops, loosened from the leaves by the wind; the 
 hardly audible pit-a-pat of some tiny creature he 
 had himself, most likely, disturbed. Then lifting 
 his arms high, he reached up to grasp the top of 
 the wall, of modern construction, replacing the 
 hedge at this side of the estate. I 
 
 Not long afterward, Bruce stood again on the 
 verge of the wooded park near the Goldberg man- 
 sion. Dark and deserted now were the grounds. 
 Against the sky the structure loomed, with few
 
 126 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 lights showing in its windows. From it, in the 
 deep gloom, all newness seemed to have vanished; 
 it held itself in portentous fashion on the brow of 
 the hill, like a feudal place that had a history. 
 
 A moment Bruce looked attentively around him, 
 then glided silently into the dim wood. He re- 
 mained there for some time, lost to sight, during 
 which a figure looked furtively out from a black 
 corner of the house in the direction he himself had 
 gone. 
 
 The moments went by. Did the person, lurking, 
 watching, become impatient? Flat on the grass, 
 he began to draw himself forward, without sound; 
 every muscle seemed trained for the sinuous move- 
 ment. In the shadow of the platform he paused. 
 Still he who had vanished into the wood did not 
 reappear. How long it took him for what he had 
 to do! The man on the grass again continued his 
 progress forward, with singular swiftness over the 
 more open places, where the starlight showed him, 
 a faint blotch on the earth. At length, reaching 
 a shaded spot on the edge of the obscure fringe, 
 he half-raised himself; another stood suddenly at 
 his side.
 
 A NIGHT GUEST 127 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " Bruce asked 
 harshly. " Do you know the risk ? You did what 
 you should," glancing over his shoulder toward 
 the shaded park. " Why overdo your task ? " 
 
 " I came, illustrious one," answered the man in 
 Cantonese dialect, sitting now on his heels, " to 
 warn! Against the English Elephant, here to- 
 night ; he who is with him, the brown fox ! As the 
 illustrious one knows, foxes are not good, and the 
 Elephant is the enemy of the Nine-times-Nine ; in 
 my country, and in India, the lands of great 
 Buddha." 
 
 " What have I to do with your Nine-times-Nine," 
 came in crisp tones from the young man, " or any 
 other of your societies? " 
 
 " They have to do with the illustrious one," 
 bending humbly to the earth. " They never for- 
 get." 
 
 " It seems, then," ironically, " I have vassals un- 
 told for ever?" 
 
 " The master can not escape gratitude." 
 
 " Any more than the illustrious ghosts, the per- 
 petual, eulogistic tablets!" 
 
 "It is written!" phlegmatically. "When the
 
 128 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 master, on the river of mist, that night in the waning 
 evil of the moon, stepped between the traitor-as- 
 sassin and my father, the object of his venge- 
 ance " 
 
 " Ah ! " Bruce's eyes became on a sudden very 
 keen and bright; he breathed deep, as if exhilarated. 
 " Did a beard then so blind me? " he murmured to 
 himself. "And a few years? That I could not 
 recognize, even though I had felt the teeth once ? 
 Here! Tell me, Ting's younger brother," he said 
 aloud, gaily, turning to the Oriental, " do foxes like 
 rabbits ? " The other pondered, as seeking in vain 
 the answer to a parable. The young man did not 
 wait for him to find a solution, but shifted with 
 sudden swiftness the talk. " And it was the mere 
 sight of the Elephant," in accents, half -scoffing, 
 " that caused you to forget yourself and blunder 
 like a child, at the table, to-night! Never mind, 
 though ! " with an odd laugh. " Mishaps some- 
 times serve." 
 
 " It was seeing him suddenly, over your shoul- 
 der! The enemy of our people! Why should he 
 have come, and his servant, the unknown fox? 
 Unless they suspected; knew! I did not think the
 
 A NIGHT GUEST 129 
 
 illustrious one would appear at the wood to-night, 
 according to the compact ; although I obeyed ! 
 After leaving to-night as he did ! After what hap- 
 pened when the flame gods were angry ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " Bruce murmured a sound ; his eyes 
 had bent toward the house, to a faintly lighted 
 window where a dim figure seemed standing. A 
 woman? Yes; robed in white! 
 
 " The witch-one ; she who has stolen the eyes of 
 the sacred green ! " A sibilant whisper came from 
 the grass; Bruce made a motion. 
 
 A spell of silence followed. The young man con- 
 tinued to gaze toward the structure. Those guard- 
 ian stone creatures, its gargoyles, seemed to grin; 
 to gibe, into the night. The clear intonation of a 
 tiny fountain sounded mockingly; too crystalline, 
 with its high musical pitch ! The man in the grass, 
 squat, like one of the frogs on the brim of the 
 water's marble basin, suddenly shifted; his eyes 
 burned. 
 
 " There is some one near, illustrious one ! " 
 
 " How do you know ? " without turning his look 
 from the house. 
 
 " The insects yonder were singing together."
 
 1 30 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Bah ! " immovably. " Insects sometimes stop 
 singing." 
 
 " Several great moths flew up, all together, from 
 a small space of shadow." 
 
 " An ideal night for moths to fly." 
 
 " These saw, it may be, a brown fox." 
 
 Bruce's hand went swiftly down to the shoulder 
 of the crouching one. " What does it " He 
 suppressed an exclamation; the fingers of his left 
 hand bit into the hard flesh of the Oriental through 
 the silky material that covered him. " What " 
 
 " It sounded like a woman." 
 
 "You, too, heard, then?" As he spoke, a light 
 gleamed in another window. 
 
 " The witch-one is no longer there. It was she 
 who called out " 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 A strange, questioning look shone from Bruce's 
 gaze; between him and the house, a leaf fluttered, 
 like a black butterfly, to the earth. 
 
 "Why?" he repeated. Suddenly the muscles 
 beneath his hand stiffened ; the man's head had shot 
 forward. In the house something startling, unex- 
 pected was happening; had happened.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 
 
 THE festivities over, at the mansion on the hill, 
 Mr. Goldberg put away the pearl-rope care- 
 fully. The guests, staying in the house, had gone to 
 their rooms ; he, apparently, was the last to retire. 
 He permitted himself the luxury of a last glance at 
 the delicate-textured spheres before allowing them 
 to slide, in all their translucent beauty, to the little 
 pink cotton nest in one of the drawers in his new 
 safe. Then he closed the steel door, and turned the 
 knob to throw off the combination and slid over it 
 the concealing oak paneling, a device of his archi- 
 tect. 
 
 A moment the proprietor of Comscot house stood 
 in the dim light and his thoughts seemed pleasant. 
 His sigh was not a dolorous one ; the affair had been 
 a great success. He thrust his hands into his trou- 
 sers pockets ; started to whistle Caro Nome he 
 had an ear for Italian opera but stopped. These
 
 132 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 exuberances of a latent artistic soul would some- 
 times sweep over him. He suppressed them now, 
 and was about to leave the anteroom, but paused. 
 
 Beneath the door of the chamber beyond shone 
 a light. This apartment, a private sitting-room 
 of the superbly decorated Goldberg suite, was occu- 
 pied, for the time being, because of the press of 
 visitors, by one of them. 
 
 " Not to bed yet, Miss Flossie? " the host buoy- 
 antly called out. 
 
 She answered, he couldn't quite hear what, for 
 the door was heavy mahogany ; then, stepping in an 
 opposite direction, he passed through a bath-room, 
 closing the door behind him, into his own sleeping 
 apartment. It was big, lonesome-looking; he com- 
 menced to feel sleepy. Until now the wine had 
 stimulated him, fanned his capacity for pleasure 
 and made him more keenly observant. This agree- 
 able effect, however, seemed slowly wearing away : 
 a desire to sink unreservedly ir^o the arms of 
 Morpheus began to succeed it. He went to bed 
 and slumbered heavily. 
 
 In her room Miss Flossie still sat up; her hair 
 unbound, hung around her. She was seated at a
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 133 
 
 table, her chin resting on her bared arm ; before her, 
 one or two papers and a photograph. Her brows 
 were drawn; she stared ahead of her; then down. 
 
 The paper engrossing her attention at the instant, 
 was the anonymous note Mr. Goldberg had re- 
 ceived. She had laughingly asked the host's daugh- 
 ter to get it for her, to look at; she, Flossie, con- 
 fessed lightly to all the curiosity of her sex. The 
 other had complied ; placed the paper in her guest's 
 rosy palm, and the latter had forgotten as yet to 
 return it. 
 
 She held the paper now to the light; compared 
 it with another on the table containing one or two 
 crude drawings that might have been construed 
 as a camel and a needle's eye. Then she put down 
 the host's message and looked long at the other 
 white sheet in her hand. As she did so her eye kin- 
 dled ; something on it seemed to fascinate her gaze 
 an indentation of a circle, with tiny keen points 
 set about it, above a straight line, faint to the un- 
 aided vision, but plainly discernible through the 
 strong glass she now regarded it with. That circle 
 and the straight line had been made inadvei tently 
 by some one leaning slightly on the paper. The
 
 i 3 4 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 impress was that of a ring she knew; and it be- 
 longed to Chatfield Bruce. She had often seen it 
 on his finger indeed, had asked what the symbol 
 meant and he had told her, where he had got it and 
 all it portended. 
 
 A slight clue, perhaps, very slight ; but men had 
 been convicted on less evidence. She felt certain 
 the sharp edges of the odd, most unusual design 
 of the ring would fit absolutely that indentation, and 
 the knowledge thrilled her with malicious joy and 
 triumph. She allowed her gaze to linger as if 
 she had not studied the paper so often before ! And 
 a few perfunctory little letters that lay in front of 
 her in Chatfield Bruce's hand; a photograph of 
 him! 
 
 Her face flushed as she thought how she had pro- 
 cured the last. A snap-shot by a newspaper man,, 
 showing Mr. Bruce, in an amateur athletic contest, 
 she had begged, on some pretext or other, from the 
 editor to whom she surreptitiously furnished occa- 
 sional spicy society items. Ah, she had been mad, 
 mad! Was she so still? 
 
 This photograph now alone held her, to the ex- 
 clusion, even, of the more insignificant detail her
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 135 
 
 eyes, like a cat's, had, a moment before, sharpened 
 upon. A certain dreaminess replaced the hard 
 light ; there were times when she did not know her- 
 self, moments such as these! She looked at the 
 casual likeness of a lithe, splendid figure, straight as 
 an Indian's, a masculine profile Phidias might have 
 longed to copy, lips, fine, expressive of determina- 
 tion, eyes alight with one purpose to win. And 
 he had won though he had seemed to care so 
 little, afterward! His gaze, then, wore that illusive, 
 indifferent light she had become so accustomed to, 
 even when she had turned in her most engaging 
 manner to him a light, as clear but frostily dis- 
 tant as that of a star. 
 
 A star ! She could laugh to herself mockingly. 
 Her eyes sought fiercely, once more, the paper she 
 had taken from the desk where Mr. Page, her uncle, 
 had secreted it. She brought down her hand; her 
 red lips pressed closely ; one of her white shoulders, 
 partly seen, gleamed like hard marble. She re- 
 garded the definite evidence on the paper for her 
 to make use of some day as she saw fit or not. 
 The alternative always came; she wondered why. 
 Was she a little afraid of him? What nonsense!
 
 136 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Yet she had read of women who served, docilely 
 enough, those harsh to them; she was not of that 
 kind, however. Oh, no! She but held her hand 
 and waited. For what? Rising suddenly, she 
 stepped to the window. She wanted to breathe 
 more freely. She tore back the curtain and looked 
 out into the night. 
 
 How lightly had he parried with her that even- 
 ing and turned her words ! Bolger who was 
 Bolger, indeed? As if he had not reason to know! 
 But though Bruce had held her and her words and 
 what lay beneath them, with an indifference almost 
 scornful, how swiftly he had turned to another 
 when danger befell her, surmounted it, beat it out, 
 regardless of injury to himself, or pain. Again 
 she seemed to see him as she had seen him then ; 
 and before, in the dance! 
 
 With Marjorie Wood! The two had moved as 
 if oblivious to the rest of the world! Did she, 
 Flossie Burke, not know; could she not divine? It 
 was not hard to read the swift new interest in his 
 glance, something stronger, more sedulous, than 
 she had ever beheld there before, that seemed, as
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 137 
 
 he held the girl's slender form to him, to sweep 
 down from the crown of dark hair dreamily, ten- 
 derly, over the beautiful, young face. 
 
 For Miss Wood luas beautiful Miss Flossie 
 reluctantly conceded it; but men had also acknowl- 
 edged her own charms. She had had but a short 
 time before a circle around her; he, however, had 
 not been of them. He had forgotten even to ask 
 her to dance ; he had preferred to stand off there, 
 near the park, with Miss Wood. He had hardly 
 known the young girl before that night, yet they 
 had walked away, as if accustomed to starlight talk 
 and confidences. 
 
 It was different from the conversation that even- 
 ing between him and herself. Once more she 
 seemed to hear the mocking laughter of his words, 
 when first the storm had swept down on them; that 
 such a night as this, he who had designs on the 
 pearls would find to his liking for his nefarious 
 purpose. The sentence or what it implied, recurred 
 to her again and again, and brought more sharply 
 to mind the precious ornaments. She, Flossie, had 
 been one of the last that night to look on them,
 
 138 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 just before Miss Goldberg, about to retire, had re- 
 luctantly taken the pearls from her neck, to give 
 them to her father. Who had put them away - 
 where ? 
 
 Miss Burke looked suddenly over her shoulder; 
 a sound had caused her to turn. Was it in the great 
 hall or the anteroom adjoining? A door, she fan- 
 cied, had opened, then closed softly, as if some one 
 had come into the anteroom from the hall. The 
 host? He had but a short time before called out to 
 her and retired. Of course it could not be Mr. 
 Goldberg ; yet it must be. She remembered that the 
 door from the anteroom to the hall was always kept 
 locked ; she had inadvertently tried it once or twice. 
 Then, how could any one have come in, that way, 
 unless 
 
 She felt a sudden nervous excitement; her mood 
 had been tense; she was in a highly imaginative 
 state. Those last words of Chatfield Bruce con- 
 tinued to move trippingly through her brain ; they 
 would not leave her. They seemed to say, locked 
 doors would open readily to some people, deeply 
 skilled, able to move silently, stealthily ! 
 
 She was positive she heard a sound now of
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 139 
 
 some one stirring softly. Her heart beat faster. 
 Was it could lie have come back ? Impossible ! 
 And yet there was a glamour about him who had 
 taken the Morrow emeralds, the Page bonds, and 
 many other valuables! Had he not achieved the 
 seemingly impossible before that night ; a number of 
 times? To return thus strangely, madly, to the 
 Goldberg house, would be in keeping with one as 
 temerarious and devil-may-care as he was clever 
 and ingenious. She endeavored to dismiss the 
 fancy, when an indubitable faint clicking in the next 
 room held her. 
 
 She trembled but not altogether with fear, then 
 moved, still as a ghost, from her window toward the 
 door to the anteroom ; stood near it, motionless, her 
 hand to her breast. Beneath her fingers came a 
 wilder throbbing now; her fancy conveyed the pic- 
 ture to her mind. That faint clicking she had 
 dimly caught before, when Mr. Goldberg had been 
 in the anteroom she divined now what it meant. 
 Of course, Mr. Goldberg would have prepared a 
 secure place for the pearls; and, where else, nat- 
 urally, than near his own bedroom? 
 
 In a safe, presumably; not visible to the eye!
 
 HO THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 When she had inspected that little room with the 
 rest of the big house, no steel strong-box was vis- 
 ible ; but Flossie knew that people, who had in their 
 residences these awkward receptacles, took the 
 pains to have them set in somewhere, out of sight, 
 if not, as a matter of precaution, then because bulky 
 steel safes are not ornamental and can not be made 
 to harmonize with Louis-Quinze or Seize furniture. 
 
 Click! In the stillness, straining to listen, she 
 still was aware of the persistent little sound, no 
 louder than beads dropped, one by one, to the floor. 
 At the same time, a tiny streak of light held her. 
 It came from the key-hole. Dropping to her knees, 
 she looked through the small aperture. At first, 
 she saw nothing; then yes! a hand moving on 
 a shiny knob. She breathed quickly. That hand * 
 
 It was distinct, unmistakably revealed to her. 
 And it was not Mr. Goldberg's hand, covered with 
 black hair ; he had not returned to the room then 
 nor was it Chatfield Bruce's; the knowledge came 
 to her with startling force. She had been so cer- 
 tain of the identity of the intruder, had almost 
 welcomed her own perspicacity which had led her 
 thus to place him. And now to learn was she
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 141 
 
 disappointed at this perversion of what she had ex- 
 pected ? 
 
 She continued to look. Bruce's long, shapely 
 fingers were most unlike these well-kept, but short 
 ones, that swung now, apparently, a safe door open; 
 held, an instant later, something white dangling 
 from them ! She tried to find her voice, and was 
 surprised she could not at first. She endeavored to 
 rise, but her knees seemed unaccountably weak. 
 She was not exactly frightened. What then? 
 
 The hand passed from her gaze; she found her- 
 self, thereupon, suddenly able to call out in a voice 
 unlike her own, faintly, louder. Whoever the in- 
 truder, she heard him flee; where he went, she 
 could not tell. 
 
 Another, however, not in the house, but in the 
 garden below, near the wooded park, witnessed the 
 sequence. Chatfield Bruce, with odd wonder and 
 quizzical interest, saw the intruder take his depar- 
 ture. It was like an unexpected scene in a play ; 
 he, Bruce, spectator or critic, but gazed on. The 
 man's form passed like a shadow down one of the 
 great stone pillars; at the same time he touched
 
 142 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the ground, the spacious front room became 
 flooded with light. A sound of distant voices, 
 perturbed, excited, was wafted toward Bruce and 
 .his companion; between long French curtains, a 
 woman's hair waved and flashed like the yel- 
 low wheat-tops blown by the wind. Bright colors 
 came and went, vague gleamings of dressing-gowns 
 and garments hastily assumed. 
 
 " The pearls ! " Bruce whispered. There was 
 irony in his eyes ; his voice thrilled. " Some un- 
 scrupulous person has inconsiderately learned of the 
 secret hiding-place, the combination of the strong- 
 box." 
 
 The Oriental's face, uplifted to him who spoke, 
 expressed blankness; the characteristic drooping lip 
 seemed to hang more loosely. 
 
 " You mean " he stammered. 
 
 The young man did not answer. A lower door of 
 the house had suddenly slammed. He could hear 
 I now, plainly, the expected words always called forth 
 by the circumstances, and saw him to whom they 
 applied in the shadow of the dwelling, moving from 
 bush to bush, at right angles from where they 
 stood, toward the road where it swung down in
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 143 
 
 the direction of the village. Close at hand, some 
 one who had been hiding to watch Bruce and his 
 companion, moved involuntarily forward a little 
 into the starlight. 
 
 " Quick ! " The young man's tones abruptly 
 sharpened. " Back ! " He thrust the Chinaman 
 from him, one poignant thought assailing him. He 
 they must needs beware lest they, too, become 
 actors in the new strange drama. 
 
 The Oriental vanished with wondrous celerity; 
 Bruce, himself, wheeled. About to spring toward 
 the wooded park, he felt himself suddenly grasped; 
 lithe, strangling arms wound around him. A hot 
 breath swept his cheek; near his ear a shrill, pant- 
 ing voice, Caglioni's, called out loudly : " This 
 way ! He is here ! " 
 
 Bruce tried to shake himself free, but in vain. 
 He found himself at a great disadvantage, with this, 
 his old enemy; he had walked, as it were, like a 
 mouse into a trap. If he were taken now what 
 a grim conclusion! The gods would prove them- 
 selves indeed derisive. His eyes flashed in the 
 darkness ; there seemed nothing whimsical in the 
 comedy now. His right hand was of no assistance
 
 144 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 to him; the acute realization of being overpowered, 
 that the end was not far, smote him, when as a 
 phantasmagoria of something that has been comes 
 to a drowning man, he seemed transported back into 
 a garden in ancient Kyoto. He stood near the mat- 
 tings of fine bamboo fiber not far from the tinkling 
 fountain and saw, in a dream, the mountains, the 
 sacred edifices, a setting for the strange little man, 
 no bigger than a boy, their ju-jitsu instructor. 
 
 Slap ! Slap ! He heard the forms fall ; strike limp, 
 with muscles relaxed, the matting. Then he ob- 
 served the little master tie to his side an arm, and 
 one of the pupils essay to overthrow him. With 
 what result ? That the former suddenly found him- 
 self as one who steps from the sunlight into the in- 
 ner sanctuary of the lacquered Buddha and becomes 
 lost in darkness; for the moment had the flow of his 
 life been stopped. By only one of many devices; 
 but what a trick ! 
 
 The fingers of Bruce's free hand reached out, 
 supple, terrible. 
 
 Caglioni did not, at first, seem to understand or 
 divine that expedient ; he had probably never heard 
 of it. But seeking once more to call out, he ex-
 
 A SHIFT OF HAZARDS 145 
 
 perienced a sensation of sudden surprise; spots be- 
 gan to dance before his dimming gaze, objects to 
 whirl around. He strove to whip the long, pressing 
 fingers from the artery they held closed. As well 
 endeavor to shake off the clutch of a panther! It 
 happened with incomprehensible swiftness; his heart 
 seemed to stop beating; he became strangely inert. 
 Consciousness was leaving him, when he was flung 
 off afar, like an unclean thing. He did not move 
 now, but lay still, huddled-up in a clump of black 
 bushes. 
 
 Bruce swayed for a moment. The warning cries 
 of the secretary had been heard; voices were ap- 
 proaching; people, coming toward him fast, from 
 the house. His whole body racked with agonizing 
 throbs, yet he had no time to pause. He hardly 
 knew what he did, but leaped into the path below. 
 They saw him and came after. 
 
 As in a dream he realized that the chase was on.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PURSUIT 
 
 BRUCE had no idea where he was going; dazed 
 by the shaping of events, he fled without 
 thought of direction. As if the night's adventures 
 had not already been sufficiently thrilling without 
 this mad sequel! Fortunately the way, blindly 
 chosen, favored him; the shadow of the hill threw 
 its impress on the road the path zigzagged into; 
 overhanging foliage blackened certain places. But 
 his pursuers were near; he could hear the sound of 
 their feet and the loud shouting. Truly a merry 
 pursuit ; a hot hue and cry ! They were holding 
 the course, taking to the scent like hungry hounds 
 in the scramble of a haphazard steeple-chase. He 
 would have to play his part, for a time ; needs must 
 when His brain began to clear. 
 
 And, thinking more distinctly, he at first blamed 
 himself for not having dashed back into the wooded 
 park, taking his chances there, instead of here. Or 
 
 146
 
 PURSUIT 147 
 
 would they have been better, after all, had he acted 
 otherwise than without thought, consideration? 
 The little patch of trees could soon have been sur- 
 rounded ; he would have been free to grope around 
 among them, no doubt, without being discovered 
 while darkness lasted. But with the coming of day- 
 light? Chance had, perhaps, served him better than 
 he would have served himself; the comparatively 
 open stretches of the country around were surely 
 preferable to the park, a maze to enmesh him ! Be- 
 sides, the Chinaman had taken refuge there; lie, 
 too, would have been discovered, had Bruce fled 
 thither. Now the fellow would be safe ; the young 
 man had no desire to involve the Celestial in the 
 complicacy of the events of the night. 
 
 Fleet-footed, Bruce continued to run on; the 
 shadows danced by him. Save for the pain he 
 suffered from the burns, the bandages of which 
 had been a good deal disarranged in the recent 
 struggle, he was not in bad " form." He had be- 
 fore him, he knew, no mere hundred yard dash : 
 but his endurance was that of a ricksha lad. He 
 speeded with lithe, even stride; a swinging, unvary- 
 ing gait that tells in the end.
 
 148 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 But fast as he went, the pursuers kept him in 
 sight; where the road, shorn of shade now, turned 
 sharply, horse-shoe-like, they from above could look 
 down and see him. A few of those following, 
 knowing certain " short-cuts," had taken them. At 
 such times he could hear the crashing of branches, 
 the breaking of dry limbs; then, would catch sight 
 of the men coming after. Nearer; disheartening!}- 
 so! 
 
 The stake was great. A necklace of pearls, rep- 
 resenting a fortune! A large reward would await 
 him able to return it to the owner; and he who 
 had it was, apparently, so close. They would not 
 allow him to get away ; among them were a number 
 of husky farmer lads, assistant gardeners at the 
 Goldberg place, well prepared for a test of physical 
 capability. Every man strove to be first; strained 
 to that end. One or two that had weapons used 
 them, and, although the leaden missives went wide, 
 a new source of hazard ensued for Bruce. 
 
 In the valley, where had been but spectral shad- 
 ows of houses, pin points of light now sprang into 
 the darkness. Some of those who dwelt in the 
 village and outside, were aroused and looking out
 
 PURSUIT 149 
 
 of their windows, divined something unusual hap- 
 pening; saw on the top of the hill the Goldberg 
 house which had become dark at the conclusion of 
 festivities, once more brightly, fully illumined. 
 Why? 
 
 Bruce knew but too well the average villager to 
 be of an inquiring turn of mind, curious about all 
 that goes on in his little world. And here was 
 enough, not only to awake, but to cause him to 
 dress hurriedly and send him forth to the public 
 highways. To learn what it meant ; the reason peo- 
 ple should be thus, vociferously and indecorously, 
 hurrying downward, in the small hours, from the 
 great house on the hill! Enough, also, to disturb 
 the slumbers of even the sluggish proprietor of the 
 town tavern, and his few transient guests, among 
 whom might be Mr. Bolger! The prospect ahead 
 would soon be, perhaps was now, little preferable 
 for Bruce to that in an opposite direction. Already 
 he fancied he saw, far away, little moving specks 
 of shadow, beneath the lamplight in front of the 
 hostelry, vague spots that would presently resolve 
 themselves into indubitable human figures, advanc- 
 ing upward to intercept him.
 
 150 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Unless he could find, somewhere as he went on, 
 a fit turning-place! Now he looked for it, but in 
 vain; to his right, stretched gently upward an open 
 field. The faint breeze laughed and wantoned with 
 young tassels of grain; they seemed to sway and 
 toss mockingly. From them his eye, passing 
 swiftly to the left, met an outlook equally unsuited 
 for his purpose; a steeper descent, without tree or 
 bush. 
 
 The 3'oung man kept on his way. Some distance 
 ahead an old road, descending, ran into the one he 
 was on; the former had been abandoned as a high- 
 way, being too steep and rough for practical pur- 
 poses; the township had outgrown it. Through 
 Bruce's brain now flashed how, earlier that day, he 
 had idly noted the ancient, weed-overgrown thor- 
 oughfare, swinging around in rather eccentric fash- 
 ion, below the Goldberg place. He determined to 
 dash into it and trust to its hazards rather than those 
 he might encounter farther down in the valley. The 
 thought stimulated him to increase the distance be- 
 tween himself and his pursuers. 
 
 But, as he neared the fork, a figure approaching 
 fast on the old road, toward the new, became dis-
 
 PURSUIT 151 
 
 cernible afar. Seme one bent on heading him off, 
 of course, Bruce decided quickly. With muscles set, 
 he prepared for an encounter he feared would be 
 brief; he was not very sanguine of favorable results 
 to himself. The man reached the more modern 
 highway a hundred yards or so before Bruce came 
 up to the fork. There the latter expected to see him 
 turn, halt, and prepare to put a stop to further flight 
 on his, Bruce's, part To his intense wonder, this 
 person did nothing of the kind ; he ran on ahead of 
 Bruce, and at a surprising rate of speed. 
 
 Moreover, his rapidly moving figure continued to 
 keep well to the front. The seemingly inevitable 
 contest the other had been far from courting, he 
 could not now have brought about, had he so de- 
 sired. Fear seemed to lend the stranger wings ; he, 
 apparently, had not the remotest desire to meet and 
 try conclusions with Bruce. Or the others? 
 
 The query shot suddenly into the young man's 
 mind. He passed the fork without darting into the 
 old road as he had intended; he hardly knew why 
 he changed his mind, until the opportunity to wheel 
 about and retrace his way toward the top of the 
 hill, by another route, had gone by. With the
 
 152 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 unexpected figure before his eyes, he kept on; 
 their feet beat now almost in unison on the road. 
 
 The situation would have seemed whimsical, were 
 it not for a black element of tragedy in the threat- 
 ening denouement. An expedient did occur to 
 Bruce; to attempt to wait somewhere at a turn of 
 the road in the shadow, to merge, as best he might, 
 with the others; explain, if needs be, and join in 
 the man-hunt of this miscreant. Who had been 
 in Mr. Goldberg's anteroom; at his strong-box, 
 and taken what ? 
 
 Did a motive of pity or false compassion in the 
 oversensitive young man's breast for the poor 
 wretch, fleeing for liberty, move Bruce at the in- 
 stant and cause him to hesitate to yield to that other 
 natural and proper impulse to half-waive, and 
 then again weigh the matter, until it was too late 
 to act? 
 
