Jacques lutrelle
 
 PROPERTY OF 
 
 C. PROPACH 
 
 CHICAGO, ILL
 
 o 
 
 -o
 
 MY LADY'S GARTER
 
 JACQUES FUTRELLE
 
 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 By 
 
 JACQUES FUTRELLE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE CHASE OF THE GOLDEN PLATE" 
 
 "THE THINKING MACHINE" 
 
 "THE HIGH HAND" 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 F. R. GRUGER 
 
 RAND McNALLY & COMPANY 
 CHICAGO NEW YORK
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 RAND. McNALLY & COMPANY
 
 1 DEDICATE THIS MY HUSBAND'S 
 BOOK 
 
 MAY FUTRELLE
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Jacques Futrelle (from a photograph) .... Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 "The ring he had given her! . . . She would find it and 
 
 wear it again!" 9 
 
 " There were a lot of things about this son of his that he 
 
 didn'tlike" 16 
 
 " ' I say, I'm in love. You don't seem a bit excited about 
 
 it. Do pay attention tome! '" 24 
 
 '"I charge him with the theft ... of fifty thousand dol- 
 lars' worth of jewels belonging to my daughter ! " 64 
 
 " ' If that isn't one of the diamonds from the Countess of 
 
 Salisbury's garter, I'll eat it' " 80 
 
 " ' Oh, yes. It's about the Countess of Salisbury's garter. 
 
 I have seen the afternoon newspapers' " . . . 104 
 
 " ' It's old Daddy Heinz' account book absolute proof 
 that The Hawk was alive on June 17, eight days 
 ago!'" 
 
 " After a long time an angel came, an angel in a dory" . 
 
 " There, against the glass of the porthole, was a man's 
 
 face!" 192 
 
 " The record was still playing as he . . . disconnected her 
 
 gasoline supply" 208 
 
 " The next thing Meredith remembered, he was in icy cold 
 
 water, swimming" 256 
 
 "From beyond the sturdy oaken panels came the muffled 
 
 crack of a revolver! " 320
 
 "The ring he had given her! 
 
 wear it aeainl" 
 
 Page 264 
 She would find it and
 
 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 PART I 
 
 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 ONCE upon a time, nearly six hundred 
 years ago about the year 1344 to be 
 more explicit His Gracious Majesty, King 
 Edward III, guest of honor at the grand 
 annual ball of the Larry L. Plantagenet 
 Association, paused while dancing with the 
 beautiful Countess of Salisbury, and, stoop- 
 ing, picked up from the floor a lady's garter ! 
 It was a ribbon of dark blue, edged with 
 yellow a slender, shapely thing with buckle 
 and pendant cunningly wrought of gold. 
 
 The countess gasped, blushed, grabbed 
 hysterically at her left knee, then giggled! 
 Even beautiful women giggle! A smile ran 
 around the ballroom; the smile became a 
 titter. 
 
 "Honi soil qui mal y pense!" His Majesty 
 reproved sharply. 
 
 I Now one may translate that a dozen ways: 
 /'Evil to him who evil thinks," or "Shame 
 be upon him who thinks ill of it." Anyway, 
 
 9
 
 io MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 those gay young blades who had been boning 
 their French with the idea of assisting Ed- 
 ward III to the throne of France, discovered 
 suddenly that there was nothing amusing 
 in the incident; and ribald laughter died on 
 their lips. For, be it understood, in those 
 days it wasn't healthy to laugh unless the 
 king laughed first. 
 
 Bending gravely, His Majesty placed the 
 garter around his own leg, the left, just below 
 the knee, and the dance went on to the end. 
 Then: 
 
 "My my garter, please?" stammered the 
 countess in charming confusion. 
 
 "I shall return a pair of them, my dear 
 Countess a pair done in gold," His Majesty 
 told her gallantly. "Perchance there may 
 be a jewel or so in the royal strong box with 
 which to adorn them. You will honor me 
 by accepting them." 
 
 The Countess curtseyed to the floor. 
 
 So, romantically enough, was born Brit- 
 ain's highest order of chivalry, the Order of 
 the Garter. Its insignia is a slender ribbon 
 of dark blue, edged with yellow, and overlaid 
 with shields of gold, upon each of which is 
 the motto: "Honi soil qui mat y pense/" 
 Its pendant represents St. George, armored,
 
 MY LADY'S GARTER n 
 
 "on a white horse, poking a large spear down 
 the vermilion throat of a green dragon with 
 a barbed tail. Ten thousand men have died 
 for it. 
 
 Just what Queen Philippa, Edward's con- 
 tort, had to say about it when her husband 
 'appeared before her wearing another woman's 
 garter, or how the Countess of Salisbury 
 managed for the remainder of the evening, 
 doesn't appear. These, together with other 
 interesting details, are lost in the mists of 
 antiquity. 
 
 For many years a lady's garter lay among 
 the precious relics tucked away in an obscure 
 corner of the British Museum. It differed 
 from the widely known insignia of the Order 
 of the Garter only in its apparent extreme 
 age, and in the fact that diamonds and 
 rubies were set alternately in the six shields 
 of gold overlaying the ribbon. This was one 
 of the two original garters given to the Coun- 
 tess of Salisbury by His Majesty, Edward III. 
 
 Something like a year since the garter 
 vanished. Obviously, it had been stolen.
 
 PART II 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 LOVE is the one immutable quality we 
 poor humans possess. It is unchang- 
 ing as the whiteness of snow, or the redness of 
 roses, or the blush of the desert dawn. Its 
 object may alter alas, how often it does! 
 but love itself is an essential. That was as 
 true ten thousand aeons ago as it is now, and 
 as it will be ten thousand aeons hence. So, 
 perforce, the delver into emotions must be 
 trite in his expositions. 'Twas only a whim 
 of the somber goddess who spins the threads 
 of our lives that saved from triteness the affair 
 I am about to recount. One wonders at times 
 if there may not be a grinning countenance 
 behind Fate's tragic mask! Who can say? 
 
 In this instance it appears that the goddess 
 acted deliberately. She had an afternoon off 
 from her spinning, and amused herself by 
 entangling two threads of destiny a white 
 one and a black one. The white one was 
 that of S. Keats Gaunt, poet, aesthete, and 
 heir to millions; and the black one was that 
 
 12
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 13 
 
 of The Hawk, gentleman adventurer, master 
 crook, and all-around expert in the legerde- 
 main of theft. The result of her caprice 
 must have amazed even the goddess in all 
 her infinite solemnity. 
 
 In the beginning genius unbound I am 
 referring specifically to that rising young 
 maker of verses, S. Keats Gaunt, familiarly 
 Skeets had pierced the empyrean and in 
 that starry vault found the Ideal; and had 
 shot flaming, love-tipped javelins of poesy 
 with so sure an aim that, wounded and 
 fainting, that Ideal had fallen into his arms 
 and nestled there, smiling. The holy fire of 
 passion burst into iambics, and odes, and 
 epics and things; following which we have 
 the spectacle of a dreamy-eyed, long-haired 
 young man going to his millionaire coal- 
 baron father, and stating the case. 
 
 The interview took place in his father's 
 office, and at its peroration, consisting of two 
 pasans shamelessly snatched from Shake- 
 speare, John Gaunt swung around in his 
 swivel chair and stared at his son scowlingly. 
 There were a lot of things about this son of 
 his that he didn't like; sometimes he caught 
 himself wondering if anybody did like 'em! 
 Some fathers are like that.
 
 i 4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "And who, may I ask," he queried with 
 exaggerated courtesy, "who is the lady you 
 have chosen to honor with so marked an 
 er er " He was never good at pretty 
 speeches. 
 
 "Helen Hamilton," replied the poet. 
 
 1 ' Helen Hamilton ? ' ' John Gaunt rose from 
 his seat with a roar, and his big fists were 
 clenched. "Helen Blazes!" And he sat 
 down again. 
 
 "Hamilton," Skeets corrected mildly. 
 
 "What in ! You can't ! Was ever a 
 man ! Why, in the name !" John 
 Gaunt spluttered on into sheer incoherency. 
 There were simply no words to fit it, that 
 was all. Finally, with an effort: "You 
 can't mean that snippy, redheaded, little 
 turned-up nose daughter of of Brokaw 
 Hamilton?" 
 
 "I mean the most beautiful woman God 
 ever made, " and the poet's soul was swimming 
 in his eyes, "Helen Hamilton, daughter of 
 Brokaw Hamilton." 
 
 John Gaunt's face blazed like a rising sun; 
 the veins in his thick neck swelled. 
 
 "No!" the voice of an angered lion. 
 
 "Why not?" Skeets wanted to know. 
 "Her family is as good as our own better;
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 15 
 
 her father has as many millions as you have, 
 perhaps more; her social position " 
 
 "No!" John Gaunt barked again thun- 
 derously. "No! No!! No!!!" 
 
 The young man arose and stood, unemo- 
 tionally pulling on a pair of pale lavender 
 gloves. He was not surprised at the objec- 
 tion; he had rather expected it, because of 
 an old feud between his father and Brokaw 
 Hamilton. 
 
 "I'm sorry you feel that way about it," 
 he remarked. 
 
 "Now, look here, Sammy, if you " 
 
 "Not Sammy, please, father." 
 
 "Samuel, then," and the belligerent voice 
 suddenly softened to a pleading whine. "Now 
 look here, Samuel, I've always been a kind 
 and indulgent father to you, haven't I?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "I've let you wear your hair long like that, 
 and haven't said a word, have I?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And I didn't object at all when you 
 began parting your name in the middle, 
 did I?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I've even called you Keats when I 
 remembered, haven't I?"
 
 16 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Skeets conceded the point. 
 
 "And when nobody would accept your 
 poetry, didn't I buy you a magazine to print 
 it in?" 
 
 "Yes." A deep sigh, and the poet dream- 
 ily brushed the long forelock from his eyes. 
 "After all, posterity " 
 
 "And haven't you been printing all you 
 could write?" John Gaunt went on hastily 
 he knew that speech about posterity. " Now, 
 do be reasonable. Run along and play with 
 your magazine. Cut out the gab about this 
 snippy, redheaded little " 
 
 "Pardon me!" and for an instant the 
 poet's eyes forgot to be poetic. They glit- 
 tered. 
 
 "This this absurd idea about Miss Hamil- 
 ton," his father amended. 
 
 "What's your objection to her?" 
 
 "I don't like her father." 
 
 "It's not her father I want to marry." 
 
 " I don't care who it is you want to marry, " 
 John Gaunt raged suddenly. "If he, she, 
 or it is named Hamilton, I object. Do you 
 understand? That's all." 
 
 "That is your irrevocable answer?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Skeets strolled out of the office.
 
 17 
 
 The following day the price of coal went 
 up. John Gaunt had to take it out on some- 
 body, so he put the skids under the consumer, 
 and fell to wondering hazily if he could find 
 a feasible scheme by which he might strip 
 Brokaw Hamilton of his millions. 
 
 Skeets spent forty-eight hours composing 
 more iambics, and odes, and epics and things, 
 all of them dripping gloom. Black wasn't 
 half black enough as a simile for the melan- 
 choly which possessed him. 
 
 On the day of that fateful interview Helen 
 Hamilton, too, had done the conventional 
 thing that is, she did it as nearly as she ever 
 did anything conventionally. Anyway, she 
 went to her father. He happened to be a 
 railroad magnate, like and yet unlike the 
 masterful John Gaunt. Their points of re- 
 semblance were a genius for accumulating 
 millions and a hatred, each for the other, 
 which had endured stanchly, unfalteringly, 
 for a dozen years. 
 
 Oddly enough, Brokaw Hamilton was, at 
 the moment, engaged in working out a plan 
 by which he hoped to apply the screws to 
 the Gaunt coal interests through his own 
 multiple railway connections. 
 
 He was at a big desk in his study a curious 
 
 2
 
 i8 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 room, littered with articles of virtu, and rare 
 and elegant bric-a-brac. It was an obsession 
 with him, this collecting of quaint artistic 
 trifles, anything that happened to appeal to 
 his catholic taste personal ornaments, pic- 
 tures, plate, jewels. One of the paperweights 
 on his desk was the mummied foot of an 
 Egyptian princess, and beside it lay a heavy, 
 square-shouldered coin of the time of Nero. 
 In a small glass case beside his pen rack was 
 an antiquated, mangy goose quill with which, 
 Brokaw Hamilton liked to believe, King John 
 had unwillingly signed Magna Charta. Three 
 or four cabinets against the wall were filled 
 with treasures garnered from the four corners 
 of the world. One end of his house was 
 given over to the pictures and larger articles 
 of his collection; here in his study he kept 
 the smaller and more precious. 
 
 The hobby had cost him millions, and he 
 liked to recall that he had gouged many of 
 those millions out of John Gaunt. Their 
 warfare of a dozen years had been bitter, 
 merciless, continuous, with no quarter asked 
 and none given. Now for the coup de grace/ 
 If this new plan he was working on turned 
 out as he wished, gad, he'd make John Gaunt 
 squirm! And he would celebrate the event
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 19 
 
 by buying that Corot he had his eye on! 
 A quarter of a million francs ! Dirt cheap ! 
 
 Helen came romping into the study; she 
 was the kind of girl who romped. Her 
 vigorous young muscles were wiry and inde- 
 fatigable; she could follow a golf ball for 
 miles and clout it in the eye every clip; or 
 play tennis, or ride horseback, or swim, or 
 drive a motor car or repair it, for that 
 matter. Altogether, an able young citizen 
 was Helen, with a self-reliance that was 
 inborn. She would have been astonished if 
 any one had ever suggested to her that she 
 might need help to do a thing. 
 
 "Hello, Pops," she greeted irreverently. 
 "Are you busy?" 
 
 "Yes, very." He didn't look up. 
 
 "I just came in to tell you I'm in love." 
 
 "Yes, yes, " abstractedly. " Speak to your 
 mother about it." 
 
 Helen perched herself on an end of the big 
 desk as one privileged, and sat there swinging 
 one foot, nursing her knee. Her nose crinkled 
 charmingly; a small nose, saucy, tip-tilted, 
 piquant. 
 
 "I say, I'm in love," she repeated aggres- 
 sively. "You don't seem a bit excited about 
 it. Do pay attention to me!" She leaned
 
 so MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 over and crumpled up the sheets of scrawly 
 figures upon which her father was at work. 
 "Do you hear? I'm in love!" 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton was used to this petty 
 tyranny. He reached for the crumpled sheets, 
 knowing the effort to be vain, then with a 
 sigh dropped back into his chair. 
 
 "In love!" he repeated. "You? Pooh, 
 pooh! Why, you're nothing but a child!" 
 
 "I'm twenty-one , " she protested . ' ' A child , 
 indeed! Why, I'm almost an old maid!" 
 
 Her father's thoughts were far away. . . . 
 There were hundreds of thousands of tons 
 of Gaunt coal to be hauled every year. 
 ... If he could get away with this, and 
 keep out of the clutches of the Interstate 
 Commerce Commission, why 
 
 "Well?" Helen demanded imperiously. 
 "Why don't you ask me who it is?" 
 
 "Who is it?" obediently. 
 
 "He's a poet!" triumphantly. "I mean 
 a real poet a regular poet who gets 'em 
 printed." She unfolded a sheet torn out of 
 a magazine and smoothed it on her knee. 
 "Now just listen, please; and remember I 
 am the Helen of whom he speaks: 
 
 " 'O Helen, thy hair is an aura of gold 
 Helen!'"
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 21 
 
 "Sounds like swearing," complained her 
 father; "that 'O Helen/ I mean." 
 
 "Why, Pops! I think it is perfectly 
 heavenly. And there's a whole page of it. 
 It goes on like this: 
 
 " ' Helen, thy hair is an aura of gold 
 
 O Helen! 
 O Helen, thine eyes hold a secret untold 
 
 O Helen! 
 O Helen, thy lips ' " 
 
 "Best thing I ever heard," interrupted 
 the railroad magnate hurriedly. "So ori- 
 ginal, too! Leave it, and I'll look it over 
 some time. I'm very busy now." 
 
 " 'Aura of gold!' Isn't that perfectly cork- 
 ing, Pops? 'Aura of gold!' She detached 
 a strand of her hair and inspected it critically 
 by the simple process of looking at it cross- 
 eyed. "But / should have called it red. 
 Why, Pops, it is red red as a geranium." 
 
 "Yes, yes," he assented absently. His 
 eyes were contracted, his thoughts far away 
 again. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be scrumptious, Pops, to 
 have a poet in the family? He could com- 
 pose odes to our birthdays, and anniversaries, 
 and and when the cook leaves. And I'm 
 simply crazy about him, Pops ! It's been going
 
 22 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 on for months the poems in the magazines, 
 I mean, all of them dedicated to me. Please, 
 may I have him?" 
 
 Helen caught her father's face in her 
 strong young hands, and compelled him to 
 look at her. 
 
 "What does your mother say about it?" 
 he asked, smiling. 
 
 "Well, she doesn't seem very enthusi- 
 astic, ' ' Helen confessed. ' ' You know, Pops, ' ' 
 she ran on in a gush of confidence, "lots of 
 men have made love to me, and there wasn't 
 one of them I'd have. Why, I couldn't 
 marry a man whom I could beat playing 
 golf, and tennis, and all those things. But 
 a poet! You see, he's different. One doesn't 
 expect him to to do all that. His soul is 
 above those things! He would be writing 
 things about me always oh, lovely poems!" 
 She leaned forward and dabbed her rosy 
 lips against the corrugated brow of her 
 father. "And he'd get 'em printed, too!" 
 
 "Who," her father inquired finally, with 
 <a flicker of interest, "who is this wonderful 
 poet who 'gets 'em printed'? " 
 
 Helen pursed her lips and swung a silk- 
 stockinged ankle violently. 
 
 "That's just it," she said. "Mother said
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 23 
 
 when I told you you would go off like a set 
 piece at a Fourth of July celebration." 
 
 "I can imagine your mother saying that," 
 commented her father sarcastically, "just 
 as you have expressed it." 
 
 "Well, anyway, she said you'd be awfully 
 angry." 
 
 "Why should I be angry?" he went on 
 curiously. "Who is your poet who 'gets 
 'em printed'?" 
 
 "You won't get mad and bellow?" 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "Skeets Gaunt." 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton sat motionless, regarding 
 her for a tense instant, then came to his feet 
 with angrily writhing hands, following which 
 there was a series of vocal explosions which 
 failed to resolve themselves into words. 
 Helen watched him with a pout on her lips, 
 and disappointment in her blue, blue eyes. 
 
 "There!" she said at last. "Mother said 
 you'd do that!" 
 
 "No!" bawled Brokaw Hamilton. "No! 
 A thousand times, no ! That pale-faced, long- 
 haired, squidgy-shouldered shrimp the son 
 of John Gaunt? No!" 
 
 Helen slid from the desk and enfolded her 
 infuriated parent in her arms; round, brown
 
 24 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 arms that were about as soft and yielding 
 as a as a steel cable. She held him until 
 he ceased to struggle, her eyes meeting his 
 pleadingly, her voice tenderly alluring: 
 
 "Please, Pops!" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Pretty please!" 
 
 "No!!" 
 
 "Pretty please with kisses on it?" 
 
 "No!!!" 
 
 Helen shook her respected father angrily, 
 as a terrier shakes a rat shook him until 
 the parental teeth rattled after which she 
 released him and strode to the door with 
 smouldering eyes. There she stopped and 
 stamped a small foot majestically. 
 
 "I will have him!" she declared hotly. 
 "I will! I wiU! I wiU! And I think you're 
 a mean old thing, so there!" 
 
 Having relieved herself of this rebellious 
 sentiment she went out, banging the door 
 behind her. She spent the next hour scold- 
 ing her maid. The maid smiled patiently; 
 she was used to it. 
 
 That which we are forbidden to have is 
 that we most desire. Had Brokaw Hamilton 
 and John Gaunt been as wise in the work- 
 ings of the human heart as they were in the
 
 '/ say, I'm in love. You don't seem a bit excited about it. 
 Do pay attention to me!' " 
 
 Page 19
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 25 
 
 railroad and coal business respectively, they 
 would have known parental objection is an 
 infallible method of bringing doubting hearts 
 together. For the inevitable happened. 
 
 Forty-eight hours' toil with a rhyming 
 dictionary and thesaurus sufficed to empty 
 Skeets Gaunt 's soul upon white paper. It 
 was a vast bitterness, and he spread it over 
 reams and reams; after which, practically 
 enough, he sent a telegram to Helen. It was 
 to this effect: 
 
 " My father objects. 
 
 " SKEETS." 
 
 The answer came immediately: 
 
 "So does mine. 
 
 "HELEN." 
 
 An hour elapsed; another telegram: 
 "Let's elope. 
 
 "SKEETS." 
 
 The answer: 
 
 "You're on. 
 
 "HELEN." 
 
 Ten minutes later : 
 
 "Meet me at St. Regis for luncheon to-morrow. 
 We will arrange details. " SKEETS."
 
 26 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 The messenger went back with this: 
 
 " I'll be there. 
 
 "HELEN." 
 
 As I said, all this was inevitable, having 
 already happened some thousands of times 
 inevitable and trite, merely leading up to those 
 incidents which followed the first entangling 
 of the life threads of S. Keats Gaunt, poet, 
 and The Hawk, gentleman adventurer.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 HAVING lined his capacious inner man 
 with a couple of pies which he had 
 adroitly filched from a kitchen window under 
 the very eyes of the cook, The Hawk drew 
 his threadbare coat more closely about him 
 and moved along the road sluggishly, like 
 a gorged snake, seeking a spot whereon to 
 lay his weary head. It was shortly after 
 ten o'clock at night, and the bullying wind 
 which came whooping in from Long Island 
 Sound, and bellowed through the bright new 
 green leaves of the overhanging trees, had 
 just enough chill in it to make a night in 
 the open unattractive. Through interlacing 
 boughs The Hawk could see, too, heavy, 
 damp clouds scudding across the heavens, 
 growing momentarily blacker. After awhile 
 it would rain; now he must find some indoor 
 place to sleep. 
 
 Realization of this immediate necessity 
 brought him to a reflective standstill, and he 
 looked back upon the scantily lighted road 
 he had just come, trying to remember if he 
 had passed a barn or a vacant house. Fin- 
 ally, shaking his head, he turned and looked 
 
 27
 
 28 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 the other way, on toward the city of New 
 York, some dozen or more miles off. A 
 couple of hundred yards ahead of him an 
 electric light glimmered at a bend in the 
 road. Beyond might be the very place he 
 was seeking, so he trudged on, head down 
 to the wind. 
 
 Evil days were these for The Hawk, lean, 
 empty, profitless days. Occasionally, through 
 the haze of half a dozen years, he permitted 
 himself the luxury of recollection recollection 
 of the splendid prodigality of his early crimi- 
 nal career an endless summer of roses and 
 wine. Endless? Well, hardly that, after all. 
 For there had come an end, abruptly, one 
 morning when he awoke to find the police 
 of the world specifically Detective Meredith 
 of the city of New York halloing about his 
 ears. That day, six years ago, he had for- 
 saken the glory that had been his and 
 vanished into oblivion with the hounds of 
 justice yelping at his heels. 
 
 The gnarled finger of Time had written 
 many chapters in his little book since then 
 chapters of hardship, all of them, but not 
 without avail, for that same finger had made 
 some erasures as well; and finally the hounds 
 had been thrown off the scent and had
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 29 
 
 returned to their kennels, beaten. So now, 
 after men's memories had lapsed, The Hawk 
 was daring to go back to those scenes of his 
 early triumphs the great, glittering, relent- 
 less city of New York to lay heavy toll 
 upon it for all these bootless years. Daddy 
 Heinz was still alive; he would begin there 
 with good clothes, clean linen, and a square 
 meal. 
 
 In the days of his glory The Hawk had been 
 foremost in his profession. He had stolen 
 smilingly, audaciously, and incessantly, but 
 always with the fine discriminating eye of 
 an artist, disdaining the booty which fell to 
 the lot of the commonplace thief. In those 
 days he had specialized in jewels other 
 people's; now he was driven to filching pies 
 from kitchen windows. It pained his aesthetic 
 soul. In the old days his home had been 
 a suite in a fashionable hotel; now he was 
 seeking a vacant house and a soft spot in the 
 floor thereof. In the old days, as George 
 Harrington Leigh, he had won and held a 
 position in the social life of the metropolis ; he 
 had been a member of a dozen or more clubs, 
 and a welcome guest in many of the city's 
 exclusive homes; now the only place where 
 he could be sure of a welcome was in a cell.
 
 30 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 No one realized more acutely than he the 
 disgrace of his plunge from the exalted pin- 
 nacle George Harrington Leigh had once 
 adorned. That bold daring which had mys- 
 tified and tantalized the police of the world, 
 and had ultimately made him the most 
 widely sought criminal of his day, and that 
 superficial polish which had given him the 
 outward appearance of a gentleman, had 
 sloughed off with the name; by environment 
 The Hawk, nameless now, had become a 
 sneaking, cringing creature of darkness, 
 startled by an unexpected voice, terrified by 
 a sudden footstep. So he had lived for half 
 a dozen years, lived until he rebelled at the 
 monotonous squalor of it all. He was essen- 
 tially luxurious by nature; he would chance 
 it all, and go back to the luxury he craved 
 wrench it from the grasping greed of New 
 York. What had been done once could be 
 done again ! 
 
 Physically The Hawk was more perfectly 
 equipped now than he had ever been for the 
 parasitic career he intended to renew. The 
 rotundity which had come from fat living 
 in the George Harrington Leigh days had 
 gone; now he was slender, almost boyish in fig- 
 ure, inconspicuous of stature, lithe, powerful,
 
 sinewy built like a steel bridge. The face 
 beneath the scrubby brown beard was still 
 youthful, the hair thick and waving; the lips 
 boasted the same old innocent smile, and 
 the eyes were as guileless as ever shallow 
 as water in a pan. Fear of recognition, even 
 by Detective Meredith, his nearest, dearest, 
 most intimate enemy, had little place in his 
 calculations. Six years had passed. In appear- 
 ance he was no longer the man Detective 
 Meredith had known the ultra-fashionable 
 George Harrington Leigh. 
 
 There in the highway The Hawk paused 
 to thank his stars that there had never been 
 a photograph of him in existence, not even 
 a vagrant snapshot. Once before he had 
 thanked his stars for this at the time of his 
 disappearance, when a world-wide alarm had 
 been sent out for him, and there had been 
 no picture, only a description. And a con- 
 venient description it was one that might 
 be fitted to three men in every ten. 
 
 Introspection was brought to an end 
 abruptly by the spluttering of an automobile 
 engine, and The Hawk moved to one side, 
 out of the road. The car seemed to be just 
 around the bend, screened by a green blanket 
 of shrubbery; and as he went on he saw its
 
 32 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 red tail light skimming off toward the glowing, 
 cloud-reflected radiance of the city in the 
 distance. Idly enough he noted the number 
 of the automobile 1234. Then his atten- 
 tion was attracted by something else that 
 happened to be of far more importance 
 at the instant a 'To Let' sign nailed to a 
 gatepost. Obviously, here was a vacant house 
 a place to sleep. 
 
 Glooming up before him, somewhat back 
 from the road, he made out dimly the lines 
 of an old mansion set in the midst of wind- 
 worried trees. With one quick, furtive look 
 about, The Hawk vaulted the low fence and 
 skulked along through the shadows toward 
 the house. His cat-like eyes told him that 
 the front door had been nailed up, and that 
 all the blinds were closed. Good! He'd get 
 in the back way. Somewhere he'd find an 
 unfastened window or an insecure lock, and, 
 if not, there were other ways. 
 
 He laid a hand upon the crossbarred tim- 
 bers of the back door and tried them tenta- 
 tively. They were loose. He pulled, and 
 they fell off. He tried the knob. It turned, 
 and the door opened silently inward. He 
 peered down the long, black hall for half a 
 minute, listening; there was only the creaking
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 35 
 
 and groaning of the trees overhead. He 
 stepped inside, and recognized instantly the 
 musty odor of an unoccupied house. He 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 Of the very nature of things, The Hawk 
 was noiseless in his movements, noiselessness 
 being a prime requisite in the gentle art of 
 thieving; so from the moment he pushed 
 open the door until he had passed almost 
 the length of the hall there had not been a 
 sound not so much as the whisper of a 
 footfall. His left hand, following the wall, 
 came to an open door. He turned into a 
 room and, confident, took three or four steps 
 forward, peering about him in the blackness. 
 Chilly enough in here, but better than out- 
 side on a night like this. Anything to 
 
 Suddenly he stopped still, crouching. There, 
 hanging in the pall of gloom on a level 
 with his eyes, directly in front of him and not 
 more than a dozen feet away, was a single 
 luminous point the glowing end of a cigar- 
 ette with a tendril of smoke curling upward! 
 The Hawk's muscles flexed and, with his 
 gaze riveted upon the point of light, he slid 
 a cautious foot backward with the one idea 
 of escaping. Surely his entrance had been 
 silent, when the man smoking that cigarette
 
 34 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 4 
 
 hadn't heard him! Another cautious foot 
 followed the first the door was here, some- 
 where, right behind him; then came a quick, 
 violent crash, and The Hawk felt himself 
 going over. His head struck the wall with 
 a whack, whereupon he was regaled with an 
 astonishing astronomical exhibition. 
 
 Further necessity of caution was gone. 
 He scrambled to his feet, extricated himself 
 from the chair he had stumbled into, and ran 
 blindly, headlong, into the wall. The fall 
 had knocked all sense of direction out of him. 
 He tried for the door a second time, and again 
 he struck the wall. Without further ado he 
 dropped flat on his face on the floor. 
 
 ''Don't shoot!" he called. 
 
 Now would come a rush of feet, and lights, 
 and excitement, under cover of which he 
 hoped to escape. He waited with indrawn 
 breath. Nothing happened. Instead, came 
 dead silence again a silence that seemed to 
 be pressing down upon him as a weight. 
 Astonished, he raised his head and screwed 
 his neck around in anticipation of the worst, 
 whatever it might be. There, in front of 
 him, was still the lighted cigarette, motion- 
 less as before. The quiet was so tense he 
 could hear his heart beat.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 35 
 
 Slowly fear gave way to curiosity. Why 
 didn't somebody start something? A dead 
 man could have heard all that clatter! 
 
 "Well, how about it?" he queried of the 
 void. 
 
 There was no answer. An inexplicable 
 chill ran down The Hawk's spinal column, 
 and to put an end to the eeriness of it he 
 fished out a match and struck it, holding^ 
 it far to one side. If anybody did shoot he 
 would shoot in the direction of the flame. 
 The feeble flicker showed him a huge marble 
 mantel and, resting upon it, a lighted cigar- 
 ette, nearly burned out. One hasty glance 
 about the room assured him he was alone. 
 This settled, he glanced again toward the 
 cigarette. Lying beside it on the mantel was 
 a small package, wrapped in white paper. 
 He stared at it inquiringly until the match 
 scorched his fingers and went out. 
 
 During that next half minute, still prone 
 upon the floor with ears trapped for the 
 slightest sound and eyes straining, he watched 
 the cigarette burn down to a stub and the 
 light of it vanish, the while he did some 
 thinking. A cigarette wouldn't burn more 
 than eight or ten minutes at most, therefore 
 the person who had placed it on the mantel
 
 36 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 had only just gone out as he had entered 
 gone out of the house certainly, otherwise 
 the clatter of his fall would have brought 
 him back into the room. All of which led 
 his thoughts back to the automobile 1234. 
 Evidently it had been standing in front and 
 the person, or persons, who had gone away 
 in it had left this cigarette and the package. 
 
 The Hawk arose, struck another match, 
 and picked up the cigarette stub. There 
 might be a lingering whiff in it, and in these 
 days of his degradation he was not above 
 smoking another man's leavings. No, it 
 was too far gone. A good cigarette, too a 
 Regent he saw by the gold print on the tip. 
 He held up the paper parcel and shook it 
 inquiringly, after which he opened it, disclos- 
 ing a well, what the deuce was it? A 
 bracelet? No. A a necklace? No-o! It 
 was a slender ribbon of dark blue, edged with 
 yellow and overlaid with shields of gold in 
 which there were set alternately diamonds 
 and rubies. There was a pendant, too St. 
 George and the Dragon; and a motto in an- 
 cient lettering, barely decipherable: " Honi 
 soil qui mat y pense!" 
 
 It had been many, many moons since The 
 Hawk had held a jewel in his hand, and his
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 37 
 
 first emotion was one of sheer delight at 
 the irridescent beauty of these the delight 
 of a connoisseur which embraced not only 
 the stones but the delicate, exquisite work- 
 manship of the gold in which they were 
 set. The thing, whatever it might be, was 
 old, old! 
 
 Until the match burned out the spell held 
 him dumb and motionless. The light of 
 another match revealed a subtle change in 
 his face. It was no longer that of the con- 
 noisseur; it was that of the expert. The 
 guileless eyes had narrowed; they were fairly 
 aglitter with avarice as The Hawk studied 
 the stones three diamonds and three rubies. 
 At least five carats, every one of them, and 
 flawless, as well as he could make out in 
 the uncertain light. A fortune picked off a 
 mantel in a vacant house! 
 
 "Honk! Honk!" 
 
 The cry of an automobile horn just outside 
 cut cleanly through the enshrouding gloom 
 and hauled The Hawk around to a realization 
 of the necessity of escape. The person or 
 persons who had left this this, whatever it 
 was had come back for it! He snapped out 
 the match, darted through the open doorway, 
 and sped along the hall. He flung the back
 
 38 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 door open wide, and a flying leap took him 
 through. 
 
 Just rounding the corner of the building, 
 coming toward him, were the shadowy figures 
 of three men. A dozen steps, and The Hawk 
 had vanished into the park-like woods in 
 the rear. 
 
 "Halt!" came a sharp command. 
 
 The Hawk, intent upon business of his 
 own, did not answer. A moment later there 
 came the crash of a revolver, and he heard a 
 bullet thud into a tree butt at his right. 
 
 "Stand guard at that door, Fallon, " some 
 one commanded brusquely. "We'll get this 
 chap!' 1 
 
 "This," and The Hawk laughed blithely 
 as he ran, "this is no place for a minister's 
 son!"
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 F the Countess of Salisbury's ghost and 
 a charming spook it must be, to be sure ! 
 I say, if the Countess of Salisbury's ghost 
 ever lays aside harp or pitchfork, whichever 
 she uses in the Great Hereafter a harp, of 
 course! How rude of me! ever lays harp 
 aside and deigns to stalk this mundane sphere; 
 and if she or it happened to be hanging 
 around that vacant house that night, keep- 
 ing a watchful eye over that gorgeous trifle, 
 the gift of a king which once upon a time 
 adorned one of her shapely er er knees, 
 then she or it must have been astonished 
 at the things that happened astonished and, 
 perchance, indignant at the laying of profane 
 hands upon a trinket so personally intimate. 
 
 But inscrutable is the infinite. Perhaps 
 her spook wasn't astonished at all. Perhaps 
 she or it understood perfectly in what 
 circumstances her garter came to be on the 
 mantel in that vacant house; perhaps she 
 or it knew that a thief would find it there; 
 perhaps she or it even knew that that 
 thief would be The Hawk; perhaps she or 
 it knew that two determined men with the 
 
 39
 
 40 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 instincts of bloodhounds would chase The 
 Hawk more than a mile across country, up 
 and down alleys, in and out of woods, over 
 fences, through hedges; and that ever and 
 anon as he fled his speed would be stimulated 
 by the petulant pop of a pistol in his rear. 
 Perhaps, as I say, the spook knew right along 
 that all this was going to happen. 
 
 Anyway, there is an end of all things. 
 Chance led the flying footsteps of The Hawk 
 into a narrow street of a village in The Bronx. 
 On each side of him was a deep hedge of 
 shrubbery, but The Hawk didn't make the 
 mistake this time of going over or through 
 either of these. Instead, he ran on to the 
 end of the street with his pursuers in sight 
 a hundred yards back, turned to his right, 
 leaped the hedge immediately after he had 
 rounded the corner, and doubled back through 
 the yard in the rear of some big estate. Ten 
 seconds later he heard the heavy thud-thud 
 of two men's footsteps beyond the hedge as 
 they rushed past him in the opposite direc- 
 tion. They were not more than three yards 
 away; he could hear them blowing. 
 
 Listening tensely until they had turned 
 the corner, The Hawk, crouching close to the 
 ground, leaped, clearing the hedge, into the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 41 
 
 narrow street the two men had just left. He 
 darted directly across it and plunged rabbit- 
 like through the hedge on the other side. 
 This, too, was some big estate. He ran 
 noiselessly, yet earnestly, across the wide 
 velvety lawn, around the mansion which 
 loomed magnificently in front of him, and 
 settled down on a tree stump to get his 
 breath. The jeweled garter was still clasped 
 tightly in his left hand, and he was grinning 
 cheerfully, with his tongue hanging out. 
 His pursuers were bound full tilt in the other 
 direction. 
 
 Ten minutes passed. All sound of pursuit 
 had died away in the distance. The dead 
 night swooped down upon him suddenly, a 
 tangible darkness; a pulsing of waters as 
 they rippled musically came to him, and a 
 cricket cried under his heel. Quite himself 
 again after his breathing space, The Hawk 
 fell to building castles in the air, the while he 
 caressed lovingly the little trinket that was 
 to change the whole tenor of his life. How 
 and where it came from he didn't know; he 
 wasn't sufficiently interested to even wonder 
 about it. He was engrossed in contemplation 
 of the fact that its coming meant that the 
 lean days were past, and hidden under a
 
 42 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 new name and a new identity he would again 
 assume the life of luxury which Detective 
 Meredith had so rudely interrupted six years 
 previously. 
 
 Already he had driven the starting wedge 
 into this new life, thanks to the regal gener- 
 osity of Edward III some six hundred years 
 ago, for now in his outstretched palm he held 
 jewels, coruscating in the darkness, worth 
 worth, well, at the very lowest, ten thousand 
 dollars, possibly twenty, even thirty. All in 
 all it was a very tidy beginning. It would 
 serve to reintroduce him to the world where 
 his star had once been resplendent, and with 
 the renewal of those ties of the past, under 
 his new name of course, would come full 
 opportunity for the display of those talents 
 with which nature had endowed him. There 
 remained only to see Daddy Heinz in order 
 to convert prospects into coin of the realm. 
 
 The Hawk rose impulsively and shook a 
 fist at the glowing spectrum of New York. 
 
 "What I have done to you," he informed 
 the unsuspecting metropolis, "isn't a marker 
 to what I'm going to do to you now!" 
 
 In his venturesome life The Hawk had had 
 many surprises, one of them within the last 
 hour. Now came another, a sibilant warning
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 43 
 
 from some mysterious recess of the night 
 a warning in a woman's voice! 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h!" It was a long aspiration. 
 "Not so loud, silly!" This in a reproving 
 whisper. " Don't make a sound ! " 
 
 Mechanically The Hawk's muscles grew 
 taut and a thrill tingled through his nerve 
 fibers. Only his head moved as his furtive 
 eyes searched the gloom for the source of the 
 voice. He didn't make a sound; that was 
 one of the best things he did not making 
 a sound. He merely stared, stared, seeking 
 to penetrate the veil of night, the while his 
 heels fairly itched to be going. 
 
 "Come here under my window and catch 
 these things," came a cautious command. 
 Glancing up at the suggestion, The Hawk 
 made out dimly a vague splotch of a face 
 set in the blackness of a window frame on the 
 second floor. "And do hurry!" 
 
 The tone was imperious. The Hawk 
 obeyed from an impulse he himself couldn't 
 have analyzed. It may have been sheer 
 dare-deviltry; it may have been the lure of 
 the voice one can always tell the voice of a 
 pretty woman. Anyway, The Hawk darted 
 across the intervening space and crouched close 
 in the shadow of the wall beneath the window.
 
 44 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Now catch this, and be very, very care- 
 ful!" He knew the woman in the window 
 was leaning out, holding over his head a 
 what was it? A trunk? "If you crush this, 
 or drop it, I'll never forgive you. It's my 
 best hat!" 
 
 The Hawk drew a long breath. The mas- 
 sive box suspended over him fell, like a 
 feather. He caught it adroitly and placed 
 it on the ground beside him. And he wasn't 
 at all surprised. It seemed the most natural 
 thing in the world that he should be hauled 
 up in the lee of a strange house at eleven 
 o'clock at night catching hats out of a window 
 at the command of a voice whose owner he 
 didn't know, the while two determined men 
 were ripping the earth open looking for him. 
 
 "Now, my bag, please," came the voice 
 again. He could read in it the sweet confi- 
 dence born of his not having dropped the 
 hat. "It's rather heavy. Be careful!" 
 
 Obediently The Hawk grabbed out into 
 the night and rescued a suit case. Heavy! 
 It nearly took him off his feet. Obviously 
 it was filled with bricks or or lead pipe, or 
 something ! He set the bag on the ground and 
 looked up again, expectantly. 
 
 Came a pause. From the window above
 
 THE ADVENTURES OP THE HAWK 45 
 
 he heard a rustle of skirts, cautious footsteps, 
 then an impatient: "Oh, fudge! Where 
 did I put it ? " He volunteered no information, 
 and a moment later a blinding flash of light 
 shot out the window and went streaming off 
 into the darkness. Instinctively The Hawk 
 drew closer to the wall, and for one instant 
 there was a gripping fear at his heart. 
 
 In the next second he was reassured. A 
 head was thrust out of the window, a girl's 
 head, curiously diaphanous, effulgent even. 
 The oddness of the effect was due to the 
 brilliancy of electric lights shining through 
 brick-red hair from behind, making a fluffy, 
 puffy cloud of head and shoulders. He got 
 only a glimpse of her face as she turned. 
 Of course she was pretty. He had known 
 that from her voice, but here was a vision 
 that anchored him in his tracks! In one 
 hand she held a small box. 
 
 "Now catch this," she ordered. She was 
 staring straight down at him, but the blaze 
 of light enveloping her made the gloom where 
 he stood more dense. "Put this in your 
 pocket and take good care of it. It's my 
 jewel case." 
 
 She dropped the box and The Hawk 
 grabbed greedily. Jewels! The magic of
 
 46 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 the word broke the witching spell. He 
 shook the box inquiringly. Jewels and more 
 jewels! 
 
 "Now listen just a minute," the girl 
 directed, and the light died as she spoke. 
 "The automobile is waiting two blocks away. 
 Now, while I'm putting on my coat and veil 
 you must sneak down to the stable around 
 the corner there and get a ladder. I simply 
 can't jump this distance. I'll be ready by the 
 time you get back." 
 
 Gallantry is inborn in most of us, like the 
 appendix. For a scant instant The Hawk 
 felt its spur and was tempted shall I say 
 by the melody of the girl's voice and the 
 haunting glimpse of her face? was tempted 
 to carry out the adventure to the end if for 
 no other reason than to get a nearer view of 
 Her Loveliness. But cold reason dissipated 
 this whim born of a woman's charm. Why 
 take idle chances with a kindly Fate? He had 
 the jewels; he would hike for the highway 
 the restless city of New York beckoned 
 him on. 
 
 "Hurry, now!" commanded the girl. 
 
 Useless words! The Hawk ran, vanishing 
 an instant later around a corner of the house ; 
 ran and ran on, gripping the jewel case in
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 47 
 
 one hand and the Countess of Salisbury's 
 garter in the other. An hour later he was 
 five miles nearer New York. Tired? Why, 
 he never felt so fresh and unfatigued in his 
 life! He had stolen a quick look at the con- 
 tents of the jewel case, and nearly fainted at 
 the multicolored glow therein. 
 
 "HarounalRaschid! Pooh! Pooh!" The 
 Hawk remarked to the world at large. "The 
 things that have been happening to me would 
 make his adventures sound as prosaic as a 
 laundry ticket." The skies opened, and fat, 
 spattery raindrops pounded on his head. 
 "There's nothing to it I have come back!" 
 A long silence. ' ' Why, she's a queen ! ' ' 
 
 A pretty girl at a darkened window, gazing 
 out into the night with anxious eyes. 
 