 For, with a sudden leap, the fellow left the road. 
 Springing over a fence into the great orchard of 
 a large estate he had just reached, he dashed into 
 the shadows. Had those coming behind perceived 
 the unknown and obviously self-proven guilty one
 
 PURSUIT 153 
 
 who had been fleeing ahead of Bruce? The latter 
 did not believe so. He found himself more dis- 
 turbingly face to face with his own predicament 
 and considered again only the immediate imminence 
 of being taken himself. Unfortunately, it would 
 be out of the question now to say that he whom 
 they had wished for, longed to capture, had gone 
 there, and stupidly point to the trees. They would 
 take him, Bruce, instead, and, if they did not find 
 the pearls in one of his pockets, would conclude he 
 had thrown them away. 
 
 No; he had let a chance slip, foolishly, thought- 
 lessly ; it was gone beyond recall. And the 
 realization smote him sharply ! people were be- 
 ginning to come up the road from the village; 
 Bruce now was certain of the fact. His own glance 
 swept toward the fence; he, too, sprang over. 
 
 Into Mr. Samuel Page's place! He realized 
 where he was almost at once. Running beneath the 
 trees he made his way toward the dim outline of 
 the run-down untenanted structure. He was cog- 
 nizant of treading the young apples beneath his 
 heel, of suddenly slipping and catching himself,
 
 154 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 then striking hard, as he lurched forward, a low 
 branch he had not seen. At the shock, he seemed 
 suddenly to become dizzy; a throb of pain gripped 
 his side. He could hardly stand. With an effort, 
 he steadied himself against a tree-trunk. But he 
 realized he could not long remain thus; an instant, 
 and he went on. To pause, meant the others would 
 soon come up to him; luckily, they were now run- 
 ning by. 
 
 A bend in the way had, for the instant, con- 
 cealed him from them when he had vaulted the 
 palings of the Page estate. They would before 
 long, however, understand where he had gone; 
 when they reached the near-by straight prospect of 
 highway and failed to see him, they would at once 
 return. At best, a brief interval only would be 
 lost by them; Bruce had to make the most of it. 
 
 He staggered toward the house. A dark form 
 had preceded him, but he did not see it now ; he was 
 mindful only of himself. At the rear of the de- 
 serted dwelling he looked out over a private road 
 that stretched back, across a broad meadow. The 
 narrow way held, wooed derisively his glance, but 
 ere he could traverse that open space, he knew he
 
 PURSUIT 155 
 
 would again, in all likelihood, be caught sight of 
 and he felt no longer able at the moment to con- 
 tinue the hard, racking pace. The blow he had 
 struck his side must have injured the muscles; his 
 heart, leaping fast, protested against the sharp, 
 shooting twinges. 
 
 He moved to the half-rotting door of the kitchen. 
 The big, dilapidated old mansion frankly made no 
 pretense of keeping out any one seriously bent on 
 entering. Many of the windows had been broken; 
 a few sashes were out, and burlap was tacked over 
 the openings in lieu of any cheaper substance. The 
 rickety structure had an indifferent name with the 
 local authorities; its reputation assigned it as an 
 occasional domicile for those of the peripatetic 
 species who chanced a-wandering that way. But 
 Mr. Page did not mind the disreputable nomad, or 
 any other trespassers; if an incendiary busied him- 
 self there, all the better; one or two policies in his 
 strong-box provided for that contingency. The 
 land could not be injured, or carried off; it repre- 
 sented a snug, and ever-increasing profit. 
 
 Bruce pushed and the back door yielded. It 
 might have been nailed, to keep it closed, earlier in
 
 156 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the season, but now it balked no one desirous of 
 going in. The young man stood in the darkness. 
 Feeling a hard projection, he half-fell upon it a 
 sink. Resting thus, he strove to suppress his pant- 
 ing, to regain his strength. The moments passed ; 
 the pain in his side grew less; he felt relieved and 
 began to think now what he should next do. He 
 listened. No sound of his pursuers! 
 
 Could it be, by some lucky chance, they had con- 
 tinued on their way? Hope throbbed in his breast. 
 He would, however, remain in this black shelter 
 only a short time longer; then he would be suffi- 
 ciently himself to go on and meet what might come. 
 He made a movement; suddenly stood stock still. 
 
 Some one else was in the house, not far from 
 him standing or crouching in the darkness. He 
 had caught the sound and knew he could not be 
 mistaken. Bruce hardly breathed as he stared into 
 the night. A faint creaking, as of a heavy body 
 stirring, he could not tell where, now assailed his 
 ear; he could fancy he caught a low sibilant res- 
 piration. Some object struck lightly, intermit- 
 tently the wall. A bit of burlap, loosened by the
 
 PURSUIT 157 
 
 wind? Tap! tap! Bruce's figure drew back to 
 spring. Click! a finger was at the trigger of a re- 
 volver. 
 
 Bruce did not leap forward; instead, he stepped 
 swiftly aside, at the same time calling out.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A MEETING IN THE DARK 
 
 itiTTAO you want to bring the others here?" he 
 \J said in a sharp tone. "They're apt to 
 come back soon enough, anyway. If you only wish 
 to add to your predatory transgression," ironically, 
 " by gratifying a homicidal impulse, wouldn't it be 
 less stupid pardon the word from a stranger 
 to accomplish it in a quieter and more delicate man- 
 ner? For your own sake, of course!" he ended 
 softly. 
 
 The silence grew. Noiseless as a shadow, Bruce 
 again moved; a possible leaden answer would not 
 find him in the place whence he had spoken. 
 
 "Who are you?" The voice was hoarse; vi- 
 brated harshly. In the bare room, the echoes 
 seemed to distort the sound. There could be di- 
 vined, however, in the hollow, unfamiliar accents, 
 an abject pusillanimity. He who had dared to enter 
 
 158
 
 A MEETING IN THE DARK 159 
 
 the Goldberg house and rifle the safe, had lost the 
 cool pluck that must have nerved him to the risky 
 and difficult coup. 
 
 Bruce whistled softly. His foot came in contact 
 with a bit of wood on the floor; he stooped for it 
 and answered : " Never mind ! " 
 
 " But I do," in shriller accents. " Quick, or " 
 
 " Hush, fool, or they will be here. And put 
 down your revolver. Do ! " persuasively. " I'm 
 not half so afraid of an armed adversary who is a 
 man of metal as," contemptuously, " a poltroon with 
 a weapon." 
 
 Did the fellow lower his arm? The stillness 
 ensuing lasted only a moment, but it seemed very 
 long. The unknown, in an uncertain voice, repeated 
 his first question. 
 
 " That is little to the point," replied Bruce. 
 Perhaps, just for the instant, he forgot his own 
 danger in a derisory interest, called forth by the 
 situation. " I might indulge in a like curiosity, 
 but do not. As far as I am concerned," languidly, 
 " let the darkness keep its secret. You may be a 
 mere vulgar chevalier d' Industrie , professional 
 housebreaker or cracksman. Or you may be a
 
 160 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 gentleman, subjected to temptation and fallen one 
 of Mr. Goldberg's guests ! " shrewdly. 
 
 Again came the ominous, preliminary click; 
 Bruce knew the finger, acting in conjunction with 
 the palm, was about to apply the necessary second 
 pressure. Lithely he shifted once more; the ham- 
 mer did fall; but the cartridge only snapped. 
 
 " Lucky for you ! " exclaimed the young man, and 
 leaped forward. His own hand swung here, there ! 
 Then the billet of wood struck something hard ; the 
 revolver clattered to the floor. " Let it lie ! " A 
 suppressed sound answered; the fellow seemed to 
 shrink back; to occupy a small space in a corner. 
 "If you got your deserts, I'd leave you, senseless, 
 beside it, with the pearls in your pocket ; for them to 
 find " He broke off, held his head toward the 
 door and listened. He thought he heard stealthy 
 footsteps without, but could not be sure. The si- 
 lence now was that of the grave. 
 
 " Don't give me up ! Don't ! " the man cried out 
 in a sudden agony of fear. "I was mad; I did 
 not know what I did. It was the first time. Those 
 cursed pearls, they bewitched me. I am not my-
 
 A MEETING IN THE DARK 161 
 
 self now. For the love of Heaven," broke from 
 him, " tell me, is it real? No terrible dream? " 
 
 " I'm afraid it's real enough," observed Bruce 
 dryly. " Although, no doubt, it would be very 
 agreeable if it were not! If both of us could just 
 wake up, and find ourselves in our own comfort- 
 able bedrooms! Turn over and go to sleep again. 
 That would be jolly, wouldn't it?" 
 
 His jesting tone had a ghastly sound; he could 
 fancy the other's shudder. He remembered some- 
 where having once witnessed, or rather, heard, the 
 scene of a play in which the characters moved and 
 spoke in a blackness like that of the pit. He tried 
 to think of them now; those people at cross-pur- 
 poses in the depths; what tangle was it they were 
 trying to straighten out? 
 
 He could not recall. He wondered vaguely if 
 the burns, the pain, had not made him a little fever- 
 ish. He was once more resting against the sink. 
 It seemed to him an interminable period since he 
 had entered the deserted Page dwelling; in reality 
 but a few moments had passed. He experienced a 
 sudden lethargy and should have liked to yield to
 
 1 62 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the feeling. To throw it off, however; to regain 
 possession of himself, his alertness, he laughed : 
 
 " You've got a bad attack of afraid-you're-going- 
 to-be- found-out," he observed with light accents. 
 " Cheer up ! No doubt, you'll take a rosier view 
 of the situation in the morning. That is," he 
 added, " if you act at once ! " 
 
 " You mean," uncertainly, " you're going to let 
 me go? " 
 
 "If you can get away from them ! " he sup- 
 plemented. 
 
 " But why should you do that ? Why are you 
 here? Were you, too, running away from some- 
 one ? " vehemently. 
 
 Bruce moved toward the door. " I was standing 
 near the Goldberg house; they took me for you," 
 wearily. " It would have been inconvenient for 
 me to have stopped just then. A young lover 
 dreaming beneath his dulcinea's window," mock- 
 ingly, " might be averse to explaining his romantic 
 presence to a hard and unsympathizing world." 
 
 Did the other, even in his terror, detect the de- 
 risiveness of those tones? His own voice came out 
 of the night, now, in a sudden, sharp whisper:
 
 A MEETING IN THE DARK 163 
 
 " I see ! You, too, were after the pearls pard ! " 
 
 The last word seemed added, after an instant's 
 hesitation, as if the fellow made a belated attempt 
 to veil his position, a possibly respectable standing 
 in the community. 
 
 "Will you share?" Bruce spoke swiftly. 
 " Since you honor me by calling me ' pard ' ! " 
 
 "I I " cupidity struggled with alarm in the 
 man's voice, " didn't get them. They raised the 
 alarm before I cribbed the swag!" 
 
 " That's unfortunate," coolly. No lie was ever 
 more apparent. Something else, too, had become 
 apparent to Bruce ; the fellow's voice ; he had heard 
 it before. Where? He could not remember at 
 that moment. 
 
 " I didn't get the swag," reasseverated the voice. 
 
 " Well, I'll take your word for it ! " 
 
 A sigh, as of relief, floated in the air. 
 
 Bruce opened the door which he had closed on 
 entering. " Time to be off," he spoke curtly. His 
 head throbbed, but he strove to hold himself with 
 alertness, with every fiber on the qui vive. 
 
 " You mean together? " the other asked in obvi- 
 ous trepidation.
 
 1 64 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Bruce answered quickly in the negative. He had 
 no more desire that night for the fellow's company, 
 than the latter had for his. They had met in the 
 complete obscurity of darkness; they would part, 
 each unknown to the other. Under different cir- 
 cumstances, the young man might, he said, with 
 equivocal accent, have been charmed to continue 
 an acquaintance so interestingly begun. 
 
 Now it but remained for him to point out that 
 there were two ways by which they could separate, 
 and, incidentally, escape : one a private road over the 
 meadow ; the other, a side course. The former led 
 up the hill reaching the top some distance beyond 
 the rear of Mr. Goldberg's place; the latter would 
 take him who elected that choice of direction, to 
 the fence of some one's he didn't know whose - 
 estate adjoining. That house, also, however, was 
 not occupied, and one or two others, beyond, were 
 still vacant, the owners having not yet taken up 
 their abode at Comscot, for the summer. 
 
 " I'll take my chance from the side," said the 
 fellow eagerly. 
 
 Bruce stepped yet farther from the door to al- 
 low him, unidentified, to pass. " Colonel Manyan's
 
 A MEETING IX THE DARK 165 
 
 house is the fourth or fifth. He lives there the 
 year around," significantly. "After you!" He 
 waited;. he thought he had seen the fellow stoop to 
 pick up his revolver. 
 
 The latter, however, hesitated to go first. " How 
 do I know you won't " 
 
 " Bestow upon you a coup de grace as you pass? 
 You," softly, " will have to take a chance at that. 
 And at once ! " 
 
 The man moved to the threshold; but instead 
 of stepping out, he, with an exclamation of sharp 
 terror, bounded back. A number of persons who 
 had either just entered the grounds, or been con- 
 cealed in the bushes, now sprang fiercely, exultantly, 
 toward the house. The fellow wheeled ; stayed not 
 on the order of his going, but ran from the kitchen 
 back through the dwelling, toward the front. Ap- 
 parently he knew the place well. 
 
 Bruce also did not pause. He stepped quickly 
 behind the door, and none too soon. 
 
 Those in the yard, rushing forward with loud 
 cries, now swept in and went stumbling on after the 
 retreating footsteps. The young man listened to 
 the pursuers' eager, more or less blundering move-
 
 1 66 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 ments ; a few moments later he heard the front door 
 slam. Bruce slipped out at the back, at the same 
 time the fellow emerged from the front. 
 
 All concern now focused on the latter; he had 
 not yet been captured. Amid other sounds Bruce 
 caught that of a loud voice surely Bolger's 
 ringing out in stern command to the fugitive to 
 throw up his hands and surrender. The fellow did 
 not heed; fear seemed to lend him extraordinary 
 agility and strength. He discharged his weapon 
 freely, used wildly his fists and arms. A number 
 of those who tried to stop him, he evaded ; he struck 
 one or two down, leaping past them into the 
 shadows. Bruce heard the din of hoarse exclama- 
 tions, anathemas ; then the confused coterie of peo- 
 ple seemed moving farther aside, away from the 
 house. 
 
 Unperceived, he ran out. He saw no one, only 
 heard them, the voices becoming more distant. A 
 shadow of a smile crossed his lips. " Thanks, Mon- 
 sieur Incognito," he murmured to himself. Never- 
 theless, he was not confident the danger was past; 
 there seemed a chance; that was all. He accepted 
 the hazard boldly.
 
 A MEETING IN THE DARK 167 
 
 Every fiber of his being responded as he dashed 
 from the house and set out at a breakneck speed 
 along the private road, up and across the broad 
 meadow.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 
 
 MARJORIE WOOD awoke early; she had not 
 slept well that night. Perhaps the excite- 
 ment of the evening, after the dance with Sir Archi- 
 bald, followed in her dreams and made them 
 troubled. It was still dark without, when she 
 slipped from her bed and looked at her watch. 
 
 Not yet three o'clock, she saw by the tiny light 
 left burning in her room; it would be some time 
 before the others in the house would be stirring. 
 A moment she stood uncertainly ; then moved to the 
 window, and, drawing the curtains, looked out. 
 
 How still it was! Not a leaf seemed to move. 
 She listened, watched; then her gaze became more 
 intent; it fastened on a particular spot. From the 
 black fringe of forest that reached like a triangle 
 toward her room she thought she discerned in the 
 gloom something moving toward the shrubs on the 
 lawn an object, a figure? No; a shadow; that 
 
 168
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 169 
 
 now was gone. Strive as she might, she could not 
 again locate it. 
 
 A shadow, of course ! One of many shadows 
 waving everywhere around; that came and went. 
 Mechanically she drew back; how many ephemeral 
 fancies had assailed her that night? She regarded 
 her bed, but she knew she would court sleep in 
 vain at the moment. She had no desire to lie 
 awake there longer. Perhaps if she read? But 
 what? It did not matter. 
 
 She stepped to the chair over the back of which 
 hung her dressing-gown and slipped two shapely 
 young arms, with their lacy covering, into the gar- 
 ment. Her slippers were near; she thrust her feet 
 into them and went to the door. Opening it 
 quietly, she stepped into the hall. 
 
 The house was but dimly lighted ; the old boards 
 of the floor, though covered with heavy rugs, 
 creaked slightly beneath her soft footfall. At the 
 head of the stairway she paused. From the opposite 
 end of the hall a brighter streak of light came from 
 beneath the door of a room Sir Archibald's! A 
 slightly questioning look shone an instant from her 
 eyes; then she went on. He had probably over-
 
 1 70 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 looked turning off the electric current before retiring. 
 Slowly she descended. A few white marbles, pale 
 semblances of classical folk, seemed to confront her 
 at the foot of the stairs in rather more ghostly 
 fashion than usual as she passed on to the library, 
 now a sombrous place, with black lines of shade 
 thrown this way and that across the floor. 
 
 The girl reached up and turned on one of the 
 side-lights. The answering gleam, though not 
 bright in that spacious apartment, served to banish 
 some of the deeper blurs from nooks and corners. 
 She put out her hand toward the book-shelves. 
 Her fingers rested on a volume at random, The 
 Eve of St. Agnes, when, at that moment, her at- 
 tention was abruptly arrested, held by a sound, dis- 
 tinct, unmistakable. 
 
 Some one had approached, very lightly, across the 
 gravel walk to the house, stepped on to the lower 
 balcony and stood now without. She was certain 
 of the fact; what she had thought she had seen 
 some time before, had not been a shadow then. 
 The book fell from her hand; she stepped quickly 
 behind one of the heavy long curtains. Shielded
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 171 
 
 by its folds from being seen, her eyes tried to pene- 
 trate the darkness. 
 
 She saw nothing, however, except, again, the 
 glimmer of the night; the sky, hardly so full of 
 stars. Then, with senses alert, she caught once 
 more the footfall and made out a figure, at first, dark, 
 uncertain; afterward, plainer. 
 
 He stood on the veranda somewhat aside, look- 
 ing toward one of the library windows. His figure 
 was framed by the black timbers of the porch; they 
 lent it an odd prominence. The shadowy form 
 and the sky made a picture, a nocturne rimmed by 
 straight Cimmerian lines. In the distance, faint 
 quiverings lent depth to the background; fairy fin- 
 gers seemed weaving intangible cobwebs of light 
 across the somber sky. Something, vaguely white, 
 added a dim intrusive note to the impression; the 
 girl started. 
 
 That bit of white was against his side, on his 
 arm, or around it ! She discerned now what it 
 was ; a bandage ! That was strange ! Why 
 then the intruder was, must be 
 
 In the surprise of the moment she suddenly
 
 172 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 stepped back and in so doing parted the curtains. 
 A glow of light from the room gleamed abruptly 
 upon the porch. It lay like a bright sword amid 
 the darkness at the intruder's feet. 
 
 Was he startled, moved, for his part, to some 
 quick, involuntary action? The girl did not see; 
 she was momentarily too dazed, bewildered. She 
 held the curtains farther apart, and looked out at 
 him. And he, stepping at once forward, looked in 
 at her, with the glass door between them. He was 
 smiling now ; he held himself lightly erect, though at 
 what pain, what cost, to himself, she might little 
 know. 
 
 As in a dream she swung open the long French 
 windows. A moment still he lingered without, his 
 gaze, very bright, on her; the crown of dark hair 
 that seemed to catch up and hold the light behind 
 her, the deep eyes too deep, in the wondrous 
 shadow, to be blue! 
 
 " You are surprised ? " he murmured. The 
 words were spoken so faintly they seemed a part 
 of the breeze that stirred about her now, waving 
 slightly the folds of her gown; her hair. "I'm 
 afraid I startled you."
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 173 
 
 "I just a little " She saw now, with a new 
 responsive thrill, how worn and drawn was his 
 face! 
 
 His eyes, however, yet strove to mask an expres- 
 sion of pain, acute, almost overpowering. 
 
 "But why "she began. "Why did you" 
 And stopped; she seemed suddenly to understand. 
 
 The burns ! They had been severe ; had she not 
 herself seen? He, with all his fortitude, had been 
 unable to sleep, to endure the confinement of his 
 room; had felt impelled, driven to go forth, 
 through physical pangs, anywhere, out into the 
 night, anywhere, to be moving! 
 
 " Ah ! " she breathed impulsively. Her eyes 
 were like stars ; the lace at her throat stirred quickly. 
 He came in. 
 
 " Why why did you not call some one ? " she 
 faltered. 
 
 " Call some one? " he repeated, as if not under- 
 standing. His gaze burned; her lashes half-low- 
 ered. 
 
 " The bandages they are disarranged. Shall 
 I not call some one now ? " 
 
 " What ? Wake the household ? It is unneces-
 
 174 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 sary ; quite ! " He spoke lightly, though very low, 
 with a forced jauntiness in his accents. 
 
 But even as he replied, his figure swayed slightly ; 
 she noted the quick growing pallor of his face. He 
 leaned hard, with his hand on the table, sought 
 yet to stand erect, then seemed to sink, through 
 no volition of his own, to a large chair. A faint 
 cry was stilled on her lips; she looked at him, then 
 glanced quickly around her, when, as if divining 
 some intention on her part, he again moved and 
 made a gesture with his hand. 
 
 " Call no one," he repeated. " It is nothing. 
 I'm a bit done up; that is all. Quite myself now," 
 he added with an effort. 
 
 " But you are not," she said. 
 
 " Hark ! " He seemed listening. " I hope we 
 I haven't awakened any one." 
 
 "It wouldn't matter," quickly. "Let me" 
 
 She bent over. Before he had time to expostu- 
 late, had he thought of so doing, she began to re- 
 arrange the bandages of his hand. He felt too 
 absurdly weak at the moment to resist. As through 
 a haze, he saw the beautiful, down-bent head; her 
 fingers, light, sedulous.
 
 She bent over and began to rearrange the bandages Page i?4
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 175 
 
 " It is really all right now," he murmured, an 
 accent of self-scoffing in his low voice at this en- 
 ervation, the unheroic part it forced upon him. 
 
 " Wait ! " She would not be put aside ; she had 
 not quite finished. Her fingers trembled slightly; 
 her lips were not set with their usual composure. It 
 may be she was vividly cognizant at the instant 
 how the burns had been acquired; in whose service 
 he had received injuries, so painful 
 
 " You are too good," he breathed. 
 
 "I?" She half-knelt on the cushion, absorbed, 
 forgetful of all save what she was doing. He said 
 no more, though the smile, slightly derisory at his 
 own momentary helplessness, still lingered on his 
 lips. From the lawn matutinal perfumes were 
 wafted through the opened glass doors. He 
 breathed deeply like one in a lotus dream. She 
 was so near! But only for the moment; as a 
 vision, evanescent, that would soon vanish from 
 him for ever, leaving nothing but a haunting mem- 
 ory. 
 
 Through half-closed lids he watched the dim 
 light playing on the dark hair that rippled over her 
 shoulders; beneath the loose folds of the heavy.
 
 176 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 shimmering gown, he imagined she breathed once 
 or twice quickly, a divine movement more eloquent 
 than words. 
 
 The stillness continued for a few seconds, then 
 was suddenly broken by the unmistakable sound of 
 something above, a door opening softly. His hand 
 involuntarily lifted; his figure straightened. The 
 girl, too, heard and rose. The task she had set 
 herself, however, was done; she looked hurriedly 
 toward the stairs, then back at him. But he seemed 
 not to see her now; his fingers rested on something 
 in an inside pocket at his breast, something hard, 
 slightly projecting. The girl did not notice his 
 gesture. Over her face a flush had slowly spread ; 
 her eyes, which had swept first upward and then 
 swiftly aside at Bruce, suddenly lowered. 
 
 The glass door of one of the library sections 
 limned a pale reflection of herself; the long, flowing 
 gown; the flash of a white bare arm; the untram- 
 meled hair, and an abrupt realization of much that 
 was unconventional in her appearance came over 
 her. Her next words were constrained; he, how- 
 ever, seemed hardly to hear; replied vaguely he 
 would stay there in the library a little while longer.
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 177 
 
 She was glad his eyes were turned from her as 
 he spoke. He, too, had risen, was standing now, 
 deferentially waiting, his features slightly down- 
 bent. A word or two further, and she moved 
 across the threshold and up the stairway, with 
 cheeks still brightly tinted, but head proudly erect, 
 gained her own door and went in. Bruce heard 
 it close gently. 
 
 A few moments he continued to stand motionless, 
 as if listening; then moved to a table upon which 
 rested a decanter, near a box of cigars. Pouring 
 out a glass of wine he drank it quickly. Through 
 the partly opened door leading out on to the lower 
 balcony, the earliest tint of dawn could be seen on 
 the eastern horizon. A bird's note, afar in the 
 forest, smote the sky. He looked out; the lawn 
 was deserted. No one had followed him; none of 
 those he had met below had seen him enter here. 
 
 For the instant, that last impression of the un- 
 known he had encountered so strangely in the Page 
 house recurred to Bruce; the din occasioned by 
 this person's mad, desperate dash. Had the fellow 
 escaped, with his booty? If he had been taken? 
 A certain new contingency in that event insinuated
 
 178 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 itself in Bruce's brain. It brought an odd look to 
 his face. The morn? what tidings would it 
 bring? Already Aurora's light palm had rubbed 
 the nebulae from the heavens; the solitary canticle 
 of the feathered songster had by this time evoked 
 an enthusiastic chorus. 
 
 Bruce listened again for sounds from above, but 
 heard nothing; the big, rambling house was 
 wrapped in silence. An ominous, deceptive still- 
 ness? He yet waited; his face was pale, but the 
 overpowering sense of complete physical collapse 
 had passed away. His muscles became suddenly 
 tense; a light, clear, if somewhat reckless, shone 
 from his eyes. About to step toward the stairway, 
 an object on the floor caught his glance ; caused him 
 to pause yet a moment. 
 
 A book ! He stooped for it, gazed at the volume, 
 then, holding it carelessly, he walked out into the 
 hall and ascended the broad stairs. At the top he 
 paused to look around him; the upper hall was 
 dark, but his rapid glances pierced the shadows. 
 He did not wait long. With light, elastic step, he 
 moved noiselessly toward the corridor leading to his 
 own room.
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 179 
 
 To reach it, he was obliged to pass Sir Archi- 
 bald's apartments. Approaching them, he seemed 
 to hold himself with figure very alert; as if wait- 
 ing, expecting something sudden to happen a 
 door to open Sir Archibald, or his secretary, or 
 both to appear abruptly on the threshold, then and 
 there to hurl themselves upon him, to end at once 
 a silent contest, a strenuous, secret strife. But 
 nothing of the kind occurred; the chambers be- 
 fore him continued as hushed as the grave. 
 
 A slightly puzzled expression crossed Bruce's 
 features as he paused at his own threshold. Sir 
 Archibald was not one to hesitate, once sure of his 
 ground. Could it be that now? Caglioni? A 
 sudden light broke upon the young man. The 
 secretary might not yet have returned to the Wood 
 mansion. Was the theory tenable? Had the 
 Portuguese been more injured than he, Bruce, had 
 expected ? Had aught else happened to detain him ? 
 What would the next few hours show? 
 
 The gods seemed to have granted him a respite. 
 For how long? He must not lull himself with 
 false security; vain hopes. A moment's exultation 
 became succeeded by clearer afterthoughts. His
 
 i So THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 fingers rested on a single key in one of his pockets ; 
 mechanically he drew it forth. Unlocking the 
 door, he stepped in. The light was still burning as 
 he had left it; the dressing-gown lay where he had 
 thrown it; nothing seemed disturbed. No one had 
 been in there; of course not; he had hardly ex- 
 pected it. 
 
 He turned again the key in his door; then felt 
 once more in his pocket for the key to the other 
 door, the one opening on the upper balcony. 
 
 He could not find it. He hastily turned every- 
 thing out of his pockets on to a table a match box, 
 a small knife, a cigarette case, his watch, money 
 but, not that for which he sought. It was gone. 
 Where? Again shadows seemed surrounding him, 
 deeper, darker than before. He shook his shoul- 
 ders, as if to shake a gathering of ominous forces 
 from him. 
 
 A key? It was a little thing, derisively he told 
 himself, hardly to be seen, let alone to be noticed, 
 even if any one should chance upon finding it some- 
 where without, which was most unlikely. 
 