 "What could have happened to Skeets?" 
 she wondered. "Why doesn't he hurry with 
 that ladder? My best hat is simply being 
 ruined! 1 '
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHILE all these incredible things were 
 happening to The Hawk, Skeets 
 Gaunt, his poetic soul in an ecstasy of happi- 
 ness, was hastening along to that sweet 
 rendezvous which had for its ultimate object 
 the making of Helen Hamilton into Mrs. 
 Skeets. Catching a glimpse of two men in 
 the dark distance, and hearing the rush of 
 their footsteps coming toward him through 
 the empty street, he withdrew timidly into 
 the shadow of a hedge. Ten seconds later he 
 was yanked out rudely by four powerful 
 hands, and a large revolver was poked under 
 his nose. 
 
 "You will make us chase you all over The 
 Bronx, will you?" panted one of his captors. 
 "Might have known we'd get you." 
 
 Long-haired, dreamy-eyed poets, particu- 
 larly if they happen to be sons of men like 
 John Gaunt, are not necessarily to be put 
 upon. Skeets felt that he was being put 
 upon. His first natural impression was that 
 he had to do with highwaymen, and without 
 hesitation he belted the man who held the 
 revolver plumb in the nose. The weapon 
 
 4 8
 
 49 
 
 went flying. He was about to perform a 
 similar office for the other man when the 
 steel nippers closed around his wrist and 
 were twisted cruelly. 
 
 "You'll resist an officer, too, will you?" 
 and the grip on his wrist tightened. "Cut 
 it out, or I'll tear your hand off!" 
 
 "What in blazes do you mean by grabbing- 
 me like that?" demanded the poet unpoeti- 
 cally. "Why didn't you say you were offi- 
 cers? What do you want?" 
 
 "You," tersely. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " I don't suppose you could even guess, huh ?" 
 
 Skeets wriggled a little to arouse himself. 
 He was sound asleep, of course. This thing 
 wasn't happening at all. In a minute his 
 valet would come and tap on his door to 
 say his bath was ready. 
 
 "Search him!" 
 
 Dream or no dream, Skeets raised his voice 
 in expostulation when the thick fingers of 
 Detective Bailey produced his pocketbook, 
 and rifled the bills therein some two thou- 
 sand dollars. Detective Cunningham's eyes 
 opened wide at sight of the money; and 
 reflected a vast understanding when Bailey 
 fished out two tickets for Europe.
 
 50 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "The getaway was all fixed," Bailey eluci- 
 dated, "and we know there are two of 'em." 
 
 "What the" Skeets began. 
 
 "Shut up!" 
 
 Bailey placed the pocketbook inside his 
 coat, and resumed his search. A gold cigar- 
 ette case! He weighed it thoughtfully in 
 his hand; worth money, that thing. He 
 put that, too, in an inside pocket, and next 
 came a diamond necklace, neatly wrapped in 
 jeweler's tissue. The eyes of the two detec- 
 tives bulged at the exquisite trifle. 
 
 "That isn't it," Bailey remarked. "The 
 description says a garter of blue ribbon over- 
 laid with shields of gold in which are set 
 diamonds and rubies. It has a motto, too: 
 'Honey sew-it kwi mall why pen-see!' ' Rather 
 proud of his French, was Bailey. 
 
 "It's something, anyhow," Cunningham 
 panted, still blowing from his long run. 
 Then, to Skeets: "Where did you get this 
 necklace?" 
 
 ' ' Bought it, replied the poet . ' ' Where did 
 you think I got it? Stole it?" 
 
 "That's just what we do think," was the 
 comforting response. "It's the most natural 
 thing in the world for a young gent who's 
 just bought a diamond necklace to try to hide
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 51 
 
 in a hedge when he sees two detectives com- 
 ing. " Skeets opened his mouth. " Shut up !" 
 
 "There's nothing else on him, " said Bailey. 
 "Of course there wouldn't be. The garter 
 is in that vacant house!" 
 
 "The the what?" Skeets ventured. 
 
 "The jeweled garter." 
 
 "Garter?" 
 
 " Garter. G-a-r-double t-e-r ! " 
 
 There was a walk of a mile or more back to 
 the vacant house, and for the first time in 
 his life Skeets found full vent for that rich 
 vocabulary which bedecked his verse. Im- 
 partially and exhaustively he anathematized 
 the world, the flesh, and the devil, and 
 incontinently damned everything an inch 
 high, with special reference to the police. 
 Twice the detectives paused to stare at him 
 in awe and admiration. He used some words 
 they didn't know were in the dictionary; and 
 some of them weren't ! 
 
 An automobile was standing in front of 
 the old mansion. It just happened that 
 Skeets noted its number 92 1 88. Around the 
 house they went, stopping abruptly at a gruff: 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 "Bailey and Cunningham. Anything hap- 
 pened?"
 
 52 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Nothing," replied the third detective, 
 Fallen. "Not a sound since you went away. 
 Ah, you got him, did you? Well, I must 
 say if I ever saw a perfect type of a crook 
 he's it!" 
 
 Skeets didn't ask questions now; he was no 
 longer curious merely looked on mechani- 
 cally during that next hour as the three 
 detectives searched the house. From attic 
 to cellar they went, scrutinizing every inch 
 of it by the light of their electric flashes. 
 
 In one room on the ground floor they 
 found an old chair overturned and in the dust 
 near by, where The Hawk had groveled, they 
 chose to discover signs of a violent struggle. 
 
 "Ah?" said Fallen. 
 
 "Oh!" said Cunningham. 
 
 "Umph!" said Bailey. Then, to Skeets: 
 41 There were two of you, we get that. And 
 you had some sort of a scrap here, huh? 
 Perhaps," a brilliant thought came to 
 him, "perhaps the other fellow got the 
 garter!" 
 
 On the broad hearth beneath a huge 
 marble mantel they found a cigarette stub. 
 A Regent it was! Hastily they opened 
 Skeets' gold cigarette case filled with Re- 
 gents!
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 53 
 
 "Aha!" said Fallen. 
 
 "Oho!" said Cunningham. 
 
 "Uhhuh!" said Bailey. 
 
 Wholly without interest in what they were 
 doing, whatever it was, the poet had righted 
 the overturned chair and sat motionless 
 upon it, his face in his hands, glooming. 
 Helen! What would she think? 
 Already he was more than an hour late! 
 . After awhile these idiots would 
 perhaps take him to a police station, and he 
 could reach her by 'phone and explain; 
 also he might be able to reach his father, and 
 arrange things some way. 
 
 Bailey, his arms akimbo, came and stood 
 directly in front of him. 
 
 "Where is that garter?" he demanded. 
 
 "Oh, piffle!" said the poet. 
 
 "Who was your accomplice?" 
 
 "Fudge!" 
 
 "You may as well tell us the truth. We 
 have all sorts of evidence to connect you 
 with the affair. The cigarette stub alone 
 would convict you!" 
 
 "Prunes!" Skeets had, long since, run 
 out of really useful words. 
 
 Ten minutes later the three detectives went 
 back to the police station, wagging Skeets
 
 54 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 behind 'em. Followed a conference of some 
 sort, after which Skeets was lined up in 
 front of the desk sergeant. 
 
 "Name?" he was asked. 
 
 "Samuel Keats Gaunt." 
 
 "Residence?" 
 
 "Eighty-first Street." 
 
 "Age?" 
 
 "Twenty-seven. " 
 
 "Business?" 
 
 "Poet." 
 
 "Father's name?" 
 
 "John Gaunt." 
 
 "Do you mean John Gaunt, the millionaire 
 coal ?" incredulously. 
 
 "The millionaire coal man," Skeets com- 
 pleted the sentence eagerly. There was 
 something in the sergeant's tone, there was 
 something now in the manner of the three 
 detectives, that aroused a vague hope in his 
 breast. It was the first time in his life 
 he had ever been glad to say his father 
 was a millionaire. After all, the power of 
 money 
 
 "Of course, you see this whole thing, 
 whatever it is, is a mistake. I'm the son of 
 a millionaire, and you see I'd have no pos- 
 sible object in stealing the the garter, was
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 55 
 
 it, that was stolen? I have a very pressing 
 engagement, so I'll go now." 
 
 "Oh, you will!" Bailey bawled at Skeets 
 suddenly. "You'll go, will you? You, the 
 son of John Gaunt? Why, you've just con- 
 victed yourself! We've just begun to hold 
 you!" He turned to Cunningham and Fal- 
 lon. "Don't you see?" he demanded excit- 
 edly. "It fits in perfectly with Dexter's 
 theory stolen garter American millionaire 
 all of it two tickets to Europe father 
 and son ready to jump! Say," and he 
 whirled upon the desk sergeant, "telephone 
 that Scotland Yard man to hike up here, 
 quick! Tell him we can get his man in 
 twenty minutes!" He thrust his face close 
 into that of the poet. "Let you go!" he 
 sneered. "Yes, we will!" 
 
 Somehow the promise failed to comfort 
 Skeets. Submerged in an ocean of inexpli- 
 cable things, he leaned wearily against the 
 desk with his head in his hands, his gentle 
 soul in an agony at the thought of Helen. 
 
 "Oh, shush!" he murmured at last. It 
 was the vilest thing he could think of.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 (A conversation over the telephone between 
 
 S. Keats Gaunt and his father.) 
 
 " TTELLO, father. This is Keats." 
 
 11 "Well, what do you want? What 
 do you mean by getting me out of bed at 
 midnight to " 
 
 "I'm a prisoner up in The Bronx." 
 
 "Speeding again, eh? Serves you right. 
 What are you worrying me about it for, 
 anyway?" 
 
 "Not speeding, father. I'm charged with 
 theft this time." 
 
 "Theft? You? What the devil are you 
 talking about?" 
 
 "I'm accused of stealing a lady's garter." 
 
 "A lady's what?" 
 
 "Garter garter you know, the thing 
 they use to hold up well, anyway " 
 
 "Great Scott! Whose garter? What 
 garter?" 
 
 "I don't know. It seems to have been a 
 jeweled affair of some sort; and they say 
 it's worth twenty or twenty-five thousand 
 dollars. I'm accused of stealing it." 
 
 56
 
 57 
 
 "Jumping crab apples! I've heard of men 
 stealing money, and horses, and red-hot 
 stoves, but I'm darned if I ever heard of a 
 man stealing a lady's er whatyoumaycall- 
 it! Did you steal it?" 
 
 "Certainly not!" 
 
 "Did you tell 'em you didn't?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And did you tell 'em you were my son?" 
 
 "Yes. That seemed to make it worse, 
 if anything. They refuse to believe anything 
 I say except that I am your son. They 
 believe that readily enough. And they won't 
 tell me anything about anything. Can't 
 you run up here right away and arrange bail 
 or something, somehow?" 
 
 "A lady's ! Wha-wha-what happened, 
 anyway?" 
 
 "Nothing particularly. I was just going 
 along the street a while ago it was about 
 eleven o'clock when two men placed me 
 under arrest, and searched me, and took me 
 to a vacant house and searched that; and 
 then brought me here to the police station. 
 I don't know what to do. " 
 
 "Stealing! You! You say you told 'em 
 you were my son?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 58 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 14 The idiots!" 
 
 "I told 'em that, too. When I mentioned 
 your name it seemed to convince them I did 
 steal it. Now if you could run up here 
 immediately ' ' 
 
 "Where are you now?" 
 
 "In the police station." 
 
 "Well, you stay right there until I come." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "And by the way, what are you doing up 
 in The Bronx at this time of night?" 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "I say what are you doing up 
 in The Bronx at this time of 
 night?" 
 
 "Well er I came up about er a 
 little affair of my my own. " 
 
 "Affair of your own, eh? Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton lives up there somewhere, doesn't he? 
 Oh, yes he does, too! So that's it? You've 
 been calling on that red-headed daughter of 
 his! Yes, you have! Don't argue with me! 
 I won't have it!" 
 
 "Father, I give you my word of honor I 
 haven't seen Helen to-night. If you could 
 come up " 
 
 "Oh, well, in that case! I'll be along in a 
 little while."
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 59 
 
 (A conversation over the telephone between 
 S. Keats Gaunt and Helen Hamilton.) 
 
 "Is is that you, Helen?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "This is Keats." 
 
 "Well, for goodness sake! What became 
 of you? Where've you been? I've been 
 waiting and waiting and waiting! Where 
 are you now?" 
 
 "Locked up in a police station." 
 
 "Skeets Gaunt! Locked up in ! What 
 are you talking about?" 
 
 "That's why I didn't come. I was on my 
 way " 
 
 " Why are you locked up?" 
 
 "I'm accused of stealing a lady's garter, 
 and" 
 
 " Why Skeets Gaunt!" 
 
 "I didn't, darling; I didn't. I don't know 
 a thing about it. Please, now, listen just a 
 minute, and I'll " 
 
 ' ' I never heard of such a thing ! A lady's ' ' 
 
 "Just a moment, sweetheart. Let me 
 explain." 
 
 "What were you doing with the with 
 it?" 
 
 "I didn't have it. I haven't it now. I 
 don't know a thing about it. I never saw
 
 60 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 it. When they searched me all they found 
 was a diamond necklace I had bought for 
 you. You see " 
 
 "If you didn't have the 'the it, why 
 were you arrested?" 
 
 "It's a mistake, dearest. They thought I 
 stole it, so they " 
 
 "Well, it seems very strange to me that 
 they should arrest you if you didn't have 
 some connection with it." 
 
 "But, darling, you don't think " 
 
 "I don't think any one would be so stupid 
 as to arrest a perfectly innocent man for a 
 thing like that! Whose was it?" 
 
 "I don't know. It's" 
 
 "Stole a lady's er garter, and you don't 
 know whose? Indeed! Where did they catch 
 you?" 
 
 "In the street just a block from your house. 
 I was on my way " 
 
 "And pray what were you doing in the 
 street a block off? I didn't send you out 
 for a promenade. I sent you to the barn 
 for a ladder." 
 
 "Ladder? What ladder?" 
 
 "So I could come down from my window, 
 of course. And instead of getting the ladder 
 and coming straight back you leave my bag
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 61 
 
 and my best hat on the damp ground and go 
 out for a stroll!" 
 
 "I haven't the faintest idea what " 
 
 "It wouldn't surprise me a bit if you did 
 steal the the thing! And when you were 
 arrested what did you do with my jewels, 
 pray? Are they still in your pocket?" 
 
 " Your jewels? I haven't seen them." 
 
 "Do you mean to deny that I dropped 
 them to you out of my window, and asked 
 you to put them in your pocket?" 
 
 "I don't know what" 
 
 "A lady's garter ! I'll trouble you to 
 return my jewels immediately." 
 
 "But, Helen, I" 
 
 "Also, I've changed my mind about every- 
 thing else. I won't elope with you at 
 all. I'm glad I found you out in time. 
 Indeed, I am!" 
 
 "But, dear heart " 
 
 "And we will dispense with all that mush, 
 if you please. You will return my jewels 
 to me immediately. I think that is all. 
 Good-by, forever!" 
 
 "But you didn't give me your jewels. I 
 haven't seen them." 
 
 " Why Sheets Gaunt!" 
 
 "And you never spoke to me in your life 
 
 t
 
 62 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 about a ladder; and I don't know anything 
 about your bag, and your best hat on the 
 damp ground, and going out for a promenade. 
 And you certainly didn't give me your jewels 
 and ask me to put them in my pocket." 
 
 "I did!" 
 
 "You didn't!" 
 
 "Did!" 
 
 "Didn't!" 
 
 "Did!" 
 
 "Oh, dammit!" 
 
 1 ' Skee-ee-eets Gaunt ! ' '
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NDIGNANT beyond the power of speech, 
 Helen banged the receiver of the telephone 
 into place, and turned, to find herself facing 
 her father. He stood in the doorway, motion- 
 less, white, haggard; he wore an automobile 
 cap and raincoat, both dripping water. In- 
 stantly on the defensive, the girl glared at him 
 rebelliously for a moment, then started out. 
 
 " I heard your conversation, " he remarked. 
 
 "I don't care if you did!" she flashed, 
 pausing, her cheeks aflame with anger. "I 
 don't care!" 
 
 Silently her father laid aside his wet outer 
 garments and extended his arms toward her. 
 After a moment she crept into them, her lips 
 quivering, and tears starting in her eyes. 
 She winked them back savagely, and then 
 the deluge. With no word of comfort, nor 
 yet a word of reproof, Brokaw Hamilton 
 stood with set face, holding the slender, 
 trembling figure for a long time, until at last 
 the storm passed and his daughter lay still. 
 
 "I did love him," she burst out passion- 
 ately, "and when you wouldn't give your 
 consent it broke my heart and I was going 
 
 63
 
 64 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 to elope with him. He came under my win- 
 dow about eleven o'clock, and I dropped down 
 my bag to him and my Jew-jewels, and my 
 bub-bub-best hat. And now he says I didn't 
 give him the jew- jewels at all; and it's rain- 
 ing cats and dogs, and my bub-bub-best hat 
 is out there on the ground getting wet." 
 
 Tenderly, apparently in deep preoccupa- 
 tion, her father stroked her rebellious hair. 
 "Red as a geranium," she had said. 'Twas 
 red, but it was the rich redness of the dying 
 sun. . . . How came Skeets Gaunt 
 entangled in this affair of the jeweled garter? 
 
 "I just hate him and his old pup-pup- 
 poetry," Helen sobbed on fiercely. " 'O 
 Helen, thy hair is an aura of ' Fiddle- 
 sticks! And, Pops, he said 'Dammit' at me 
 right there, just a second ago. And he has 
 my jewels, and he won't give them up; and 
 he has stolen somebody's gar-gar-garter; and 
 he's locked up in a cell, and I'm glad of it 
 so there! Horrid thing! I hope he never 
 gets out!" 
 
 "Knowing my objections, still you were 
 going to marry him?" asked Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton. 
 
 "Yes, I was," belligerently. 
 
 "And you love him so much? "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OP THE HAWK 65 
 
 "I don't love him at all, now! I I hate 
 him! I wouldn't marry him, Pops, I wouldn't 
 marry him if he was the last man on earth." 
 
 Tenderness passed from her father's eyes, 
 and instead a flame glowed there. It was 
 the old hatred of John Gaunt, and John 
 Gaunt's son, and all that was John Gaunt's! 
 
 When he spoke his voice was quiet, as before. 
 
 "Your mother, of course, was not in your 
 confidence?" 
 
 "Mother?" Helen gasped. "No!" 
 
 "Well, we won't say anything about any- 
 thing to her either of us. This will be our 
 secret." He gathered the girl close, close 
 in his arms, and stared into the fathomless 
 blue eyes. "And it's all over now, isn't it?" 
 
 With her white teeth closed tightly on her 
 trembling under lip, Helen nodded vigorously, 
 then in a quick rush of emotion kissed her 
 father. For a long time he stood staring into 
 nothingness; suddenly his manner changed. 
 
 "You dropped your jewels out the window 
 to him?" 
 
 "Yes, and told him to put them in his 
 pocket. Now he has the the unspeakable 
 nerve to say I didn't give them to him at 
 all." 
 
 "There is some misunderstanding here, of 
 
 5
 
 66 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 course," he assured her. "I'll run over to the 
 police station and see what can be done. 
 Young Gaunt can't be a thief." 
 
 "But, Pops, he's arrested for stealing a a 
 he's arrested already." 
 
 "Some misunderstanding," he repeated 
 abstractedly. "Off to bed with you now, 
 girlie; I'll see what can be done." 
 
 "Good night!" She slid out of his arms 
 and went trailing up the stairs. He watched 
 her until she turned at the top and blew him 
 a kiss, then stepped into the hall and spoke 
 to a gaping footman, Dawkins. 
 
 "Order the limousine, at once," he 
 directed. 
 
 Dawkins vanished noiselessly. In addition 
 to utter weariness there was bewilderment in 
 Brokaw Hamilton's face as he passed into 
 the dining room, and poured out a stiff glass 
 of whisky. Abstractedly he gazed into the 
 amber depths for a moment, and then: 
 
 "It may be, after all, that a marriage of 
 the daughter of the house of Hamilton to 
 the son of the house of Gaunt is the thing 
 most to be desired. ... In the end it 
 would make me the financial king of America; 
 his fortune and mine together! . . . But 
 I can't imagine how young Gaunt came to be
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 67 
 
 under arrest for stealing the Countess of 
 Salisbury's garter!" 
 
 Two famous enemies in the money world 
 came face to face when John Gaunt and 
 Brokaw Hamilton met in the police station. 
 John Gaunt, in his masterful way, had 
 bullied the story of the attempted elopement 
 out of poor Skeets, and was consequently in 
 a rage. Then, too, he had been made to 
 feel uncomfortable under the curious scru- 
 tiny of the desk sergeant, and of Bailey, and 
 Cunningham, and Fallen. Another man 
 was there as well, a close-mouthed, English- 
 looking person Dexter, they called him 
 with eyes like gimlets; and there was sheer 
 insolence in the way he looked the million- 
 aire over. 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton came in, calm, cold as 
 marble, and as white. He faced John Gaunt 
 unemotionally, with a slight, disdainful uplift 
 of the corners of his mouth. It was the crafty 
 collie sneering at the giant mastiff ! 
 
 The desk sergeant recognized Mr. Hamilton 
 and nodded obsequiously. 
 
 "I understand a young man, Samuel Keats 
 Gaunt, is under arrest here?" Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton began.
 
 68 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Yes, sir," was the courteous reply. "He 
 is charged with the theft of a jeweled 
 garter." 
 
 "I don't care anything about that," said 
 the railroad magnate impatiently. "Was he 
 searched when he was brought in?" 
 
 "He has been searched, yes." 
 
 "Any jewels found on him?" 
 
 1 ' Not the garter, sir. There was a diamond 
 necklace, but we don't know who he stole 
 that from." 
 
 John Gaunt went off with a roar like a 
 thirteen-inch gun. Mr. Hamilton glanced 
 around at him as if astonished, then turned 
 back to the sergeant. 
 
 "After his arrest he would have had no 
 opportunity to conceal a jewel case any- 
 where?" he continued placidly. 
 
 " No, " was the emphatic response. "Why 
 do you ask? Do you suspect him?" 
 
 John Gaunt strode forward and planted 
 himself directly in front of his old enemy. 
 Flames of anger blazed in his eyes; his 
 mighty fists were clenched. 
 
 "What is it you want?" he demanded 
 abruptly. "No business of yours, is it? 
 Why are you butting in? Isn't it enough 
 that your daughter tried to "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 69 
 
 "That will do," Mr. Hamilton inter- 
 rupted quietly. 
 
 " that your daughter would have " 
 
 "That will do, I said!" Mr. Hamilton 
 repeated. His tone was still quiet, but there 
 was danger in the very velvet of it. "We 
 are not a couple of longshoremen, you know, 
 to stand here and swap Billingsgate. Fifty 
 thousand dollars' worth of jewels belonging to 
 my daughter have been stolen. I'm trying 
 to find them." 
 
 The effect of the statement upon the desk 
 sergeant and the detectives was electrical. 
 Even the English-looking person was stirred 
 to speech. 
 
 "By Jove, you know!" he said. 
 
 "And I suppose you're going to say that 
 my son my son stole them, eh?" John 
 Gaunt sneered. 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton's eyes narrowed, and a 
 faint flush mounted to his pallid face. For 
 perhaps a minute there was tense silence, the 
 detectives waiting, waiting, for what they 
 didn't know, the two millionaires staring 
 straight into each other's eyes. Finally, 
 Brokaw Hamilton's gaze shifted to the desk 
 sergeant. 
 
 "I want to add a charge to the charge that
 
 70 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 already stands against Samuel Keats Gaunt, " 
 he said coldly. " I charge him with the theft, 
 to-night, within the last hour, of fifty thousand 
 dollars' worth of jewels belonging to my 
 daughter!" 
 
 Science tells us that two loud noises will 
 sometimes make silence. That must have 
 been what was the matter with John Gaunt. 
 Two bellows of indignant amazement tried 
 to escape at once with the result that he was 
 perfectly dumb dumb with his mouth open. 
 
 "My daughter, Helen," Hamilton's voice 
 flowed on levelly, "gave them into his keep- 
 ing. Now, I understand he denies it. There 
 can only be one conclusion he stole them. " 
 
 John Gaunt's face went purple; spasmodi- 
 cally he reached forward to take this man by 
 the throat. Sheer will power brought control. 
 
 "Sergeant, if you'll send a couple of your 
 men home with me," Mr. Hamilton went on 
 serenely, "my daughter will be pleased to 
 give them all the necessary details. And, 
 by the way, that diamond necklace you found 
 on the prisoner can't be my daughter's 
 property. She doesn't own one. Goodnight." 
 
 The door opened and closed; he was gone. 
 Trailing after him went detectives Cunning- 
 ham and Fallen.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 71 
 
 A minute later John Gaunt, too, went out. 
 Detective Bailey glanced quickly, interroga- 
 tively, at Dexter as John Gaunt moved 
 toward the door, and Dexter had nodded. 
 In the tumult of rage which possessed him, the 
 millionaire coal man had forgotten all about 
 poor Skeets, tucked away in a cell with ear 
 pressed to the steel bars, hopefully waiting. 
 
 "He won't run away, of course," Dexter 
 remarked in his heavy English way, "and. 
 besides, we've nothing to hold him on yet. 
 You know we're conducting this case like 
 a lot of bally asses what? We do these 
 things better in Scotland Yard, you know. 
 We don't stand on the housetops and shout 
 about everything we learn as you chaps seem 
 to do over here." 
 
 John Gaunt's automobile swung away into 
 the night in a torrent of rain. 
 
 "Brokaw Hamilton knows perfectly well 
 Sammy didn't steal any jewels," he informed 
 the outer darkness with a graceful touch 
 of profanity here and there. "He simply 
 couldn't resist the temptation to poke it into 
 me. " A long silence. " Probably thinks that 
 red-headed daughter of his is too good for my 
 son ! If I thought he really thought that I'd 
 I'd hang it, I'd make Sammy marry her,
 
 72 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 just to spite him ! ' ' Another silence. ' ' Might 
 not be a bad idea at that! If they should 
 many! His fortune and mine! I'd be the 
 financial boss of the earth! Look out there!" 
 
 This last as the automobile skidded and 
 went sliding across the slushy road toward a 
 foot traveler who was plodding along in the 
 rain. Agility alone saved him from injury. 
 It was The Hawk! 
 
 It was after two o'clock when Brokaw 
 Hamilton retired to his room. The detec- 
 tives had gone and Helen's turbulent heart 
 had found peace in sleep. 
 
 "Helen loves young Gaunt, therefore she 
 would be as happy with him as with any one 
 else." Business of donning pajamas. "Be- 
 sides insuring her happiness I'd place myself 
 in a position to ! Say, John Gaunt is worth 
 a hundred millions; and he's a child! I 
 could get that! And if I don't, some one 
 else will!" Business of crawling into bed. 
 "It may have been a bad beginning to accuse 
 young Gaunt of stealing those jewels, but 
 Perhaps not!" Business of closing his eyes. 
 "How can that young idiot know anything 
 about this affair of the Countess of Salisbury's 
 garter? I'll have to have my own detective 
 on this!"
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SKEETS GAUNT is safe in his cell and 
 he will keep or be kept, to state it 
 more accurately. So let's away from the 
 vagaries of night and the mysteries that lie 
 in the pall of it. Let's take Broadway at 
 eight o'clock of a sunny morning in June. 
 The sidewalks, drenched by the heavy rains 
 of the night before, are glistening spotlessly 
 beneath the million-footed human creature 
 which is hurrying here, there, everywhere to 
 the pursuits of the day; the street is an 
 endless, counter-flowing stream of vehicles 
 divided mathematically by the car tracks. 
 
 Here we are at Forty-second Street. Let's 
 pause a minute to watch the tides of humanity 
 from east and west swirl into unique Broad- 
 way to be swallowed up in the vaster stream 
 which flows forever north and south. A 
 mottled current it is, burdened with the flot- 
 sam and jetsam of the world bankers and 
 beggars, and brokers and stokers; newsboys 
 and venders, and street-crossing tenders; 
 hook-nosed and snub, honest men and thieves. 
 The ever-flowing stream ripples on, borrowing 
 a dash of color from the bright gowns and 
 
 73
 
 74 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 gossamer millinery of the shop girls. In no> 
 city in the world is the shop girl so well 
 dressed as in New York. 
 
 Somewhere in this hurrying, jostling crowd 
 is The Hawk. Ah, there he is, scrubby of 
 beard, pallid of face, worn and weary, but 
 for all that there is a glint of satisfaction 
 in his shallow eyes. A hard night he has had 
 of it, evidently a night in the rain, for his 
 threadbare coat is still wet, and there is a 
 disheartening squashiness in his tattered shoes. 
 He is hungry, too, in spite of the fact that 
 his shabby pockets hold a fortune of seventy- 
 five thousand dollars, more or less, in other 
 people's jewels. 
 
 Six years it had been since The Hawk had 
 seen Broadway six long, meager years and 
 now he reveled in the sight of it. His destina- 
 tion was Daddy Heinz' in West Thirtieth 
 Street; and Daddy Heinz' was a sanctuary 
 where he would find breakfast, and a bath, 
 and clean linen, and a bed. The nearest 
 route to all these luxuries was down Seventh 
 Avenue, but The Hawk didn't go that way. 
 Instead, he stuck to Broadway; there was so 
 much of it new to him. Good old Broadway! 
 The smell of it got up his nose. It was 
 worth while living, if one might live here!
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 75 
 
 So, on down Broadway he went, past the 
 yawning entrance of the Metropolitan Opera 
 House, past the Marlborough, past the Herald 
 Building. At Thirty-fourth Street he paused 
 suddenly with quick interest, and stared. 
 A girl had attracted his attention a red- 
 headed girl! Something in the way the 
 brilliant sunlight struck her hair reminded 
 him of the vision in the window the night 
 before Her Loveliness! and he stopped 
 to look after her until she was swallowed up 
 in the crowd. He knew it couldn't be the 
 same ; he was merely humoring a recollection. 
 
 Woman, and the lure of her, had never 
 entered into The Hawk's scheme of existence. 
 He had regarded her merely as a sort of 
 subliminated clotheshorse, much given to 
 the vain adorning of her white body with 
 ribbons and laces and fluffy things and 
 jewels! There's where his interest in women 
 had always begun and ended at the jewels. 
 But "in the spring a young man's fancy" 
 and all the rest of it; and it was June. For 
 no reason apparent to himself The Hawk 
 realized all at once that now he was regarding 
 woman from a different angle. This new 
 point of view had been born at that instant 
 when, crouching against a wall in the darkness,
 
 76 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 he had caught one glimpse only one! of 
 her whom he was pleased to think of as Her 
 Loveliness! A wonderful night it had been, 
 truly a night filled with all the delightful 
 irresponsibilities of a fairy tale. Ah, me! 
 
 But hunger pressed; eyes smarted from 
 lack of sleep; limbs trembled with weariness. 
 Turning suddenly, The Hawk continued 
 straight on down Broadway to Thirtieth 
 Street, where he steered west. Beyond Sixth 
 Avenue, where two great green lamps squatted 
 on their supports, was the new Tenderloin 
 Police Station. It was The Hawk's first 
 sight of it; a decided improvement on the 
 old one. There were men inside, among 
 them probably Detective Meredith, who 
 would have given five years of their lives to 
 lay hands on The Hawk. The Hawk knew 
 it; so he smiled pleasantly. 
 
 Across Sixth Avenue, under the "L" he 
 went on, silently appreciative of the roar of 
 good old New York. While he was still a 
 hundred feet or so away from the sinister 
 front of the police station the door opened, 
 and Detective Meredith came out! Detec- 
 tive Meredith! The Hawk's nearest, dearest, 
 most intimate enemy! A dozen times they 
 had matched their wit each against the other
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 77 
 
 in the old days, and at the end Meredith had 
 been one of the best young yelpers in that 
 pack of the law's bloodhounds that had 
 chased The Hawk into oblivion. 
 
 The Hawk was glad to see Meredith. He 
 would have liked to go up and introduce 
 himself, and shake hands with him. It was 
 the first familiar face he had seen. Yet if 
 there was one man in the world he had to 
 fear it was Detective Meredith. And now 
 The Hawk felt there was no need to invite 
 disaster. Despite the great change in his 
 own appearance, despite the time that had 
 elapsed since his vanishing, The Hawk knew 
 that discretion was the better part of valor. 
 
 Already he had turned back toward Sixth 
 Avenue when he saw a huge limousine swing 
 around the corner and pull up in front of the 
 police station. It stopped, and a middle- 
 aged man alighted. He was followed imme- 
 diately by a girl. When The Hawk saw her 
 his heart stood still. It was Her Loveliness 
 the girl of the window! He knew by the 
 tilt of her head, by the radiance of her 
 brick-red hair intuitively he knew her. She 
 had come with her father, of course, to con- 
 sult Meredith, the best of the metropolitan 
 detectives, in connection with the loss of
 
 78 
 
 her jewels, the jewels he carried now in one 
 of his shabby pockets. 
 
 There is a distinct difference between dare- 
 deviltry and bravery. The dare-devil is he 
 who doesn't realize a danger; the brave man 
 is he who faces a known peril. The Hawk, 
 knowing his peril, knowing he risked that 
 liberty he had taken such pains to assure; 
 knowing that the keen eyes of Meredith 
 were not to be trifled with knowing all these 
 things, he turned his back on Sixth Avenue 
 and slouched on unsteadily toward the police 
 station. It was the lure of woman that led 
 him, the desire to hear her voice again, to 
 see her at close range in broad daylight. 
 Perchance she would smile, and that would 
 be worth all the risk; perhaps some definite 
 idea nickered through his mind and his lips 
 curled curiously. 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton, his daughter, and Detec- 
 tive Meredith stood on the police-station 
 steps in earnest conversation. Obviously 
 they were waiting for some one. Came 
 along a drooping, weary-eyed, bedraggled, 
 unshaven, whining creature, with trembling, 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 "Please, gentlemen lady," he croaked, 
 "a few pennies to save me from starving."
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 79 
 
 "Go on, now!" ordered the detective. 
 "'Get out of this." 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir," whined The Hawk. 
 41 1 thought perhaps " 
 
 "Well, for a beggar you have got a nerve, " 
 Meredith declared sharply. Many truths 
 are spoken in jest; and many more in igno- 
 rance. "Begging at a police station! Go on 
 fade away up an alley!" 
 
 "Why, sir, is this a police station?" The 
 Hawk queried in humble amazement. 
 
 "What does it look like? A candy store? 
 Beat it on your way!" 
 
 The Hawk's shallow eyes met those of the 
 girl eagerly, greedily. They were blue, blue, 
 blue the blue of a moon-lit sky; compas- 
 sionate, sympathetic just such eyes as he 
 had known she would have. Her hand 
 moved toward her pocketbook. 
 
 "Don't give him anything, Miss Ham- 
 ilton," advised the detective. "It only 
 encourages 'em." 
 
 "But the poor fellow may actually be 
 hungry," Helen protested. "He looks hun- 
 gry." 
 
 "I am, Miss," The Hawk assured her; 
 which statement, at least, possessed the merit 
 of truth.
 
 8o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Helen produced a coin and dropped it 
 into his palm; and The Hawk shot a quick^ 
 curious glance at his old-time enemy. 
 
 "On your way," Meredith commanded. 
 "You've got it. And look here, young fel- 
 low, see that you keep away from police 
 stations. Do you understand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What are you grinning about?" 
 
 "Was I grinning, sir?" 
 
 A uniformed man came out of the station 
 house and spoke to Meredith, after which the 
 little party entered the building. Twice on 
 his way west in Thirtieth Street The Hawk 
 stopped and laughed. Once, it was a laugh 
 of sheer joy he had seen Her Loveliness 
 again; he held tightly clutched in one hand 
 the half dollar she had given him; and most 
 marvelous of all, her eyes were blue, blue, 
 blue! And once he laughed because he had 
 outfaced his dearest enemy. If he had ever 
 feared Meredith that fear was gone now. 
 Meredith was beginning the search for the 
 missing jewels, and here they had been under 
 his hand, in possession of a man whom he 
 had sought the world over. And the fact 
 that Meredith had just ordered him to keep 
 away from police stations appealed to The
 
 Page 8s 
 
 " '// that isn'l one of the diamonds from the Countess of Salisbury's 
 garter, I'll eat it ' '
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 81 
 
 Hawk's sense of humor. It would be almost 
 worth while to go up to Meredith and intro- 
 duce himself, just to see the expression on his 
 face! 
 
 Ten minutes later The Hawk, apparently 
 on familiar ground, inserted a curiously 
 fashioned key into the lock of a door and 
 tried it tentatively. It worked, and he slid 
 through, conscious instantly of the fact that 
 the opening of the door had sounded an 
 electric buzz somewhere in the rear. Along 
 the hall he went, certain of his way, turning 
 into a room at his left. It was bare, save for 
 a decrepit chair or table here and there, and 
 a vividly green sofa in a corner. A singular 
 odor pervaded the place, a sort of mustiness 
 that one always associates with antique 
 shops. 
 
 Perhaps a minute passed, then from the 
 back came Daddy Heinz, the most adroit 
 "fence" and generally accomplished old crook 
 New York ever sheltered. He was bent, 
 hook-nosed, bearded, evil-eyed; the tattered 
 dressing gown he wore dragged at his heels. 
 He tottered into the room, peering about 
 him expectantly. At length his gaze settled 
 on The Hawk, reflecting the vague fear which 
 an unfamiliar face always inspired.
 
 82 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Well, Daddy?" greeted The Hawk. 
 "Don't you know me?" 
 
 For a space longer the old man stared. 
 Some chord of memory vibrated at the sound 
 of the voice. Finally, incredulously: 
 
 "The Hawk!" 
 
 "You got me." 
 
 "The Hawk!" the old man mumbled, and 
 one shriveled hand grasped the younger 
 man's. "I'm glad to see you, boy. I had 
 heard that you were dead. Where have you 
 been? Where do you come from now? The 
 Hawk!" A golden vision opened up before 
 the fading eyes. "The Hawk back in New 
 York!" 
 
 "Back in New York. ' ' The Hawk laughed 
 charmingly. "I'm sorry I didn't have time 
 to tell you good-by six years ago, but I was 
 in a hurry." 
 
 Daddy Heinz' thin lips writhed into a smile 
 and he rubbed his hands together greedily. 
 Magnificent coups there had been in the old 
 days when The Hawk had been at his best; 
 and luscious profits to share between them. 
 And now The Hawk was back! His evil 
 old heart warmed at the promise of pros- 
 perity ahead. The Hawk's whole manner 
 changed.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 83 
 
 "Anybody at all in the house?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, nobody nobody, you understand 
 must know I'm here, that I'm back 
 in New York, that I'm even alive. You 
 heard I was dead. Let me stay dead. Now 
 listen a minute. I'm all in. I haven't 
 slept for thirty-six hours, and I walked eigh- 
 teen miles in all that rain last night. First, 
 I want breakfast. I'll take a plunge while 
 you're fixing it. Then I want sleep lots 
 of it. And while I'm sleeping look here a 
 moment." 
 
 From the depths of a pocket he produced 
 a small crumpled-up paper and unfolding it 
 displayed a diamond a single unset stone. 
 Daddy Heinz' eyes glittered as he stretched 
 out a bony, grasping hand for it; and as he 
 twisted and turned it in his fingers there came 
 a startled, wondering expression into his face. 
 
 "That stone is nearly five carats," The 
 Hawk told him crisply. He either didn't 
 see or chose not to notice anything strange 
 in the old man's manner. "It's blue white 
 and beautifully cut. It's worth somewhere 
 between two and three thousand dollars at 
 the least." 
 
 "Where where did you get it?" Daddy
 
 84 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Heinz quavered. There was an undercurrent 
 of excitement in his manner. 
 
 "Why?" demanded The Hawk abruptly. 
 "What does it matter?" 
 
 "Nothing only only it's clean, is it?" 
 
 "You know it's clean," replied The Hawk. 
 "I don't kill people; I merely steal. Why 
 did you ask that?" 
 
 "No reason at all," the old man hastened 
 to assure him. "It's such a beautiful stone, 
 that's all. I was wondering; and I wouldn't 
 handle a stone of that size if it had blood 
 on it." 
 
 Whatever emotion had swayed him it was 
 all gone now, hidden behind a venerable 
 mask of dissimulation. For half a minute 
 The Hawk continued to stare at him curi- 
 ously, then: 
 
 "While I'm asleep I want you to do some 
 things for me," he directed tersely. "I 
 want clothes good clothes the clothes of 
 a gentleman everything from shoes to hats. 
 I want money a thousand dollars in cash 
 at least, and during the next ten days I'll 
 want more of it, bunches of it. I've ample 
 security. That's all now. And remember, 
 Daddy, The Hawk is dead; deader than you 
 ever thought he could be. Now hustle me
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 85 
 
 up a beefsteak about as big as that table 
 top. Me for the bathtub." He turned 
 toward the door, on his way upstairs. "Oh, 
 let me see your gun a minute." 
 
 From the voluminous folds of his anti- 
 quated dressing gown Daddy Heinz pro- 
 duced a revolver. 
 
 The Hawk spun the barrel in his fingers, 
 and examined the priming. 
 
 "Thanks," he said. "I'll keep it." 
 
 The Hawk slept, and sleeping, dreamed. 
 He was crouching close against a wall in the 
 dark, and the most beautiful woman in the 
 world was emptying a hat box of diamonds 
 over his head. . . . On a table beside 
 his bed the revolver lay, cocked. Of such a 
 breed as this was his faith in Daddy Heinz! 
 
 Meanwhile that venerable old crook, with 
 a magnifying glass screwed into one of his 
 evil eyes, was turning and twisting the unset 
 diamond in his claw-like ringers. 
 
 "If," he remarked after a long silence, 
 "if that isn't one of the diamonds from the 
 Countess of Salisbury's garter I'll eat it." 
 He cackled dryly. "But how did it fall 
 into the hands of The Hawk? I wonder 
 I wonder if Brokaw Hamilton could have ?'*
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHILE The Hawk was catching up on 
 his beauty sleep two mighty forces 
 were actively, albeit unconsciously, at work 
 lightening the clouds which had curdled the 
 happiness of Skeets Gaunt. These two forces 
 were the police and the press. 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton needed only one glimpse 
 of the afternoon newspapers to convince him 
 that he had set in motion an avalanche of 
 notoriety about the ears of his daughter. 
 He himself didn't mind an avalanche or two 
 he was used to them; but he was annoyed 
 on her account. It may have been, too, that 
 vague considerations growing out of his 
 newborn wish to control the Gaunt millions 
 influenced him when he withdrew the absurd 
 charge of theft he had made against Skeets. 
 
 "Why did you withdraw it?" demanded 
 the ubiquitous newspaper reporter. 
 
 "The jewels have been found," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Really, it was of no consequence," et 
 cetera. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 86
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 87 
 
 "The public had no interest," et cetera. 
 
 "Who had 'em?" 
 
 "No good end would be served, " et cetera. 
 
 "Let's see 'em." 
 
 "Really, he must decline," et cetera. 
 
 Even newspaper reporters don't believe 
 all they hear. In the beginning they had 
 been asked to swallow a yarn to the effect 
 that S. Keats Gaunt, son of a millionaire, a 
 semi-famous poet rich in his own right, had 
 led Helen Hamilton, sole heiress of another 
 millionaire, to think he was going to elope 
 with her, all this with the one purpose 
 of stealing her jewels, worth a paltry fifty 
 thousand dollars. Credulity balked at that. 
 Now came Brokaw Hamilton's bald statement 
 that the jewels had been found; and coupled 
 therewith was a refusal to say when or where ; 
 also a refusal to produce them. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton was surprised, amazed! 
 Why, gentlemen, did not the press believe 
 his statement? No, the press did not. 
 Pooh! Pooh! sneered the press. This last 
 yarn was worse than the first. So the ava- 
 lanche thundered on. 
 