 Bruce began to undress. His clothes were decid- 
 edly the worse for wear; fortunately, Mr. Wood
 
 OUT OF THE FOREST 181 
 
 had instructed the chauffeur to bring up from the 
 inn his new guest's hand-bag. It would, ere long, 
 be there; the young man awaited its coming with 
 interest.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 
 
 an lait, for two," said Sir Archibald 
 tersely, to his valet early that morning. 
 " Very good, Sir Archibald ! " And the man, a 
 thin, deferential-appearing fellow, who had been in 
 the other's service many years, bowed out of the 
 room. Sometimes his master and the secretary 
 breakfasted, American fashion, en famille, as it were 
 in the bright apartment down-stairs; on other oc- 
 casions, when they expected to put in a busy morn- 
 ing with correspondence or papers for certain 
 learned societies, they sipped their coffee and ate 
 their rolls and eggs, continental-wise, in Sir Archi- 
 bald's cozy sitting-room. In this last contingency, 
 however, the Englishman usually lounged, clad in 
 a sober Scotch dressing-gown, pipe in hand, near 
 his table. Now the valet noted his master was en- 
 gaged in putting' the finishing touches to his toilet. 
 He adjusted with strong, precise fingers his neck-tie 
 
 182
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 183 
 
 and set squarely in the middle a small horseshoe 
 of rubies and diamonds. 
 
 As the door closed and the valet disappeared, 
 Sir Archibald permitted, privately, an expression 
 of considerable feeling to sweep his usually stolid 
 countenance. He walked once or twice back and 
 forth across the thick carpet, hands in pockets, 
 his tread, aggressive, heavy. At that moment, his 
 eyes, full, old-looking for a man not yet much 
 past thirty ! expressed indubitable signs of an- 
 noyance, if not anger, which faded as a discreet 
 knock announced the valet's return. The latter set 
 down a tray quietly, removed the Chinese checker- 
 board, and laid the table, noiselessly arranged the 
 dishes, and, after a last low customary inquiry, " if 
 there was anything further ? " effected once more 
 his unobtrusive exit. 
 
 Sir Archibald, although he had ordered coffee 
 for two, drank it alone; he appeared not at all 
 sedulous about his secretary's share of the beverage 
 getting hike-warm or cold. He even helped him- 
 self from both cups, and ate one of the eggs de- 
 signed for Caglioni. Having partaken, he rose, 
 regarded his watch, then the closed door leading
 
 184 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 into his secretary's room. As he did so, his brow 
 darkened and he stepped out upon his veranda. 
 
 The French windows opening from Bruce's room 
 to command a felicitous prospect, mellow in the 
 soft morning glow, were fastened, and Bam ford's 
 glance, swerving, passed to the fringe of forest, 
 where it lingered. A big muscular fist closed; he 
 brought it down softly upon his open palm. Cag- 
 lioni's continued absence tied his employer's hands 
 and Sir Archibald longed to use them. 
 
 What had happened during the night ? Had any- 
 thing? He stood impotent, in the dark. The game 
 was yet a waiting one, but there was such a thing 
 as waiting too long. He had done so once or twice 
 on his macham in an Indian jungle, and the pan- 
 ther had not only got away, but taken the bait with 
 him. 
 
 Sir Archibald stirred restlessly. Had not his pa- 
 tience, however, been sorely tried? When he had 
 heard whispered voices in the library some time 
 before and had wished to play, not a listening, but 
 an acting part! A cruel glint shone from his cold 
 gaze ; then his set jaw relaxed, and returning to his 
 room, he, in methodical fashion, completed his
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 185 
 
 toilet, which done, he stood ready for the events of 
 the day, whatever they might be. He had a pre- 
 monition the hours to come would be exciting ones. 
 
 Passing out into the hall, he paused long enough 
 to tell one of the housemaids that Senor Caglioni, 
 after breakfasting, had retired to his own room. 
 The secretary was not feeling well, a bad head- 
 ache, and so she or any of the other servants whose 
 duty it was to care for his room, could defer that 
 task until later in the day. Saying which, Sir 
 Archibald walked quickly down the stairs. 
 
 As he was stepping by the library he stopped an 
 instant to glance through the open door, but no 
 one was there. Only the vacant gaze of a number 
 of ancestral portraits above the book-shelves con- 
 centrated upon him with a cold British-like fixed- 
 ness, met his own searching look. It seemed to 
 grow blacker; he looked around with new interest 
 for the place, then regarded the outer doors now 
 wide open, admitting the morning air, the sound of 
 the bees in the honeysuckle vines. One of the lat- 
 ter appeared a little disarranged; a streamer of 
 green, torn from its fastening, floated erratically in 
 the fresh, early breezes. Bam ford's large, thick
 
 i86 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 lips murmured something softly to himself, as he 
 walked on, out of the front door and into the gar- 
 den. 
 
 There his glance sought again the wing of the 
 rambling mansion; he even moved to one side to 
 be afforded a better view of it; the trellis-work; 
 the ground beneath. Engaged in the consideration 
 of a decidedly limited, profitless and axiomatic 
 " two and two makes four " mathematical process, 
 beginning at certain footprints on the ground and 
 ending at a closed room overhead, he did not at 
 first hear a motor-car approaching the house along 
 the public highway in front. It had turned into 
 the grounds ere he raised his head to look around; 
 the machine swept quickly down the private way 
 through the lawn and suddenly stopped. 
 
 The chauffeur leaned at first from his car, as 
 if to answer some one who had spoken to him, then, 
 shutting off the noise of the machine, respectfully 
 got out. At the same moment Sir Archibald 
 - walked forward. He saw now who the " some 
 one " was a girl in a rose-colored linen gown. 
 His lips set rather firmly, in an abrupt hard line; 
 but only for an instant. He became once more
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 187 
 
 heavily dcbonnaire as a Piccadilly masculine fashion- 
 print, and greeted Miss Marjorie with conventional 
 blandness. She, however, appeared more interested 
 in a certain bit of information she had just received 
 than in him. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Archibald," she exclaimed, " James 
 here tells me the wonderful Goldberg pearls have 
 been stolen! A thief or thieves entered the house 
 last night." 
 
 Bam ford started, and looked at the girl. In her 
 hand were scissors with which to cut flowers; she 
 wore no hat. " Stolen ? " he repeated crisply, his 
 glance shifting quickly to the chauffeur. " Ex- 
 plain yourself, my man." 
 
 " That's all there is to explain, Sir Archibald." 
 The answer came a little stiffly. An American 
 chauffeur is not a British flunkey, and the sharp and 
 autocratic " my man " jarred, perhaps, on the na- 
 tional spirit. " Every one down in the village tells 
 a different story, but the gist of it is, the pearls are 
 gone." 
 
 " And you didn't learn anything more definite 
 than that ? " impatiently. 
 
 " Not even when they were taken, James, and
 
 1 88 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 if they had any clue to the miscreants? " added his 
 young mistress. 
 
 " I didn't stop to try to learn further details, 
 Miss Wood," returned the man, " as I had to come 
 back at once with this," nodding toward a suit- 
 case in the car. " There was a detective from New 
 York at the inn; a Mr. Bulger or Bolger. They 
 had evidently sent post-haste for him. But he 
 wasn't saying anything." 
 
 Sir Archibald swished rather hard with his heavy 
 stick at the foliage ; obviously the chauffeur's incom- 
 plete account annoyed him. 
 
 " Oh, I did hear some one say the burglar might 
 have been a gentleman one of the guests," ob- 
 served the driver of the car suddenly. 
 
 " What an impossible conclusion ! " exclaimed the 
 girl. 
 
 Sir Archibald looked at her more sharply. Ther 
 were shadows beneath her eyes eloquent of 
 what ? Sleeplessness ? The proud face might have 
 seemed paler than its wont, save for the rose-col- 
 ored gown which imparted to it a subtle reflection 
 of its warmth. She had cut but one or two flowers, 
 which she wore. They, too, were of a red tone.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 189 
 
 He flattered himself he was a profound student 
 of womankind; any strong and particular feeling 
 he might entertain for one of them could not cast 
 a glamour over his perspicacity. Love might be a 
 garden of delight, but the rational being, especially 
 an Englishman, treads it with his eyes open. Sir 
 Archibald's now were lazily alert, sleepy, almost 
 reminding one of a big cat's. They disconcerted 
 Marjorie Wood, at that moment, for some inex- 
 plicable reason, as if they were plunging deep, deep 
 into hers, to wrest from her something. What? 
 
 " I hardly agree with you," she heard him say 
 with a slight smile, as if conscious of his own power. 
 " About it's being impossible, don't you know ? 
 For my part," he added, " I find it, at least, con- 
 ceivable." 
 
 " Do you? " Her face was a little colder. The 
 chauffeur returned to his car ; waited yet a moment, 
 in case they might wish to speak further with him. 
 
 The voice of another approaching, broke in upon 
 them; it was the gardener who had been working 
 in one of the beds near at hand. " I beg your 
 pardon, Miss Wood," he said, with broad accent, 
 " but I could nae help overhearing what you were
 
 190 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 saying about the burglars at the Goldberg house, 
 and," he added, pressing his thin lips tight, " it's 
 my opinion those same gentry were aroond here 
 last night." 
 
 " I don't understand." The girl looked at him 
 quickly, a little startled. 
 
 " If you will be so gude as to follow me, Miss? " 
 
 She did so, as did also, Sir Archibald ; the chauf- 
 feur, glancing over his shoulder as if he, too, were 
 interested, controlled, however, his curiosity and 
 guided his car slowly toward the house. 
 
 " Look at this, and at that ! " The gardener 
 pointed indignantly to one or two broken flower 
 stems, footprints on the edge of the soft earthy 
 beds. " I raked over here yesterday just before 
 sundown and those must ha' been made during the 
 night. Who by?" 
 
 " H-mm ! " Sir Archibald made a slight sound ; 
 eyed sidewise the girl. 
 
 A delicate crimson came slowly to Miss Wood's 
 face. " How ridiculous ! " broke from her. 
 " Your burglar theory, I mean." 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss, perhaps ! " said the man ; but his 
 .countenance showed he retained his own opinion.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 191 
 
 " Let us see ! " Sir Archibald's tone became live- 
 lier ; he bent low. " A shapely, aristocratic foot," 
 he laughed. " Too shapely for your vulgar house- 
 breakers ! Unless," he added, but he did not utter 
 that which he had been on the point of saying. 
 Instead, he indulged once more in that enigmatic 
 murmur : " H-mm ! " 
 
 " It's making a great deal out of nothing," ex- 
 claimed the girl. " The explanation is, no doubt, 
 very simple," impetuously. 
 
 " Yes ? " Sir Archibald observed quietly, look- 
 ing up at her. 
 
 She did not answer; why? Did something, 
 covert, in his gaze hold her silent ? Last night ! 
 the sound ! they had heard above ! Sir Archi- 
 bald he had, then ? She pressed a crimson lip 
 with her teeth and held herself more erect ; annoyed ; 
 irritated. She could not have defined exactly her 
 feeling. She was about to speak, more plainly, she 
 knew not just what words ; but to do away with any 
 further misunderstanding about footprints, or a 
 paltry broken rose-stem or two, when Bam ford 
 abruptly straightened. 
 
 " Your father " he observed, looking toward
 
 192 ^.THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the house. Mr. Wood, on the front steps, was 
 speaking now to the chauffeur. 
 
 She turned quickly; perhaps, at the instant, was 
 glad of the pretext to do so ; for, murmuring some- 
 thing in a low tone, she moved away. Sir Archi- 
 bald followed with slow footsteps. Mr. Wood had 
 heard the story by the time they drew near, and 
 having listened to the meager details, proposed at 
 once that they set out immediately for the Gold- 
 berg mansion to learn what had taken place. Sir 
 Archibald hesitated ; the chauffeur removed the suit- 
 case from the car. 
 
 The Englishman's eyes rested on it absently. 
 Suddenly his manner became decisive, and, signify- 
 ing his intention of being ready in a moment to ac- 
 company them, he turned and entered the house. 
 
 Chatfield Bruce, from one of his windows in 
 the second story of the wing, had seen the car turn 
 into the grounds of the Wood estate, and now, not 
 long after, he observed it go out once more and 
 noted the occupants. As the sound of the motor 
 receded down the road, he rang the bell sharply. 
 Simpson answered.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 193 
 
 " My suit-case, that was brought from the inn 
 send it up here." 
 
 " Very well, sir. I'll see to it myself, sir." 
 
 But time passed; the young man pressed the bell 
 again, impatiently. 
 
 When, at length, Simpson did return, his coun- 
 tenance was troubled, his manner, gravely apolo- 
 getic. He regretted the circumstance; some mis- 
 take must have been made, for the suit-case could 
 not, at the moment, be found. Presumably, it had 
 been forgotten and left in the motor. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Bruce, regarding him keenly. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," somewhat taken 
 aback. 
 
 " And I yours ! " laughed the young man. There 
 was no mistaking this old servant's rectitude. 
 " You are positive you have made a thorough 
 search? Yes? Then, you may go, and thank 
 you, Simpson." 
 
 " You are quite welcome, sir ; but I'll have an- 
 other look around, and if " He started to open 
 the door; through the crack Bruce became suddenly 
 aware of a lurking figure which moved quickly 
 away. Sir Archibald's valet! Had he, too, then,
 
 194 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 been pressed into new service, that of watching, 
 spying upon him? 
 
 Bruce laughed. " Don't bother any more about 
 the suit-case. It'll only be a waste of time. I 
 hardly think you'll find it until the car returns." 
 And as Simpson again moved away, the latest guest 
 laughed once more. 
 
 At the tragic-comic conclusion! Or, predica- 
 ment? The loss of a suit-case! Sir Archibald 
 was showing himself rather fine and subtle. Pos- 
 sibly, even, the big Englishman understood a joke, 
 and was smiling to himself now, as he sped down the 
 road. But for Bruce, it was no smiling matter; 
 he remained here a prisoner, at the moment when 
 he wished most for his freedom. 
 
 He looked again out of his window. At a cor- 
 ner of the veranda, a shadow, which might have 
 been a man's, athwart the boards, moved slightly. 
 Below, the flowers nodded at him, but he remained 
 oblivious to the dancing consociation of gay colors. 
 A hearty breakfast had given him new strength. 
 His pulses throbbed protestingly for action. But 
 what should he do ? What could he do ? 
 
 His restless glance, roaming aimlessly, fell upon
 
 AN UNEXPECTED FINALE 195 
 
 the discarded evening clothes; continued to linger 
 on the garments. An expression, oddly whimsical, 
 played about his lips. " When between Scylla and 
 Charybdis " his eyes shone with abrupt decision 
 " one must steer a course, somewhat precipitous." 
 To conclude, with Chatfield Bruce, was to act; he 
 did so, quickly.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A DISCOVERY 
 
 MR. WOOD and his party set out in their car 
 prepared to arrive at a place of repining; 
 they reached, instead, the gay terrace of a palace 
 of rejoicing. Mr. Goldberg, one of the most ani- 
 mated among those sauntering and talking there, 
 radiated satisfaction; his wife's countenance shone 
 with kindred emotion ; his daughter's aspect was the 
 antithesis to that of a drooping Niobe. Miss Mar- 
 jorie Wood and Sir Archibald surveyed them in 
 some surprise; Mr. Wood was not so observant. 
 
 " We called," he remarked in his fine stately 
 manner, as the car drew up near the front portico, 
 " to tender our condolences, and incidentally, our 
 services. As one of the oldest residents at Com- 
 scot, allow me to observe the neighborhood has 
 heretofore enjoyed an unimpeachable reputation." 
 
 " That's all right," said Mr. Goldberg, waving 
 his hand lightly. " We don't mind a little episode 
 
 196
 
 A DISCOVERY 197 
 
 like that of last night!" with airy jocularity. 
 "Pearls? Poof!" 
 
 Mr. Wood stared in mild amazement. Sir Archi- 
 bald inserted a monocle. Miss Goldberg, unable to 
 contain herself longer, burst forth with the glorious 
 news : " Do not mind him ! " she said indulgently. 
 ' The pearls have been found ! " 
 
 " Eh ? What ! I mean, congratulations ! " mur- 
 mured Mr. Wood. 
 
 " By Jove ! Oh, I say ! " The single glass fell 
 from the Englishman's eye; his surprise, now, 
 seemed even greater than that of the others'; his 
 jaw sagged. 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Bolger found them." The speaker 
 was Miss Flossie; she directed her words to Sir 
 Archibald, rather than to the others. 
 
 He did not reply; a slight contraction manifested 
 itself on his brow. Of course, there could be no 
 mistake; the faces around him were more eloquent 
 than words, and proclaimed the tidings with irre- 
 futable certainty. And yet ? Here, again, was 
 chance interfering with his checker-board, muster- 
 ing the pieces with new fantastic groupings. The 
 pearls found !
 
 198 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Don't you believe those women-folks ! " inter- 
 rupted Mr. Goldberg in colossal high spirits. " It's, 
 only one of their little hallucinations ! " 
 
 Whereupon the feminine contingent referred to, 
 laughed; a happy laugh. The host of Comscot 
 mansion might be in as facetious a mood as he 
 wished at that moment; they humored him gladly. 
 
 " Will you kindly unravel this tangle, Miss 
 Burke ? " said Sir Archibald slowly. 
 
 Miss Flossie looked at him, then at Marjorie 
 Wood. " I will try to," she answered. " But first,, 
 tell me," with light irrelevancy, somewhat forced, 
 " how is your gallant rescuer, this morning, Miss 
 Wood?" 
 
 "I we did not see Mr. Bruce before leaving 
 the house," replied the other with a touch of con- 
 straint. " It was best not to disturb him, you see." 
 
 " No doubt he passed a restless enough night," 
 put in Sir Archibald, with a casual glance at Mar- 
 jorie Wood's profile. 
 
 " Yes ? " Miss Flossie's green eyes seemed to 
 gage more than casually the speaker ; his face, how- 
 ever, was mask-like. 
 
 " As you did here," he observed, studying her
 
 A DISCOVERY 199 
 
 in turn " unless I am mistaken. But the story 
 and from the beginning, if you please. Consider 
 our impatience, Miss Burke." 
 
 She told of the night's happenings, with reserva- 
 tions. Occasionally he interjected a question, in a 
 seemingly careless tone, but his queries were perti- 
 nent, once or twice, in the least disconcerting. Her 
 lids narrowed; she experienced a vague wonder. 
 He set little traps in cross-examination for her; 
 she evaded them with feminine adroitness. 
 
 No; she had not seen the intruder's face. Well, 
 any part of him his back, his feet, his hands? 
 The key-hole, Sir Archibald buoyantly suggested, 
 had been there ; was she above the weakness of cer- 
 tain of her sex? That "certain," she laughingly 
 replied, constituted for him a saving clause; but, 
 with scoffing accent, he had only just escaped seri- 
 ously offending her. A key-hole, forsooth! 
 
 Yet even as, without actually disclaiming, she 
 lightly waved the suggestion aside, he could not 
 but note how she forbore to answer directly. Nor 
 could he, unless inexcusably insistent, force an issue; 
 deftly she eluded him, as a winged creature the 
 too eager etomologist. And, at the same time, he
 
 200 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 felt the green surface lights of her gay glance pry- 
 ing into his eyes; she was a very deep young 
 woman, he mentally concluded. But what motive 
 could be hers in holding back, for only the moment 
 perhaps, anything, however small? In what way 
 did the thread of her personality interweave itself 
 in this already complex and many-colored tissue of 
 events ? 
 
 He reverted from the question of the identity of 
 the intruder to the surprising sequence, the climax 
 which had first greeted them on the bright lawn to- 
 day. Personally, he had felt like one who reads 
 the act of a play backward. The scenes leading 
 to the culmination were very simple; Miss Flossie 
 narrated them with graphic ease. 
 
 After the miscreant had fled from the Page 
 house (fancy his having found refuge in her uncle's 
 place!) he got into the grounds next door. There 
 Mr. Bolger caught up to him, but the fellow again 
 fought desperately and got away. But in the tussle, 
 he dropped, or lost, the pearls; anyhow, the detec- 
 tive afterward found them and brought them with 
 him to Mr. Goldberg, who (Miss Flossie's light 
 head nodded toward that last named gentleman) at
 
 A DISCOVERY 201 
 
 this moment had them once more safely in his pos- 
 session. 
 
 Sir Archibald pondered ; where was the weakness 
 in the story? There seemed none. 
 
 " But could not Mr. Bolger or any of the others 
 tell what the fellow looked like ? " he asked finally. 
 " Was he heavy or slight, short or tall ? " 
 
 " In the darkness it was not easy to discern very 
 much," answered Miss Flossie. " It is generally 
 conceded, however, he wore an evening suit." 
 
 " Then he w as one of the guests," murmured Sir 
 Archibald, with glance still resting on Marjorie 
 Wood. 
 
 " Easy enough for any one to get a dress-suit," 
 interjected Mr. Goldberg. " Plenty of places that 
 rent them. I don't attach any importance to the 
 fact he had evening togs on. He knew he had to 
 hide or lurk around the house, somewhere, before 
 making his attempt; if he came properly dressed 
 and the servants happened to run across him, they 
 wouldn't think so much of it on account of his 
 clothes. People sometimes," jocosely, " are apt to 
 be a bit erratic after a champagne supper." 
 
 But Sir Archibald, it could be seen, maintained
 
 202 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 his own opinion, though he remained silent, con- 
 tenting himself with a shrug of his big shoulders. 
 There were, Mr. Goldberg cheerfully went on, other 
 peculiar features to the case ; to wit, the mysterious 
 voice calling out to direct the pursuers just after 
 the fellow had fled the house and was speeding 
 toward the road. What had become of the un- 
 known assistant ? Who was he and why had he so 
 completely vanished? Why also had one of the 
 Chinese servants? The Englishman's face had be- 
 come graver as he listened. His secretary! Sir 
 Archibald was thinking of Caglioni, of a more tor- 
 tile element, savoring of the Orient, subtly intro- 
 duced into the case. 
 
 While talking, they had been walking toward that 
 point where the sparsely wooded park began. As in 
 a dream, Marjorie Wood again looked down into the 
 valley. How different it appeared, than when she 
 had stood there, only the night before, with Chatfield 
 Bruce ! Now the landscape lay bathed in a glorious, 
 golden light. Every house afar showed plainly in 
 embowering garden and orchard; beyond, the 
 ocean lay in shining somnolence.
 
 A DISCOVERY 203 
 
 Pearls ! fleeing people ! detectives ! mid- 
 night marauders ! 
 
 As from way off, the voices of the others came 
 to her; in a vague hum and buzz of talk. Miss 
 Flossie's purring accents flowed like the demulcent 
 strains of a soprano in a concerted piece; they 
 mingled with Sir Archibald's basso; gave way be- 
 fore Mr. Goldberg's stridency. 
 
 From the girl's brow, the caressing breeze swept 
 back the dark hair. She did not seek to analyze her 
 thought, but continued to look out, down the hillside, 
 marked here and there by a road like a silver ribbon, 
 half-crumpled, unfolding haphazard fashion, to the 
 village. Her eyes followed its course; she was 
 aware now of a few words in a more acute mas- 
 culine pitch : " Here, the fellow sprang down ; 
 here, he started his flight." 
 
 Suddenly something at her feet, in the grass, 
 caught her down-bent glance, something bright and 
 gleaming, which might have been passed unseen 
 many times by many others, unless chancing to 
 stand at the exact angle to receive the glimmer of 
 the sunshine reflected from it.
 
 204 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Mar j one Wood stooped and picked up the object, 
 regarding it, first in surprise, then with growing 
 amazement. Her lips parted in a low, quick ex- 
 clamation. She could not believe, and yet her gaze 
 rested again on it in the palm of her hand an 
 object she knew, recognized, was not mistaken 
 about ! 
 
 " How ever did it come here? " Her figure sud- 
 denly stiffened. The sea threw its lights in her 
 eyes, but they looked abruptly beyond, into un- 
 fathomable depths. 
 
 " Are you so absorbed in the view ? " 
 
 " Or, have you discovered some clue to the mys- 
 tery?" 
 
 Voices broke in upon her; Sir Archibald's; 
 Flossie's. Her hand closed hard; the sharp edges 
 of something metallic hurt her fingers, as she held 
 them to her side, but she managed to laugh. 
 
 " Yes, and no. Who wouldn't be lost in admira- 
 tion of the view? " 
 
 Sir Archibald's gaze clouded. Her words re- 
 called, on a sudden, over-sharply, the night before 
 a shadowy form at the girl's side, a man's figure,
 
 A DISCOVERY 205 
 
 tall and straight, his face, eager, sedulous. But 
 Miss Flossie's keen look seemed to have seen more 
 than he had. It followed the white hand as it fell 
 and lingered to survey the folds of the fluttering 
 gown which half-concealed the girl's fingers and 
 wrist. Miss Wood did not turn toward the two ; 
 at that moment, her father and others approached; 
 she mingled quickly with them. Again Bam ford 
 heard her laugh gaily, too gaily. 
 
 At his side, Miss Flossie hummed ; her full red 
 lips were curved to a smile. 
 
 " What is your theory, Sir Archibald ? " she said 
 softly. " I have been told you have had experi- 
 ences for your government in solving many intricate 
 and puzzling matters." 
 
 " Who said that ? " At the moment she acted 
 more as an irritant than an anodyne. 
 
 " I couldn't really tell you just who," she laughed. 
 " But you are interested ; very much interested, 
 aren't you ? " shrewdly. 
 
 He experienced an indefinite suspicion he was, in 
 the vernacular, being " sounded " and, perhaps, 
 asked himself why this young person had selected
 
 206 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 him for her inquisitorial purpose? He forgot his 
 own close interrogations of her but a short time be- 
 fore; tentatively drifted. 
 
 " Last night's affair was a very bungling job, 
 was it not ? " he drawled, looking into eyes that 
 seemed to invite fuller inspection. " The person all 
 New York has been talking about who has 
 Claude Duval, Dick Turpin, and all the other gentle- 
 men, classic or modern, ' beaten to a finish ' 
 couldn't have been concerned it in, could he now ? " 
 in an ingenuous murmur. " And yet, the pearls 
 should have proved for him a proper bait, as the 
 saying is." 
 
 " They were well enough advertised in the news- 
 papers, before the event! " she flashed back. " The 
 person you speak of must have known." 
 
 " And resisted the temptation to come here ? " 
 
 "Naturally!" her eyes narrowing. "Since the 
 affair was so bunglingly handled and the pearls 
 zvere so easily recovered ! " 
 
 Sir Archibald looked at her closer. " Possibly,'* 
 he said, " it is you who have a theory? " 
 
 " I ? Oh, dear, no ! " she answered hastily. 
 
 A moment, confronting each other, he fancied a
 
 A DISCOVERY 207 
 
 lightning in her eyes, as he had seen the green stone 
 of an idol's suddenly flash when the sun touched it. 
 And again came the question he had asked himself 
 before : What did she know that she was keeping 
 from him and the others? Sir Archibald suddenly 
 shrugged his shoulders; n'importe! 
 
 " Well, I will be frank and plead guilty to en- 
 tertaining a little one, myself," he remarked lightly. 
 " A theory, I mean." And bowing, he turned 
 from her and walked away. 
 
 The host, with Mr. Wood and Mr. Bolger, who 
 had again appeared, were at that moment " talking 
 it over " in a little summer house. On the table 
 rested a bottle of Moselle and some strong Havanas. 
 The detective spoke proudly; it was his privilege. 
 True, the miscreant had slipped from his hands; 
 but to him, Bolger, lay the credit of the fellow's 
 not having got away with the spoils. It was more 
 than a half -victory, where the booty had been so 
 considerable; it constituted a great triumph in the 
 detective's own estimation of his accomplishment. 
 
 Sir Archibald, who had quietly drawn near, 
 paused; his rather massive figure threw a shadow 
 across the table. His heavy face seemed expres-
 
 208 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 sionless; he held a half -consumed cigarette in his 
 fingers as he listened phlegmatically. Bolger did 
 most of the talking. His countenance was flushed, 
 and he exhaled big, generous whiffs of smoke. 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Goldberg," Sir Archibald in- 
 terrupted in soft, lazy tones, " you have the pearls, 
 so unexpectedly restored, with you ? " 
 
 " Right here ! " said Mr. Goldberg tapping his 
 breast. " Hereafter, I eat, sleep and drink with 
 them until they are safely tucked away in New 
 York." 
 
 " Ah ! May I look at them? " 
 
 The host at once took out a case, opened it and 
 would have passed it with the contents, to Sir 
 Archibald. But the latter waved it away. " No ; 
 no," he laughed. " I said ' look.' You may hold 
 them yourself, Mr. Goldberg. I call these gentle- 
 men to witness," lightly, " my fingers have not 
 come in contact with them." 
 
 " I guess I can trust an English nobleman 
 especially when my own eyes are on him," observed 
 Mr. Goldberg facetiously. 
 
 " But for my own sake ! " Sir Archibald's gaze 
 was, in the least, brighter ; he puffed at his cigarette.
 
 A DISCOVERY 209 
 
 " This case which seems bound to become cclebre 
 is already sufficiently involved." 
 
 " Seems very simple to me," interposed Bolger, 
 with a touch of importance. " Principal thing is, 
 Mr. Goldberg's got his pearls back ! " 
 
 " Indeed ? " Sir Archibald bent over the opened 
 leather case held out for his inspection; a faint 
 smile came to his lips. He looked at the gleaming 
 white rope closer and sat down. Through the hazy 
 spirals, floating from his lips, he had once more, 
 across the lawn, caught sight of Marjorie Wood. 
 She talked with a number of people, but her hands 
 were closed tightly. His gaze sharpened. He 
 would have sworn she hardly saw those she spoke 
 with. Why ? 
 