 Possibly the crux of the thing lay in that 
 jeweled garter! Investigation along this line 
 brought the newspaper men up against a
 
 88 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 stone wall of reticence. Whose garter was 
 it? No one would say. From whom had 
 it been stolen? Same answer. When? 
 Ditto. Where? Likewise. How? Also. 
 Why had Skeets Gaunt been arrested for the 
 theft? Echo answered, "Why?" Detec- 
 tive Meredith, now in charge of the case, 
 looked as wise as a dog who has just hidden 
 a bone, and said nothing! His assistants 
 were equally voluble. 
 
 At just about this point the press discov- 
 ered an English-looking person who seemed 
 to be loitering around in the background of 
 the mystery. Some one discovered that his 
 name was Dexter. Who was he? How did 
 he figure in it, if at all? Did he know any- 
 thing about anything? Really, old chaps, 
 he didn't have a blessed word to say, you 
 know! A jolly inquisitive lot they were, to 
 be sure! So these were American reporters! 
 His word! He'd have to drop a line to The 
 Times about it, eh, what? 
 
 Remained to the press one lonely crumb 
 of consolation. When Skeets Gaunt came 
 to be arraigned in police court for a prelimi- 
 nary hearing the charges against him would 
 have to be made specific. All this secrecy 
 and fiddle-f oddle would have to make way for
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 89 
 
 cold facts. Knowing this, the newspaper men 
 possessed their souls in comparative patience. 
 
 But Skeets Gaunt was not arraigned in 
 police court. The charge of the theft of the 
 garter was mysteriously withdrawn! The 
 incident was closed. By the time the report- 
 ers discovered this, Skeets had been released 
 and had gone his way. 
 
 Thus the situation at three o'clock on the 
 day following the poet's arrest. John Gaunt, 
 in his office, was absorbing all these details 
 from a very extra special extra midnight 
 extra edition of an extra afternoon newspaper, 
 when the door opened and Skeets himself 
 strode in, his poetic eye rolling in fine frenzy; 
 and it wasn't the frenzy of genius, either! 
 His father swung around in his swivel chair 
 and scowled at him. 
 
 "I've just had a conversation over the 
 telephone with Brokaw Hamilton," John 
 Gaunt began without preliminary. 
 
 "I don't care," Skeets raged. "That 
 isn't what I want to talk about. You left 
 me in that cell all last night and to-day, and " 
 
 "Now, Sammy, keep your shirt on. I " 
 
 "Not Sammy, please, father." 
 
 "Samuel, then." It was a concession. 
 The poet was made to feel that it was.
 
 go MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Now, don't disarrange your linen while I 
 talk to you a minute. I've just had a con- 
 versation " 
 
 "You could have put up a cash bond, 
 and" 
 
 "I've just had a conversation over the 
 telephone with Brokaw Hamilton," John 
 Gaunt repeated, doggedly. "He called me a 
 coal heaver. A coal heaver! Do you under- 
 stand that?" 
 
 "You could have put up a cash " 
 
 "He said he had objected to his daughter's 
 marriage to you just as he would have 
 objected to her marriage to the son of any 
 other coal heaver, meaning me." 
 
 "You could have put up " 
 
 "Now, Sammy " 
 
 "Not Sammy, please, father!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon Samuel. He called 
 you the son of a coal heaver!" 
 
 "You could have put up " 
 
 "In othei words, you're not good enough 
 for that red-headed, turned-up-nose daughter 
 of his. You! Do you get that? Gaunt 
 blood isn't good enough!" 
 
 "You could have put up " The phrase 
 came monotonously, truculently, like the 
 breaking of angry waves against rocks.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 91 
 
 "Now it's up to us me and you it's a 
 debt we owe ourselves to pay him for his 
 insolence. Not good enough ! A coal heaver ! 
 Gaunt blood not good enough ! Now, 
 Sammy " 
 
 "Not Sammy, please, father!" 
 
 "Samuel," John Gaunt corrected himself 
 graciously. "Keats, my son," he flattered, 
 "the Gaunts always pay their debts; we'll 
 pay this." He tilted back in his swivel 
 chair and regarded the poet shrewdly. " You 
 know some day, Sammy Keats! some day 
 I'm going to die, and when I do there'll be 
 several million dollars that I won't be able 
 to take along with me. Would you like 
 to have those millions?" 
 
 "You could have put up some of 'em " 
 
 "Or," John Gaunt pursued evenly, "or 
 would you prefer that I give those millions 
 to establish a fund for the purpose of buying 
 pajamas and standing collars for the Fiji 
 Islanders? I'm making a proposition. Do 
 you get me?" 
 
 "You could have put up " 
 
 "Hamilton says Gaunt blood isn't good 
 enough. You can get those millions in one 
 way, and only one way! You can get them 
 by marrying Helen Hamilton!"
 
 92 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 The poet's angry heart was stilled for an 
 instant with joy! Helen! Had he heard 
 aright? Was his father now consenting to 
 that alliance against which he had raised 
 such thunderous objections? 
 
 "Father!" It was all he could say. 
 
 " Not a word ! I won't listen ! That's the 
 proposition. Take it or leave it. You marry 
 Helen Hamilton and you get my millions, 
 and perhaps some of his along with 'em; if 
 you don't marry her, then it's pajamas and 
 high collars for the Fiji Islanders. Gaunt 
 blood not good enough, eh? I'm a coal 
 heaver, am I? You're the son of a coal 
 heaver, are you? Well, we'll just introduce 
 a dash of coal heaver's blood into his family 
 and see how he likes it!" 
 
 "Do I understand that, after all, I may 
 marry Helen?" Skeets' voice was tremulous 
 with emotion. 
 
 11 May?" roared John Gaunt. Why, 
 dammit, you've got to! And not a word of 
 objection out of you; no, not a word! I 
 don't care how or where, but do it and do 
 it soon. I guess maybe that won't get the 
 Hamilton goat!" 
 
 All the bitterness engendered by his recent 
 misfortunes vanished from the heart of
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 93 
 
 Skeets; there remained only the great glad- 
 ness of adoration. 
 
 "I I don't know how to thank you!" 
 he stammered; and after a little he went 
 his way, treading on air. 
 
 An English-looking person, Dexter by name, 
 was in earnest conversation with two other 
 men in the corridor of the great skyscraper 
 as Skeets passed out into the street. 
 
 "That's the son," he told them. "Never 
 mind him. It's the father we want. He 
 must not move twenty feet unless one of 
 you is along. It may come down to searching 
 his home. He knows the answer to this 
 riddle of the garter, and he's the only one who 
 does. He knows where the garter's been and 
 he knows where it is now. But we must 
 catch him red-handed. Those are the orders 
 from Scotland Yard." 
 
 Half submerged in flaming headed after- 
 noon newspapers, Brokaw Hamilton sat at 
 the big desk in his study, staring coldly into 
 the rebellious eyes of his daughter. He had 
 commanded her presence peremptorily. 
 
 "This has been a most unfortunate affair, 
 Helen," he began at last, gravely.
 
 94 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Well, I should say as much," she assented 
 hotly. "Did you see that snapshot of me 
 in one of the papers? With a last year's 
 hat on? And my mouth open? It looked 
 just like a fish!" 
 
 "Unfortunately you are involved in this 
 mare's nest which some one has discovered. 
 The notoriety," and he waved a hand 
 toward the newspapers, "is extremely dis- 
 tasteful to both your mother and myself. 
 I'm afraid it's impossible to put an end to 
 it, but we can do the next best thing and 
 get you away from it." 
 
 "You mean go to Newport? So early?" 
 
 "Not Newport, nor Bar Harbor, nor Nar- 
 ragansett, nor Lenox not even Europe. 
 To-morrow morning you and your mother will 
 take one maid and disappear into some 
 quiet little place that nobody ever heard of, 
 and you will remain there, hidden as it were, 
 until the unpleasant features of this until 
 the hurrah has subsided." 
 
 Helen stared at him resignedly. 
 
 "I know the sort of place you mean," 
 she said; "some poky little old hole where 
 where Oh, well! My heart is broken, 
 anyway. I don't suppose it matters noth- 
 ing matters much."
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 95 
 
 "You are to leave no address behind you 
 with any one, " her father continued, heedless 
 of her tone. "Your identity, your name 
 even, is to be different." Helen glanced 
 up at him in bewilderment. "You under- 
 stand? You are to take another name and 
 use it until you come back to New York. 
 It's the only way to get rid of the newspaper 
 men." 
 
 Helen's heart may have been broken I 
 don't know, I'm sure but I do know that 
 her eyes sparkled suddenly, and her rosy 
 lips rippled into a smile; and she clasped her 
 hands ecstatically. I say, her heart may have 
 been broken, but she was an unconventional 
 girl and perhaps she expressed her emotions 
 in unconventional ways. 
 
 "Oh, Pops, won't that be corking? I'll be 
 Cicely Cicely Somebody-or-other. I just 
 hate Helen, anyway. Helen! It always 
 sounded to me like a long-legged, thin, slick- 
 haired sort of person. Cicely! That sounds 
 more like me, doesn't it?" 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton chose not to notice the 
 ebullition. 
 
 "The ultimate consequences of this affair 
 may be .more more er serious than we 
 now suppose," he went on. "At any rate,
 
 96 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 it is better that you and your mother should 
 be away from it all. And that covers that." 
 
 Idly he picked up the mummied foot of 
 the Egyptian princess and scrutinized it 
 much as if he had never seen it before. He 
 had something else to say, and he didn't 
 know where to begin. Helen shuddered a 
 little. 
 
 "Do put down that horrid thing!" she 
 commanded. "It gives me the wiggles! 
 The idea of handling dead peoples' feet like 
 that!" 
 
 "You've seen the afternoon papers, of 
 course?" Brokaw Hamilton queried irrele- 
 vantly. 
 
 "Yes, and they were horrid, too. That 
 snapshot of me with my mouth open!" 
 
 "Therefore I don't have to tell you that 
 I've withdrawn the charge I made against 
 young Gaunt?" 
 
 "I noticed you had," disdainfully. 
 
 "Also, the charge of stealing the jeweled 
 garter has been withdrawn." 
 
 " Withdrawn, yes, but I wouldn't be a bit 
 surprised if he did steal " 
 
 "It's absurd to suppose young Gaunt is 
 a thief. Somebody else got your jewels 
 when you dropped them. I have a private
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 97 
 
 detective looking into that now. " He paused 
 and lifted his eyes curiously to Helen's face. 
 "Now that you know young Gaunt is free 
 of suspicion, I daresay you you still 
 still love him?" 
 
 "I hate him!" promptly. 
 
 "Hate him? Why?" 
 
 "Oh, because." 
 
 "Because what?" 
 
 "Just because." 
 
 "But but that's no reason." Brokaw 
 Hamilton gazed at her in astonishment. He 
 knew all about the railroad business, too! 
 "You know he's innocent?" 
 
 "No reason! Huh! I'd like to hear a 
 better one." 
 
 "Suppose suppose " and her father 
 spoke slowly, measuredly, " suppose I 
 should withdraw my opposition to your mar- 
 riage with young Gaunt?" 
 
 "It wouldn't make the slightest difference 
 in the world to me," Helen replied coolly. 
 "I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man 
 living! Horrid thing!" 
 
 "Suppose," her father insisted, "suppose 
 I should want you to marry him?" 
 
 Helen's eyes opened wide. It didn't occur 
 to her as being curious that her father should
 
 98 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 alter so completely his attitude toward young 
 Gaunt ; but it did occur to her as curious that 
 he might want her to do something she had 
 said she didn't want to do. 
 
 "Why?" she asked in turn. 
 
 "Suppose," he went on steadily, and his 
 cold eyes were searching her face, "that I 
 should insist that you marry him?" 
 
 "Why, Pops, I don't" 
 
 "Suppose I should say that you must 
 marry him?" 
 
 ' ' Must ! ' ' The word aroused every instinct 
 of rebellion in her. She was not the sort of 
 young person to whom one might say " must " 
 and get away with it. "Why, I wouldn't 
 marry him 
 
 "He's innocent, understand," her father 
 urged. "Last night you would have eloped 
 with him; to-day your attitude is incon- 
 sistent. It you did love him, you do love 
 him. If he should discover where you are to 
 spend the summer, and 
 
 "I won't have him!" she declared hotly. 
 "I won't! I won't! I won't! And I think 
 you're a mean, horrid old thing, so there!" 
 
 She left him there, a much bewildered man. 
 
 One of Brokaw Hamilton's trains, propelled
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 99- 
 
 by a motive force generated by John Gaunt 's 
 coal, was, at this psychological moment, bear- 
 ing a personal representative of the Secretary 
 of State from the city of Washington to the 
 city of New York. His errand in the metropo- 
 lis was a curious one. It was to request 
 the Associated Press and the newspapers 
 generally to refrain from further mention 
 of the jeweled garter, and the mystery sur- 
 rounding it. This unusual request followed 
 closely upon a long interview between the 
 British ambassador and the President of 
 the United States.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE clock struck nine. From a drawer 
 of the big desk in his study Brokaw 
 Hamilton took a revolver, and having made 
 sure it was loaded, thrust it into an outside 
 pocket of the dust coat he wore. He pulled 
 an automobile cap down over his head, and 
 passed into the hall. 
 
 "I may not return until after midnight," 
 he told the footman, Dawkins. "It won't 
 be necessary for any one to wait up for me. 
 I have a latchkey." 
 
 The footman nodded and the railroad mag- 
 nate went on down the steps. His motor 
 was waiting. 
 
 "Eighth Avenue and Thirtieth Street," he 
 directed the chauffeur. "It's nine o'clock 
 now. I must be there by half -past nine." 
 
 He stepped inside and the car moved away 
 silently into the night. It was thirty-two 
 minutes past nine when the motor drew up 
 beside a curb, and Brokaw Hamilton alighted. 
 
 "That's all," he said. "I won't need you 
 again to-night." 
 
 For a time, until the red tail light of the 
 automobile disappeared in the direction of 
 
 100
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 101 
 
 uptown, he stood thoughtfully gazing after 
 it, then, abruptly, he turned the corner and 
 went along West Thirtieth Street. Over 
 near Sixth Avenue, where two great green 
 lamps squatted on their supports, was the 
 new Tenderloin Police Station. Brokaw 
 Hamilton, apparently on familiar ground, 
 inserted a curiously fashioned key into the 
 lock of a door; and somewhere an electric 
 buzz sounded. Along the hall he went, cer- 
 tain of his way, turning into a room at his 
 left. It was bare, save for a decrepit chair 
 or table here and there, and a vividly green 
 sofa in a corner. 
 
 A door opened, and Daddy Heinz tottered 
 in, peering about him curiously, and rubbing 
 his withered old hands together. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Hamilton," he greeted obse- 
 quiously. 
 
 "I daresay you were not expecting me?" 
 questioned the railroad magnate. 
 
 "Oh, yes," and the evil-eyed old man 
 grinned cunningly. " It's about the Countess 
 of Salisbury's garter. I have seen the after- 
 noon newspapers." 
 
 In a room directly above them The Hawk 
 was spread out luxuriously all over his bed,
 
 102 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 engaged in the pleasing pastime of planning 
 a rose-strewn future. On a table within 
 easy reach still lay Daddy Heinz' revolver, 
 cocked ; and beside that glittering instrument 
 of death was a neat stack of banknotes. 
 Not much heigho ! The Hawk yawned lazily 
 only a paltry thousand dollars, a trifle of 
 loose pocket change. Beneath his pillow was 
 a jewel case, and alongside that the Countess 
 of Salisbury's garter, with one diamond 
 gouged out. Here was a metamorphosis. 
 Truly the lean days had gone. The Hawk 
 could remember only dimly the time when 
 he had been driven to niching pies from a 
 kitchen window. 
 
 Planning a rose-strewn future! And not 
 at all that future he had looked forward to 
 gloatingly as he plodded along through the 
 rain the night before or had that been a 
 thousand years ago? A greater future it 
 was a future into which the fluffy red head 
 and the alluring voice of Helen Hamilton 
 intruded with charming persistence. For The 
 Hawk, too, had read the afternoon papers, 
 devoured every line in every one of them 
 with an eagerness pardonable, perhaps, in view 
 of his intimate connection with the events 
 recited there.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 103 
 
 It pleased The Hawk to know that Her 
 name was Helen Hamilton; it pleased him 
 more to know that She was the daughter of 
 Brokaw Hamilton, the railroad magnate 
 it pleased him and quickened his pulse. 
 Light heartedly he had laughed, as all of 
 New York had, at the vicissitudes which had 
 befallen poor Skeets; and he was honestly 
 glad to know that the poet was free at last 
 and clear of the odd entanglements. The 
 Hawk smiled when he learned that Detective 
 Meredith was "moving heaven and earth" to 
 solve the mysteries of that Arabian Night. 
 Also, he was delighted with the information 
 that the thing he had picked from the mantel 
 in the vacant house was a lady's garter. 
 He had examined it with a new interest. 
 - After awhile The Hawk drew the jewel 
 case from beneath his pillow and meditatively 
 spilled its contents out on the bed in front 
 of him. Piece by piece he handled the 
 quaintly wrought articles which reflected the 
 capricious taste of their rightful owner. 
 These rings, she had worn them on her fingers ; 
 these bracelets had clasped the round, soft 
 wrists; this brooch had nestled in the deli- 
 cious curve of her neck ! And a single coin 
 a half dollar ! She had given him that because
 
 io 4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 she had thought he was starving! Shame- 
 lessly The Hawk pressed it to his lips. Love 
 is universal. 
 
 For an hour or more The Hawk lay flat 
 on his back, staring with blind eyes into 
 nothingness, and dreaming of Her Loveliness ! 
 It pleased him to recall that curious efful- 
 gence, that halo that had surrounded her as 
 she leaned from her window and unwit- 
 tingly placed her jewels in his keeping. He 
 remembered every curve of the slender figure 
 as she had stood on the station-house steps 
 with her father and Meredith; the compas- 
 sion in her face when he had asked for alms; 
 and her eyes were blue, blue, blue ! Suddenly 
 The Hawk sat up straight in bed. 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded enigmatically 
 of the bed-post; and "Why not?" he asked 
 of the little table whereon the revolver lay; 
 and "Why not?" he queried of the half 
 dollar which she She had charmed with 
 her touch; and "Why not?" he wanted to 
 know of the blazing electric light which 
 burned above him; and "Why not?" he 
 inquired of the world at large through the 
 open window. 
 
 He arose and went to the mirror, where he 
 stood for a long time staring into the scrubby-
 
 Page 101 
 
 " 'Oh, yes. It's about the Countess of Salisbury's garter. 
 I have seen the afternoon newspapers' "
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 105 
 
 bearded face reflected there. The bland eyes 
 were shallow no longer; some new quality 
 had been born in them. In that brief 
 instant The Hawk was above sordid things; 
 love had exalted him he almost had a soul. 
 All at once he understood why Skeets, being 
 in love with Helen, could write poetry. 
 Why, hang it, he couldn't help but write 
 poetry! He could have written poetry him- 
 self at that instant. 
 
 "Why not?" he asked anew of the scrubby- 
 bearded reflection. And the answer came 
 out of the void: "Daddy Heinz!" His face 
 hardened; his eyes narrowed. To all intents 
 and purposes The Hawk was dead to all men 
 to the world at large to Meredith to all 
 save Daddy Heinz ! He had made a mistake 
 in arousing Daddy Heinz' sleeping memory 
 of him; in coming here at all. If only he had 
 stopped to think! 
 
 But Daddy Heinz knew him, and in that 
 knowledge would lie his danger. He had 
 deliberately placed himself in the old man's 
 grip; and always he would be near, threat- 
 ening, blackmailing, whining. If only some 
 one would sink his fingers in that venerable 
 throat! The Hawk's teeth were clenched; 
 his own wiry hands worked nervously.
 
 io6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Violence had always been distasteful to The 
 Hawk, but now Daddy Heinz was in the 
 way; now it was necessary to 
 
 "Except for Daddy Heinz there is no 
 reason," he told himself at last; he didn't 
 even pay Skeets the tribute of considering 
 him at all. Again he studied his reflection 
 in the mirror. "A barber could shape me up 
 in half an hour. I want her I'll win her!" 
 He smiled charmingly at his reflection. "It 
 would doubtless please Brokaw Hamilton 
 to know my decision." 
 
 Shortly after midnight a patrolman in 
 West Thirtieth Street noticed that the door 
 of a disreputable looking old house was 
 standing open, and he made an investiga- 
 tion. In one of the rooms on the ground 
 floor he found old Daddy Heinz, dead! 
 There were three bullet holes in his body, 
 one shot having entered the head from the 
 back. On the floor beside the evil old man 
 lay a revolver in which there were three 
 exploded shells. There was no sign of any 
 one else in the house, except in the room 
 directly over that where the body was found. 
 The bed there had been slept in. A vast 
 quantity of jewels and art treasures, long
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE HAWK 107 
 
 stolen, were recovered; also a curious little 
 leather-bound book. It seemed to be an 
 account book of some sort. 
 
 While the police from the Tenderloin 
 Station were investigating the mystery, 
 Brokaw Hamilton, pallid as death, staggered 
 up the steps of his home in The Bronx and 
 let himself in with his latchkey. He went 
 straight to his study and, after locking the 
 door, placed a single unset diamond in a 
 secret drawer of one of his curio cabinets. 
 It was the stone The Hawk had gouged out 
 of the Countess of Salisbury's garter! 
 
 A tiny fleck of blood on Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton's hand! He stared at it, his eyes dilating 
 with horror. 
 
 "Good God!" he 'exclaimed.
 
 H 
 
 PART III 
 
 "l LOVE YOU!" 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 OW, " queried the stranger in the 
 Garden of Eden, "how do you and 
 Eve manage to while away your time?" 
 