 Mr. Goldberg's ever-recurrent question jarred on 
 a train of speculation : " Well, Sir Archibald, what 
 do you think of them? " 
 
 " The pearls ? Oh ! " He started ; flecked deftly 
 the ash from his cigarette. " You want a frank 
 opinion ? " 
 
 "Frank?" There was an accent of surprise in 
 the host's voice. " Of course ! " 
 
 " Did you ever," said Sir Archibald deliberately,
 
 210 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 "hear of Manchu pearls?" Mr. Goldberg stared, 
 and Bam ford went on. " A very clever people," 
 musingly, " who have learned to insert tiny matrices 
 of brass or bone in the valves of the molusk and 
 then plant the shells in the streams behind their 
 gardens, and wait for results. Afterward, by an 
 ingenious process, the matrices are removed, the 
 cavity filled with wax and neatly sealed. Pearls 
 from Soo-choo," with a laugh, " that are well cal- 
 culated to deceive ! " 
 
 " What do you mean? Get to the point! " Mr. 
 Goldberg threw courteous manner to the winds. 
 
 " I mean," said Sir Archibald calmly, " that 
 these pearls you have just shown me were grown 
 in such fashion as I have described. As for their 
 value " he snapped his fingers " I wouldn't give 
 you a ten pound note for them ! " 
 
 Mr. Goldberg leaped to his feet; Mr. Bolger's 
 eyes protruded. Sir Archibald alone sat appar- 
 ently unmoved.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CURRENTS AND COUNTER-CURRENTS 
 
 CHATFIELD BRUCE folded his dress-suit 
 neatly; in fact, he seemed to enter upon the 
 task with great care and scrupulousness. He 
 wound the garments around with heavy sheets of 
 light brown paper which he tied into a compact 
 parcel with good stout twine. He had been some- 
 what particular about the quality of the paper, that 
 it should be strong enough; and the twine he had 
 tested before using. The knots he had drawn very 
 taut, but even then, surveying his handiwork, there 
 appeared a dubious look in his eyes which he seemed 
 to endeavor to conceal from Simpson, standing re- 
 spectfully near. Toward that individual he assumed 
 a light manner, asking his views in the matter. 
 Would the parcel do? 
 
 Mr. Wood's man thought it certainly would do 
 and expressed the opinion it was an exceedingly 
 
 211
 
 212 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 creditable and secure bit of work in that line for a 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Ah, but," said Mr. Bruce deprecatorily, " I can 
 not claim to be altogether a novice; what is it the 
 poet says about our playing many parts? And I 
 have done up a parcel, or two, before, in my time. 
 But breathe it not in Gotham, I mean, in Britain, or 
 to British ears; I would not have Sir Archibald 
 know, good Simpson ! " with a tragic gesture. 
 ' You are the trusted guardian of my dread secret." 
 
 Simpson smiled at Chatfield Bruce's last whim- 
 sical asservation. He detected only an easy spon- 
 taneity in those tones ; was pleased to see the other 
 in such good humor ; and with his arm paining him, 
 too, no doubt. A game one, this latest guest, 
 ruminated Mr. Wood's man, who could treat you 
 like a human being, if you please, and not an 
 automaton ; and yet all the while let you know your 
 position, and his. Mentally, perhaps, Simpson 
 compared him, with his light cheery ways, to Sir 
 Archibald, whose manner of ordering people about 
 as if they were so many " China boys " had rather 
 got on the nerves of some of the serving staff. 
 Moreover, the rumor of Mr. Bruce's exploit had
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 213 
 
 sifted through the servants' quarters, and he who 
 had sprung to Miss Marjorie's rescue became there 
 elevated to an especial pedestal of his own. 
 
 " Sorry to trouble you, Simpson," went on the 
 young man, his eyes returning quickly to the bundle. 
 " But you know how it is, when you have only 
 one evening suit to your name, and that's been 
 damaged." 
 
 " In a good cause, sir ! " 
 
 Bruce raised his hand. " Don't ! " he said, in a 
 slightly altered tone. And Simpson knew he meant 
 it. 
 
 Mr. Bruce did not want, at the moment, to think 
 of Marjorie Wood. Had he not figuratively de- 
 termined to close his eyes to her ; only to learn that 
 the mind has its own especial retina whereon faces, 
 or a face, may come and go, persistently, tantaliz- 
 ingly, playing hide-and-seek with the brain, now 
 calling out, as it were, " Come and find me " ; then, 
 dancing away with illusive sparkle of starlike eyes 
 and musical mocking laughter? Or, was the last 
 but the breeze tossing the myriad leaves of the 
 poplar, near by, making merry with a million and 
 one shining cymbals? Bruce looked at them now,
 
 214 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 all the lightness, the daredevil luster gone from 
 his eyes. 
 
 Without on the veranda a shadow stirred, the 
 dark outline of the figure of a man, Sir Archibald's 
 valet, holding close to the side of the house, peering, 
 listening, now, to Simpson's voice that next was 
 heard : 
 
 "The address, sir?" 
 
 "Of course!" From where Bruce stood, near 
 the partly opened window, the shadow of the eaves- 
 dropper on the veranda floor became visible; but 
 if the young man was aware of it he gave no sign. 
 It was not easy to discern from the crude, shapeless 
 dark outline that the source of the silhouette was a 
 person. Bruce turned and picked up a pen, his 
 manner again blithe, animated. " There ! Do you 
 make that out ? " 
 
 " It's Chinese." 
 
 The man outside caught the bewilderment in 
 Simpson's tones, and Bruce's seemingly gay answer : 
 
 " Well, we'll also put it in good American, lest 
 the officials of the express company at Comscot and 
 New York are only learned in that language and 
 Irish. But didn't you ever hear, Simpson " was
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 2 1 5 
 
 the allcgresse in his tones the least forced? " that 
 the Chinese are among the best tailors and costu- 
 miers in the world? To them, hie your true foreign 
 dandiprats of the Far East," with a vivacious 
 gesture. " While, when it comes to ' touching up ' 
 a suit, a bit the worse for wear, or accident, they 
 possess a positive genius; they can even hide a 
 patch!" 
 
 " Not necessary in this case, sir, I trust," re- 
 turned the responsive and sympathetic Simpson. 
 
 Bruce handed Mr. Wood's man the parcel, but 
 his ringers seemed yet to linger on it as he delivered 
 a few last instructions. Simpson was quite sure 
 he had no objection to taking it personally to the 
 little express office in the village? 
 
 That worthy answered positively; he had other 
 business, in connection with household matters, 
 needing attending to at once in the town, and he 
 would be pleased to forward the package, by ex- 
 press, to the address given. 
 
 Simpson went; the young man heard the door 
 close. The fellow on the veranda also heard the 
 sound, and glided swiftly away. Bruce now stepped 
 to the window and looked out and around.
 
 216 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 No one was there; he breathed deeply. With 
 relief? A new impending sense of danger? He 
 smiled grimly; but the maid who several moments 
 later entered, to remove the breakfast dishes, found 
 him seated, apparently unconcerned, in the heavy 
 dressing-gown, at a window, in his hand, the little 
 volume that had slipped from Miss Wood's fingers 
 the night before in the library. The sunshine 
 bathed him. At first occupied with his own 
 thoughts, he hardly saw the young woman with 
 the tray. Inadvertently she rattled the dishes ; then 
 he looked at her, but as from a great distance. 
 
 Meanwhile, Simpson, having made ready, pre- 
 pared to issue forth on his journey to the town. 
 A brisk walk to and from the village had been a 
 detail of his daily program during the many sum- 
 mers he had served at Comscot; the trip back and 
 forth kept him young. Also, truth to tell, Simpson, 
 although a seemingly unobservant and introspective 
 person, while engaged in the performance of his 
 household duties, was not above, or averse to, a 
 bit of gossip with the postmistress, or the station- 
 master; it was the prospect of this, as well as his 
 entire willingness to serve Mr. Bruce, that acceler-
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 217 
 
 ateq his pace when he started to go down into the 
 world. 
 
 But as he stepped briskly out now along the 
 path, which led to a certain little by-way he al- 
 ways took, his progress was abruptly arrested at 
 sight of a figure crossing the lawn toward the 
 house, at an angle which brought him nearer. It 
 was Sir Archibald's secretary, and he looked hag- 
 gard, more yellow, thoroughly " done up." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " said Simpson to himself. To 
 Caglioni, he observed : " I beg your pardon, sir, 
 but Sir Archibald said you had decided to keep 
 your room." 
 
 " Did he, indeed ? " snapped the secretary. 
 
 " That you were not very well ! " added the other 
 wonderingly. This he could well believe, by the 
 evidence of his eyes; also, by the humor the odd, 
 foreign-looking man was in. His eyes had an ugly 
 gleam; his white teeth, showing between thin, 
 drawn lips, seemed more pronounced than usual. 
 
 " Well, I decided not to keep to my room," re- 
 marked Caglioni. " Speaking of which," he went 
 on with a smile which vainly sought to be amiable, 
 " how is Mr. Bruce ? He is in his room ? "
 
 218 THE SOCIAL BUCAXEER 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and feeling rather better, I should 
 say," returned Simpson cheerily. 
 
 Caglioni's eyelids fluttered in their peculiar 
 fashion. A few moments he stood gazing before 
 him, as if forgetful of the other; then suppressing 
 any sign of emotion, asked, in as casual a voice as 
 he could summon, one or two other questions. If 
 Sir Archibald was home ; where he had gone ; when 
 would he return? 
 
 Simpson answered as best he might, and was 
 about to wheel, when the secretary's look chanced 
 on the bundle, and lingered tentatively. 
 
 " You're bound for the village, now, I suppose? " 
 he said. Simpson replied affirmatively. " Some- 
 thing of importance, when you take it yourself?" 
 with a nod at the parcel. 
 
 " Not at all, sir," returned the man absently. 
 "Just a little cleaning and fixing to be done." 
 
 "Oh?" observed Caglioni. "For Miss Wood, 
 I presume? " 
 
 Simpson, about to answer, hesitated; perhaps 
 Mr. Bruce might not care to have it known that he, 
 a type of masculine elegance and immaculate neat- 
 ness, was sending his dress-suit to be repaired, or
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 219 
 
 even, if necessary, " patched up." Most young men, 
 less fastidious, would have cast the offending gar- 
 ments aside and promptly ordered new clothes. For 
 Simpson had seen that the cloth was actually burned 
 through in one or two minute places; but he was 
 a frugal mortal, himself, and approved of that 
 virtue in others. The possession of it had lifted 
 Bruce to a distinctive place in the old-fashioned 
 servant's estimation. Others of his set in over-ex- 
 travagant Manhattan town, were wasteful and 
 prodigal to a degree positively sinful. He un- 
 qualifiedly approved of Mr. Wood's latest guest ; 
 anyhow, it was not his, Simpson's, business to pro- 
 claim Mr. Bruce's little economies to one who had 
 on many occasions showed himself, in a subtle way, 
 rather too inquiring and inquisitive. 
 
 So Simpson answered quietly, even with a cer- 
 tain dignity he could on occasions assume : 
 
 " I often take things down to the village for 
 Miss Wood, sir." 
 
 As he passed on, Caglioni's glance suddenly 
 changed; Simpson had shifted the bundle and the 
 secretary's eyes had caught sight of certain char- 
 acters on it. Chinese ? He was not quite sure ; his
 
 220 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 brain seemed to move sluggishly; he felt surprised; 
 uncertain what to do. He did think of calling out 
 after Simpson; to what end? 
 
 That person's figure blended, afar, with the 
 shadowy streaks in the path; became now a part 
 of the more unbroken, darker tones farther on. 
 There, Caglioni could scarcely distinguish the serv- 
 ant's form; only that which he carried under his 
 arm, the compact little bundle, continued to be 
 visible to the secretary's gaze. It, lighter in hue 
 than the garments Simpson wore, yet remained 
 plainly apparent; Caglioni still saw it, though the 
 man, bearing it away, had merged into the back- 
 ground. A last gleam, and it, too, finally became 
 lost to sight ; ceased to impress itself, like something 
 important, on his visual organs. 
 
 Caglioni drew himself up. " A little cleaning 
 and fixing ! " His mind felt slightly dazed. One 
 thought predominated : the need of further enlight- 
 enment from Sir Archibald. He, the secretary 
 had got out of touch with events. Simpson had 
 said Sir Archibald would return shortly; should 
 he, Caglioni, go back to the house and wait there, 
 or His thoughts persistently reverted to Simp-
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 22 1 
 
 son. As he yet stood, hesitating what course to 
 pursue, the sound of a motor down the road de- 
 cided him; Sir Archibald was returning. Caglioni 
 started toward the house. 
 
 The secretary met his employer near the front 
 steps. As that gentleman got out of the car, his 
 heavy face expressed none of the surprise he must 
 have felt at sight of the other. Had Caglioni been 
 less concerned, just then, at seeing once more Sir 
 Archibald, he would have noticed that Mr. Wood's 
 usually tranquil countenance was disturbed, and that 
 a pallor and a certain cold apathy marked his daugh- 
 ter's appearance. But the secretary's gaze was only 
 for Sir Archibald; the latter lingered, instead of 
 repairing at once to the house, and Caglioni waited, 
 also. Mr. Wood, however, followed his daughter, 
 who had descended quickly from the car, and en- 
 tered the house. 
 
 " Well ? " Sir Archibald and the secretary had 
 stepped now aside. " Why did you not get back? " 
 His tone veiled a quiet scorn; Caglioni knew his 
 employer; all the latter cared for was results, not 
 excuses. Hence, he cut short his story, though 
 strange invectives did creep into it, crisp odd phrases
 
 222 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 which smacked of the devilish atmosphere of some 
 far-away, fan-tan place. 
 
 " So you let him get the better of you? " The 
 other gave a short, brutal laugh. " He ! partly 
 disabled ! " 
 
 Caglioni's face assumed a more sickly hue. 
 " Wait until I'm done with him ! " 
 
 Sir Archibald made a gesture. " What happened 
 next ? Stick to your story ! " 
 
 The continuation of Caglioni's narrative was 
 commonplace enough. Recovering consciousness, 
 he had crept back into the wooded park. Now that 
 Bruce was gone, the secretary dared not let his 
 own presence be known; he realized he could not 
 satisfactorily account for how he himself happened 
 to be there, when his proof of the other's presence 
 and all that meant was wanting. So he had hidden 
 and skulked, and was working his cautious way 
 through the Wood forest when he had lost himself 
 in that dense tangle of underbrush and been obliged 
 to wait until the dawn before he could escape from 
 the cursed maze. 
 
 Sir Archibald listened. " Enough ! " he said, 
 and started to walk toward the house.
 
 "So you let him get the better of you?" Page 222
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 223 
 
 " Wait ! " said Caglioni excitedly. " You, too, 
 must tell me all. And quickly! I have a reason." 
 
 The other answered impatiently. There was only 
 time now to act 
 
 " You mean " A thrill of venomous joy shone 
 from the secretary's eyes. 
 
 Sir Archibald answered laconically. 
 
 " He has them here then? " said Caglioni swiftly. 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 " As sure as that he went to the Goldberg park 
 last nfght to get them ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know that. And those worthless Man- 
 chu pearls Miss Goldberg wore, how do you ac- 
 count 
 
 " The pearls she had on just prior to our arrival 
 at the house very close to our coming," iron- 
 ically, " were her own ; the celebrated Goldberg 
 pearls. She thought she had them still, was in 
 blissful ignorance of anything to the contrary, when 
 you observed that they " 
 
 " I understand," said the secretary with shin- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " I even fancied I saw how it was done," mur- 
 mured Sir Archibald. " The fellow, however, is
 
 224 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 so clever, I dared not be quite positive, then; it 
 might have been only a detail of a very elaborate 
 scheme. When one of the supernumeraries is a 
 Chinaman, the drama is apt to be more involved 
 than appears on the surface." 
 
 "But now?" suggested Caglioni. The other 
 made no reply. <T Mr. Wood and his daughter ? " 
 
 Bamford's usually apathetic eyes permitted an 
 unholy gleam for the instant to transform them. 
 " Mr. Wood and Miss Wood know that he who 
 picked the strong-box got poor pickings; they also 
 know the real pearls were taken earlier in the even- 
 ing by some one else." 
 
 " Ah ! And have they any inkling who the some 
 one may be? " 
 
 " Not the slightest yet. It will be my unpleas- 
 ant task to enlighten them." 
 
 Caglioni was observant now, as he had been 
 the night before at the dance. " Mr. Wood and 
 Miss Wood seem to have been rather taken with 
 the fellow," he remarked. 
 
 Sir Archibald looked up to regard a small white 
 cloud slowly dissolving. Perhaps the blue of the 
 heavens to-day reminded Sir Archibald of skies far
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 225 
 
 off in Italy, where he had first met Miss Marjorie 
 Wood. 
 
 " After the little service he performed for Miss 
 Wood," began the secretary, " they will natu- 
 rally " 
 
 " Of course, the matter will have to be handled 
 delicately," returned Bamford softly. " Delicately 
 and regretfully also firmly, as a diplomat would 
 treat it ; not," contemptuously, " a detective ! With 
 due regard," spreading out his big fingers, " for the 
 sensitive feelings of all parties concerned!" 
 
 Caglioni looked at his principal admiringly; he 
 had learned to know Sir Archibald's ability in the 
 " diplomatic " field ; the big man could be almost 
 caressing in his manner when driving the spike of 
 his purpose through the hard plank of all opposi- 
 tion. 
 
 " Last night, I was in the dark, not knowing 
 about you," Bamford went on. " Now 
 
 " One moment ! " cried the secretary, his thoughts 
 on a sudden, more confused, but the glimmer of 
 an idea flashing through them. " You have been 
 away from the house; then you left him here,, 
 alone, knowing he had the
 
 226 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " I did not know it then," sharply. " But James 
 has had his instructions to keep an eye on him and 
 not let him once out of his sight to follow him, 
 if necessary. And," smiling, " I had his suit-case 
 removed. Which, I fancied, even without surveil- 
 lance would be enough to keep him and the pearls 
 safely indoors, until I got back." 
 
 " True ! " observed Caglioni, in a more acute 
 tone. " But desperate straits, you know, call for 
 desperate shifts," he said suddenly. "And what 
 if " He paused abruptly and pressed his hand to 
 his head. 
 
 The other looked at him; uttered one or two 
 brusk interrogations. 
 
 Haltingly, as if uncertain of himself, his own 
 suspicions, the secretary replied; spoke of meeting 
 Simpson; the bundle Mr. Wood's man carried. At 
 that Sir Archibald stopped short. The veins began 
 to stand out on his brow, his big fingers to close. 
 
 A footstep sounded near him, but he did not hear 
 it ; the valet had approached. " I beg your par- 
 don, Sir Archibald." It was James' voice inter- 
 rupting. " I thought you ought to know at once. 
 You told me not to let Mr. Bruce out of my sight,
 
 COUNTER-CURRENTS 227 
 
 and I didn't ; but he has got Simpson to take a parcel 
 of his old clothes that were damaged to the express 
 office in the village and " 
 
 " But Simpson told me they were for Miss 
 Wood," stammered Caglioni. 
 
 " I was outside his door on the veranda, sir, 
 and heard him give Simpson the directions. And, 
 sir, he was that particular about the twine and the 
 paper, and all the rest, for a lot of old clothes, 
 that, thinks I, sir, here's an exceedingly fussy and 
 pottering young gentleman " 
 
 "You caught the address?" Bamford asked 
 shortly, smoldering anger on his face. 
 
 " No, Sir Archibald only that it was in Chinese, 
 as well as " 
 
 " Quick ! " Sir Archibald, waving the valet 
 sternly aside, out of ear-shot, wheeled on Caglioni. 
 " Go to the express office ! Get the address, or bet- 
 ter still, the parcel! If too late, follow it around 
 the world, if need be! " A suppressed exclamation, 
 like an anathema, fell from his lips. " In this case, 
 we have to get the ' goods ' to get the man," he 
 said. " You understand ? There is not enough 
 evidence without."
 
 228 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Caglioni vanished ; the other again moved toward 
 the house. 
 
 " Good morning, Sir Archibald ! " A light voice 
 greeted him from the head of the steps; Chatfield 
 Bruce, neatly garbed in a business suit, looked down 
 with a smile. " Beautiful day, isn't it? " he said in 
 his friendliest manner. 
 
 The Englishman's countenance went purple. " I 
 you " He had almost forgotten himself, blurted 
 out some accusation, when something in the young 
 man's eye held him. A spark, a flame, a mocking 
 light of assurance, certainty, that beat back full- 
 blooded, unreasoning passion, laughed at it as a 
 senseless torrent, as Bruce himself was laughing 
 now. 
 
 " But, perhaps, you consider platitudes on the 
 weather essentially superfluous ! " 
 
 Sir Archibald looked down; as he passed into 
 the house, he dared not trust himself to answer.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A FLYING TRIP 
 
 WHEN not long afterward, however, Simpson 
 returned with the receipt for the parcel and 
 the news that Caglioni had appeared at the express 
 office in the village, a slight but perceptible emotion 
 might have been noticed on Chatfield Bruce's face. 
 He paused near the flower plat where he encoun- 
 tered Simpson and fixed upon that person a gaze 
 obviously interested or concerned. 
 
 " So he said there was a mistake and I wanted 
 the parcel back?" queried Bruce, leaning on his 
 light stick. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; that you had changed your mind. I 
 tried my best to get the parcel again for you, but 
 it was too late." He spoke a little sourly; Mr. 
 Wood's man did not like vacillating temperaments ; 
 he felt inwardly disappointed with this latest guest 
 from whom he had expected better things. 
 
 But Bruce smiled indulgently on him. " I'm 
 229
 
 230 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 afraid Sefior Caglioni rather misunderstood," he 
 observed. 
 
 "Then you didn't want it back?" asked Simp- 
 son, amazed. 
 
 " I'm very well satisfied as it is. Rather a mis- 
 'take on the secretary's part, don't you know. Not 
 worth mentioning, however. You say the parcel 
 had already gone, when he got there ? " 
 
 Simpson answered that he had fortunately, or un- 
 fortunately, reached the express office, just in time 
 for the morning train. Bruce inwardly wondered 
 if Caglioni had procured the address to which the 
 parcel had been sent. No doubt! Then the secre- 
 tary's next step would be Bruce looked at his 
 watch, then asked Simpson when the next train 
 left for New York. There was one, the accommo- 
 dation, at half past eleven, half an hour after the 
 train that had taken the express parcels. Rather 
 late for that accommodation, remarked the young 
 man, with a laugh somewhat strained, regarding at 
 the same time the hands of his watch indicating 
 twenty-five minutes after eleven. 
 
 The eleven-thirty! Would Caglioni take it? 
 Perhaps; in which event But it was a very de-
 
 A FLYING TRIP 231 
 
 lioerate train, Simpson had said; it obligingly 
 stopped at every station. When was the next train 
 after the accommodation, the young man then in- 
 quired. At twelve o'clock, said Simpson; it arrived 
 in New York but a short time after the slower one ; 
 it was called the " flyer." As he was not suffi- 
 ciently opulent to possess a real flyer, or " aero " 
 of his own, Bruce answered jestingly he would 
 perforce content himself with this one, that he 
 might not miss an important business engagement 
 in town. He should have left earlier that day but 
 for this little incident touching his arm as he 
 would now explain to Mr. Wood, his kind host. 
 
 The young man's tones were blithe, ingratiating; 
 Simpson quite forgot any slight umbrage he had 
 brought back with him from the town; expressed 
 regret the other should have been put out by the 
 suit-case's having been so inexplicably lost for 
 a short time. But to these last words Bruce waved 
 an indifferent " it didn't matter " ; mistakes would 
 sometimes happen, in the best He did not com- 
 plete the sentence, but gaily took himself off. 
 
 Half an hour later found him seated in one of 
 the ordinary cars of the flyer. As the train yet
 
 232 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 paused for the engine to take on water, he re- 
 viewed Mr. Wood's last hospitable words, the 
 pressing invitation to remain longer at his house. 
 Miss Wood had not come down; she was in her 
 room changing her gown, Mr. Wood thought. 
 She had, of course, not known that he was leaving 
 so suddenly, or would, her father explained, have 
 surely arranged to present herself in person, bid 
 him an revoir and again thank him. 
 
 Did Mr. Bruce intend to return to Comscot? It 
 was unlikely. Well, then, the elderly gentleman 
 would see him somewhat later in town ; his daughter 
 had told him about the Japanese play, to be given 
 at their home for sweet charity. Good-by; until 
 then. 
 
 " Then ? " Into the young man's gay eyes had 
 come a sudden light. He wondered if he and Miss 
 Wood were destined ever to hold the oriental mirror 
 together up to nature. 
 
 A singular circumstance had been on his mind 
 all the while he talked with Mr. Wood those last 
 moments on the front steps. The key to the 
 French door of his room that he had felt sure he 
 had lost had been returned to the lock. He had,
 
 A FLYING TRIP 233 
 
 on going back to his apartment for the last time, 
 seen it there; passed his ringers, dubiously, incred- 
 ulously over it. What did it mean that he had 
 dropped it somewhere, in the house, or on the lawn 
 that some one, presumably a maid, had picked 
 it up and put it back, where it belonged? Of 
 course, that must be the solution. 
 
 He had so concluded in his own mind when on 
 his way to the station he had passed Colonel Man- 
 yan's house. There he had stopped, or rather had 
 been stopped, by that gentleman, all curiosity about 
 the pearls. In the morning light the colonel had 
 looked older and worn. The slight impediment in 
 his speech again caught Bruce's attention ; it brought 
 with it sudden recognition indubitable certitude ! 
 
 The man he had met in the dark in Page's 
 house? He had thought he knew the voice then, 
 but had been unable to place it. Now, however 
 Bruce laughed in his questioner's face. Colonel 
 Manyan, the thief who had opened, robbed the safe! 
 No doubt no doubt ! 
 
 What had seemed an inconsequential incident 
 gave Bruce an understanding of how the colonel 
 had manceuvered in a desperate attempt to satisfy
 
 234 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 rapacious creditors. For, going down to fne inn 
 to dress, the evening before, Bruce had observed, 
 coming from Colonel Manyan's house, the safe 
 company's trusted workman, encountered at Mr. 
 Goldberg's earlier in the day. The man had shown 
 slightly, then, the effects of liquor; now, he was 
 decidedly the worse for it. From this fellow and 
 his appearance, to the procuring of the combination 
 of the safe on Colonel Manyan's part, constituted, 
 along general lines, no very difficult problem for 
 Bruce to solve. The finer details, just how the 
 ex-military man had been enabled to get the desired 
 information, mattered little. The fellow might 
 have been an innocent tool or a guilty accomplice. 
 
 In either event, it was of no moment to Bruce, 
 and, murmuring something light to the anxious 
 colonel, standing at his front gate, the young man 
 continued his way to the station. Exit Colonel 
 Manyan, the other's expression had seemed to say, 
 exit, for all time, from the comedy! 
 
 But the play was going on; for him, Bruce, the 
 action was quickening. He leaned back now in 
 his seat in the car. A shrill whistle replaced the 
 panting without; the train moved.
 
 A FLYING TRIP 235 
 
 As it started, a man ran hurriedly across the 
 platform and swung himself up on to one of the 
 cars, but not before Bruce had caught a quick 
 glimpse of his face. He experienced no surprise; 
 from Caglioni's hasty visit to the express office and 
 the secretary's presumably precipitate flight to New 
 York on the train before this one, a very simple 
 method of effect-to-cause reasoning had led Mr. 
 Bruce directly, inevitably to a single human agency 
 the innocent-looking James, Bamford's valet. 
 Sir Archibald had more than one mouchard, or in- 
 former, at his beck and nod. " It would seem," 
 murmured Chatfield Bruce to himself, as the train 
 gathered impetus, " it would seem from an extra- 
 neous point of view, that a rather serious mistake 
 has been made the mistake of having overlooked 
 a pawn ! " 
 
 But mistake or not, he had to go on with the 
 game. " Check " had been said by Caglioni; other 
 forces pressed for a " mate." That, however, had 
 not yet come. Not yet, sang the wheels, not yet! 
 His brain was exhilarated, his eyes brilliant with 
 excitement. Comscot, with its little homes, nestling 
 so cozily on a green lap between verdant hills, faded
 
 236 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 from view; Mr. Wood's place was the last to be 
 seen. 
 
 The train made but one or two stops on the way 
 to the city. The first time it drew up, Bruce rose 
 suddenly and left the car. How long did they re- 
 main at this station, he asked the conductor. A 
 couple of minutes, came the reply, and the young 
 man darted into the telegraph office and started to 
 write a message. Some one followed and stood 
 near, professing to be occupied in a like task. Bruce 
 did not turn his head, but he knew well, of course, 
 who he was. He shaded the yellow paper with his 
 elbow and scribbled in fine, almost illegible char- 
 acters. 
 
 The clerk who received it started to read the 
 message aloud, while counting the words. The 
 young man stopped him; he was not to do that, 
 sharply ; how did the telegraph operator know it did 
 not contain a hint or an important tip on the mar- 
 ket? The man finished in silence, perusing the 
 contents and estimating the charge; then, pointing 
 downward with a reproving finger, " What is that 
 word?" he asked severely of this rather too par- 
 ticular person.
 
 A FLYING TRIP 237 
 
 At the question, he who had come into the office 
 directly after Bruce bent his head more expectantly ; 
 but that young gentleman did not answer audibly. 
 Taking the telegram and grasping the pen once 
 more, Bruce, with a somewhat ironical look on his 
 face, printed the word there had been doubt about 
 the word " meet," after which he again returned 
 the message to the operator, paid for it, and started 
 away. 
 
 The conductor's " All aboard " greeted him at 
 the threshold. Bruce closed the door of the tele- 
 graph office sharply, so sharply that he almost swung 
 it hard against the valet's face. But that person 
 again managed to get the train by clutching the 
 hand-rail of the last car; Bruce, however, felt fairly 
 assured that the fellow had caught only part of the 
 address and nothing in the telegram that would be 
 of service to him. A smile came to the young 
 man's face. He forgot the dangers and thought 
 only of the zest of the new contest. It had opened 
 fairly and promised varied interest and piquancy of 
 situation. He tried in fancy to look ahead, but 
 mists seemed waving before his eyes. Of one fact 
 he felt certain: the battle royal was swinging itself
 
 238 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 into a larger field and greater hazards. His ex- 
 pression changed; his gaze suddenly grew more in- 
 tent. 
 
 Through the open door at the far end of the 
 car, he caught for a moment the whisk of a woman's 
 skirts as she changed her seat in the coach ahead 
 a gown he knew and remembered, draping a form, 
 young, yet full. After a brief thoughtful interval, 
 Mr. Bruce rose and looked into the parlor coach. 
 Miss Flossie Burke was there, and conversing con- 
 fidentially with none other than Mr. Bolger! The 
 sunshine glinted the girl's hair; her crimson lips 
 babbled. Of what? 
 
 Bruce moved softly toward them; the coach was 
 a Pullman. He dropped into the section behind 
 Miss Burke and Mr. Bolger. They sat with their 
 heads close together, and neither noticed the young 
 man. Other people were passing to and fro ; it was 
 a particularly noisy bit of track they traversed at 
 the moment; Mr. Bolger lifted his voice slightly. 
 Miss Flossie seemed to have ingratiated herself 
 somewhat quickly and cozily into the confidence of 
 the man employed by her uncle; she permitted her 
 green eyes rather free, bolder scope. In her hand
 
 A FLYING TRIP 239 
 
 was a little russet bag, with silver-gilt trimmings; 
 her gloved fingers fondled it. 
 
 Had the detective been an expert at dropping 
 a sounding-line into the almost fathomless depths 
 of womankind, he would have caught beneath the 
 playful surface-lights of her gaze, indications that 
 Miss Flossie was not entirely in the coquettish or 
 charmingly idle mood her manner seemed to imply. 
 But Mr. Bolger had no special training in this 
 direction. He had never attended that college 
 where woman constitutes the text-book, the primer, 
 the abecedary and all the rest; he was no master 
 of arts feminine. He could, however, in a crude, 
 inartistic masculine fashion appreciate that outward 
 semblance which, in common parlance, constitutes 
 a " good-looker." His truant eyes occasionally 
 paid lingering, but respectful, tribute to Miss Flos- 
 sie's perfections. Her darting glances seemed to 
 draw him somewhat from himself. 
 
 "Yes," he said; "it is my opinion, they are in 
 New York; that they were taken there by the Chi- 
 nese servant who disappeared." 
 
 She regarded the speaker tentatively; again 
 passed caressing ringers over the bag. Bruce, from
 
 240 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the side of a newspaper he held before him, observed 
 the gloved fingers moving softly over the leather. 
 The movement held, fascinated him. He could not 
 see her face now ; he saw only an ear which peeped 
 like a pink sea-shell from threads of gold. 
 
 " Suppose " the girl's tone had become abruptly, 
 irresistibly hard, though she still used the battery of 
 her light glances " that paper, left in my uncle's 
 box when the bonds were taken, should again turn 
 up? And suppose it really contained some distin- 
 guishing mark pointing directly to one person, only 
 one? Suppose all this, I say; could you convict 
 that person on this paper? " She bent involuntarily 
 a little closer to Mr. Bolger ; the green eyes burned 
 somewhat brighter. 
 
 That gentleman seemed to shrink back. He re- 
 membered a certain conversation with Mr. Samuel 
 Page in the latter's office. The elderly financier 
 had spoken of having lost the scrap of paper re- 
 ferred to by his niece. The detective had, on that 
 other occasion, concluded Mr. Page had mislaid it. 
 But now? Mr. Bolger continued to study Miss 
 Flossie; his gaze more critical, steadier, full of a 
 growing knowledge of her, of all her words implied.
 
 A FLYING TRIP 241 
 
 It may be that she began to feel slightly uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 "Of course," she laughed rather nervously, " this 
 is all ' supposing.' I have ' supposed ' a thousand 
 such theories, most of them just as wild, no doubt." 
 
 He slowly opened his lips. What he had intended 
 saying, however, was not uttered; the train had 
 come gradually to a stop. People looked out over 
 a houseless landscape. A little accident ahead of 
 them, said the porter, passing at that moment down 
 the aisle. Number Eight, the Wells-Fargo express, 
 had met with a slight mishap to a car-coupling, a 
 defective spring, or something of the kind. They 
 would have to wait here a few moments ; the eleven- 
 thirty accommodation was also held up, farther 
 down the line. Bolger rose with an expression of 
 annoyance. Bruce held the newspaper before his 
 face, but neither the detective nor Miss Burke 
 looked back at him. Both moved toward the front 
 and stepped out upon the platform to peer ahead; 
 all the other occupants, except Bruce, sooner or 
 later followed their example. 
 
 That young man lingered a brief while longer 
 in the Pullman, then sauntered back into his own
 
 242 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 coach. Through the window he could see James, 
 the valet, on the green; farther toward the front 
 of the train, Mr. Bolger and Flossie. The breeze 
 swept the latter's skirts exhilaratingly around her; 
 the loose bits of blonde hair seemed to dance in 
 consonance with the daisies in the field. Bruce 
 noticed, however, the young woman's lips were 
 set hard with a determined expression that rather 
 marred their vivid fullness. Miss Burke had 
 finally and irrevocably made up her mind to some- 
 thing to what? 
 
 Not long before, Bruce had considered a seem- 
 ingly unconsidered pawn; noy, into the game, had 
 been unexpectedly introduced a new and more im- 
 portant piece a queen, full of cogency and power. 
 The contest, already sufficiently acute, on the face 
 of it, suddenly developed a very one-sided aspect ; 
 with Bruce, apparently hoping against hope, look- 
 ing for some happy chance to extricate himself from 
 the constantly enlarging circle of hostile forces. 
 
 " You didn't hear any details at the last station? " 
 he now asked the conductor as that individual, 
 with a look of superior unconcern, approached. 
 " Whether any damage was done to the passengers
 
 A FLYING TRIP 243 
 
 or the car carrying the express parcels? By the 
 way, what would become of the latter, in case the 
 train should have been somewhat badly wrecked ? " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose they'd be transferred to the ac- 
 commodation." 
 
 Bruce's long, shapely fingers moved slightly on 
 the edge of the cane seat; the accommodation, that 
 Caglioni had taken! Was it very close to the train 
 that was delaying them? It might be, came the 
 reply. 
 
 Bruce forgot about Miss Burke now; he had no 
 room in his thoughts, on the instant, for Sir Archi- 
 bald's valet. In his mind's eye he could see only 
 one figure : a little brown man, very useful, very 
 helpful, anxious to be of any assistance to the ex- 
 press employees, moving about vivaciously among 
 the parcels and packages, big and little, prying, peer- 
 ing, peeping, in the confusion, the crowding about, 
 securing possibly one of the packages. Bruce 
 leaned back and half-closed his eyes. 
 
 How long they had remained here stationary, 
 already ! He took out his watch. Only five or six 
 minutes, at best? He could hardly believe the in- 
 terval had been so short. Mechanically he watched
 
 244 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 the passengers without; three or four were playing 
 leap-frog. James looked on; there was a rather 
 disapproving expression around the valet's prim lips. 
 The game was, however, soon interrupted; people 
 scrambled back to the train. 
 
 All clear now to town the statement circulated 
 from lip to lip. Half an hour, and they would be 
 at the station in New York. Again the wheels 
 began to rattle and hum. People bedecked with big, 
 bold daisies rilled the seats; Bruce, alone, sat there 
 unadorned. His fingers were closely interlocked; 
 a fine indentation appeared on his brow between the 
 keen, searching eyes. In half an hour ! and after 
 that?
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 HOSTILE ACTIVITIES 
 
 AS the train drew up at the end of its journey, 
 Bruce got out quickly and started toward the 
 gate. The eleven-thirty accommodation had, but a 
 few minutes before, pulled in on the next platform, 
 said the man carrying his grip. And the Wells- 
 Fargo, before that? It, too, had arrived; the ac- 
 cident wasn't worth speaking of, the man had 
 heard something trifling gone wrong with the 
 engine. Outside the gate, a throng of people 
 awaited the passengers, and, close to the narrow 
 opening, Bruce held back to allow Miss Flossie 
 and Bolger, who were some distance ahead of him, 
 to disappear from sight. 
 
 James, the valet, a good deal in the dark, watched 
 the young man at a respectful distance and won- 
 dered; he saw him, however, after a few moments, 
 again press on through the gate and walk rapidly 
 toward one of the main entrances. But he did not 
 
 245
 
 246 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 reach it without a trifling mishap. Some one, 
 neatly attired, hurrying for a train, ran into him. 
 The young man's hat was knocked off; he halted 
 with an exclamation of annoyance to recover it. 
 The stranger, however, at once stopped, stooped, and, 
 with an expression of regret, tendered it politely 
 to Chatfield Bruce, then hurried on toward the in- 
 formation office. 
 
 Stepping into the street, Bruce hastened past 
 a carriage-stand; no, he would not take a cab. 
 Caglioni, not thinking any one followed him on the 
 flyer, would probably content himself with that less 
 speedy and expensive equipage, in which event, he, 
 Bruce, in a taxi, might reach a much desired point 
 as soon as Sir Archibald's secretary. The express 
 parcels, no doubt, were on their way there by this 
 time; a possible contingency he had thought of on 
 the train, had not arisen to divert the packages, 
 et cetera, out of their regular, routine channel : 
 from the express car to the express van, thence to 
 the express office. 
 
 He had marked his little bundle, sent through 
 Simpson, " to be called for." Who would call for 
 it? Caglioni knew the address on it and could
 
 HOSTILE ACTIVITIES 247 
 
 describe it. The secretary was not one lightly to 
 be doubted. He wore good clothes and looked pros- 
 perous, for a foreigner. Bruce felt almost positive 
 the ordinary express clerk would deliver him the 
 parcel, or if he refused, could at least be impressed 
 with the importance of not giving it up to any one 
 until after further investigation. 
 
 Bruce sprang into a taxi; in a low voice, gave 
 his directions, and they started off. As they passed 
 with some difficulty through the much congested 
 traffic in this locality, the young man looked out 
 through the little opening at the back. Not far be- 
 hind, James lolled at his ease in a similar vehicle, 
 appearing as if he rather enjoyed an experience 
 out of the line of his ordinary duties. To one 
 side, Bruce, himself unseen, noticed Mr. Bolger, 
 bargaining with a driver. That individual appeared 
 obdurate over the fare offered; it was a long way 
 to go to Chinatown ! 
 
 Bruce caught the detective's destination with a 
 thrill of surprise. As the taxi emerged slowly 
 from the press of carts and wagons he saw that 
 Miss Flossie had already entered the closed cab. 
 From out of the shadows her eyes seemed to shine
 
 248 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 like those of a fair but ruthless Nemesis. The 
 young man pressed back farther in his seat and 
 passed his fingers over his lips which were twitching 
 slightly. The gesture might have been construed as 
 inspired by nervousness, apprehension, even fear 
 of a net closing tighter and tighter about him, a 
 close net, with no large apertures, sweeping around, 
 apparently covering all the ground, every point. 
 At this crisis in his affairs, however, it may be 
 he told himself he had no time to think of Bolger, 
 or Miss Flossie, while one single, more important 
 incursion against his defenses was in progress 
 Caglioni's ! 
 
 Here was a foeman, wily, subtle, with many ex- 
 pedients at his finger-tips, that he had learned long 
 ago in that region where the " Golden River " 
 enters the plain, under the title of the Sorrow of 
 Han. But Bruce had beaten him then; ah, yes, he 
 had beaten him then, he could repeat to himself, 
 with eyes brightly gleaming, this yellow wolf in 
 sheep's clothing ! And again the young man seemed 
 to. hear the great river flow; the sob and sigh 
 through its rushes.
 
 HOSTILE ACTIVITIES 249 
 
 A momentary retrospection! The sound of 
 horses' feet replaced it; the rattle of wheels; the 
 wheezing and whizzing of motors; the clatter and 
 banging of street-cars, transferring their human 
 loads from one part of pandemonium to another. 
 
 Bruce drew a cigarette from his case. They went 
 so slowly at times, now were delayed altogether, 
 where the street was torn up, and the way, for one 
 vehicle to pass at a time, had become blocked. 
 Bruce toyed with the delicate smoking cylinder until 
 they began slowly to forge ahead once more. After 
 that, they progressed more speedily ; Bruce watched 
 street-corner after street-corner pass, until abruptly 
 the taxi again stopped, this time at his destination, 
 the express office. Swiftly he sprang out. 
 
 Only to learn he was too late! A man had al- 
 ready called for the parcel, observed the clerk in 
 some surprise, consulting one of his books. The 
 clerk remembered well the parcel referred to, for 
 it was among those that had just come in from 
 the station; it bore a name in English and also 
 several peculiar marks, outlandish eastern char- 
 acters of some kind. His recollections were the
 
 250 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 more distinct in the matter on account of those odd 
 tracings in ink. 
 
 Bruce felt the eyes of James, the valet, now wait- 
 ing without, fixed upon him as he pursued these 
 inquiries and received the information that the par- 
 cel was undoubtedly gone, had passed into Cag- 
 lioni's possession and was now in that person's 
 eager, clutching fingers. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" The clerk's gaze bent 
 across the counter upon Bruce more curiously. It 
 may be, the man divined, or thought he divined, 
 something beneath the surface that held the caller 
 there, mute, thinking, as if he had received im- 
 portant news or a shock of some kind. 
 
 " Why do you want to know about it ? " he re- 
 peated. 
 
 Bruce regarded him as from afar. " This per- 
 son who called for the parcel, what was he like? 
 Did you happen to notice? " 
 
 The man had noticed; after a moment's hesita- 
 tion, he described Caglioni. The name of him to 
 whom the parcel had been directed was Chinese; 
 Sir Archibald's secretary had a fugitive oriental 
 look about the eyes. He appeared of high-class, a
 
 HOSTILE ACTIVITIES 251 
 
 mandarin, maybe, thought the clerk, who had vague 
 ideas of far-eastern personages. 
 
 Mr. Bruce turned. Not a movement on his part 
 had escaped the vigilant watcher in the taxi with- 
 out. But before leaving the express office, the 
 young man inadvertently paused at the sight of 
 a newspaper lying on the counter, an " extra " 
 whose flaring red color seemed fairly to call out: 
 "Where are the Goldberg pearls?" Bruce picked 
 up the sheet, for a moment, and forced, even, a 
 jaunty accent to his tones : 
 
 " Quite a mysterious affair, eh ? " 
 
 "Won't be for long," vouchsafed the individual 
 behind the counter. " When the yellow papers get 
 after it! They'd run down anything." 
 
 Bruce did not controvert the statement. To one 
 observing him, walking out, his stride might have 
 been construed as that of a light-hearted, care-free 
 person; the on-looker would have failed to guess 
 from his bearing that the news he had just received 
 had awakened his worst fears, despondency, un- 
 mitigated hopelessness, the despair of one who, 
 it might be, has seen a last hope doomed to failure, 
 who sets foot again on the pavement to go he knows
 
 252 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 not whither, but always accompanied by the black 
 shadow clutching, drawing him down. 
 
 Deeper deeper into a black gulf; a bottom- 
 less pit 
 
 Four or five blocks distant from the express 
 office, at that moment, a little man, in excellent 
 spirits, holding close in his arms a package, dashed 
 in a cab down one of the principal thorough- 
 fares. Every now and then he looked down at 
 the parcel. It was tied around and around both 
 ways many times with twine. There were indica- 
 tions of knots galore, buried beneath the sealing-wax 
 Simpson had plentifully deluged them with at the 
 little office in the village of Comscot. And every 
 red daub bore plainly the stamp of the express com- 
 pany at that town. Mr. Wood's man, acting under 
 instruction, no doubt, had done his share of the 
 work well. 
 
 The package might have contained debentures 
 and bonds, for all the care bestowed upon it; an 
 exceedingly " fussy and pothering young gentle- 
 man," truly, as James, the valet, had remarked. 
 Dress-suit, forsooth! Done up with such care no
 
 HOSTILE ACTIVITIES 253 
 
 one could open it, or peep into it without leaving 
 evidence of his prying fingers! Caglioni, however, 
 had no desire to burst the bonds of the precious 
 parcel yet. It w r as more precious as it stood; he 
 would not, for a fortune, have touched a fasten- 
 ing. Perhaps Bruce at that moment might vainly 
 be hoping he would do so at once, without wit- 
 nesses, and thus furnish a possible loop-hole, or 
 leeway, for protest. But Caglioni was wily; he 
 would only lift the lid of this Pandora's box when 
 the time seemed right. And that would be soon 
 soon! 
 
 Even now at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 
 Twenty-third Street he saw a large maroon-colored 
 car draw up and stand waiting, as near by as the 
 regulations of traffic permitted. The splendid 
 equipage was covered with dust and dirt; the 
 chauffeur had been plentifully splashed; two occu- 
 pants in the rear were fairly coated. 
 
 Apparently the car had been speeding at a high 
 rate over a road in places none too good, such as 
 those that ran out from Comscot, generally 
 anathematized by the automobile-loving contingent. 
 The little brown man in the cab espied, almost im-
 
 254 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 mediately, beyond the swirl of vehicles, the maroon- 
 colored car. He called up to his driver, indicating 
 it, and waved an excited hand toward the occupants. 
 They, too, now observed him and responded to the 
 secretary's gestures. 
 
 The cab dashed up. Caglioni got out and stepped 
 quickly toward the others. 
 
 " Eureka ! " observed Sir Archibald grimly, ey- 
 ing him from his seat. " I think we may con- 
 gratulate you," he added to his companion. 
 
 Mr. Goldberg made a gurgling sound in his 
 throat. " It was all right, then ? " he asked tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 " All right," answered the secretary, barely able 
 to conceal his satisfaction. 
 
 " Then get in," said Sir Archibald quietly.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 NEEDS MUST 
 
 JAMES, the valet, not long afterward, standing at 
 one end of a lower hall in the Waldorf, mo- 
 tioned to a page who passed at that moment. 
 Slipping a coin into the lad's hand, he asked him to 
 see if Sir Archibald Bamford had yet returned 
 to his suite of rooms on the sixth floor. If the 
 gentleman would send up his card at the office, be- 
 gan the boy, when the other interrupted; he pre- 
 ferred to wait here; let the lad do as he told him; 
 just find out if Sir Archibald had come back to 
 the apartments he kept reserved for his town use. 
 Whereupon the young Ariel in uniform, discerning 
 that the individual with the high English accent for 
 some reason wished to remain where he was for 
 the moment, vanished on his errand. 
 
 He was gone but a short while. When he came 
 back he conveyed the news that Sir Archibald had 
 
 255
 
 256 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 not yet returned to town, but that word had been 
 received that he expected soon to reoccupy his suite. 
 Having conveyed which information, Ariel lingered 
 as if he thought there might be a tip both coming 
 and going ; such things had happened. James, about 
 to wave him loftily away, hesitated. 
 
 Scribbling hastily a note, he placed it in an en- 
 velope he found near at hand, sealed it and bade 
 the lad give it to the young lady at the desk on the 
 sixth floor, with very especial instructions that Sir 
 Archibald was to get it at once on his arrival. " At 
 once," repeated James, and emphasized the words, 
 though reluctantly, with the obviously expected 
 second tip; he even, in concession to distorted 
 Yankee ideas and in view of the extreme impor- 
 tance of the matter in hand, compromised with 
 himself by stretching the gratuity to rather liberal 
 proportions. 
 
 Perhaps the fact that the valet was in good humor 
 may also have had somewhat to do with his un- 
 wonted generosity. Mr. Bruce, eating his lunch at 
 a little side table in the palm room, no doubt 
 thought himself now free from espionage. He 
 might, indeed, with good reason, fancy he had es-
 
 NEEDS MUST 257 
 
 caped from his troublesome follower in one of the 
 crowded department stores into which he had taken 
 refuge; but James, keen as a fox terrier, had man- 
 aged to keep to his task. He had even changed 
 his vehicle for one different in appearance, and 
 that the young man was unaware of his presence 
 at the moment in the big hostelry he felt fairly 
 well assured. 
 
 To keep Mr. Bruce better in view, James shifted 
 his seat to one in the Turkish room. There, amid 
 an atmosphere of luxury, with a murmur of soft 
 voices around him and a swish of feminine draperies 
 sweeping the perfumed air to his senses, the valet 
 settled himself, well-contented, at his post of 
 reconnaissance. Between green palm branches and 
 curtain-folds, he could distinguish a part of Bruce's 
 figure ; but he could not see his face. James clasped 
 his fingers over his knees and waited. He had no 
 idea what these new, unwonted activities forced 
 upon him, meant; just why he was there; he did 
 not much care. 
 
 He had served Sir Archibald in many places in 
 the East and in the West, and, in this life of 
 variety, flutter and ferment, James availed himself
 
 258 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 gladly of all periods of rest. Some of the calm of 
 the Orient that he had unconsciously breathed into 
 his being, descended on him now; he needed only 
 the sound of the temple bells, with the almost inter- 
 minable interval between strokes, to set him 
 a-dreaming. 
 
 Mr. Bruce dreamed, without that incentive; but 
 whether they were pleasant dreams or not, who shall 
 say? Why had he come there? In a spirit of 
 bravado? Or, had he reasoned, as well there as 
 anywhere else ? That amid very many, one may be 
 like the proverbial needle? Here, in the palm 
 room, scores flitted this way, scores that. There 
 were about him movements comparable only to 
 those of the butterflies in a sunlit meadow ; up- 
 flutterings, brief agitations, momentary tranquillity, 
 noddings and bowings, curvings and bendings. 
 
 What a place for a man, alone, bowed down, 
 perhaps, by gloomy thoughts; regrets! Ko cave of 
 despair, no slough of despond, this! At least, on 
 the surface! Gaiete de coeur! Fanned by crea- 
 ture comforts! Titbits and sauce piquant. The 
 dishes of Frederic or Paillard; atmosphere, a 
 I' Americaine !
 
 NEEDS MUST 259 
 
 Bruce looked into space as he gave his order; his 
 mind was far away. Now he leaned his head on 
 his elbow and watched a woman's graceful form. 
 
 She had the straight, slender suppleness of an- 
 other who, it may be, came to his mind at that 
 moment ; she turned her head ; he saw her features. 
 Then he gazed aside ; why make comparisons ? So 
 unfair to others, no doubt passable enough in their 
 own way! If he wished to think of her, he could, 
 perhaps, the better do so by gazing up at the lights. 
 They twinkled mockingly, hundreds of them, as if to 
 remind him that they, with their paltry luster, were 
 not stars; the stars he might remember because of 
 her. 
 
 Here, amid light, as much as one could wish for, 
 the shadows again seemed descending, gathering 
 around. He had forgotten James. 
 
 A millionaire gambler and bucaneer of the Street 
 paused to speak with him. Bruce looked up gaily; 
 perhaps he was conscious at the moment this casual 
 acquaintance might have caught a rather somber 
 expression on his face. The young fellow felt 
 keenly alive to even the most trifling possibilities ; 
 but the bucket-shop "broker," well-fed, followed
 
 260 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 by two gorgeously dressed women, sauntered un- 
 concernedly on. 
 
 At the same moment a stocky individual, stand- 
 ing in the doorway, caught the young man's eye. 
 Mr. Bolger, slightly flushed, seemed seeking some 
 one. The match Bruce was at that instant holding 
 to a cigarette did not waver, although he shaded his 
 face slightly more with his hand; but the sharp 
 eyes of the detective had seen him. He came for- 
 ward. 
 
 "May I sit down?" he observed bruskly. 
 
 The young man regarded him; seemed to be 
 looking through and through him. Bolger shifted 
 with the least embarrassment in the chair he had 
 dropped into. 
 
 " It seems to me you have," said the young man, 
 with straight gaze and immovable features. 
 
 The other made a gesture. " I was going down 
 town when I saw Sir Archibald in his car," re- 
 marked the detective. " After a few words with 
 him I thought it as well to come back. In fact," 
 with much satisfaction, " Sir Archibald has en- 
 trusted to me a little commission. He has at this 
 moment returned to his rooms here and would be
 
 NEEDS MUST 261 
 
 pleased to have you honor him for a few moments 
 with your company." 
 
 There was a satirical look on Mr. Bolger's com- 
 monplace countenance as he spoke, an expression 
 that seemed to say : " That was very well done for 
 outward politeness; come now, wasn't it? Quite 
 worthy the surroundings, eh?" 
 
 Bruce blew a whiff of smoke over the other; he 
 did not regard the detective now. The young man's 
 mind was, no doubt, very busy at the moment ; per- 
 haps, in his mind's eye he saw, on a sudden, a map 
 of his surroundings, considered the entrance and 
 exits. Alack, the palm room had been located in al- 
 most the center of the ground floor, the very inner 
 parlor of the spider's web, as it were. Bruce looked 
 at the merry people around him, then glanced cas- 
 ually toward a door. Waiters moved here and 
 there, between him and it, and, outside, were nu- 
 merous attendants; a liveried man and one for the 
 vehicles had their station at the main entrance. 
 Bolger, as if reading all that might have flashed 
 through the young man's brain in the brief interval, 
 smiled cruelly. 
 
 " You wouldn't disappoint Sir Archibald, I hope,"
 
 262 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 he observed with a suspicion of a grin. Large 
 vistas had begun to open up before Mr. Bolger's 
 inner vision. Pathways leading to fame, new 
 honors, and, what was better, new emoluments 
 seemed, surely, within grasp. He began to enter- 
 tain a kind of friendly feeling for the young fel- 
 low; he didn't wish to hurry him, he observed, 
 but 
 
 Bruce's manner suddenly changed. He was no 
 longer thoughtful, meditative; a haphazard, reck- 
 less gaiety that became him well, appeared on his 
 young handsome face. He called for the waiter 
 and paid the bill. Taking the hat and stick that 
 person deferentially handed him, he got up and 
 passed his arm slightly through Bolger's as if 
 there was any danger of that individual escaping 
 from him! 
 
 " So Sir Archibald's come to town, has he? " he 
 remarked blithely. " That is good news, indeed. 
 Just got here, you say? How delightful! Yacht, 
 or car? By motor, of course! He could hardly 
 have reached the hotel, otherwise, so soon. But 
 by what good fortune, may I ask, did you come to 
 know where I was to be found, my good fellow? "
 
 NEEDS MUST 263 
 
 He paused, with his head tilted slightly. The 
 other looked at him with ill-concealed admiration; 
 here was a cool one ! " It was James, the valet," 
 answered Bolger. " He left a little note Sir Archi- 
 bald found waiting for him, up-stairs." 
 
 " Ah ! " For a moment Bruce said no more. 
 Here again was James, a " piece," uncaptured, un- 
 fortunately, not disposed of; a live pawn, still in 
 the game. But the young man's features showed 
 no chagrin. He walked with light footstep; an 
 athlete, every inch of him. Once or twice he 
 nodded and spoke to some one. It was a concert 
 afternoon; many of the town's elite had begun to 
 arrive. Bolger commenced to feel a certain awe 
 and wonder, as the young man mentioned by name 
 several of the notables who bowed to him in passing. 
 Oddly, the detective experienced an anomalous thrill 
 of pleasure at the pressure of the arm of one ac- 
 quainted with these stars of fashion and leaders 
 of the upper ten thousand. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce ! " It was not a member of that 
 " higher " life who addressed him, but Miss Flossie. 
 Her face wore a new look. " One moment ! " 
 
 He greeted her with the grace of a Chesterfield.
 
 264 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Bolger suffered them to move a little to one side, 
 just out of earshot, no farther. 
 
 " You know what is going to happen? " Miss 
 Burke breathed agitatedly. He looked at her; the 
 girl seemed to have undergone some subtle change 
 since last he had seen her. 
 