 "Well," Adam replied, as he thoughtfully 
 ran his fingers through his chin whiskers, 
 "sometimes we sit and think, and other 
 times we just sit." 
 
 Treading warily to avoid stepping on the 
 family snake, the stranger went forth into 
 the unknown world bearing with him the 
 original bon mot. It is next heard of as 
 applied to the sprawly little village of Satuit, 
 which cuddles in the majestic sweep of Massa- 
 chusetts Bay, entrenched behind frowning 
 battlements of graveled cliffs which rise 
 sheerly from the spume of the sea. Like 
 unto Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden 
 its inhabitants manage to while away most 
 of their time sitting and thinking, princi- 
 pally just sitting. 
 
 In the old days when bold, bad pirates in 
 long, low, rakish craft threaded the coast 
 
 108
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 109 
 
 line, snooping in and out of the verdant 
 coves, and smuggling was a recognized pro- 
 fession, Satuit 's mirror-like harbor was a 
 famous rendezvous and fitting-out point. 
 Even now there are grizzled, leather-colored, 
 doddering old chaps there who could tell 
 marvelous tales of blood, and pillage, and 
 piracy; of ravished galleons, and the sacking 
 of rich seaports in the West Indies could 
 tell marvelous tales, and smack their lips in 
 the telling. Even now there may be found 
 in some ancient, cobwebbed cellar a wee drop 
 of golden rum carefully hoarded through the 
 misty years that separate progressive to-day 
 from that past when the sunshiny liquor 
 of Jamaica was fair loot on the high seas; 
 even now an occasional quaint treasure of 
 art which, perhaps, had place in a Spanish 
 grandee's palace on the Caribbean may be 
 found kicking around some curious old house 
 of Satuit. 
 
 To-day, almost in the suburbs of a great 
 city, Satuit is an anachronism, a part of a 
 past century with the romantic glamour of 
 that past hanging over it. Captain Kidd's 
 treasure is hidden under every gaunt, gray 
 stone; and Puritans, in spirit at least, still 
 stalk the evanescent deer, blunderbuss at
 
 no MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 shoulder; or shoot wild ducks from their 
 front yards; or fish over their back fences, 
 figuratively speaking, for luscious little smelt; 
 or dig ditches, as necessity may be. There 
 is even an occasional Indian, remnant of his 
 race, stoical as ever, but grown heap much 
 fat on the white man's grub. It was out of 
 consideration for him that the first law on 
 the old town book was abrogated. This 
 law said that no game should be shot on the 
 Sabbath, except wolves and Indians. To 
 this extent Satuit has progressed. 
 
 A rifle shot away, generally southward, is 
 the old oaken bucket yes, the long-suffering 
 bucket, the moss-covered bucket, the iron- 
 bound bucket upon which musical youth has 
 hung so many strange and weird inharmonies; 
 and a rifle shot beyond that is the little white 
 church to which, tradition says, Daniel Web- 
 ster used to go; and another rifle shot away 
 stands a finger-like marble shaft to the great 
 Miles Standish who, it will be remembered, 
 incautiously sent John Alden to do his wooing. 
 Still farther on is Plymouth, and Plymouth 
 Rock, the hearthstone of American liberty. 
 It is very small for its age, is Plymouth Rock, 
 of a size to have been laid by the original 
 Plymouth hen small for its age and far
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" in 
 
 from the water. Tradition says the Pil- 
 grims landed on this particular rock, and if 
 we believe that thing about Daniel Webster 
 going to church, we might as well believe this 
 along with it. 
 
 Off in the other direction, generally north- 
 ward, on a sandy spit which thrusts its curve 
 into the bay, is the identical lighthouse, 
 fallen into ruin, behind which Abigail and 
 Rebecca Bates hid in the twilight and sounded 
 the call to arms, thus shooing off the British 
 invaders in the war of 1812. Yes, it's the 
 same lighthouse you've read about in his- 
 tory. Even now, on stormy nights, white- 
 clad, spooky, girlish figures move about the 
 ruins, and the piping of a flute and the 
 shrilling of a drum are heard high above 
 the whistle of the wind and the lashing of 
 the sea. On and on beyond is Black Rock, 
 and Merrymount. Some historically impor- 
 tant things happened at these places, but 
 they escape me at the moment. And on 
 still farther is the city of Quincy, home of 
 the dead presidents. 
 
 In the midst of all this nestles the village of 
 Satuit, scattering, and long and lanky of 
 street, quiet, restful, and untouched of the 
 world an oasis of the past in the desert of
 
 ii2 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 the present. Echoes of the bustling world 
 outside reach but faintly a motor car that 
 blunders in and goes screaming through, an 
 occasional aeroplane that comes slithering 
 out of the aviation field at Squantum; a fat 
 real-estate man who would chop up the vil- 
 lage into town lots and build monstrous 
 houses upon them; an occasional touch of 
 the vernacular of the day in the mouths of 
 its inhabitants. Then, too, beyond Peggotty 
 Beach, across Bass' Cove, a wireless mast 
 rises from Brant Rock, an exclamation point 
 in the magical story of man's achievement. 
 
 Sentinel over all, towers the minaret of 
 Minot's Ledge lighthouse a spindle against 
 the glow of the aurora borealis. I see its 
 flash from my window now as I write. One- 
 four-three is the signal; sailor men call it 
 the "I-love-you" light. "I love you!" it 
 flashes over the threshing waters to the 
 incoming liner; "I love you!" it tells my 
 true love in her bedchamber; " I love you! " 
 it blazes to the fisher lad scudding into the 
 sunset; "I love you!" it assures the doubt- 
 ing maid. So it stands, a beacon, a personal 
 message out of the void of night. It is right 
 and fit that it should be so. 
 
 And now the stage is set; on with the play!
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT had never been given to Cap 'n Barry 
 to fathom the vagaries of city folk. 
 Just why a girl, clad only in a bathing suit 
 that revealed an astonishing length of silken 
 hosiery only in a bathing suit, and a sen- 
 suous glory of brick-red hair that rippled 
 down over her shoulders, half hiding the 
 foam-white throat and arms, should sit for 
 two mortal hours gazing out upon the incom- 
 ing tide in Bass' Cove with dreamy eyes 
 which reflected the sapphire of the sea just 
 why she should sit there doing that and 
 nothing but that, was past his comprehension. 
 And an east wind blowing, too! Be dinged 
 if he could see, anyhow, why anybody'd 
 wanter splash around in water that warn't 
 much warmer'n the inside of an ice-cream 
 freezer be dinged if he could see it! 
 
 Upon the white expanse of Peggotty Beach 
 the girl's was the only figure. From his 
 sunny nook in the lee of a moss shanty the 
 Cap'n had occasionally craned his neck 
 around to squint at her over the shimmering 
 sands. 'Twarn't that he were curious, as 
 you might say, but he'd been noticing her 
 8 113
 
 ii4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 for several days, and she was a stranger, and 
 it irritated him to know there was somebody 
 in Satuit he warn't acquainted with. For 
 he knew everything about everybody, did the 
 Cap'n. He had a subtle way, all his own, 
 of acquiring information. 
 
 He pondered the situation with increasing 
 annoyance, until finally he could stand it no 
 longer. He arose, shook out his pipe, and 
 went over to the girl. 
 
 "Morning!" he greeted. 
 
 Stirred out of her dreaminess, she glanced 
 up at him quickly. The slight movement 
 set the sunlight to playing strange pranks 
 in the brick-red hair; the sapphire eyes took 
 in the aged, weather-beaten figure and the 
 wrinkled, leather-like countenance at one 
 sweep. She nodded, and smiled brightly. 
 
 "Good morning!" she replied. 
 
 "Ain't you cold?" The Cap'n appraised 
 her scant costume uneasily. 
 
 "Cold?" She laughed, and the silken 
 limbs vanished sedately beneath her bathing 
 skirt. "On a day like this? Why, it's 
 glorious! I've been sitting here perfectly 
 fascinated by the play of color on the rocks 
 over there. Those big ones look like twin 
 lions, don't they? And did you ever see
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 115 
 
 so many shades of reds, and blues, and 
 purples?" 
 
 Instantly the Cap'n indexed her and filed 
 her away; she was one o' them artists. 
 They all talked like that. He'd met 'em 
 before had even argued with 'em as to the 
 color of them same rocks. He disdained to 
 go into the matter again. 
 
 "One o' the new people, ain't you?" he 
 began tactfully, as he leaned back against 
 a near-by dory. 
 
 "New people?" the girl repeated. "Oh, 
 yes, yes. We've been here only a week. 
 This is our first summer. " 
 
 She braced herself on her outstretched 
 arms, looking up into his face with a quizzical 
 expression about her lips and a demure light 
 in the depths of her blue, blue eyes. Instinc- 
 tively the Cap'n recognized that here was 
 opportunity for the display of all his mental 
 adroitness, his diplomatic deftness. 
 
 "What might your name be?" he asked, 
 subtly. 
 
 "My name?" she repeated. "My name 
 is Quain." 
 
 "Quain?" 
 
 "Quain, yes Cicely Quain." She smiled.. 
 "Do you like it? I adore Cicely."
 
 ji6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Then you're one o' the folks that's moved 
 into that writer feller's place on Second Cliff? " 
 
 "Stepping Stones, yes." 
 
 "Knowed when he built it he'd never be 
 able to keep it up. That gray-haired old 
 woman up there is your ma, mebbe?" 
 
 "The middle-aged lady with white hair 
 is my mother, yes." 
 
 "And that feller with all the yeller whiskers 
 and hair he's your husband, mebbe?" 
 
 There was a deepening of the sun flush in 
 the girl's cheeks; her nose crinkled, and she 
 laughed outright. She shook her head until 
 the brick red of her hair seemed to leap into a 
 living flame. 
 
 "No," she said; "I'm not married." 
 
 "Brother, mebbe?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Just aboarding with you?" 
 
 "No; he's our guest." 
 
 The Cap'n had a subtle way, all his own, 
 of acquiring information. He showed it by 
 his next question. 
 
 "What might his name be?' 
 
 "His name is von Derp." 
 
 "Von which?" 
 
 "Von Derp Mr. August von Derp. He's 
 from Holland."
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 
 
 "Dutchman, huh! I don't think much o f 
 Dutchmen. Used to be a Dutch cook on a 
 ship with me. They can't cook much." 
 He stroked his straggly beard. "Where is. 
 your pa? Dead?" 
 
 The abruptness of the question startled 
 the girl into another laugh. The Cap'n 
 looked down upon her curiously, vaguely 
 astonished. Dusky gold shadows were rac- 
 ing through her hair; the sapphire in her 
 eyes changed to turquoise. 
 
 "No. My father's in New York." 
 "Banker, mebbe?" 
 "No; railroad man." 
 
 "Oh. I knowed a railroad man once. He 
 was a brakeman on the New Haven. 
 Reckon, mebbe, you wouldn't have knowed 
 him?" 
 
 "Possibly not." 
 
 "What sort o' job has your pa got? Con- 
 ductor, mebbe?" 
 
 There was a quick crunching of gravel 
 behind them, and they both turned. Coming 
 toward them across the beach was a young 
 man, immaculate of attire, long of hair, with 
 a strange eagerness in his dreamy eyes. The 
 girl rose to her knees, and stared in aston- 
 ishment.
 
 n8 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Skeets!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Helen!" 
 
 "Well, of all people on earth!" Sud- 
 denly she laughed, came to her feet, and sped 
 down the slant of the beach toward the 
 water. 
 
 "Helen!" There was a world of disap- 
 pointment in Skeets' tone. 
 
 The girl paused at the brink of the water to 
 wave one hand mockingly, then, turning, 
 plunged into the heart of a billow. It was a 
 full minute before she reappeared, far out 
 beyond the roll of the surf, her hair streaming 
 behind her like little brick-red serpents as 
 she swam steadily out into the open cove 
 with slow, powerful stroke. The two men 
 stood watching her in dumb amazement 
 the old man and the young man. 
 
 "I'll be dinged!" said the Cap'n. 
 
 "Dammit!" growled Skeets. 
 
 Their eyes met. 
 
 "What made her do that?" 
 
 "Because because she's a woman." 
 
 "You called her Helen, didn't you?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "She was just atelling me her name was 
 Cicely." 
 
 Came a sudden blaze into the dreamy eyes
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 119 
 
 of the poet. He took off his hat and brushed 
 back a long forelock with one pale, lavender 
 glove. 
 
 "She was just atelling me her name " 
 the Cap'n insisted. 
 
 "Say, do you see that big rock way over 
 there?" Skeets demanded, and he pointed 
 off toward Third Cliff. "Well, here's a 
 cigar. You go over and sit on that rock, 
 and smoke that cigar. When I need you, I'll 
 call you." 
 
 The Cap'n took the cigar mechanically and 
 stared at it perplexed. What was this young 
 feller adriving at? Mebbe he didn't want 
 him around! Well, by gravy, he could take 
 a hint if anybody could; and besides it 
 looked like a good cigar, so he took it thriftily 
 and went, deeply aggrieved. Be dinged if he 
 could understand city folks anyhow be 
 dinged if he could ! 
 
 Left alone, Skeets took up a moody vigil 
 on the beach, waiting angrily until such time 
 as it should please Helen there, I've let it 
 out! I beg your pardon, really! until such 
 time as it should please Cicely to come in. 
 Now she was visible as a wave lifted her 
 to its top; then she would vanish behind a 
 sinuous crest of the waters, and his heart
 
 120 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 would stand still until she reappeared. After 
 a long, long time she began swimming inshore 
 again ; finally she was within hailing distance. 
 
 "Helen!" he called pleadingly. 
 
 "My name is not Helen," she replied. 
 
 "Cicely!" 
 
 "Miss Quain, if you please." 
 
 "Miss Quain, then. Please come in." 
 
 "I'm not coming in until you go away." 
 
 "And I'm not going away until you come 
 in." 
 
 Skeets sat down grimly. 
 
 "Very well; I shall not come in at all. 
 I'll remain out here in this cold water until 
 I take cramps and drown." She turned and 
 paddled toward the open. 
 
 "Helen!" She swam on. "Cicely!" She 
 swam on. " Miss Quain ! ' ' She looked back. 
 "I have something I must say to you." 
 
 "I don't want to hear it." 
 
 "I won't go until you do hear it." 
 
 "Very well; I'll drown." 
 
 She swam on steadily. Skeets took off 
 his perfectly good hat and slammed it down 
 upon the beach violently, then picked it up, 
 shook the sand out of it, and jammed it back 
 on his head. Perched on a distant rock, like 
 a crow on a limb, old Cap'n Barry cackled
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 121 
 
 dryly. Be dinged if he could understand 
 'em! 
 
 Skeets started away angrily. 
 
 "I'm going!" he flung over his shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, don't rush away on my account," 
 Cicely taunted. "I'd just as soon drown." 
 
 Skeets knew the indomitable will beneath 
 that glory of red hair, and dumb with anger 
 at the unreasonableness of her attitude, he 
 swung along the short curving road that led 
 from Peggotty Beach to Stepping Stones. 
 He'd explain that affair of the garter to Helen 
 if if hang it, if he had to stick around all 
 summer! She had whisked away from New 
 York before he'd had a chance to even see 
 her; and now he'd he'd make her listen! 
 
 Stepping Stones was a rather more preten- 
 tious place than its neighbors a very modern 
 cottage, with a very old well-sweep on one 
 side and a very new Italian garden on the 
 other incongruous to a degree. In one 
 corner of the sloping lawn an embowered, 
 bevined study building nestled. Thrown 
 across the lawn in crescent shape were 
 the huge bowlders which gave the place its 
 name. 
 
 Skeets was possessed of only one idea in 
 the wide world to see and talk to Helen's
 
 122 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 mother. He was convinced that his tale of 
 woe would soften her adamantine heart; and 
 things might be possible. So intent was he 
 upon this one object that he almost ran into 
 a young man who was sauntering down the 
 drive as he turned in. Involuntarily he 
 paused, and for an instant the eyes of the 
 two men met. 
 
 There was something striking in the 
 stranger's appearance, in his manner, in his 
 dress a distinct foreign look about him, 
 Skeets decided. His hair was rather long, 
 wavy, and of a pale blond cast almost 
 lemon colored; his beard, exquisitely trimmed 
 and pointed, was of the same color, but if 
 anything a shadow darker; his brows, deli- 
 cate as pencil lines and pale as his hair, were 
 lifted inquiringly now, opening wide a pair 
 of of brown eyes? Yes, hang it, they were 
 brown! There was a mathematical courtesy 
 in his manner, and indefinable savor of 
 European boulevards in the trivial niceties 
 of his dress. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," Skeets stammered. 
 "Does Mrs. Hamilton live here?" 
 
 "Mrs. Quain lives here," replied the 
 stranger. He raised his hat. There was no 
 accent in his speech, but the precise little
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 123 
 
 twist of a man who speaks perfectly some 
 language other than his own. 
 
 "Stupid of me," Skeets apologized. "I 
 mean Mrs. Quain. Thank you." 
 
 The stranger nodded, lifted his hat again, 
 and strolled off down the road toward Peg- 
 go tty Beach. There was a little of perplexity 
 in his eyes; and something more than that 
 a subtle, sardonic amusement. Skeets stood 
 looking after him until he vanished at the 
 turn in the road. Not once did the stranger 
 look back. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton really, I beg your pardon! 
 Mrs. Quain, beautiful in her maturity with 
 the complexion of an apple-cheeked girl and 
 snow-white hair, received Skeets with a little 
 surprised air that was almost a welcome. 
 
 "Well!" she greeted him. "How came 
 you here?" 
 
 "I don't know," Skeets replied gloomily. 
 "That is, of course, I'm here because Helen 
 I mean Cicely, you know she is here, 
 but" 
 
 His voice died away of its own accord; 
 the poetic eyes reflected a settled melancholy. 
 Perchance there came to him a haunting 
 thought of that yellow-topped exquisite whom 
 he had passed in the drive.
 
 i2 4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "But how did you learn where we were?" 
 Mrs. Quain insisted. "How did you find 
 us?" 
 
 "It was rather curious, since I come to 
 think of it," was the reply. "Some one 
 called me on the telephone yesterday after- 
 noon in New York and told me you and your 
 daughter were here under the name of Quain, 
 and and I came. I don't know who it was 
 at the 'phone; I had been so anxious to find 
 you that I I forgot to ask." 
 
 "Curious," Mrs. Quain commented lan- 
 guidly. "The only person in New York 
 who knew our whereabouts is my husband, 
 and he wouldn't have " 
 
 "I can readily believe that," Skeets agreed 
 grimly. He poked a pale lavender finger 
 into the crown of his hat and spun it dreamily. 
 "He doesn't like me." 
 
 "And yet you called here?" Mrs. Quain 
 reminded him. 
 
 "Yes, I called because Helen that is, 
 Cicely oh, you know!" 
 
 And before Skeets realized just what he 
 was doing he unbosomed himself to the 
 mother of this girl he loved. She listened in 
 silence to the end, without astonishment, 
 without approval, with a slight smile on her
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 125 
 
 lips, and a far-away look in her eyes listen- 
 ing to all of it, hopes, plans, elopement, every- 
 thing. At length Skeets stopped talking 
 because there was nothing else to say. 
 
 "I have very curious ideas about love and 
 marriage, Mr. Gaunt," she remarked. "I 
 believe a girl should marry the man she loves. 
 Isn't that old-fashioned?" 
 
 "Then?" and a great light of hope illu- 
 mined the poet's face. 
 
 " I didn't know of the attempted elopement, 
 but if I had known I doubt if I should have 
 interfered, because well, I'm old-fashioned, 
 I suppose. And I knew she Helen 
 Cicely" 
 
 ''Knew she loved me?" Skeets interrupted. 
 
 Mrs. Quain shrugged her shapely shoulders. 
 
 "However, my husband has ideas of his 
 own," she continued. "I should never 
 actively oppose his wishes. He objects to 
 you; it is not my place to question why. 
 You should not have come here." 
 
 "But but " Skeets stammered, "you 
 after what you've said, you're not going 
 to send me away?" 
 
 "I couldn't send you away if I would 
 that is, away from the village," she pointed 
 out. "I don't know that I should even have
 
 i 2 6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 the courage to forbid you the house, although 
 perhaps I should." 
 
 "And besides," Skeets rushed on, "you 
 and your daughter are here alone. You'll 
 need some man about to er to " What 
 the deuce did women ever need men about 
 for? 
 
 "We have one man about now," Mrs. 
 Quain told him. "A Mr. von Derp. As I 
 understand it, he is to remain with us all 
 summer." 
 
 "Von Derp!" Skeets' thoughts instantly 
 reverted to the yellow-topped stranger. ' ' You 
 mean the young man I met in the drive- 
 way?" 
 
 "Probably you met him. He went out 
 just before you came in." 
 
 "Who is he, anyhow?" Skeets demanded. 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," Mrs. Quain 
 replied, "except that he's from Holland 
 Amsterdam, I think and is the son of a 
 business associate of my husband's there. 
 I don't know why," she added resignedly, 
 "he should have been unloaded on us in this 
 little place to entertain all summer. Why, 
 we haven't even a fourth hand at bridge." 
 
 From the screened veranda where they 
 sat they saw Cicely and von Derp turn into
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 127 
 
 the driveway the girl in her dripping bath- 
 ing suit and he, immaculate, leaning slightly 
 toward her and talking earnestly. 
 
 Involuntarily Skeets' nervous fingers closed. 
 Mrs. Quain noted the movement, slight as 
 it was. 
 
 "I think, perhaps, he affects me that way, 
 too, " she said. "I can't get over the impres- 
 sion that he could fall violently in love with 
 any woman who was rich enough." 
 
 Looking up quickly, as if at the suggestion 
 of von Derp, Cicely saw Skeets, looked 
 startled, then darted in a side entrance which 
 led to her room. Von Derp came in the 
 front way, and through to where his hostess 
 and Skeets sat. 
 
 "Mr. Gaunt, a New York friend Mr. 
 von Derp of Holland." 
 