 " I have just been informed that Sir Archibald 
 is here," he answered lightly. " Such a charming 
 surprise ! " 
 
 " ' Surprise ' ! " she repeated, her green eyes upon 
 him. " Perhaps ; but as for ' charming,' for you " 
 Her voice seemed in the least unsteady; he raised 
 his brows slightly, quizzically. Instinctively she 
 pressed nearer; her eyes w;th their quick chang- 
 ing lights were feline. " Listen," she said ; " I had 
 almost given them something very valuable to you. 
 I don't quite know why I've changed my mind at 
 just this last moment, the last instant we may say " 
 with a catch in her breath " but I have. I'll 
 not give it to them now ; I'll not do anything to 
 add to what they may have against you ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, with a blithe air 
 of incredulity, " if I don't seem quite to under- 
 stand ! "
 
 NEEDS MUST 265 
 
 " You do ! " she returned curtly. " Don't play, 
 or I may " 
 
 " My dear Miss Burke," he expostulated, " it 
 is, believe me, you who seem to be playing at 
 enigmas; to mystify me perhaps " 
 
 Her hand shot angrily into her bag; she seemed 
 to forget Mr. Bolger. 
 
 " I think," remarked the soft voice of Bruce still 
 studying the new-comers, " Mrs. " he mentioned a 
 name " must have recovered from the agony of 
 her second divorce. She appears very well, as you 
 may note over there." 
 
 Miss Flossie's face was a study; she had looked 
 into her bag, and, apparently, had not found what 
 she sought. Bruce laughed, as at something in the 
 vague distance. 
 
 " I thought I saw you on the train," he observed, 
 his glance returning casually to her. " Weren't 
 you in the parlor car ? I usually patronize the com- 
 mon cars myself." 
 
 Her eyes were big with growing enlightenment, 
 chagrin, overweening anger. " When I got out of 
 the car that time the train stopped, I forgot and 
 left my bag behind on the seat. And you " She
 
 266 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 paused. " I wish I had that paper now," she flashed 
 at him. " I wouldn't be such a fool as not to " 
 
 Bruce waved a playful finger. " Enigmas ! " he 
 said. And then lightly " Women, I'm afraid 
 are sometimes as mysterious as changeable ! " 
 Again he laughed; but as Bolger stepped forward, 
 some of the merriment faded from his lips. 
 
 Was he weakening at the supreme moment, Miss 
 Flossie now asked herself. Yes, she was sure. 
 Angrily, triumphantly she crumpled her handker- 
 chief in her hand. His face looked a little strained, 
 in spite of all his acting, as he walked away; and 
 she who had been sorry a short time before for a 
 very brief while, was now glad ! glad ! He 
 hadn't a chance, she knew, not one ! And he, Chat- 
 field Bruce, must know it, too, as he stepped on, 
 with gayness, at best now but simulated. She saw 
 his tall figure, a moment yet, in the distance, the 
 flash of his pale face; then he and Bolger stepped 
 into the elevator. But that final look she got of 
 him seemed to reiterate to her brain that he was 
 not so assured as he seemed, that he felt certain the 
 crucial, disastrous moment, long hanging over him, 
 had, at last, arrived.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 
 
 in!" called out Sir Archibald, and 
 Bolger and Chatfield Bruce entered the 
 elaborately furnished parlor of the suite on the sixth 
 floor. 
 
 Had Miss Burke seen Bruce at that moment she 
 would have found certain of her surmises going by 
 the board. If the young man had felt himself 
 wavering, he had recovered ; he had never appeared 
 to better advantage than now. His clothes draped 
 to perfection his tall figure; even his tie had a deli- 
 cate, definite distinctness of its own; upon his finger 
 gleamed the curious ring of oriental design. 
 Bruce's features were composed, indicating only 
 a gentle inquiry and pleasure at this unexpected 
 meeting again with Sir Archibald. The latter shot 
 his glance steadily before him; then into his gaze 
 came an expression of satisfaction. 
 
 " Good breeding," thought the Englishman, and 
 267
 
 268 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 thrust his big hands into his trousers' pockets. This 
 was an antagonist worthy of his mettle at every 
 stage, even the last. 
 
 Sir Archibald had pushed Mr. Goldberg rather 
 hastily aside from a table over which the latter 
 was bending when Bolger's knock sounded. The 
 parcel, which the owner of the pearls had quickly 
 started to undo, Bam ford had taken pains to conceal 
 beneath a few newspapers, before calling out for 
 the new-comers to enter. Bruce's casual glance, Sir 
 Archibald now surmised, sought to find it, when the 
 young man turned his careless eyes, after a few 
 moments, from the other. 
 
 " Excellent quarters," Bruce remarked, his stick 
 at his chin, looking around in apparently appre- 
 ciative survey of draperies and rugs. " Although 
 these steel cut engravings are a bit conventional. 
 Too much just what you'd expect in any hotel, don't 
 you know ! " he laughed. 
 
 " Yes ; they're comfortable enough quarters," Sir 
 Archibald also laughed, rather shortly. " Although 
 it was not exactly for that reason I again sought 
 them." Briton-fashion, he leaped, without too 
 much delay, into the trench.
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 269 
 
 Bruce, if he caught the remark, betrayed no in- 
 ordinate curiosity as to what reason had brought 
 Sir Archibald there; his seemingly tranquil look 
 turned to Mr. Goldberg, a flurried, confused, rather 
 strange figure, or detail of the picture. 
 
 At another time, the young man might have 
 smiled at the manner in which the other had re- 
 peatedly thrust his stubby fingers into his hair until 
 now it stood up somewhat preposterously; but 
 Bruce appeared to find nothing comic in that fea- 
 ture of the general composition; his eyes continued 
 to linger tentatively on Mr. Goldberg, as if he 
 hardly saw or comprehended that individual, in the 
 light of a specific entity. 
 
 Across the room Caglioni, seated on the edge of 
 a great chair, noted and watched. Bruce's glance 
 passed over, then returned to him, as a connoisseur 
 might bestow a second look on a curiously alive 
 Japanese carved figure, or animal, poised some- 
 where, about to spring. The young man even 
 suffered a slightly whimsical expression to cross 
 his features. Caglioni could divine in it a 
 thought of the night before, the plight he had 
 been left in.
 
 270 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Bruce's gaze now seemed to say : " Well, how 
 did you get out of it? " The little man sat farther 
 forward; still only his eyes spoke; the other swung 
 his stick lightly, as if inadvertently. The secretary 
 yet managed with an effort to hold himself very 
 immovable; for the sake of what remained to come. 
 Sir Archibald spoke: 
 
 "I trust we are not inconveniencing you?" 
 with sardonic humor. 
 
 " Not at all ! " said Bruce. " As I informed your 
 affable commissionaire," indicating Bolger, " I was 
 quite charmed to receive the glad tidings that 
 one so distinguished had again appeared in our 
 midst." 
 
 Bam ford colored slightly; his look began to be 
 disagreeable. " Then we aren't interfering with 
 any of your numerous engagements ? " came from 
 his lips with a barely perceptible sneer. 
 
 "When I accepted your charming invitation, I 
 could think of no other engagement at the time," 
 answered the young man. " Since then our little 
 conversation in the palm room " - to Bolger " a 
 small matter has occurred to me which may, I fear, 
 abridge somewhat our delightful interview."
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 271 
 
 "'Abridge,' eh?" the other laughed harshly. 
 " You are in a hurry to get it over ? " 
 
 " There is another call on my time," observed 
 Bruce gently. " Not an imperative one, not ex- 
 actly necessary, still, one that appeals to the in- 
 clinations, you understand." 
 
 Sir Archibald drew out a big cigar; he had been 
 initiated into the national game of poker and had 
 had his experiences, on shipboard and on the native 
 soil, with that innocent manoeuver, called " bluffing." 
 His expression of hostility became tinctured with 
 a small measure of commendation; the young man 
 was, after all, playing his cards with desperation, 
 daring, rare sang-froid, poor cards that gave him 
 no opportunity to win out, resourceful and skil- 
 ful, though he might be. Sir Archibald, in his own 
 mind, was quite sure of this, and he felt positive 
 that Bruce knew it, also; the latter but kept stub- 
 bornly to his place at the green board, fighting, as 
 it were, until the last, figuring every chance, pre- 
 serving a bold front, a blithe, easy one; he would 
 go down with a gay laugh. The Englishman had 
 the grace to offer him a cigar; Bruce refused cour- 
 teously.
 
 272 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 From somewhere, far below, came a few notes 
 of music; a trill, dying in the distance, was wafted 
 in through an open window. The socially most 
 popular cantatrice whose actually last farewell 
 could even summon people to town, was, no doubt, 
 now engaged in charming her admirers with one 
 of her grand arias. 
 
 " Let's get down to business ! " Mr. Goldberg 
 broke forth, rather explosively. His feet fidgeted. 
 
 " Business? " observed Bruce. 
 
 ' Yes ; this ain't no social occasion," viciously. 
 
 The young man allowed his gaze to rest once 
 more on the other. " There is a little matter ot 
 business," he said, half to himself, musingly. 
 " Thanks so much for reminding me." 
 
 "Little?" repeated Mr. Goldberg. "I don't 
 know," with ill-concealed fury, " that I should call 
 it very ' little.' " 
 
 " True," murmured Bruce, " it might be deemed 
 of some slight importance to you, but to speak of 
 it here " deprecatorily. " For your own sake," 
 he waved a hand slightly, " shall we not take it 
 up later, by ourselves ? It would really seem more 
 proper, don't you know."
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 273 
 
 " I guess there's no time like the present," 
 blurted the other, his glance swinging stormily 
 toward the table and what lay on it, concealed be- 
 neath the newspapers. He took a hurried step in 
 that direction, when Sir Archibald put out a de- 
 taining arm. 
 
 " If you please ! " he expostulated. " All 'in good 
 time, my dear sir! " 
 
 Bruce's glance now saw something peeping out 
 from beneath the white papers a bit of yellow, an 
 end of the parcel. His figure seemed to stiffen. 
 Sir Archibald observed the involuntary movement. 
 His thick lips relaxed; his jaw, less firmly set, 
 showed evidence of returning good humor. How 
 much longer would the other hold to his high- 
 handed manner? When would he cast it aside and 
 break down altogether? 
 
 Sir Archibald had seen pretty stiff men lose their 
 grit before this, fellows gone wrong who came of 
 good sporting breed; he had, on occasions, even 
 acted in the role of disciplinarian and magistrate in 
 the course of his varied career in the service. To 
 observe to what depths of funk and white feather 
 a mettlesome spirit may, in extremity, be cast, had
 
 i274 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 constituted, once or twice, a rather curious study for 
 him. 
 
 " You were speaking," he remarked with grim 
 irony to Bruce, " of a little matter of business with 
 Mr. Goldberg. We are all acquaintances here," 
 there was a world of unctuousness behind the 
 words, " and what you have to say, you may, with 
 Mr. Goldberg's permission " that gentleman 
 nodded over-vigorously " tell us all." 
 
 " No ; no," said Bruce, recovering on the instant 
 his debonnaire bearing; "I really shouldn't, believe 
 me." Caglioni's eyes became more piercing; a 
 deep breath escaped him. " Well, since you desire 
 to make a rather unimportant private matter, pub- 
 lic," went on Bruce in the same tone, " it was on 
 my mind to speak to Mr. Goldberg about tendering 
 my resignation, because " as that person opened 
 his mouth to speak "my conscience (pardon the 
 the use of a word, almost obsolete!) has for some 
 time suggested to me the advisability of such a 
 course." 
 
 " Your " began Mr. Goldberg, with bulging 
 eyes.
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 275 
 
 " ' Conscience ! ' " repeated the young man, with 
 a certain whimsical, firm dignity. " I fear it is a 
 somewhat lost attribute among certain of our 
 bustling, striving classes. Be that as it may, shall 
 I," with quizzical self-interrogation, " constitute 
 myself my neighbor's keeper? No." Sir Archi- 
 bald got up; took a step back and forth. 
 
 " However," went on Bruce airily, " we are all 
 our own keepers. Perhaps I should not in this 
 case be too particular," meditatively ; " all the other 
 houses are ' in it.' However " He made a ges- 
 ture. 
 
 "'It?' ' came quickly from Goldberg. 
 
 " Or against it ! " lightly. " A stupid tribute, 
 forsooth! " There seemed a pithy pungency in his 
 inflections now. 
 
 Sir Archibald halted; he did not quite under- 
 stand ; all this was certainly Greek to him. Mr. 
 Bolger began to shift about. He, too, did not com- 
 prehend the drift of the talk, or why it had been 
 suffered to " drift." From his standpoint, there 
 was but one thing to do, and that, to his official 
 sense, seemed so simple. Goldberg's face, however,
 
 276 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 began to be a study in enlightenment; some of the 
 red faded from it; the surface presented rather a 
 mottled appearance. 
 
 " Perhaps since you force me to speak publicly," 
 said Bruce to this last person, " it would be better 
 for yourself, if we employ the language of your 
 fatherland." He uttered these words in German 
 and went on in that same tongue : " Sir Archibald 
 does not understand; one can tell from his expres- 
 sion. He speaks French, of course, but German, 
 the Sprache of his hated rivals," with a laugh 
 " no, he would never condescend to that. Bolger, 
 I'm sure, knows only American, and, as for Cag- 
 lioni, he, too does not comprehend one word I'm 
 saying. Nicht wahr, du dummer Kerlf '' He ad- 
 dressed the secretary suddenly. That person only 
 glared ; Bruce continued cheerily : 
 
 " But we were speaking of conscience, and evaded 
 tributes to Uncle Sam for the alleged protection 
 of our overgrown infant industries. Du lieber 
 Gott! " 
 
 He took from his pocket a cigarette case and 
 held it poised delicately in his fingers. Sir Archi- 
 bald stood like a statue of strength; endured and
 
 "Mr. Goldberg can't compromise in this case now" Page 279
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 277 
 
 waited, with a strong man's patience. What mat- 
 tered a little comedy, more or less, before the 
 tragedy? He felt himself master. 
 
 "Protection?" observed Bruce, in the same 
 frivolous tones, with faultless Teutonic accent, ex- 
 tracting as he spoke, from the case a cigarette, 
 which, however, he did not light. " A ridiculous 
 archaic, Chinese kind of great wall? Perhaps! 
 Still, one that exists to exact toll from the mer- 
 chandise-laden camels and mules that stop at its 
 gates or from some of them for there are 
 those that slip through! One might not stick at a 
 small evasion. But when it reaches a figure of say, 
 one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in a 
 single year! You will accept my resignation, will 
 you not? Yes? I read it in your face. And 
 now " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. The ironical look 
 faded; the smile returned, became apologetic. 
 
 " It is really too bad to talk business on such a 
 day! " broke from him now in English. " All sun- 
 shine without! Would it not be more fitting to 
 speak of lighter matters music, for instance?" 
 as, again, the faint sound of a woman's high tones
 
 278 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 was heard. " ' Amico amore ' What a beauti- 
 ful phrase ! " 
 
 Mr. Goldberg said not a word. Caglioni leaned 
 forward as if he divined the quarry had somehow 
 drawn back a little too far from them; he even 
 cast a quick, faintly apprehensive look at Sir Archi- 
 bald. The Englishman's poise was that of a Colos- 
 sus; his powerful face wore a derisive look; as he 
 grasped the back of a chair, the big veins stood out 
 upon his hand. He was a study of vigor, of re- 
 sistless, puissant purpose. Beside him, Bruce looked 
 slender, slight. 
 
 "Farceur!" Sir Archibald's lips breathed con- 
 temptuously; his heavy shoulders were expressive 
 of positiveness ; brute hostility. His eyes shone 
 with that deadly look the hunted animal in the 
 wilds must have seen in them, when the English- 
 man, with irrevocable intent; glanced over the 
 brown, shining tube of his rifle. Between him and 
 Bruce was ever the suggestion of another presence, 
 existing there, only in the mind, yet as tangible as 
 if it stood there in the flesh. 
 
 A girl's figure; the blue of her eyes; the raven
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 279 
 
 blackness of her hair! Sir Archibald regarded 
 Bruce; Mr. Goldberg; all evidences of zest had 
 unaccountably departed from the latter. Sir Archi- 
 bald frowned deeply. With a brusk gesture, he 
 whipped the newspapers from the parcel and brought 
 down a heavy fist on the edge of the table. 
 
 " Mr. Goldberg can't compromise in this case 
 now," he added resiliency. " It's too late. Hocus- 
 pocus with him won't do. There's more than the 
 pearls, in clearing this affair up; Mr. Page stays 
 back of it." He indicated with his drawn brows 
 the detective, Bolger. " And it's going to be set- 
 tled here now ! " 
 
 Bruce had the courage not to wince; he may 
 have paled, but his face had half-turned from the 
 speaker. Toward the door? 
 
 Mr. Bolger stepped to it; the sharp, metallic 
 click of a key followed. Bruce's hand rested 
 against a bit of drapery, as if to derive a little 
 needed support from it. His gaze turned to Gold- 
 berg, but that person looked down. At a loss? 
 Weighing the pros and cons? One of Sir Archi- 
 bald's hands was in a side pocket; the young man
 
 280 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 instinctively knew what his fingers grasped and held 
 in readiness there. Caglioni's lips protruded; the 
 yellow teeth were in evidence. 
 
 Bruce, though so outnumbered, drew himself up 
 straight. Sir Archibald saw no signs of flinching 
 now; even at the moment when the knife, poised 
 over Bruce, seemed about to fall, the young man's 
 eyes continued to rest on the parcel. With forced 
 surprise? Casual wonder? Of course! 
 
 Sir Archibald's thick lips indulged in a sound 
 like a laugh; the secretary inhaled his breath after 
 the hissing fashion of little Nippon. Bolger's fin- 
 gers sought his hip pocket. He drew nearer, watch- 
 ful, ready for the climax. One could not tell, in 
 cases of this kind, what a person, desperate, driven 
 into a corner might do, or at least might attempt to 
 do 
 
 " I really beg your pardon," said Bruce curtly ; 
 "but I think that is my parcel." 
 
 " It is a parcel you sent," corrected Sir Archi- 
 bald. 
 
 " To be called for at the express office," went 
 on the young man, with sharp accents ; " but not by 
 you."
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 281 
 
 " No ? You did not expect that, did you ? 
 However, not only have we called for it," observed 
 Sir Archibald calmly, " but we are going so far 
 toward taking the law into our own hands, as to 
 open it." 
 
 " I forbid you," said Bruce trenchantly, with 
 flashing eyes. " You have absolutely no right ; a 
 purloined parcel " 
 
 " Purloined ? " exclaimed the Englishman, and 
 tore contemptuously, roughly, at the fastenings. 
 His strong hands soon broke them, cast the twine 
 aside and ripped open the heavy paper. 
 
 Bruce stepped quickly forward, with menacing 
 gesture, but Bolger stopped him. " No, you 
 don't ! " said that person, and something gleaming 
 in his hand, emphasized his words. 
 
 Sir Archibald unfolded the garments that were 
 revealed and shook them savagely. An expression 
 of surprise came to his face. He shook them again, 
 with more violence ; then his other hands began 
 to search hastily, frantically. 
 
 " What's this ? " breathed Sir Archibald thickly. 
 
 " Not here ! " muttered Caglioni. 
 
 A sudden consternation fell upon all except
 
 282 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 Bruce. " If you have done shaking my clothes," 
 he began, with just resentment. 
 
 No one replied., He walked toward the door; 
 they did not try to stop him. 
 
 " I shall expect," said the young man, " my 
 evening suit to be returned to me at my rooms 
 without delay. It is the only one, such as it is, 
 that I possess, and, I'm quite sure, it won't fit any 
 of you." 
 
 The key clicked. The door opened, then closed. 
 The three men looked at one another. 
 
 " Find that damned valet of mine," roared Sir 
 Archibald to Bolger, " and send him up here at 
 once." 
 
 "Nothing important happened, eh?" said Sir 
 Archibald to the now rather pallid James, standing 
 before them. " You say, however, some one ran 
 into him at the station, just after he had left the 
 train?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; a dark man, well-dressed." 
 
 " Might have been an Oriental ? " 
 
 James conceded he might have been. 
 
 Sir Archibald, in an unusual outburst of tem-
 
 FANTASIA AND CAPRICCIO 283 
 
 per, threw open his hands. " It is quite clear ! " 
 he exclaimed with a savage oath. 
 
 \ 
 
 The singer had just executed a beautiful ca- 
 denza and received much applause and a gorgeous 
 bouquet, as Bruce, who had remembered he had 
 sometime ago subscribed for the occasion, entered 
 the concert-hall below and sank unobtrusively into 
 a seat at the side. He saw but a final flutter of 
 her; then the orchestra burst into melody, or dis- 
 cord; a modern piece resounded. The metaphysics 
 it conveyed filtered through the discerning listener's 
 brains. What superb tangles, what irreconcilable 
 intricacies ! 
 
 Bruce yielded to the spell. Leaning back, he 
 half closed his eyes; it promised to be a delightful 
 afternoon.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A WARNING 
 
 BUT Bruce had not calculated on a few disagree- 
 able after-moments more trying than any he 
 had heretofore undergone. Buttoning his coat, 
 about an hour later, he started to walk to his rooms. 
 The concert, a special, out-of-the-season affair, had 
 terminated early, to give people time to flit back 
 to their summer places. The gaiety of Fifth Ave- 
 nue was not that of the metropolis at its best; 
 nearly all of the dwellings were closed; a mo- 
 notonous array of windows with curtains drawn 
 looked out upon the park. 
 
 At length, the young man's brisk pace brought 
 him to the big building on a comparatively quiet 
 street where his rooms were located. At one side 
 of the marble entrance hall was a little waiting- 
 room for visitors. Passing it, to reach the elevator, 
 
 284
 
 A WARNING 285 
 
 Bruce noticed the draperies move. Then he saw 
 some one, and stopped, as if stunned. Recovering 
 himself with a great effort, he stepped in. 
 
 For the first time that day composure seemed 
 to leave him; his face had gone pale. Assurance 
 and he were surely strangers; he looked at her 
 as one might stare at a ghost. 
 
 "Miss Wood!" he said. 
 
 Her eyes were brilliant. Beneath her composure, 
 could be felt a great perturbation; she looked at 
 him strangely. 
 
 " I don't quite know why I came, unless " She 
 paused, her hands tightly clasped. It was easy to 
 see she was not herself. She stood there as if be- 
 neath a spell. 
 
 His face was troubled. " Never mind ! " he said, 
 in a low tone. 
 
 Did he not know did she herself not know 
 what had brought her there? 
 
 "I I found the key near Mr. Goldberg's," she 
 said, with an uplift of the dark lashes. 
 
 " Indeed ? " he answered. No more. 
 
 Why did he not say something else ? She waited. 
 
 " I came because I thought you might, must be
 
 286 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 in great danger terrible trouble." The words 
 faltered. 
 
 " No danger ! " he exclaimed, almost bruskly. 
 And then, with less severity, he added, " It was 
 rather foolish of you." 
 
 "No danger!" she repeated, as if not hearing 
 his last words. " But I overheard Sir Archibald 
 and his valet " A flush dyed her face. " I 
 caught words, I do not know just what terrible 
 words or what seemed beneath them his tone. 
 And you had gone " 
 
 " Believe me," he said gravely, " all is as well 
 with me as it ever can be. Your father knows 
 you are here? " abruptly. 
 
 "I I believe I said something about the sub- 
 scription concert." 
 
 He looked at his watch. " You have just time 
 for the last express." As he spoke, he held back 
 the curtain ; she walked out and followed him to the 
 front door. A taxi was passing. Bruce nodded 
 to the man; he drew up to the curb. The girl now 
 was very pale. 
 
 "I I don't understand," she said ; " I wish 
 I did."
 
 A WARNING 287 
 
 He looked at her. " Perhaps, it is as well not," 
 ie said slowly. 
 
 "You mean we shall never meet again?" she 
 said. 
 
 " Yes." His face, too, was pale. 
 
 " Then I shall never know more than now 
 always be in the dark, the terrible dark " 
 
 " Wait ! " He considered. " Will you see me 
 once more, just once, so that, perhaps, you may 
 understand just a little better? " 
 
 " I remember," she said, " you were brave for 
 me, and," with a trembling smile, " I liked you 
 for it. When one makes a friend " 
 
 The words died away. A cold draft from the 
 half-open door of the hall swept out upon them; she 
 shivered slightly. 
 
 " Why," he said, " if you will so honor me, we 
 shall meet then once more. Perhaps I can ex- 
 plain better such little explanation," bitterly, " as 
 there may be, to make ! " 
 
 "When?" said the girl, with clearer, more 
 steadfast eyes. 
 
 " The night of the Japanese play at your house, 
 if you will."
 
 288 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " she said. " Somehow, I believe in 
 you. I can't understand; I don't. Anything you 
 may say, to make me know, to " She hesitated. 
 
 " To clear up the horrible doubts ? " he suggested. 
 
 A mist sprang to her eyes. She moved toward 
 the curb and stepped into the waiting vehicle. 
 
 " Grand Central station," he said to the driver. 
 
 " Aren't you " She looked at the place by her 
 side. 
 
 A radiant light came to his face. She did not un- 
 derstand; she was full of doubts; but she did not 
 altogether disbelieve in him. He bent his head as 
 to a princess, peerless, unattainable, beautiful. Her 
 hair was a dark cloud ; the mist in her eyes like rain, 
 momentarily dimming the blue. 
 
 " Thank you; but if you don't need me " 
 
 She sank back and said no further word. " He 
 is not in danger ; what a mad, foolish trip ! a hor- 
 rible dream ! " Thus she may have thought. The 
 taxi moved away. Bruce stood with his hat in his 
 hand, even after it had disappeared. 
 
 " I slipped your mail under your door, sir." 
 The voice was that of Stebbins, the janitor.
 
 A WARNING 289 
 
 Bruce moved automatically back into the hall, and 
 took the elevator to his rooms. 
 
 His mail was large and comprised many invita- 
 tions. Hunting, fishing, yachting, golfing and polo- 
 playing constituted a few of the inducements held 
 forth to summon him here and there, away from the 
 noisy metropolis. He set them aside, to be an- 
 swered punctiliously, with conventional regrets. 
 He had not realized how popular he was until he 
 surveyed the bulging pile of snow-white envelopes. 
 
 Popular? He looked at his statue of Kwan-on; 
 that astute young woman, in silver, seemed to smile 
 sardonically at him. What humor, what irony 
 lurked in the corners of her lips; she had never 
 appeared less gracious, his lady of mercy ! 
 
 He returned to his mail. A letter from China 
 fell from the next envelope he opened news of 
 business, good business. He had almost forgotten 
 there was such a business. He read to the end of 
 the polite communication indifferently; with no 
 second thought, laid it down. But the next missive 
 held his attention longer. His brows drew together. 
 Near his elbow in the one vase he permitted himself,
 
 290 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 a dried rose, with every semblance of its roseate life 
 gone, hung feebly over the cold porcelain rim. 
 
 Bruce, regarding the paper before him, read 
 again ; looked more closely at the signature. 
 
 "Ting! Urgent need!" 
 
 A new, more pressing and dangerous complica- 
 tion had unexpectedly arisen. Bruce got up. Leav- 
 ing the room hastily, he carefully locked his door, 
 descended to the street and made his way to a 
 near-by station of the Elevated. For what seemed 
 to him an interminable time, the train whirled him 
 on. At length, however, he got out and walked 
 some distance. Night was falling; the lights of 
 the squalid neighborhood in which he found him- 
 self seemed battling with the shadows. 
 
 As he made his way quickly up this street and 
 down that, he became for the first time aware 
 of two slouching figures he remembered having 
 noticed in the train. They moved after him, keep- 
 ing him ever in sight. They were rough, unpleas- 
 ant-looking fellows. He did not know them, but 
 that signified nothing; they had merely superseded 
 James. Sir Archibald was by no means yet beaten ; 
 he confessed only to a temporary rebuff. Bruce
 
 A WARNING 291 
 
 had reason now to entertain an even greater respect 
 for this leader among his adversaries. With sin- 
 gular swiftness had Sir Archibald shifted his tactics; 
 concentrated with adroitness and skill his forces into 
 a channel which would lead whither? Bruce feared 
 he knew only too well. 
 
 A little farther, and he stopped abruptly, on pre- 
 tense of looking in a miserable shop window. The 
 fellows following almost rubbed elbows with him; 
 nevertheless, he seemed not to notice. 
 
 Near by, his alert senses caught a faint tinkling, 
 made by tiny bits of glass that, hanging pendant 
 and swayed by the wind, gave forth a crystalline 
 murmur. An odd, half-timorous little sound, that 
 seemed to shrink from mingling with the mul- 
 tisonous intonation of the great metropolis, to 
 whisper apart, as if, indeed, according to certain 
 affirmation, the more or less honorable spirits of 
 the dead babbled their messages through this dulcet 
 medium. 
 