 "Charmed, I'm sure," von Derp, smiling, 
 revealed firm white teeth. "If I'm not mis- 
 taken, Mr. Gaunt, I saw a likeness of you in 
 a New York newspaper a few days since?" 
 
 "Perhaps," Skeets assented, with some- 
 thing vaguely antagonistic in his manner. 
 "It was on the occasion of my arrest charged 
 with the theft of a jeweled garter and of a 
 certain Miss Hamilton's jewels." 
 
 "I congratulate you upon your what
 
 128 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 shall I say?" said von Derp. "It was a 
 ridiculous affair altogether. I must apologize 
 for staring when I met you in the drive. It 
 was then that I had my first impression of 
 having seen you before." 
 
 Mrs. Quain sent a telegram to her husband: 
 
 "Keats Gaunt has found us here. Refuses to be 
 sent away. What shall we do?" 
 
 To which her husband replied: 
 
 "I sent him there. Make him your guest while he 
 remains. Give him every opportunity of being with 
 Cicely. Match between them is absolutely necessary. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Quain opened her beautiful eyes in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Well, anyway," she observed placidly, 
 "he'll make a fourth hand at bridge."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WITH Chatham light hard down astern, 
 and Race Point light aport, the motor 
 boat Pyramid swung in a wide semicircle, 
 and pointed her slender nose almost due 
 west, questioning the darkness with a tentacle 
 of flame from her powerful searchlamp. She 
 slackened on the turn, and then, straightened 
 out, her engines roared as her throttle was 
 opened, and with quickened speed she went 
 smashing on through the sinister green waters, 
 the phosphorescent ruffle at her bow gleam- 
 ing like white teeth, and trailing away into 
 nothingness in her wake. 
 
 Through the gaunt rigging of fishing craft 
 huddled like sheep at anchor were small, 
 twinkling, detached stars ; and this was Prov- 
 incetown by night. More than once the man 
 at the Pyramid's helm, himself an impalpa- 
 ble part of the surrounding gloom, glanced 
 toward the town which hangs on the tail of 
 Cape Cod; and a dozen times he turned 
 flatly to stare astern. Twice he extended a 
 hand and touched the throttle as if to slow 
 his engine, but each time changed his mind. 
 
 Carne at last, far behind, that which he 
 9 129
 
 i 3 o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 had evidently been expecting a sudden burst- 
 ing into view of another searchlight, low on 
 the waters. Obviously, from the dip of the 
 light, here too was a motor boat; and obvi- 
 ously, too, here was some new game of hare 
 and hound. The Pyramid played it her own 
 way, for her engines slowed suddenly, her 
 helm went hard aport, and she swung in 
 around Race Point like a curving arrow, the 
 pursuing light dropping off astern. True 
 to this course she held until the light reap- 
 peared; until her own light showed dead 
 ahead a swarm of small craft bobbing at 
 anchor in Provincetown haven. 
 
 Danger to his own craft, or those about 
 him, was apparently of little moment to the 
 helmsman of the Pyramid. Bearing straight 
 down upon the half hundred or more sail- 
 boats and small vessels of the swarm, he 
 pressed three buttons one after the other and 
 his lights died the searchlight first, then the 
 red port, and the green starboard. Still 
 there was a faint glow from the cabin; he 
 touched a fourth button and that, too, was 
 extinguished. From a distance the effect 
 was if the Pyramid had dropped anchor and 
 made snug for the night obviously an effect 
 calculated to throw the hound off the track.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 131 
 
 But the Pyramid didn't slow. Like some 
 black leviathan of the deep she went plunging 
 on through utter darkness, her helmsman 
 staring ahead tensely with only the night 
 lights of other craft to guide him. Through 
 the outer edge of the patch of vessels she 
 wriggled on, rubbing shoulders with a dory 
 here, and a catboat there, and a launch 
 yonder on and on through until came clear 
 water ahead. 
 
 Then and not until then did the helmsman 
 glance back. Already the powerful light of 
 the pursuing motor boat had touched the 
 outer fringe of the little fleet, and she was 
 slowing. Abruptly the Pyramid came around 
 to her helm on the starboard tack, straight- 
 ened out, her engines crackled, and she 
 leaped ahead like a thing of life. The hare 
 had doubled; the hound seemed hopelessly 
 entangled in the mess of small craft. Observ- 
 ing all of which, the helmsman of the Pyramid 
 smiled, grimly. 
 
 "I think perhaps that will keep that chap 
 busy for an hour or so," he remarked. 
 
 All her own lights extinguished, an excess of 
 caution perhaps now, the Pyramid ran on 
 blindly through the darkness with only the 
 polar star to guide her. Mile after mile
 
 i 32 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 she laid behind her, her nose pointing nor'- 
 west-by-west, her helmsman staring ahead 
 and smoking idly. In fifteen minutes he 
 should pick up Minot's Ledge light; then it 
 would be easy to make either Satuit harbor, 
 or Bass' Cove, which his chart told him lay 
 between Second and Third Cliffs. There he 
 could lie up for the night, fill his gasoline 
 tank, and be away early with a fair chance. 
 
 "I love you!" 
 
 The flashes of Minot's Ledge light one- 
 four-three came at last faintly, low over 
 the rolling waters. The helmsman nodded 
 understandingly. Ten minutes later a glow- 
 ing speck on Third Cliff reached him; another 
 ten minutes and similar glowing specks ap- 
 peared on Second Cliff. Within less than 
 an hour the cliffs themselves bulked on either 
 side of him, and running close up to the beach 
 he cast anchor. It would be only a question 
 of a few hours before the pursuing motor 
 boat realized the trick that had been played; 
 but it would probably have to beat up the 
 coast to find him, and meanwhile there was 
 a good night's rest ahead. 
 
 The clock on the little white church in 
 Satuit was booming eleven as the helmsman, 
 having made all snug for the night, went
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 133 
 
 below. With one hand he fumbled for an 
 instant in the darkness of the cabin, then the 
 electric lights flamed and he stood blinking 
 in their glare, slender, almost boyish in figure, 
 lithe, powerful, sinewy built like a steel 
 bridge. His face was youthful, his hair 
 thick and wavy, his eyes brown. 
 
 "I'll take one look at this thing, anyway, 
 before I turn in," he remarked. 
 
 From a drawer of the gravity table he 
 produced a photograph and, dropping down 
 on a stool beside the table, he fell to study- 
 ing it. It seemed to be a representation of 
 a personal ornament of some sort a dark 
 ribbon, edged with a contrasting color and 
 overlaid with shields of gold upon each of 
 which appeared to be a motto. "Honi soit 
 qui mal y pense!" He spelled it out labori- 
 ously with the aid of a magnifying glass. In 
 each of the shields a stone of some sort was 
 set it was impossible to tell what kind they 
 were from the picture ; and there was a pen- 
 dant representing St. George and the Dragon. 
 
 "I don't think there's the slightest doubt 
 but what it is the same," he mused. "If 
 it is!" 
 
 He produced a long pocketbook from an 
 inside pocket of his coat, and drew from it a
 
 i 3 4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 tissue- wrapped something which he opened. 
 It was the Countess of Salisbury's garter! 
 For half an hour he sat motionless, comparing 
 the photograph, detail by detail, with the 
 jeweled trifle which he had spread on the 
 table before him. At length he rose, replaced 
 the photograph in the drawer of the table, 
 restored the garter to his pocket, and stepped 
 out on deck for a final look around. Five 
 minutes later he was sound asleep. 
 
 The clock on the little white church in 
 the village struck twelve, then one, then two. 
 A bulging searchlight swept around the point 
 of Brant Rock, headed for Bass' Cove. On 
 and on it came steadily, until finally the 
 rhythmical beat of an engine was audible 
 over the waters. Ten minutes, and the 
 searchlight focused the Pyramid as she lay 
 slowly rising and falling at anchor. Another 
 ten minutes, and came a hail: 
 
 ' ' Motor boat, ahoy ! ' ' 
 
 The man asleep in the cabin of the Pyramid 
 moved uneasily. 
 
 "Hey, there, aboard the Pyramid!" 
 
 The sleeping man awoke suddenly, listen- 
 ing; instinctively he reached for the electric 
 switch, but he didn't turn it he merely 
 waited.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 135 
 
 ' ' Hey, you Pyramid! ' ' 
 
 Through the portholes of the Pyramid the 
 glare of the searchlight poured in thin streams. 
 For a scant second the face of the man in 
 her cabin was illumined. Dead white it was, 
 the colorless lips closed, the eyes narrowed, 
 the chin thrust forward. Silently as a snake 
 he slid out of his berth, pulled open the 
 drawer of a locker, and took up a revolver. 
 It was loaded, he knew that it was always 
 loaded! Facing the sliding door which led 
 to the deck, he stepped back until he rested 
 against the forward wall of the cabin, and 
 there he crouched, the revolver in his right 
 hand, his left resting on the electric switch. 
 
 "If it's a bomb, they've got me!" he 
 muttered. "Otherwise, I have a chance!" 
 
 The engine of the other motor boat was 
 still now. Came a squeak of davits as her 
 tender was lowered; then the splash of oars, 
 and finally the Pyramid rocked slightly as 
 the tender bumped gently on her port. Still 
 the man in the cabin was motionless! 
 
 There was the muffled sound of feet on 
 the deck as one, two men scrambled over the 
 rail; then the hissing of their boots across 
 the canvas floorcloth, the laying of a hand 
 on the door of the cabin, and it slid back.
 
 i 3 6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 For a scant instant the clear sky was visible 
 beyond, then was obscured by a moving 
 figure. 
 
 Came a sudden blaze of light as the electric 
 switch was turned, then a curt: 
 
 "Hands up!" 
 
 The man in the door was no fool. The 
 light, sudden as it was unexpected, dazzled 
 him so that he could barely distinguish the 
 crouching pa jama-clad figure at the far end 
 of the cabin with revolver lined for his breast 
 so his hands went up. 
 
 As he stared at the intruder the face of the 
 man with the revolver underwent a curious 
 change. The color came back to his cheeks, 
 the brown eyes opened slightly, the lips 
 parted. 
 
 "Why," and there was a note of astonish- 
 ment in his voice, "it's Detective Meredith, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Right," was the response. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, really," and the 
 threatening revolver clattered on the table. 
 "You startled me a bit. Come in." 
 
 "Thank you!" There was grim irony in 
 the detective's voice. "You don't object 
 to a friend, I hope? Allow me, Mr. Dexter, " 
 and he stood aside to admit an English-
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 137 
 
 looking person with gimlet-like eyes, "to 
 introduce Mr. George Harrington Leigh, 
 alias The Hawk. Mr. Dexter," he took the 
 trouble to explain courteously, "is from 
 Scotland Yard." 
 
 "Scotland Yard? Indeed?" There was 
 almost a welcome in the manner of the pajama- 
 clad young man. "I've met some of the 
 Scotland Yard operators. However," and 
 he smiled pleasantly, "Mr. Meredith is in 
 error as to my name. I'm afraid he mistakes 
 me for some one else?" 
 
 "Yes?" There was an ironic courtesy in 
 Meredith's tone. "And what name does it 
 please you to wear now?" 
 
 "It pleases me to be known as Bruce 
 Colquhoun, if it's all the same to you?" 
 
 "Just as you like, of course." Meredith 
 stared at him for a moment, then, laughing, 
 picked up the revolver from the table. "It 
 has taken me six years to land you. It was 
 a long chase, eh?"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WITH many and divers creature com- 
 forts generously provided from the 
 well-stocked galley of the Pyramid spread out 
 on the table between them, the three men sat 
 down in apparent amity to thresh out the 
 matter in hand. It may have been accident, 
 but it probably wasn't, that caused Detec- 
 tives Meredith and Dexter to choose those 
 seats nearest the companionway which led 
 to the deck, for by their choice they effectu- 
 ally barred all egress to their pa jama-clad 
 host this self-styled Bruce Colquhoun. 
 
 There was complacent gratification in Mere- 
 dith's manner as he drained his glass and 
 leaned back, tilting his cigar upward; sheer, 
 watchful rigidity in the attitude of the Scot- 
 land Yard man, Dexter, whose eyes, never 
 for a moment, left those of their host; and 
 Colquhoun himself seemed merely curious. 
 Certainly there was no other visible emotion, 
 not a trace of anxiety, or uneasiness, or even 
 of impatience. 
 
 "You know, Leigh," Meredith began 
 finally. 
 
 "Colquhoun, please." 
 138
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 139 
 
 "You know, Colquhoun, " Meredith cor- 
 rected himself, "there was a widespread and 
 well-established belief that you were dead 
 until the other night when old Daddy Heinz 
 was found murdered in his place in West 
 Thirtieth Street. I don't think I am incor- 
 rect when I say that the search for The Hawk 
 was at an end. But certain discoveries were 
 made in the examination of Daddy Heinz' 
 place which " 
 
 "Before you go on," Colquhoun inter- 
 rupted, "let me ask who Daddy Heinz is 
 or was?" 
 
 "So you're going to make trouble, after 
 all?" the detective questioned. He shook 
 his head in obvious disappointment. "Does 
 it happen, by any chance, that you've ever 
 seen this?" 
 
 He produced a badly worn, curious little 
 leather-bound book and, without opening it 
 or relinquishing it, held it up before the eyes 
 of the young man. At last Colquhoun sig- 
 nified a casual negative. 
 
 "I have no recollection whatever of ever 
 having seen it." 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you what it is!" Meredith 
 leaned forward suddenly and brought a 
 great fist down on the table. "It's old
 
 i 4 o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Daddy Heinz' account book absolute proof 
 that The Hawk was alive on June 17, 
 eight days ago! The last entry, made 
 the day Daddy Heinz was murdered, 
 reads: 'Advanced to Hawk, $1,000!' " He 
 paused. 
 
 "Well?" queried Colquhoun. "What 
 about it?" 
 
 "On the strength of that entry search for 
 The Hawk was renewed," and Meredith 
 flung a hand impatiently at his host. "I 
 put practically every plain-clothes man in 
 New York on the job. Three days ago one 
 of them discovered that a man answering 
 the description of The Hawk, except in one 
 minor particular, had purchased a large, 
 powerful motor boat the Lizzie Ann and 
 had vanished in it up Long Island Sound. 
 We chartered another motor boat and started 
 in pursuit, Dexter and I, with a pilot. We 
 picked up the first trace of the Lizzie Ann 
 at New London, where, " he spoke measuredly, 
 impressively, "where we learned that the old 
 name had been painted out and a new one 
 the Pyramid painted on!" 
 
 Colquhoun smiled charmingly. 
 
 "Just between us now, man to man," he 
 asked, "if you had bought a good looking
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 141 
 
 motor boat named the Lizzie Ann wouldn't 
 you have changed the name of it?" 
 
 The frivolous tone irritated Meredith, and 
 brought a flush to his cheeks. That com- 
 placent gratification, born of the belief that 
 quarry long sought had surrendered without 
 a fight, vanished. 
 
 "We were not more than three hours 
 behind you into Martha's Vineyard, and 
 only two hours at Siasconset, where you 
 stopped to take gasoline," he went on in 
 detail. "We sighted you off Chatham light, 
 and followed you around Race Point, where 
 we lost you. I had an impression you'd 
 make for Boston, so we swept up the coast 
 until well, here we are. " 
 
 "And now that you are here," remarked 
 Colquhoun quietly as he flicked the ashes 
 from his cigarette, "just what do you want?" 
 
 "We want you!" 
 
 "The charge against me being ?" 
 
 "There are several," the detective declared 
 harshly. "First, complicity in the murder 
 of Daddy Heinz; second, complicity in the 
 theft of the Brokaw Hamilton jewels, which 
 was distinctly in the manner of The Hawk; 
 again, a possible connection with the disap- 
 pearance of a certain jeweled garter. Going
 
 i 4 2 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 back some six or seven years, we want you 
 for the Miller jewel robberies aggregating a 
 hundred thousand dollars; and the Kendrick 
 affair, and the disappearance of the " 
 
 "That's quite enough," the young man 
 interrupted. "I gather from all you've said 
 that this person whom you call The Hawk 
 is really wanted. And you say I am The 
 Hawk?" 
 
 "I intended to convey some such impres- 
 sion," remarked Meredith, curtly. "You're 
 not going to deny it, are you?" 
 
 "Well, before you take me, before you so 
 much as lay a finger on me, be sure I am The 
 Hawk!" Some curious change had come 
 into Colquhoun's manner. "And one other 
 little thing. You have a warrant, of course? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Issued in the state of New York?" 
 
 "Right." 
 
 "Well, don't get excited and forget that I 
 am now in the state of Massachusetts, and if 
 it comes to a showdown your warrant is 
 worthless here. " He paused to light a fresh 
 cigarette. "I have no intention of being 
 disagreeable, but Sit down again, and 
 let's talk it all over. There's no hurry. " 
 
 Detective Meredith obeyed the command
 
 i( I LOVE YOU!" 143 
 
 automatically. Vaguely he felt somehow 
 that he was losing ground; and once he 
 glanced uneasily at Dexter. Imperturbable 
 as ever, the Scotland Yard man was merely 
 staring straight into Colquhoun's eyes. 
 
 "Now, " and Colquhoun became the inquis- 
 itor, "do you know personally this individual 
 whom you call The Hawk?" 
 
 "I do, yes." 
 
 "You know him well, I suppose?" 
 
 "I've seen him twice." Meredith failed 
 to exhibit any enthusiasm as he answered. 
 
 " Only twice ! And how long ago was that? 
 Some six years, I imagine?" 
 
 "Six years, yes; but " 
 
 "Just a moment, please. You have a 
 photograph of him?" 
 
 "There's not a photograph of him in the 
 world, so far as any one knows." 
 
 " But you have, of course, a minute descrip- 
 tion of him?" 
 
 Meredith nodded emphatically, but it was 
 Dexter who produced the printed slip which, 
 half a dozen years previously, had been sent 
 broadcast over the world. Colquhoun shifted 
 his gaze to the Scotland Yard man. 
 
 "Would you mind reading it? " he inquired. 
 
 "Brown, wavy hair," said Dexter.
 
 144 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Right!" said Colquhoun. 
 
 "Brown eyes." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Clear olive complexion." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Straight nose. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Medium mouth, with rather full lips." 
 
 "Correct." This from Meredith. 
 
 "Perfect teeth." 
 
 Colquhoun answered in the affirmative by 
 smiling again. 
 
 "Number 8 shoe." 
 
 Detective Meredith picked up one of a 
 pair beside the berth and examined it. 
 
 "Seven and a half," he said. 
 
 "Number 7 hat." 
 
 Opening a locker beside him, Colquhoun 
 took out a stiff hat and passed it to Mere- 
 dith. 
 
 "Seven and an eighth," he read. 
 
 "Seven glove." Dexter was reading mo- 
 notonously, raising his eyes each time to 
 meet those of Colquhoun. 
 
 "Correct," Colquhoun admitted. 
 
 "Carriage straight." 
 
 "Right." This, too, from Colquhoun. 
 
 "About five feet ten inches tall."
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 145 
 
 "Five feet ten and a quarter," Colquhoun 
 corrected. 
 
 "Weight about " For the first time 
 there was a change in Dexter's expression, 
 and he raised his eyes to Colquhoun. 
 
 "I said the description was perfect except 
 in one minor detail," Meredith reminded 
 them. "This thing of weight is the excep- 
 tion." 
 
 Colquhoun nodded and arose. 
 
 "The description says," Dexter told them, 
 "that his weight was about one hundred and 
 eighty pounds." 
 
 " I weigh just one hundred and forty-seven," 
 said Colquhoun. 
 
 "That's of no consequence," Meredith 
 asserted. "Any man may lose weight." 
 
 For half a minute, perhaps, the young man 
 stood motionless and silent, staring at the 
 two detectives. Dexter mechanically folded 
 the printed slip and tucked it away; Mere- 
 dith's eyes were blazing. 
 
 "That's all of it? " Colquhoun demanded. 
 
 "Except that I've seen you twice," Mere- 
 dith pointed out; "except for the manner of 
 your disappearance from New York; except 
 for the fact that you changed the name of 
 your boat and in addition there are a 
 
 10
 
 i 4 6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 hundred other trivial things, one of them being 
 the fact that you knew me and called me by 
 name when I entered this cabin." 
 
 "I have seen your picture in half a dozen 
 newspapers within the week in connection 
 with the Brokaw Hamilton jewel case," 
 Colquhoun told him, quietly. "Is it so very 
 curious, after all, that I should know you?" 
 
 "Why did you run away from us, then?" 
 
 "That is for you to find out." Suddenly 
 Colquhoun leaned across the table, resting 
 on his hands, his face not more than two 
 feet from Meredith's. "You want The 
 Hawk," he taunted. "You've never seen 
 him but twice, and that was six years ago. 
 Now, am I the man you want? Have you 
 ever seen me before in your life? Isn't it 
 true that the description you have there would 
 fit two out of every five young men you meet? 
 You want The Hawk; you say you know him. 
 Do you want me? Am I the man? 1 ' 
 
 Dexter glanced from the tense face of 
 the young man to the puzzled countenance 
 of his fellow detective. Meredith leaned to 
 one side, struck a match, and relighted his 
 cigar. 
 
 "Your description is purely superficial," 
 Colquhoun declared in the same tone. "Do
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 147 
 
 you recognize my voice as The Hawk's? 
 Have you a record of the ringer prints of 
 ,The Hawk? Or a rogue's gallery picture? 
 Are there any distinguishing marks on his 
 body? For instance, I am vaccinated on my 
 right arm. Was The Hawk vaccinated on 
 his right or left? The left is usual. Have 
 you any " 
 
 "Why did you change the name of your 
 boat?" 
 
 "Because I didn't like the other one." 
 "And if you are not The Hawk, who are 
 you?" 
 
 "Bruce Colquhoun is my name." 
 "But who are you? Where do you come 
 from? What do you do? Why are you 
 here?" 
 
 "Those are things for you to find out." 
 "You refuse to give any account of your- 
 self at all?" 
 "I do." 
 