 A moment Bruce stood ; then he wheeled suddenly 
 and crossed a threshold. He found himself in 
 one of the tea-houses and restaurants, frequented 
 mostly by Orientals. Seemingly not a large place,
 
 292 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 it was really a net-work of rooms of sufficient size 
 to accommodate many guests, transient and other- 
 wise. At a far end of one of the front apartments, 
 a little girl with that Raphael face and expression 
 encountered so often in the Orient, picked from a 
 musical instrument the stray single notes of what 
 was intended to be a melody. 
 
 Bruce took his place at a small side table and an 
 Oriental brought him a pot of white, steaming 
 liquor. The young man toyed with the egg-shell- 
 like cup into which it was poured while he glanced 
 around. The two fellows he had observed on the 
 Elevated and afterward had remained without, near 
 the front entrance, presumably. From the next 
 room came the low murmur of voices. 
 
 The young man listened. A native banquet was 
 evidently in progress, for a waiter went by with the 
 steaming towels the guests were wont frequently 
 to mop their faces with. Bruce stopped his own 
 waiter ; paid, and spoke to him. The latter nodded, 
 indicated with his hand and the young man fol- 
 lowed him to the back of the place through a side 
 hall. Here were several winding ways and a num- 
 ber of doors. One of these the young man opened,
 
 A WARNING 293 
 
 then crossed a narrow court and found himself not 
 long afterward in another little passage which led 
 into a small room. 
 
 The one he had stepped into that night when 
 Sir Archibald, his secretary and Miss Wood had 
 interrupted a certain visit on his part at Ting's! 
 He had hardly known her then; much had trans- 
 pired since. It was only the night before he had 
 danced with her. 
 
 Could so much history be compressed in a day? 
 He stood in darkness now, thinking of her. But 
 twenty- four hours before had been movement 
 joy dazzling lights! Now his hands reaching 
 out touched but that emptiness, his future portion. 
 Another would woo her and win her this strong 
 aggressive Englishman, with his titles and landed 
 interests; she would rule in the stately and superb 
 home of the Bamfords. The romance for Bruce 
 had been very brief; the awakening had come with 
 stunning abruptness. Dreams, dreams! That's 
 what one got for dreaming. An hour of wonderful 
 glamour; and afterward how he could laugh at 
 himself there in the black night! 
 
 He threw back his head abruptly; it was no time
 
 294 THE SOCIAL B\JCANEER 
 
 for such thoughts. The need for action pressed on 
 him; he had use for his wits now, truly. Caglioni 
 had hit upon a definite trail at last. He held the 
 thread delicately but surely; the net was out, and 
 the secretary, masterhand in that oriental environ- 
 ment, was drawing it in with what delight, what 
 feverish zest! 
 
 Or, came the chilling possibility, perhaps it had 
 already been drawn in! Bruce held his head to the 
 door communicating with the inner room. From it 
 came no sound; an ominous stillness reigned. His 
 fingers pressed somewhere on the framework. The 
 door opened; he stepped in. 
 
 The room, dimly lighted with wax candles, was 
 empty; a faint aromatic odor filled the air; on its 
 scarlet string, the bit of jade was the only thing 
 that moved. Bruce stood still, in the center of that 
 strange apartment; grotesque trifles on shelves 
 melted into shadows ; a crimson cloak in a dim cor- 
 ner looked like a sanguinary pool. He held his 
 head somewhat high; his eyes gleamed. The last 
 stand! Well, so be it! His gaze caressed a small 
 vial he took from his pocket, then suddenly sharp- 
 ened, shifted.
 
 A WARNING 295 
 
 A soft patter patter without caught his atten- 
 tion. They had come. The other way was 
 guarded, the more devious way out through the 
 restaurant. They had set the snare and he had 
 walked into it. And yet he could not well have 
 done otherwise. 
 
 But stay! The hand busy at the complicated 
 Chinese lock was a quiet one; now one bolt shot 
 back softly, then another. Bruce waited ; a breath- 
 less moment and the door suddenly was flung noise- 
 lessly open; as quickly closed again and relocked. 
 Ting, panting, agitated, with consternation, fear in 
 his eyes, stood before the young man. 
 
 "They are following?" Bruce spoke quickly. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 " One ; but there will be more." 
 
 "What is he like?" 
 
 " Yellow, with a black beard." 
 
 " Caglioni ! " murmured Bruce. " Of course. 
 You wrote me from where ? " 
 
 " The messenger office." 
 
 The other looked down. " And he let you do 
 it?" half to himself. "Why?" It was not
 
 296 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 difficult to surmise; now were they, two, there to- 
 gether, they, and the " But how," said the 
 young man, in a tense, clear, though low voice, 
 " did it happen that he chanced to catch sight of 
 you in the first place ? " 
 
 " He is cunning as the fox. He learned what 
 ship sailed to-day for the Orient, and saw Ting as 
 he would have gone aboard." 
 
 " And so you dodged back ? " The young man 
 laughed recklessly. Cunning, truly, was Caglioni, 
 as Ting said. " And swift ! " the young man added 
 in his own thoughts. While he, Bruce, had been 
 listening to modern musical idiosyncrasies, with 
 dolt-like absorption, the secretary had called for a 
 paper, looked at the steamship list and acted accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 From consideration of what James might have 
 said about some one bumping into Bruce at the sta- 
 tion, to this searching the press for news of the 
 first outward-bound steamer for the Mediterranean 
 and the Red Sea, had constituted a logical and 
 quick mental process on the part of Caglioni. 
 
 " Perhaps you got rid of him. It may be, he
 
 A WARNING 297 
 
 did not follow you here ? " observed Bruce with 
 sudden hope in his voice. 
 
 Ting's answer dispelled any possible optimism 
 on the subject; he gazed out through a narrow 
 aperture in the heavy blinds into the street. " He 
 is there," he said, "and another a big man." 
 
 " Sir Archibald," murmured Bruce. Again he 
 looked at the tiny vial, a dainty, beautiful curio in 
 its minute way, and once more put it back. 
 " Tiens! " he laughed. " Not yet ! " 
 
 " They are coming this way ! " said Ting. 
 
 " Well, let them ! As the gods, or the immortal 
 spirits will ! " A precipitate light shone from his 
 eyes. " We'll play out the game."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE SNARE 
 
 THE thoroughfare was narrow and dark in 
 places, but at that point the gleam of a 
 street lamp not many yards distant cast an uncer- 
 tain glimmer on surrounding objects. Through a 
 fine slanting rain, almost a mist, that had begun to 
 fall, the wavering light revealed for an instant two 
 figures who had now stopped in a doorway across 
 the street and a little aside from Ting's modest 
 establishment. Then, having lent grudging visi- 
 bility to them and the immediate environment, the 
 glow suddenly sputtered and nearly went out, but 
 seeming to reconsider its threatening intention of 
 plunging that section of the thoroughfare into total 
 gloom, flared up once more and showed another 
 person, roughly dressed, coming around a corner 
 and approaching at a quick, shambling gait. 
 
 This third man paused at the sight of the two 
 men in the semi-shelter of the doorway; one of 
 
 298
 
 THE SNARE 299 
 
 the latter who held a cigar that glowed like a tiny 
 coal, spoke to the new-comer with sharp, imperative 
 inquiry. 
 
 " He's gone into the restaurant," replied the third 
 person, " and he's there now, unless " He broke 
 off. " There's a back entrance from that place into 
 this shop," he added abruptly, nodding toward 
 Ting's door. " And maybe he's made use of it 
 and is in there." 
 
 Sir Archibald replied with a brief order; the 
 man at once turned and walked hastily back the way 
 he had come. Caglioni's eyes followed him, a 
 black shadow on the faintly shining stones, then 
 returned watchfully toward Ting's house. 
 
 " No mistake, this time ! " observed Sir Archi- 
 bald in curt short tones, turning up the collar of 
 his coat. 
 
 " None," said Caglioni, without removing his 
 bright gaze from the door. " I didn't want to 
 take chances and so summoned you and told you to 
 communicate with the others." 
 
 " You are quite sure of your man that you've 
 followed the right one who got the pearls at the 
 station?"
 
 300 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " Not only did he answer the description James 
 gave of him, but I recognized in the fellow, a dealer 
 in curios and artificial pearls we had met before. 
 You remember, surely, this very place; he had in 
 his show-cases the pearl Buddhas made by the 
 process discovered by Ye-jin-yang in the thirteenth 
 century. Oh, there's no room for error now ! " 
 Caglioni's voice vibrated. " I would stake my life 
 on it." 
 
 " I wonder," said Sir Archibald cynically, and a 
 little curiously, " why you bring so much of that 
 Latin temperament of yours into this matter on 
 a cursed damp night, too as if there might be 
 something almost personal between you and this 
 Bruce!" 
 
 " Personal ! " Caglioni shrugged. " I do not for- 
 get last night near the Goldberg house." 
 
 "Only that?" 
 
 The secretary's eyes burned into the night; he 
 did not answer. Sir Archibald, too, remained 
 silent a few moments. Perhaps he was just then 
 thinking of something " personal," himself, between 
 him and this fellow. His wooing had, somehow, 
 come to an abrupt standstill. But after to-morrow,
 
 THE SNARE 301 
 
 when she would know, when he could speak and 
 tell all when all the world would know, for that 
 matter ah, then! Delectable consummation! 
 
 And Sir Archibald's look, fastened on the door- 
 way opposite, seemed at that instant as grimly elo- 
 quent as the glint of a bayonet, bent on the business 
 of the empire. 
 
 " Time Bolger was here," he observed abruptly 
 in harsh accents, puffing harder at his cigar. 
 
 ' There he comes now ! " Caglioni's voice was 
 full of eager malice. "And he has his men with 
 him!" 
 
 " Of course ! In a raid of this kind there must 
 be no slipping through the meshes." 
 
 Both men looked down the street, at the dis- 
 tant, dimly seen forms, drawing nearer. At the 
 same moment the arc lamp began once more to 
 sputter. Red, sullen sparks fell from it; leaping 
 shadows danced this way and that. The wind set a 
 street sign to creaking dolorously. Another sound 
 mingled with it, that of a door hurriedly swung out 
 and back again, as some one an Oriental, by his 
 dress slipped from Ting's place and started 
 swiftly down the street.
 
 302 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " The Chinaman ! He's discarded his European 
 clothes ! " exclaimed Caglioni. 
 
 "Quick! After him! He must not escape. 
 I'll see that Bruce doesn't get away. It may only be 
 a ruse to draw us from the door." 
 
 The secretary waited no longer, but sped at once 
 after the fleeing figure. In the momentary dark- 
 ness it seemed to elude him, to fade from view. 
 Then, by the aid of another street lamp, less ca- 
 pricious, he caught sight of Ting's form once 
 more. But the rain coming down faster, aided the 
 fugitive; it had sent people indoors. The block 
 ahead was deserted, as seemed the little alley into 
 which the frightened Chinaman next turned. 
 
 Caglioni began to breathe low maledictions; it 
 was not difficult to divine the cause of the Oriental's 
 sudden, desperate flight. He had learned there 
 were men in front of the restaurant and guessed the 
 next move of the aggressors. Returning the pearls, 
 no doubt, to Bruce, Ting had trusted to his legs and 
 the darkness to extricate him, once and for all, from 
 the affair. On the morrow, he would not be found ; 
 his shop would be deserted, and no trace of him 
 would ever again be discovered by those of the
 
 THE SNARE 303 
 
 Occidental race. Did not Caglioni know, had he 
 not had experience with Ting and his kind, who 
 can slip out of the narrowest places, and disap- 
 pear as completely as if they had faded into thin 
 air? 
 
 The secretary set his teeth. This yellow devil 
 was pursuing his tactics of earlier in the day; but 
 he would get him now. He was a necessary link 
 in the chain of evidence to rid himself of one whom 
 he had such excellent reason to fear Chatfield 
 Bruce, a constant menace to Caglioni's own peace of 
 mind, his safety, his life, even. The secretary ran 
 faster; he saw with gratification the distance be- 
 tween him and the other lessening. 
 
 Ting, at first, had given evidence of unusual fleet- 
 ness, greater even than Caglioni himself could 
 boast ; obviously, however, the Chinaman's " staying 
 power " was not now all it might have been. He 
 appeared to slacken and weaken, running like a man 
 who could go but little farther. They were now 
 a couple of blocks from the scene of the proposed 
 raid. Caglioni did not doubt his ability soon to 
 return there with his man. He did not imagine the 
 other would resist; the Chinaman, by nature, is
 
 304 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 essentially a man of peace and will yield, without 
 striking back, when pushed into a corner. 
 
 Flear the street Ting went on yet more slowly. 
 There would be, however, no convenient cab for him 
 to slip into when he reached that thoroughfare. 
 Caglioni felt fairly assured of this; the other would 
 not now escape the secretary's longing fingers. 
 
 Peremptorily Caglioni's voice rose above the 
 patter of the rain. The fellow heard; he had no 
 choice apparently but to obey the stern command. 
 He paused, seemingly out of breath, his hand 
 pressed to his side. But the secretary took pre- 
 cautions not to be deceived by a ruse; he under- 
 stood the Oriental's inborn cunning, and, as he 
 stepped briskly forward, was prepared for any arti- 
 fice or emergency. 
 
 "Lift a finger to resist, and " His voice con- 
 veyed a sibilant menace; the gleaming weapon in 
 his hand lent it emphasis. 
 
 Ting's response was immediate, piteous, scarcely 
 distinguishable for want of breath ; Pidgin-English 
 and Chinese dialect mingled confusedly in his im- 
 ploring tones. He hoped, trusted, the honorable
 
 THE SNARE 305 
 
 one would not take the most unworthy Ting back; 
 he would pay, reward handsomely the honorable 
 one; he who was more exalted than the moon and 
 the stars. 
 
 The secretary contemptuously interrupted him; 
 there was no mistaking the genuineness of Ting's 
 apprehensions, expressed in that strange jargon. 
 
 " Come ! " said Caglioni scornfully, laying a 
 rough hand on the other's shoulder. " You'll pay 
 and no mistake, but not me. March ! " 
 
 The fellow obeyed; but his shoulder seemed to 
 shrink at that touch and his implorings to become 
 more earnest: 
 
 " Most honorable and illustrious I implore 
 me, miserable one, lowly as the dust " 
 
 He was trembling now, or a shaft of light, 
 between walls, suddenly fell on his face as they went 
 forward. He was laughing! Caglioni started back. 
 
 " You ! " he stammered, in amazement, conster- 
 nation. 
 
 " Drop it ! " said Bruce smilingly. " Don't lift 
 that arm, please; and just let that little plaything 
 fall from your fingers. You will not hesitate, I
 
 306 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 trust " the weapon in his own hand was against 
 Caglioni's side " to grant this slight request. Be- 
 lieve me, as a friend, I advise you not to." 
 
 The secretary did not hesitate; it was he, now, 
 who appeared unmanned. The alley was lonely, 
 deserted, the very spot for a darksome deed. Bruce 
 bent suddenly forward and whispered a name into 
 the secretary's ear. His low voice was at once 
 gay and thrilling, very mocking, too. Caglioni 
 trembled and leaned back against the wall as if for 
 support; he had not heard that name for many 
 years. 
 
 "Hush! Not here in this neighborhood of all 
 in New York ! " Afar, through the storm, came 
 the faint twing-twang of a Chinese musical instru- 
 ment. 
 
 " Come ! " said Bruce facetiously. " Our little 
 walk shall we not take it ? And our little talk 
 we must not miss that. I regret the weather is not 
 more favorable for a charming heart-to-heart con- 
 versation and stroll." 
 
 " How long have you known ? " the secretary 
 managed to say. All the antagonism had left him
 
 THE SNARE 307 
 
 now ; he glanced over his shoulder into the darkness 
 as a man might turn for a moment to look back 
 into a black past. 
 
 " I think," said Bruce easily, " I half-placed you 
 when first I saw you, although you have changed 
 much and have a beard. It was your eyes that gave 
 me the first inkling of the truth; I never forget 
 eyes." 
 
 They walked on, out into the street, on and on, 
 away from Ting's place. 
 
 " You thought I might recognize you, some- 
 time," murmured Bruce, very close to the other, a 
 hand in his pocket, holding now the something hard 
 that just touched, made itself felt to his companion. 
 " And so, at Comscot, as I passed the back of Mr. 
 Wood's place, you sought to make me a slight pres- 
 ent, but only succeeded in notching my new straw 
 hat." 
 
 " Would you believe me if I denied it? " 
 
 "You?" murmured Bruce in mild surprise. 
 "Who have made lying a profession? Beside 
 whom, Cateline, Lazarillo de Tonnes and all the 
 other mentcurs a triple etage of history, appear
 
 3o8 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 models of candor and veracity! You! My dear 
 friend! " An accent of pained reproof manifested 
 itself in his tones. 
 
 " I wish the * slight present,' as you call it, had 
 done more than notch a new hat," muttered Cag- 
 lioni. 
 
 Bruce gave a care-free laugh. " How charming ! 
 To see you recovering your spirits, my good fel- 
 low ! " He stopped. " But alas ! soon now must we 
 part. And never more do I expect to see you. 
 Never more," he repeated "mournful words! " 
 
 Caglioni waited ; looked at him. " I suppose 
 that's not all, is it ? " he asked. 
 
 "Almost." Bruce regarded him up and down. 
 "I've arranged that if anything happens to me to- 
 night your secret will not be kept. There's a bit of 
 paper in my strong-box with a little writing on it 
 that will become the property of others, in case 
 You understand? " The secretary swallowed. 
 
 " The Nine-times-Nine numbers only a few mil- 
 lion members, more or less. I neither condemn nor 
 approve of them; but they exist. I accept them 
 merely as a fact. They never forget, nor forgive 
 if they know," he added significantly, "where
 
 THE SNARE 309 
 
 to put their hands on whom they seek, the traitor, 
 he who betrayed them. 
 
 " Let us go back. You belonged to them ; you 
 sold their secrets. You even managed to capture, 
 for the reward offered, a certain benevolent pirate, 
 when Well, I, as you know, with a small band, 
 hurriedly organized from the ' children of the 
 plain,' interfered. We freed Ting's father, the 
 pirate, for good and sufficient reasons. It was 
 great sport." Caglioni bestowed upon him a ma- 
 licious look. 
 
 " You did not find it so ? You managed to es- 
 cape, disguised, made your way by devious routes, 
 as a priest, into upper India, where you fell in with 
 our good, but rather stupid friend, Sir Archibald " 
 the secretary's teeth made a sound " who was 
 engaged by his government in the vain task of 
 eliminating the Nine-times-Nine in India elimi- 
 nating by substitution, a la Anglo-Saxon; giving 
 them something better! Unfortunately for you, 
 wherever Buddhism reigns your life would have 
 been forfeited if it became known who you were. 
 Chance brought you here. You knew me a pos- 
 sible menace to your own safety and probably repre-
 
 310 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 sented to Sir Archibald I was a member of the 
 Nine-times-Nine a mistake, though they forced 
 on me this symbol of power among them, out of 
 gratitude for having saved one of the number a 
 better man than you ! " 
 
 Bruce showed a ring with a design, the " Dawn," 
 a circle above a straight line, the sun rising above 
 the earth. " Very eloquent, these Chinese char- 
 acters ! Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I have no opinion," said the secretary sourly. 
 
 " And yet you should have ; you who are part 
 Chinese. Your mother was a Manchu girl. Are 
 you ashamed of her? " 
 
 " Come to the point ! " said Caglioni hoarsely. 
 Rage, terror, humiliation burned in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, most filial son ! " murmured Bruce softly ; 
 then his voice suddenly changed. " You," he went 
 on crisply, " are thought to be dead ; it was cleverly 
 arranged, on your part. Lo, you are found to be 
 living! Is there a spot in this world where you 
 would be safe from death? Worse! From tor- 
 ture? You know these people." 
 
 Caglioni's expression showed that he did. 
 " What do you want ? " he said.
 
 THE SNARE 311 
 
 Bruce's eye lighted approvingly. " I see you ap- 
 preciate the point fully ! " he observed, with 
 merry accent on the last word. " Too bad we did 
 not understand each other better before, eh, mon 
 ami? Since last night you have been to me slightly 
 irritating, like a disagreeable insect. But I forgive 
 you; between us in the future exist only halcyon 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Anything more? " observed the secretary. His 
 face wore an odd pallor ; the rain dripped from him. 
 
 " You will leave New York to-night," said Bruce 
 in the same gentle tones. " Make what excuses 
 you please to Sir Archibald. You," waving his 
 hand airily, " have ceased to be a factor in the 
 New World, to all intents and purposes, have never 
 been here or heard of such vain baubles as the 
 Goldberg pearls ; they have passed from your mind, 
 as if they had never existed. And all the small 
 array of mortals, more or less interesting, or viva- 
 cious, that fluttered around them ! They, too, have 
 passed like the figment of a dream. You have en- 
 tered into another metamorphosis ; only no Ovid will 
 ever sing of your new transmutation." 
 
 A moment he stood, a bizarre figure, in saturated
 
 312 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 silken garments, his face clear, finely chiseled, out- 
 lined against a slant of rain. Then the long, white 
 hand made another gesture, half -playful, though the 
 light of his eyes had never been brighter, more com- 
 pelling. Caglioni turned; moved softly, silently 
 away. 
 
 Bruce looked after him, as more and more indis- 
 tinct became the secretary's figure. At last it van- 
 ished, and only the fine drops of rain, making count- 
 less oblique lines against the yellowish, sodden- 
 appearing background, met the observer's gaze.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 
 
 TWO months passed and nothing more was 
 heard of the Goldberg pearls. The social 
 season had opened at high pressure. New York 
 was at its gayest, and the little affair at Comscot 
 was apparently soon forgotten by every one except 
 a few of the principals who were closely concerned 
 in it. 
 
 The raid on Ting's place had revealed nothing; 
 the European clothes that unassuming dealer pre- 
 sumably had worn at the station and later, could 
 not be found. Caglioni, who could have brought 
 evidence against the Oriental, had vanished, no 
 lone knew where, leaving a very unsatisfactory mes- 
 sage behind him for Sir Archibald's puzzled scru- 
 tiny. 
 
 That last gentleman and Mr. Bolger found them- 
 selves at an absolute standstill. Since the afternoon 
 
 313
 
 314 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 in Sir Archibald's rooms at the Waldorf, Mr. 
 Goldberg had developed a bad case of what the 
 Englishman, in poker parlance, designated " frigid 
 extremities " ; he seemed reconciled, nay, rather 
 anxious, to let the matter drop. Sir Archibald, 
 secretly enraged, folded his arms, concealed his dis- 
 gust, and looked around for a new secretary. He 
 found one, a nice little man, with innocuous face, 
 and no past. 
 
 With the opening of the season, the usual number 
 of charitable occasions were, of course, in evidence, 
 and, of these, none was looked forward to with 
 more interest than the oriental evening planned to 
 take place at the spacious town house of Mr. 
 Gordon Wood, especially as it was known that Air. 
 Chatfield Bruce had consented to appear in a little 
 Japanese play. That young man's histrionic 
 ability was conceded to be of a high order; people 
 said he would have made a character actor of much 
 distinction had he adopted the stage as a profes- 
 sion, so great was his charm of manner and personal 
 repose. He was at least the star of all the amateurs 
 the city could boast of.
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 315 
 
 The night of the entertainment Mr. Wood's 
 house presented a scene of animation. The large 
 concert room of the mansion had been transformed 
 into a fair imitation of a Japanese theater; the char- 
 acters in the play made their entrances and exits 
 in far-eastern style along the flower-walk leading 
 to the stage. 
 
 The audience assembled, for the most part, in 
 the little squares divided off for them in the orches- 
 tra; at the back of the room were a half dozen 
 improvised boxes. As a concession to civilized 
 occidental muscles that refuse to adapt themselves 
 to the posture of Buddha, low chairs had been placed 
 in the squares. The effect was rather incongruous, 
 but no one criticized; comfort had to be considered. 
 There were a few effective flower " arrangements " ; 
 not many. 
 
 These Chatfield Bruce, now waiting for his 
 cue in the men's greenroom, tentatively, in the 
 least critically, regarded as he peered through an 
 opening out into the theater. On the stage a 
 trio of genuine acrobats, paid performers from the 
 land of the chrysanthemums, were entertaining the
 
 316 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 audience with juggling; between hangings of an- 
 tique priest-robes, could be seen the people as- 
 sembled in the cause of charity. They accepted 
 diminutive tea-cups of hot saki or tea ; a few of the 
 men endeavored to make use of the tiny Japanese 
 pipes, with more or less success and good-natured 
 comment. 
 
 All seemed to enjoy the novelty of the entertain- 
 ment; Bruce listened to the sounds of merriment. 
 He was alone in the greenroom. Those of the men 
 who later had " parts " to fill now mingled with 
 the people, as did the Japanese princesses and geisha 
 girls who afterward were to appear in the play. 
 These last, laughing and gay, moved about among 
 the guests, according to the fashion on such occa- 
 sions ; among them the young man saw Miss Mar- 
 jorie Wood. 
 
 With eyes very brilliant under the black lashes, 
 and cheeks deeply tinted, she paused here, to chat; 
 there, to join in the laughter. She appeared the 
 young hostess, par excellence, gracious and beauti- 
 ful in her clinging oriental robe of some silken, 
 lustrous material, violet and blue in tone. 
 
 Bruce's gaze followed her. He noted with what
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 317 
 
 pride she held her head, the exquisite distinction 
 that characterized her every movement. The 
 watcher's lids lowered very slightly, as an artist's 
 may, when suddenly confronted by something inex- 
 pressibly lovely in nature. A bit that appeals to 
 all that is poetic, dreamy in him, that he looks at 
 as through a silvery, hazy medium ! Because, per- 
 haps, it is set so far away from him, so remote, 
 unattainable, save as a vision! 
 
 Bruce turned. But the violet and blue tints of 
 May-time continued to play in his fancy ; to dis- 
 pel them, he reached for his " part " from a divan 
 and started to study it. 
 
 As if he did not already know it well! The 
 mocking thought insinuated itself in his brain. So 
 well, it had not been necessary for him to attend 
 rehearsals; never mind about him, he had written 
 the ladies of the committee; let them just arrange 
 all the rest of the " business," the other details of 
 the playlet, and he promised to " fit in " without the 
 slightest friction. As his role constituted prac- 
 tically the entire one-act little piece, they could not 
 very well demur; especially as he had informed 
 them that otherwise he would find it absolutely im-
 
 318 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 possible to proceed with his part in the performance, 
 at all. 
 
 So the chorus was drilled and the supernumer- 
 aries, and Mr. Bruce, " too busy, no doubt, to at- 
 tend rehearsals," in the general verdict of all the 
 ladies, save Miss Wood, was suffered to have his 
 way. The young girl, appealed to in the matter, 
 had voiced no opinion; during the flitting moment 
 they had met and spoken to each other that night, 
 but a few conventional words had been said; her 
 eyes, starlike, had met his; seemed as if they would 
 have held him yet longer. But with blithe mien 
 and manner, he had gaily made way for others; 
 her laugh, a little forced, at some one else's words 
 or witticism, had followed him as he turned from 
 her. 
 
 It rang in his brain ; thrilling, silvery ! It would 
 follow him down the pathway of time, amid strange, 
 far-away scenes. Che sara, sara! What was writ- 
 ten, was written ! One must pass through different 
 lives, gehennas, realms of Pluto, and all that. 
 
 Again he bent over the " part," his present mo- 
 mentary concern, and as he did so, he sank down, 
 native fashion, upon a rug. His supple muscles
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 319 
 
 adapted themselves readily to the attitude, his thin 
 lips, as he merged into the role he considered, wore 
 a suggestion of that illusive irony one occasionally 
 encounters in a bronze of the Ming period. Sud- 
 denly the enigmatic lids lifted and showed the 
 full radiance of his eyes. They were rather re- 
 markable eyes now, replete with lights, like the 
 play of bright moonbeams between dark clouds. 
 He had turned his head to listen to a peremptory 
 tapping from without; the little Japanese play had 
 begun. 
 
 To most of those in the audience the plot of the 
 little play went for nothing; the production seemed 
 mainly picturesque, replete with unreal people and 
 titles,' with many fantastic scenes. But the cos- 
 tumes and the acting of Chatfield Bruce and Mar- 
 jorie Wood more than saved the day, or the even- 
 ing. 
 
 The young hostess, in the role of Miss Happy- 
 for-a-Thousand- Years, presented, as the society re- 
 porters afterward affirmed, an adequate " interpre- 
 tation of that ironically felicitous part." When her 
 lover, the beggar-prince, who robs the rich to give 
 to the poor, was, in the natural course of events,
 
 320 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 or vicissitudes, led to the executioner, at the com- 
 mand of her future lord, the great Shogun, she 
 " changed her state," very beautifully, in other 
 words, died. And with artistic consistency she re- 
 fused to come out again, in answer to numerous 
 recalls, as did Mr. Bruce, after he was supposed 
 to have paid the final penalty. 
 
 Instead, the curtain again went up and the audi- 
 ence was regaled with the sight of a single cherry 
 tree. Had they remained quiet, they would have 
 heard the faint sound of the wind. They could 
 see, however, the branches of the tree move, the 
 blossoms fall one by one as the curtain went down 
 for the last time on the pretty fluttering things. 
 What did it mean? Several in the audience looked 
 at one another. Was it symbolical? 
 
 The pupils of Miss Flossie's eyes, bent on the 
 stage from one of the boxes, were slightly dilated ; 
 with fingers pressed closely against her warm palms, 
 she had witnessed the lovers' parting. The scene 
 was, of course, most unnatural from the European, 
 or American standpoint. Ceremonious bows! 
 That leave-taking seemed pitifully cold. Only the 
 eyes spoke, yet how much they said !
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 321 
 
 Those of Chatfield Bruce seemed to express in 
 that brief moment more than a volume of words; 
 Marjorie Wood's puzzled Miss Flossie. What did 
 she read in their depths ? Incredulity ; wonder- 
 ment; half-understanding? Miss Burke had not 
 
 , * 
 followed the plot; she liked her plays allegro, 
 
 rivace; this stage representation was double adagio. 
 
 Had she seen the play within the play, the chances 
 are she would have been more interested; had she 
 looked behind the curtain a moment later, her curi- 
 osity, if no livelier feeling, would have been greatly 
 stirred. 
 
 Chatfield Bruce and Marjorie Wood stood there, 
 now, on the stage alone. Forgotten were the char- 
 acters of the play ; it was two real people who looked 
 at each other. 
 
 ' You said I might see you once more, and so I 
 came to-night," he began. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. All the bright color had 
 gone ; she was very pale. 
 
 "I I promised to explain a little," he went on, 
 inexorably, with seeming ease. He could not show 
 her any of the pain that the knowledge of the im- 
 measurable gulf between them made him feel.
 
 322 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 " But it would have been much easier just to have 
 left, to have gone away, without that." 
 
 She lifted her eyes slightly. "You are going 
 away, then?" she managed to say. 
 
 " Yes ; oh, yes," he answered carelessly. 
 
 The shining draperies about her stirred. " Far? " 
 came from her lips. She seemed speaking without 
 volition of her own. 
 
 " As far as may be ! " he said, with a reckless 
 laugh. 
 
 He had to keep to his part now; no playing the 
 craven at that moment, though this was the hardest 
 task he had ever set himself. She drew a little 
 from him; perhaps the laugh and the precipitate 
 light shining from his eyes, in some way, cut her. 
 A belated blossom fell and clung to her. He looked 
 at the tiny trifle; it would long cling to his mem- 
 ory. 
 
 " I'm sorry you found that key," he spoke with 
 what seemed brusk, terrible bluntness. " But it 
 was chronicled in the book of fate. One of the 
 sisters three led your footsteps straight to it. Why 
 did you not give me up?" She did not answer. 
 " It would have been easier for me than this."
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 323 
 
 His long shapely fingers lifted involuntarily to his 
 brow; the last words had broken from his lips in a 
 different tone than she had ever heard from him 
 before. She put her hand back of her and touched 
 the stage tree. He straightened. Again, light, 
 careless, easy, he was very handsome to look at; a 
 figure to have found favor in any woman's eyes. 
 " Wouldn't it be better, if I did just go now, with- 
 out " 
 
 " Oh, no," she said. Her voice was very still, 
 unlike her own; she did not seem herself at all, to 
 him, nor to herself. 
 
 " Ah, well ! " He would have to go on to the 
 end ; did he not know he would be forced to do 
 so, when he came there that night? The play had 
 been but the text, the key-note ; the real drama came 
 after the curtain was down. Without now, in 
 front of the stage, the servants were beginning to 
 clear away the little partitions of the boxes and 
 squares, for the dance that would follow. " Where 
 shall I begin? That is the point," he observed 
 with light helplessness. " It all seems so incom- 
 prehensible, unexplainable, when one attempts to 
 explain," he remarked. " I didn't know how ex-
 
 324 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 traordinarily difficult it would be. Of course, you 
 know, I'm a thief ! " 
 
 She shivered. Her lips were very uncertain. 
 She seemed to try to speak, but could not; the 
 cherry blossoms lay mockingly bright at her feet. 
 
 " I guess that's the best way to start," said Chat- 
 field Bruce contemplatively. He looked at her 
 now, but did not seem to see her; some vista, far 
 beyond, engrossed his look. " A plain Dick Tur- 
 pin, Robert Macaire, Jack Sheppard, or any of 
 that ilk, if you please. Voilal So much estab- 
 lished, one can go on or rather, go backward ! " 
 he laughed. He did not spare himself now. 
 
 " It began far up one of the rivers of China, 
 where even in these enlightened days, the genuine, 
 old-fashioned pirate yet flourishes. The idea, I 
 mean, began there ; perhaps was unconsciously sug- 
 gested by a certain old river-pirate whose life I once 
 happened to save. But that's another story; if you 
 ever meet Senor Caglioni, again, which I doubt, 
 he could tell you about it. This bucaneer of the 
 yellow stream," he went on in ironical, scoffing 
 accents, " was a terrible fellow. In times of fam- 
 ine, when thousands were dying and the Chinese
 
 THE JAPANESE PLAY 325 
 
 merchants hoisted the price of rice to a prohibitive 
 figure, this wicked corsair helped himself at the 
 sword's point to all the cereal, and distributed it 
 for nothing to the famished hordes. Primitive 
 socialism! There was something delightfully naive 
 about it to me. I cherished a positive liking for 
 the old marauder. Of course they got his head in 
 the end; but when his spirit, like that of the man's 
 in the poem, swung past the milky way to the 
 realms of Pluto, I'll warrant there was no ' what 
 some one else said,' ' what some one else did or 
 thought,' as he met the dark master's queries. A 
 law unto himself!" musingly. "A personality!" 
 He broke off with a laugh. " That seems about 
 all," he remarked. " The rest becomes merely 
 episodical and degenerates into mere vulgar details." 
 
 'You have always given away, then " Was 
 she speaking or was it a dream? He answered. 
 From somewhere not far away, the orchestra tuning 
 their instruments, could be heard. 
 
 "And Mr. Page those bonds?" She hardly 
 knew what she was saying. 
 
 " Some time ago, he foisted on a certain charity, 
 as advisory member of the board, about fifty thou-
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN AND A BIG PORT 
 
 A LITTLE shop in a street of colonnades at the 
 foot of a great hill overlooking a big port, 
 gateway to, or from, a magic domain, a Land of 
 Nod whose somnolent millions are just beginning to 
 raise their sleepy heads. On the waters of the big 
 port the smaller native boats bob around like 
 bumblebees busy in a garden. The brown junks 
 lie still in droves, and only the occasional typhoon 
 can stir them to general activity and excitement. 
 Occupying the more open spaces, the ships from 
 the western countries swing with an air of grave 
 solidity at their anchorage. Dark specks clamber 
 up the sides of several of them from the coal 
 lighters around. Big vessels continue to arrive; 
 others go. Always animation, life in the shadow 
 of the great hills that stand like guardian sentinels 
 of the strange land beyond. 
 
 The man in the little shop referred to can not, 
 328
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 329 
 
 at the present moment, see all this from his front 
 door which faces the other way; but he knows it is 
 there, and, sometimes, perhaps, he likes to think 
 of, or go where he can look out upon the varied 
 details of the picture. Now, however, he is ab- 
 sorbed in a paper from " home " America ; he 
 has read the latest news of graft, politics and 
 scandal, and is about to turn to the page devoted to 
 sermons, when his gaze is arrested by a head-line : 
 " The Goldberg pearls. . . . Mysteriously re- 
 turned after more than four years." The fine 
 straight eyes lift from the sheet. The man's ex- 
 pression is one of ironical disapproval of modern 
 enterprising newspaper methods; then, suppressing 
 a yawn, he sits with a contemplative look on his 
 slightly whimsical, clean-cut features. It is only in 
 moments like these, of perfect repose and easy 
 poise, that the man on the little stool in the door- 
 way appears any older than he who enacted the 
 role of the beggar-prince in the old classic play of 
 the Shoguns. 
 
 Has he ever thought of that occasion since? His 
 eyes, somewhat graver, though filled with a lively 
 interest in all things that have life, follow the multi-
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN AND A BIG PORT 
 
 A LITTLE shop in a street of colonnades at the 
 foot of a great hill overlooking a big port, 
 gateway to, or from, a magic domain, a Land of 
 Nod whose somnolent millions are just beginning to 
 raise their sleepy heads. On the waters of the big 
 port the smaller native boats bob around like 
 bumblebees busy in a garden. The brown junks 
 lie still in droves, and only the occasional typhoon 
 can stir them to general activity and excitement. 
 Occupying the more open spaces, the ships from 
 the western countries swing with an air of grave 
 solidity at their anchorage. Dark specks clamber 
 up the sides of several of them from the coal 
 lighters around. Big vessels continue to arrive ; 
 others go. Always animation, life in the shadow 
 of the great hills that stand like guardian sentinels 
 of the strange land beyond. 
 
 The man in the little shop referred to can not, 
 328
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 329 
 
 at the present moment, see all this from his front 
 door which faces the other way ; but he knows it is 
 there, and, sometimes, perhaps, he likes to think 
 of, or go where he can look out upon the varied 
 details of the picture. Now, however, he is ab- 
 sorbed in a paper from " home " America ; he 
 has read the latest news of graft, politics and 
 scandal, and is about to turn to the page devoted to 
 sermons, when his gaze is arrested by a head-line : 
 " The Goldberg pearls. . . . Mysteriously re- 
 turned after more than four years." The fine 
 straight eyes lift from the sheet. The man's ex- 
 pression is one of ironical disapproval of modern 
 enterprising newspaper methods; then, suppressing 
 a yawn, he sits with a contemplative look on his 
 slightly whimsical, clean-cut features. It is only in 
 moments like these, of perfect repose and easy 
 poise, that the man on the little stool in the door- 
 way appears any older than he who enacted the 
 role of the beggar-prince in the old classic play of 
 the Shoguns. 
 
 Has he ever thought of that occasion since? His 
 eyes, somewhat graver, though filled with a lively 
 interest in all things that have life, follow the multi-
 
 330 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 tude; brown, yellow, white! The bare feet of the 
 'ricksha bo^s patter patter. There's a rhythm 
 in the sound; it soothes, lulls. A Chinaman, with 
 a visage suggestive of the inherited calm of gen- 
 erations of tranquil ancestors, moves silently about, 
 amid the rarest of silks and priests' robes, vases 
 
 and other superb ancient art-pieces. A shop? 
 
 
 
 Rather, a tiny museum, a room full of delight and 
 treasures. 
 
 The Chinaman dusts and rubs. He never drops 
 anything; his days are an exemplification of ex- 
 istence without emotions or accidents. The man in 
 the doorway now turns lazily to regard him. 
 Patter ! patter ! the feet without go on in- 
 cessantly. Click ! click ! li f e surges through 
 the narrow street. The man hears the sound of 
 the stream, though he no longer sees it; his gaze, 
 half-contemplative, half-inquiring, continues fas- 
 tened on the Oriental. 
 
 " Let me see, Ting's Elder Brother, how long is 
 it since we have been partners?" 
 
 " Nearly ten years." 
 
 " And in that time we have amassed a few pretty 
 pennies ? "
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 331 
 
 The Chinaman imperturbably mentioned an 
 amount. 
 
 " Quite a princely fortune ! " commented the man 
 on the stool. " The people of your country are 
 ideal business partners," he laughed. " One pujs a 
 little money with them and it grows like a snow- 
 ball you haven't even helped roll along." 
 
 " The collection of vases and other articles the 
 master left before he went to the New World were 
 very fine," said the other in the smoothest dialect 
 of Canton. 
 
 " They must have been," was the lazy reply, 
 " since you got nearly one hundred thousand dol- 
 lars for purchases made by me for a few hundred 
 dollars on one of my exploring expeditions into the 
 interior. Truly art thou a Prince of Merchants, 
 oh, Ting's Elder Brother, and a wizard day was 
 it for me when I established you here. An ex- 
 cellent contract of mine, that of equal profits for 
 setting you up! And the joke of it is," laughed 
 the man on the stool, " I really thought I was do- 
 ing you a favor, that never a dollar that went into 
 the venture would ever come out again. I really 
 forgot all about you and the little shop until one
 
 332 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 day in New York " his face graver "a letter 
 came, saying something about good business in 
 China." 
 
 " It is I and my brothers who owe much to the 
 master," said the Oriental musically. " Did he not 
 save " 
 
 " Your honorable and illustrious father, the 
 benevolent pirate? " rising. " True. Heigho! " he 
 yawned. " The sleeping partner, having become 
 opulent, is also once more getting restless. The lit- 
 tle stool in a front door, though a charming post of 
 vantage, offers not sufficient scope for his fevered 
 brain." 
 
 " The master has only been back from one of his 
 journeys about a week." 
 
 " A week? It has seemed a year." 
 
 " Well," sententiously, " if the master must go so 
 soon again, in the town of Tei-to, near the borders 
 of Thibet, there is, I have heard, an honorable fam- 
 ily who have had for many generations, three an- 
 cient vases " 
 
 " Which, if you got, you could set your own 
 price on for some barbarian American? Good! 
 My countrymen must have works of art, Ting's
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 333 
 
 Elder Brother. And to get these there may be 
 offered an adventure. Besides " He stopped, 
 thinking of a delicate, secret service then engrossing 
 him, work he had taken upon himself, through mo- 
 tives of patriotism, for his government at Washing- 
 ton. An unique, silent figure, Chatfield Bruce went 
 here, there, everywhere, ostensibly to procure val- 
 uable curios, but more especially on confidential busi- 
 ness pertaining to the awakening and the future of 
 this vast empire. 
 
 The powers at home were interested, curious; 
 they wanted to know much and to do a great deal. 
 Disdaining conpensation for his services, Bruce had 
 mixed somewhat in the game between nations, 
 never outwardly, but secretly, with true oriental 
 subtlety. He understood these people, liked and 
 trusted them, and they knew him. 
 
 The wanderlust for the wastes and the deserts 
 and the walled cities that loom up like magic to 
 startle the vision, was on him again; the big port, 
 half-Europeanized, had begun to pall on his fancy. 
 Now he walked once or twice back and forth, in 
 the wonderful little shop; touched here and there 
 with caressing finger some object; paused at the
 
 334 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 sight of the newspaper that had dropped from his 
 hand to the soft rug. News from home ! He 
 continued to regard the sheet. Paltry news, that 
 told him only of what he already knew. Sundry, 
 to the public unexplainable, repayments to Gold- 
 berg, Morrow, Page and others. Vis comic a? 
 Instead of Morrow, for example, returning to the 
 widows and orphans what that eminently respectable 
 gentleman and pillar of society had stolen through 
 his big asphalt swindle, it had been he, Bruce, after 
 all, who had made restitution from his own pocket- 
 l>ook. An ironical turn of fortune ! How Mor- 
 row, et al, would have a right to rub their hands 
 complacently if they only knew the details! Trav- 
 esty burlesque farce ! His poor socialistic the- 
 ories! As excellent as any; perhaps, a little bet- 
 ter! 
 
 Had he ever really believed in, or cared for them ? 
 The end justifying the means? Or had the sar- 
 donic jest of it all, the risks, the mad excitement 
 appealed to an odd, wild, seemingly untamable 
 substratum in his nature? Who might say? The 
 Then was as much a puzzle as the Now. The 
 incongruous Now! To have yielded to old- fash-
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 335 
 
 ioned conventionalism, to have gone back, re- 
 trograded, become a mere cog, the usual ordi- 
 nary, unthinking cog ! Alack and alas ! But it was 
 to be; had been ordained; it could not have been 
 otherwise. Something had happened; as if some 
 potter had molded anew the clay. Totally anew! 
 Oh, the near-tragedy of being just a mere part 
 of an orderly machine! Bruce touched the paper 
 with his foot. Paltry news, indeed! 
 
 A slight indentation appeared on his brow; he 
 tapped a beautiful crystal ball carelessly. If one 
 could but really look into it and span oceans with 
 the gaze; conjure the picture one most wished to 
 see, to the shining depths of the sphere's pellucid 
 center ! 
 
 " Well, I'll go now and pack the little bag," mur- 
 mured Bruce, at length, absently. Life, after all, 
 was mostly made up of packing and unpacking a 
 grip. 
 
 " Can Ting's Elder Brother do anything more? " 
 asked the Chinaman. 
 
 The young man paused in the doorway, his figure 
 outlined against the sunlight on the pavement of 
 the colonnade. " Not unless you are really a
 
 336 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 necromancer as well as a magic merchant," he an- 
 swered facetiously. 
 
 "And if so what want?" said the other, re- 
 lapsing into Pidgin-English. 
 
 " Nothing much, or very unreasonable," laughed 
 Bruce. " You might bring me to the sleeping 
 princess ; the way the genii did in the Arabian fairy 
 tale. What was her name Badoura ? She lived 
 in some remote part of China." 
 
 " Plenty other princesses right here," suggested 
 the active partner insinuatingly. 
 
 " Why, so there are ! " in a lively tone. And 
 Chatfield Bruce walked out. 
 
 As he made his way along the cool colonnade, a 
 few of those other princesses Ting's Elder Brother 
 had in mind looked, more or less shyly, out of the 
 corners of their eyes at the graceful, tall figure, 
 clad in the light, immaculate garments; but Chat- 
 field Bruce, with head well up, seemed now only 
 to gaze over the heads of the passers-by, princesses 
 and all ! At a corner he turned and walked down a 
 block or two, to gaze out at the shipping. 
 
 What boats had come in, he asked one of the 
 agents in front of an oface on the harbor front.
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 337 
 
 The man told him the names of two or three liners 
 that had just dropped anchor. 
 
 " That's the Cynthia, over there, from Bombay," 
 added the informant, indicating with a finger. 
 Bruce glanced ; there was nothing very especial 
 about the Cynthia to attract attention. She had 
 brought a fair cargo and a goodly list of passen- 
 gers; the latter had already been conveyed ashore 
 by the noisy hotel launches, and were, no doubt, 
 distributed by this time, in the various hostelries, 
 among the shops or at the top of the hill, for the 
 world-famed view. 
 
 Bruce stepped quickly on; he was in a mood for 
 action. He did not take the inclined railroad to 
 his house and garden, several hundred feet up on 
 the hillside, but climbed briskly thither while rest- 
 less, mercurial thoughts ran through his brain. 
 Was it only that the wandering spirit had again 
 bitten him? He passed his hand lightly across his 
 brow and threw back his shoulders. 
 
 Vaporous vagaries; he would have no more to 
 do with them; he would think only of the practical 
 concerns of the hour. 
 
 Unlocking a gate, set in a vine-covered wall, he
 
 338 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 found himself in a garden of rare flowers and 
 plants. The house, English in design, looked out 
 from its nesting place upon the wonderful harbor 
 and commanded a lofty view of the way between 
 hills to the sea. Bruce's small grip was soon 
 packed; one could compress many garments of light 
 silk in that inconsiderable space ; and, leaving a few 
 last directions with his English butler, the young 
 man set forth for the inland journey. 
 
 That would lead him where? He neither knew 
 nor cared. 
 
 He had scarcely left his house out of sight, when 
 at one of the abrupt turns in his way leading down 
 some one unexpectedly advanced to speak to him, 
 a young lady who had been pausing indecisively 
 near a flowering space whence several paths di- 
 verged. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but would you kindly di- 
 rect " She broke off. " Mr. Bruce ! " 
 
 Very pale, he bowed. There was momentary 
 silence. 
 
 " When did you arrive ? " he, at length, asked. 
 He did not call her " Miss Wood " ; she was prob- 
 ably now
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 339 
 
 " This morning," she said, " on the Cynthia." 
 
 Again, that silence. It was broken, at last, by 
 him. " You were about to ask the way to " 
 
 " Yes." Her eyes were strangely bright ; she 
 mentioned the desired destination mechanically. 
 
 He indicated a path. " Three to the right ; two 
 to the left." He managed to speak now in mat- 
 ter-of-fact tones. He saw her figure straighten; 
 she was annoyed by the encounter; annoyed! The 
 word sang in his brain; the leaves, leaping to the 
 wind, seemed to rustle it; the overgrown cricket 
 of the hills mockingly to reiterate it. Annoyed 
 of course, naturally. What else should he expect? 
 But he had to say something. 
 
 " Odd to meet again like this ! " he went on. 
 " But, after all, the world is small." He uttered 
 the platitude as lightly as he could; it gapped an 
 interval. 
 
 " Yes," she said. No more. He told himself he 
 was detaining her, yet clumsily stayed a moment 
 longer. He, Chatfield Bruce, clumsy! The im- 
 movable Buddha himself might have laughed. 
 
 "You had a good voyage?" 
 
 "Oh, yes."
 
 340 THE SOCIAL BUCAXEER 
 
 Was there anything further to add or to do? 
 He lifted his hat; the "China boy" had come up 
 with the grip. She seemed about to speak and an 
 instant he waited. Her hand suddenly tightened. 
 He saw it, surmised an impatience and spoke more 
 quickly : 
 
 '' You should have no difficulty in finding it. 
 Your way, I mean," and started to go. Where- 
 upon she would have spoken told him she had 
 heard all of the mysterious restorations to Mor- 
 row the others would have uttered she knew 
 not what words his name, certainly ; she did 
 speak that. But the car of the incline near by 
 rushed down at that moment, swallowing up the 
 words with its harsh metallic rattle and rumble 
 and she stood alone looking down the path he had 
 gone. 
 
 At the wharf Bruce learned that the scheduled 
 hour for the boat's leaving had, at the last mo- 
 ment, been changed; it would not go until the 
 next morning. He hardly listened to the explana- 
 tions for this sudden alteration in the time for 
 departure ; it was of little interest to him, whether 
 it had been caused bv news of an outbreak of
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 341 
 
 cholera somewhere, the need for fumigating the 
 boat anew, or an abrupt warning of typhoon sig- 
 nals. The circumstance, alone, was of moment to 
 him; he found himself doomed to remain yet a 
 while in the big port, twelve hours, or more. Or- 
 dinarily, he accepted these untoward incidents of 
 a traveler's lot with unvarying calmness and philos- 
 ophy ; but now a burning impatience consumed him. 
 
 What should he do with himself until morning? 
 How pass the remainder of that afternoon; the 
 evening? Mingling with the passengers at the 
 club? Listening to globe-trotters' yarns over 
 whisky and tansan? Or should he go aboard the 
 stuffy little river boat and remain there, to hear 
 big tales from the captain about former days and 
 the yellow pirates of old who made life interesting 
 for the little pioneer steamboats? 
 
 In an unexplainable state of mind he sauntered 
 on; he, Chatfield Bruce, generally quick and alert, 
 now discovered in himself a vacillating and dilatory 
 Triplepatte. He experienced a definite sense of 
 demoralization and weakening of an erstwhile in- 
 cisiveness of character, when without special mo- 
 tive, he got into one of the cars of the inclined
 
 342 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 railroad, for no better reason than that it just went 
 somewhere, and that such a destination seemed all- 
 sufficient and satisfying at the present moment. 
 He got out mechanically at the last stop; climbed 
 where he had to climb, and walked where the path 
 led him. At a considerable elevation, perforce he 
 stopped ; he could go no higher. 
 
 The world lay at his feet, superb, wonderful 
 beautiful green and sparkling blue sward and sea, 
 neither lovelier than the other and overhead the 
 dreamy azure, unbroken by even a feather of a 
 cloud. Bruce had often stood here and looked off. 
 He had surveyed the picture in many varying 
 aspects. Never the same twice, it had wooed and 
 won him in different alluring guises; but now he 
 felt strangely unresponsive. The hills were only 
 hills and the ocean but the ocean. He sat down 
 and plucked at the grass; then lay with his head in 
 it and looked up. 
 
 Azure; nothing except azure above! Its monot- 
 ony weighed upon him ; the tiniest puff-ball of white 
 he would have welcomed. That blank dome 
 seemed, perhaps, like his life; an indefinite space of 
 nothingness. How much time passed? An hour,
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 343 
 
 or two hours? It may be, longer; certainly, quite 
 a while. He closed his eyes; the sunlight, playing 
 on his lids, caused him to see red, intermingled 
 with prismatic spots or blurs, shapeless, meaning- 
 less. For a considerable interval he remained thus ; 
 the sun began to dip in gorgeous triumph toward 
 the horizon. 
 
 Suddenly he sat up and listened. 
 
 " I don't think I'll climb any higher, my dear. 
 In fact, I believe I'll go back to the Cliff House, 
 near by. It's been a strenuous clay, and a rest on 
 the balcony before dinner rather appeals to me." 
 
 The voice a man's came from below. An 
 out-jutting granite rock at Bruce's feet concealed 
 the speaker a woman, who answered: 
 
 " Very well ; I'll return with you." 
 
 " No, no,' my dear ; quite unnecessary ! " Mr. 
 Wood's tones were again heard in gentle remon- 
 strance. "Go on up to the top, if you wish; it's 
 perfectly safe, I'm told." 
 
 "You don't really mind, then?" 
 
 " Not a bit ! Only, while you're about it, I'll be 
 making my way leisurely toward one of those 
 veranda chairs at the hotel," he laughed. " A little
 
 "344 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 touch of the rheumatism, you understand, my dear. 
 I'm not the climber I used to be." 
 
 The retreating footsteps died away ; a hush, death- 
 like, seemed to embrace the world. Suddenly a 
 pebble dropped; another! Bruce turned his eyes, 
 and, for the second time that day, saw her, now 
 as a part of a roseate miracle, with the swift, 
 mantling flush tinting her cheek. The blue of her 
 eyes was like the azure touched with the deepening 
 shades of twilight; beneath the darkness of her 
 hair, they looked out upon him, startled, surprised, 
 and glad, yes, glad ! 
 
 What did it mean? Her white hand was trem- 
 bling on the black rock. She had met him, after 
 what seemed so many years, again a few moments 
 before, that day, only to see him go away once 
 more, this time for ever, she was certain. For 
 ever! The word had been leaping in her heart; 
 every beat had been attuned to it, and now 
 
 The flames of light played between, around them 
 and struck her fairly. And his gaze which he had 
 forced to be conventional when he had encountered 
 her before, now lingered absorbingly on her, a part 
 of the picture, the sky, merging into it, making the
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 345 
 
 world super-radiant Lovers' madness? Perhaps. 
 But ah, the years had been kind to her, caress- 
 ing her with soft curving lines, lending depth 
 wondrous depth to the blue eyes. 
 
 Who spoke first? Did he go to her, or she to 
 him? The black months seemed to fall from his 
 shoulders, all restlessness to take wings. The flames 
 now played on them as one. 
 
 "And Sir Archibald?" 
 
 " Returned to India long ago." 
 
 ' You did not see him there ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And yet he is not one lightly to resign. A 
 man would fight hard for you " he smiled 
 " not give you up easily." 
 
 " Did you, sir, not give me up easily, as you 
 call it, that night of the Japanese play?" 
 
 "I easily!" 
 
 " And went away, a jest on your lips! " 
 
 " A jest ? " He looked up at her. She sat on a 
 great rock, he, at her feet. " I did not feel in a 
 jesting mood." 
 
 " And to-day, on the path " - her lips were
 
 346 THE SOCIAL BUCANEER 
 
 slightly tremulous " confess, you were somewhat 
 cavalier " 
 
 "Ah, I did not know then," with a glad laugh, 
 " what your eyes have since told me." 
 
 "My eyes told you " 
 
 " A moment ago here " 
 
 " You mean I told you first that I " 
 
 " Shall we say, we told each other simultane- 
 ously?" 
 
 The purple lights began to glow on the summit. 
 ' You were going away again to-day, when I 
 met you ? " 
 
 "But didn't!" he answered. "The boat's 
 schedule was changed ; she leaves to-morrow early." 
 
 "And you go then, of course?" 
 
 He got up and looked down at her. Behind, the 
 sun dipped ; the radiance grew. " Shall I ? " 
 
 She did not speak. 
 
 "Shall I?" he repeated, mindful only of the 
 glory of her eyes, the wonder of her face. 
 
 She answered, but not in words. 
 
 " Marjorie ! " He took her in his arms, held 
 her from all the world. A thousand swords flared
 
 A LITTLE GARDEN 347 
 
 up from the horizon, as he bent over and kissed 
 lips, sweet as Aurora's! 
 
 Aurora's ! The Dawn,- magic symbol ! sug- 
 gestive of the "open sesame" of life! He had 
 found it at last. Triumphantly the knowl- 
 edge surged through him. She was his " dawn," 
 with her eyes the wonderful blue of the sky. His 
 lips swept over them, too ; he forgot the world ; 
 it lay below like the figment of a dream. The 
 past all its problems had gone and were buried 
 for ever. Not long before, that very day, the 
 routine he had stepped into had seemed anoma- 
 lous; he had vaguely scoffed at himself. Now it 
 had been suddenly illumined, tinged with the beau- 
 tiful, the marvelous, as if a miracle had happened. 
 
 The world receded more and more ; the stars 
 came out, and in their glad light, they, very glad, 
 went down together. 
 
 THE END
 
 
 
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