 There was a long, tense silence. Meredith 
 was possibly the ablest man in the New York 
 police department; and there were only rare 
 occasions when he was in doubt. But now 
 now! He glanced around rather help- 
 lessly at Dexter; the gimlet-like eyes told 
 him nothing.
 
 148 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "You know, of course," Colquhoun con- 
 tinued suddenly, "that your New York 
 warrant is worthless here in Massachusetts. 
 Very well. If you really want me I'll waive 
 my rights, surrender to you, and go back 
 to New York with you now. If you want to 
 search, I'll deliver over to you now keys to 
 every drawer, every locker, every cupboard 
 aboard this boat, and I'll empty my pockets 
 on the table in front of you. But," and 
 there was almost a menace in his voice, "if 
 you fail to prove I am The Hawk I shall hold 
 you responsible to the last fraction, legally 
 and morally; and in addition to all that I'll 
 make you the laughing stock of the police of 
 the world. Do you want me?" 
 Meredith only stared. Colquhoun turned 
 away suddenly, drew a bunch of keys from 
 his trousers, and they rattled on the table 
 under Meredith's hands. Again he turned, 
 this time to draw a long pocketbook from 
 his coat. That, too, he tossed on the table. 
 Meredith picked it up eagerly. 
 
 "One moment before you open that," the 
 young man interrupted. "You can't iden- 
 tify me as The Hawk, and you know it 
 perfectly. There are papers in that pocket- 
 book that will identify me as some one other
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 149 
 
 than The Hawk, but if you open it to find I 
 am not The Hawk I've told you what will 
 happen. The same conditions apply to the 
 keys. And your warrant was issued in New 
 York!" 
 
 He turned away suddenly and stood looking 
 idly through a porthole into the night. Mere- 
 dith and Dexter exchanged one quick glance, 
 and Dexter shook his head almost imper- 
 ceptibly. After a moment Meredith replaced 
 the pocketbook on the table, gingerly. So, 
 it happened that for an instant he had held 
 the Countess of Salisbury's garter in his 
 hand! Rising, he pushed the keys back 
 toward Colquhoun. Dexter, too, arose; the 
 young man turned. 
 
 "I'm beginning to believe there has been 
 some bally mistake, you know!" remarked 
 the Scotland Yard man. 
 
 "And you?" The young man shot the 
 question at Meredith, curtly. 
 
 "We all make mistakes sometimes," the 
 detective admitted. He was staring straight 
 into Colquhoun's eyes. "There's one more 
 question I'd like " 
 
 "Ask it if you like. I don't know that 
 I'll answer it." 
 
 "You were crouching against the wall
 
 ISO MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 there prepared to kill when we entered the 
 cabin," Meredith reminded him. "If you 
 were not expecting us whom were you 
 expecting?" 
 
 "I'll not answer the question," was the 
 crisp reply. "I'll merely point out that if 
 I had been The Hawk I would have killed 
 you, wouldn't I?" 
 
 Meredith didn't say. 
 
 "That's all, I think," Bruce went on after 
 a pause. "You decline to arrest me? Very 
 well. I'll accept your apologies for the 
 intrusion, and good night. I'm dead for 
 sleep." 
 
 Meredith and Dexter scrambled over the 
 side of the Pyramid into their tender and 
 rowed away. Colquhoun stared after them 
 until they were swallowed up in the darkness, 
 then went below. The pocketbook contain- 
 ing the Countess of Salisbury's garter still 
 lay on the table. 
 
 "Gad, if he had opened it!" He laughed 
 charmingly.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OLD Cap'n Barry pulled sturdily, at times 
 almost vainly, against an ebbing tide 
 which slid past his oars silently and smoothly 
 as oil, grounded his dory, and with thin 
 sinewy shanks bare to the knees, hopped 
 out upon Peggotty Beach. Cicely Quain, 
 curled upon the sands in bathing dress, 
 watched him idly as he dexterously ran the 
 light boat up the slant beyond reach of the 
 lapping waters, and her eyes followed his as 
 he turned around and stared out upon the 
 heaving bosom of Bass' Cove. 
 
 The sea was slow moving, mighty, and 
 almost black, save far away at the foot of 
 Third Cliff, where it broke with a sinister 
 roar against the rocks, and shot a white 
 cloud of spray high in air. Here and there 
 were van-colored specks lobster-pot buoys; 
 and close up in the foreground lay two 
 large motor boats tugging savagely at their 
 anchors. Cicely could barely make out the 
 names the Pyramid the nearer one, and 
 Maid-of-the-Sea farther out. 
 
 "Ain't nothin' particular mean about the 
 sea when the whitecaps are arunning, " the
 
 i S 2 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 aged Cap'n remarked to her sociably, "it's 
 just tricky, like a playful purp. But when 
 it's still, and slick, and greasy lookin' like 
 it is now, a man ain't got no more chance 
 than a jay bird in " He didn't finish the 
 sentence. "Likely lookin' la'nches out there, 
 ben't they? Them two big ones, I mean. 
 They came in last night." 
 
 1 ' The Pyramid! ' ' exclaimed Cicely. "Isn't 
 that a silly name for a boat?" 
 
 "Look like they might go some both on 
 'em," the old man commented. He turned 
 and looked down upon her disapprovingly. 
 "That water ain't safe to-day. You ain't 
 agoing in it?" 
 
 "Certainly I am." 
 
 "Better not," he warned her. 
 
 "Oh, I swim rather well," she assured him. 
 "I'm not afraid." 
 
 "Them's the only kind we ever have to 
 haul out," he informed her placidly, "them 
 as swims rather well and ain't afeard. If 
 you was my daughter you wouldn't go in it." 
 
 "How would you prevent it?" There was 
 a disdainful smile in Cicely's lips, willfulness 
 in the blue, blue eyes. 
 
 "If you was my daughter and wanted to 
 go in water like that I'd spank you!" With
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 153 
 
 which declaration of principles the old Cap'n 
 stalked away through the sand. 
 
 Half an hour passed. Two men appeared 
 on the deck of the Maid-of-the-Sea, dropped 
 the tender from its davits, and rowed ashore. 
 There was something vaguely familiar in 
 the figure and carriage of one of the men 
 the one who leaped out upon the sand of 
 the beach and Cicely caught herself staring 
 at him curiously. Somewhere, sometime, she 
 had seen him, but where where? As a 
 matter of fact it was Detective Meredith of 
 New York. Dexter, who remained in the 
 tender, rowed back to the Maid-of-the-Sea. 
 
 In all the glory of striped lavender and 
 black bathing trunks Skeets Gaunt came 
 down the beach just in time to see Cicely 
 taking to the water. He called to her 
 and she paused, with the miniature waves 
 hissing about her feet. Skeets came on the 
 run into the glare of disapprobation from 
 her eyes. 
 
 "I told you " she began. 
 
 "If you will listen just a minute," he 
 pleaded. 
 
 "I will not listen!" she declared hotly. 
 " If I had known my mother had ever thought 
 of doing so foolish a thing as to ask you to
 
 154 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 be our guest I should have oh, I don't know 
 what I shouldn't have done!" 
 
 "But, Helen Cicely you said ' 
 
 "And if you," she raged, "had had one 
 spark of consideration for me you would 
 have declined her invitation. The idea! 
 After all that's happened!" 
 
 She walked out until the water caressed 
 her knees, then plunged headfirst into an 
 incoming billow, leaving Skeets angry, speech- 
 less on the shore. He was vaguely conscious 
 that an ideal was crumbling! Phew! Tem- 
 per, that's all it was! A pleasant companion 
 for a rainy Sunday! If she would only show 
 him some consideration! 
 
 Angry, without knowing why, Cicely swam 
 on into the open on the breast of the ebbing 
 tide, her sensuous red hair floating cloudily 
 on the water, like brick dust. On past the 
 Pyramid she went, and on past the Maid- 
 of-the-Sea, heedless of all else save her anger. 
 
 Skeets was aroused from an enveloping 
 lethargy of gloom by a sharp cry which came 
 faintly over the water. Instinct told him 
 what it was Cicely was in trouble! She 
 had turned shoreward, and out beyond the 
 two motor boats was struggling against a 
 treacherous sea which irresistibly swept her
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 155 
 
 back. With no thought of the dory near 
 by, with no thought of his own weakness 
 as a swimmer, with no thought in all the 
 wide world except to get to her, Skeets 
 ran headlong into the curling surf, and 
 started. It was the spirit of old John 
 Gaunt ! 
 
 Again came the cry, stifled, gasping, chok- 
 ing; and simultaneously appeared on the 
 deck of the Pyramid a young man in bathing 
 tights slender, almost boyish in figure, lithe, 
 powerful, sinewy built like a steel bridge. 
 Over the side of the boat he went with a 
 mighty splash, to reappear half a minute 
 later, swimming sailor fashion, almost on top 
 of the water, toward Cicely. There was 
 grace, and ease, and power in the stroke 
 haste without hurry. Skeets, already weak- 
 ening and tossed by the merciless tide, saw 
 him, but swam on valiantly. 
 
 Within five feet of Cicely, now barely able 
 to keep afloat, Bruce Colquhoun paused, trod 
 water, and looked her over critically. The 
 girl reached for him, and failing, vanished 
 for an instant. He waited calmly until the 
 red head bobbed up again. 
 
 "Now don't grab me!" he commanded. 
 
 "I understand," she gurgled.
 
 i 5 6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Put your hand on my shoulder and take 
 it easy." 
 
 She nodded, unable to speak. He came 
 nearer, and an instant later her slender fingers 
 found a resting place in the shoulder strap 
 of his bathing shirt. Mechanically she con- 
 tinued to kick. 
 
 "Stop that!" Bruce ordered abruptly. 
 
 Even in her present condition of exhaustion 
 Cicely resented the tone, but as Bruce turned 
 and swam slowly, fighting every inch of his 
 way, toward the Pyramid, it was good to 
 feel the rhythmical ripple of the sinews under 
 the velvet of his skin good to know that 
 here was the placid strength that meant 
 life. All things seemed to be growing hazy. 
 She didn't remember if she was angry with 
 Skeets. It didn't really matter! There was 
 just one thought in her mind: "Don't 
 grab me!" 
 
 Skeets, swimming from shore, was no 
 more than half way to the Pyramid when, 
 buffeted and hammered, he felt the weakness 
 of exhaustion, and it was sheer will the will 
 of old John Gaunt that kept him afloat. 
 
 After a long time an angel came, an angel 
 in a dory. An oar was thrust toward him, 
 and a calm voice suggested: "Take hold of
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 157 
 
 this." He remembered vaguely that the 
 angel a woman angel! hauled him aboard 
 the rocking boat, and then all was blank! 
 
 "If," hazily as if in a dream Cicely heard 
 the words, "if you'll hang on to the stern of 
 this boat a minute I'll climb aboard and haul 
 you up. " 
 
 She felt herself being lifted, and her hands 
 closed on a brass rail to which she clung 
 desperately. Ages elapsed. Then her grip 
 on the rail was rudely broken, and she was 
 lifted straight up from the sea by her extended 
 arms, and planked down on deck, sitting. 
 Again ages passed. 
 
 A thin stream of something hot and 
 stinging trickled down her throat, and she 
 opened her blue, blue eyes. 
 
 "You ought to know better than to go in 
 water like that!" So, frowningly, her res- 
 cuer. Not a word of sympathy, or solici- 
 tude only the curt, crisp rebuke of a rather 
 good-looking young man with wavy brown 
 hair. "You should have known better." 
 
 For no reason at all Cicely suddenly felt 
 like crying. He was scolding her scolding 
 her Helen Hamilton that is, Cicely Quain; 
 she had never been scolded in her life 
 and he, an utter stranger, was scolding her!
 
 158 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 The inclination to weep was lost in a weak 
 little wave of indignation. 
 
 "I'm not usually in the habit of of con- 
 sulting strange young men as to what kind 
 of water I get into," she retorted. She felt, 
 somehow, that was the right thing to say. 
 
 'Well, if you've no more judgment than 
 you showed to-day you'd better consult 
 somebody" Bruce pulled a pillow through 
 the window of the cabin and placed it behind 
 her back. "Being a strange young man, 
 I'll introduce myself. My name is Colqu- 
 houn Bruce Colquhoun. " 
 
 "And my name is is Cicely Quain. " 
 
 "Here, take another swallow of brandy." 
 
 "I don't want it." 
 
 "Take it!" That's all there was to it; 
 a quick, abrupt command. She took it. 
 "Cicely Quain! That isn't the name I saw 
 under -your picture in all the New York 
 newspapers the other day." 
 
 "Indeed?" It was very inadequate, but 
 it was all she could think of; and the brandy 
 burned her throat. 
 
 "You are Helen Hamilton of New York," 
 said Bruce. "I know you, of course." 
 
 "I'm not! My name is Cicely Quain.' 
 
 "Have it your way, then." Whereupon
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 159 
 
 her rescuer made a megaphone of his hands 
 and bawled to some one on shore: "Is he 
 all right?" 
 
 "Yes," faintly came the answer in a 
 woman's voice. 
 
 Was who all right? Cicely wondered. 
 But, really, it didn't matter. She was very 
 tired, very sleepy. For an instant she closed 
 her eyes. It was indignation alone that 
 caused her to open them again. 
 
 "You are used to having your way, I 
 imagine," Bruce was saying. 
 
 "I'm not," she denied. 
 
 "You are willful and spoiled." 
 
 "I'm not." 
 
 "And argumentative," he added. 
 
 "I am not!" 
 
 "You are proving everything I say. It 
 was sheer willfulness that made you go into 
 dangerous water to-day. No sane person 
 would have attempted to swim in it." 
 
 "You were going to swim," she pointed 
 out, almost triumphantly. "You're dressed 
 for the water." 
 
 "The ocean is my bathtub," he informed 
 her. "I was merely going over the side and 
 crawl back and have some breakfast." 
 
 Breakfast! _ It seemed age? since breakfast.
 
 160 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 He hadn't had breakfast; and it must be 
 nearly noon. It seemed strange, and sad, 
 and important out of all proportion! 
 
 "I'm a very good cook," she murmured 
 irrelevantly. 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 Came a hail from the beach and he turned. 
 A dory was putting out a dory in which 
 sat Skeets Gaunt, himself again, thanks to 
 the ministrations of Cap'n Barry and the 
 girl who had rescued him. August von Derp 
 was at the oars; he rowed, even, with that 
 singular mathematical precision that had 
 once before attracted Skeets' attention to 
 him. 
 
 "If I'm not mistaken, some one is coming 
 for you," Bruce told her. "Take a word of 
 advice from me. Go home and go to bed, 
 and hereafter don't go in water like it is 
 to-day." 
 
 "I object to you telling me " 
 
 "I know you do," Bruce interrupted. 
 "You are spoiled. You don't like any one 
 to tell you what's best for you." 
 
 Cicely struggled to her feet in a rage; and 
 wabbled weakly on the swaying boat. There 
 was something placid, and complacent, and 
 masterful about Bruce Colquhoun some-
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 161 
 
 thing that angered her. He had talked to 
 her as if she were a child! She stamped one 
 foot. 
 
 "I'll have to thank you, of course, for 
 saving my life," she began, grudgingly. 
 
 Bruce shrugged his shoulders, and idly 
 took a half hitch in an awning line. 
 
 "But but I don't think" 
 
 "Your friends are here." 
 
 "Cicely!" Skeets, standing in the dory, 
 was calling. 
 
 "But, I'm sure," the girl rushed on, "that 
 you are the only man in the world who 
 would have taken advantage of my position 
 to be so so offensively frank." 
 
 Bruce stared straight into the blue, blue 
 eyes, then coiled a line and flung it to the 
 dory. Skeets caught it, and they pulled 
 alongside. Cicely declined his assistance, 
 but stepped into the dory with smouldering 
 eyes. While Skeets busied himself making 
 her comfortable, von Derp took advantage 
 of the delay to thank Bruce. 
 
 "If you'll permit me, Mr.?" 
 
 "Colquhoun." 
 
 "Mr. Colquhoun," von Derp pronounced 
 the name curiously, "if you'll permit me, I'll 
 express to you on behalf of Mrs. Quain her
 
 162 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 thanks for your heroism in saving her daugh- 
 ter's life. She has heard, and is almost 
 prostrated." 
 
 "Be good enough to convey my compli- 
 ments to Mrs. Hamilton," Bruce said dis- 
 tinctly, "and assure her that my services 
 would not have been necessary if her daughter 
 had had the discretion to remain out of 
 dangerous waters." 
 
 Von Derp looked slightly bewildered, then 
 lifted his hat, bowed elaborately, and rowed 
 away. Bruce Colquhoun caught a noon 
 train into Boston. Curiously enough, Dex- 
 ter, too, was on that train. Later in the day 
 von Derp went up to drive down a new motor 
 car he had just purchased. 
 
 That night happened the first of a series of 
 mysterious robberies. It was the burglary of 
 a splendid mansion in Brookline, a suburb 
 of Boston the Holmes place. Jewels and 
 plate valued roughly at forty thousand dol- 
 lars were taken. On a table in the dining 
 room a card was found. It bore one line: 
 
 "Regards to Mr. Meredith. 
 
 "THE HAWK."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 SOME one has said somewhere at some 
 time something to the effect generally 
 that if one pursues fame, or fortune, or 
 woman really, I've forgotten which she 
 will flee him; but if one flouts her, she 
 fame, or fortune, or woman, whichever it 
 happens to be will come and eat out of 
 his hand. I'm not certain as to the phrase- 
 ology of that opinion, but I can vouch for the 
 truth of it. I know, because this very thing 
 happened in the case of Cicely Quain vs. 
 Skeets Gaunt, August von Derp, Bruce 
 Colquhoun, et al. 
 
 Skeets adored Cicely with an ardor proven 
 by his foolish but none the less heroic effort 
 to save her life and she was not even courte- 
 ous to him; August von Derp's attitude was 
 made plain by an occasional word and a wor- 
 shipful humility in his eyes and she never 
 gave him a thought. 
 
 But Bruce Colquhoun! He had scolded 
 her, flouted her, almost insulted her and 
 she couldn't drive him out of her mind. 
 There was something mysterious, compel- 
 ling, fascinating in his masterful arrogance \, 
 
 163
 
 164 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 and in spite of herself she was attracted to 
 him by the very qualities which, ordinarily, 
 would have repelled her. Logically, there- 
 fore, she hated him for it. But one can't 
 really make a good job of hating unless one 
 constantly bears in mind the object of 
 hatred, so Cicely found the memory of Bruce 
 Colquhoun always with her. 
 
 There were moments when she caught 
 herself remembering, with an odd little thrill 
 and quickened pulse, the rhythmical ripple 
 of the sinews under the velvet of his skin as 
 he had fought for her life, and his own, 
 against that treacherous tide. Even in the 
 haziness of utter exhaustion she had been so 
 certain of him ! Always the memory brought 
 a flood of color to her cheeks; then, mock- 
 ingly, would come the thought that he had 
 scolded her scolded her! And so she would 
 fall to hating him again. 
 
 On the morning following the near-trage- 
 dies Skeets cornered Cicely in the pergola 
 of the Italian garden at Stepping Stones, and 
 there made an issue of his affairs. 
 
 "I won't permit you to make a fool of me ! " 
 he declared, quite unlike a poet. "You did 
 love me once until that silly thing about 
 stealing jewels, and garters, and things "
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 165 
 
 "Why," and Cicely was staring into the 
 void of heaven with lackluster eyes, "why 
 did you steal them? " 
 
 "I didn't steal them! You know I didn't 
 steal them! Anybody with horse sense could 
 
 see" 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" And the blue, blue 
 eyes flashed into his with sudden fire. "I 
 beg your pardon!" 
 
 Skeets felt chilled to the bone; wisely he 
 relinquished his tone of bluster. 
 
 "You know I love you, don't you?" 
 
 "Then, why did you steal " 
 
 "And you did love me," Skeets hastened 
 on. "Now why this misunderstanding?" 
 She didn't say. "If you loved me ten days 
 ago well enough to elope with me, and if I 
 am innocent of all these absurd charges, why 
 this this this?' 1 He gave it up. "Why 
 are you so different?" 
 
 "Oh," languidly, "just because." 
 
 "Because what?" 
 
 "Oh, Skeets, you annoy me. I don't 
 know whether I love you or not. I don't 
 think I do. You are a nice boy, and you were 
 very brave yesterday when you were almost 
 drowned, but Run along now, like a good 
 fellow." She regarded him curiously. "I
 
 166 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 I don't think I ever loved you at all. Isn't 
 it funny?" 
 
 Skeets arose, glared at her for an instant, 
 and took his outraged vanity away with him, 
 down the drive. His step was singularly 
 jaunty in one who had just met an emo- 
 tional deathblow. He'd go straight and 
 thank that girl who had hauled him out of 
 the water. Already he had thanked her 
 twice, and sent flowers, and called; but her 
 hair, too, was brick red; and her eyes, too, 
 were blue, blue! Gad, he'd thank her once 
 more for luck! Mercy Dale! That was her 
 name, a curious old New England name, 
 quaint and sweetly pretty. 
 
 Cicely was aroused from her dreaminess 
 by the precise voice of von Derp. His new 
 motor car, which he had driven down from 
 Boston that morning, stood in front of the 
 door lean, and gray, and powerful looking. 
 He was asking her to join him for a spin 
 through the country, but it was only an 
 excuse to make love to her, so she shook her 
 head. Why would men insist on making 
 love to her? She was in no mood for it. 
 She'd stroll down to Peggotty Beach away 
 from it all, and leave von Derp to ride alone. 
 She might see Colquhoun, of course, but he
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 167 
 
 at least wouldn't make love to her. He 
 might scold her again, but he wouldn't make 
 love to her. By this time he must have 
 received her contrite little note of apology 
 and thanks, for he had saved her life; and 
 with it, her mother's note inviting him to 
 call at Stepping Stones so that she, the 
 mother, might thank him personally for his 
 heroism. 
 
 Apparently von Derp dismissed the idea 
 of a drive, and adapting his step to hers, 
 walked along beside her. Vaguely she was 
 conscious of a running stream of small talk 
 which seemed as endless as it was useless. 
 She wondered if Bruce would accept her 
 mother's invitation! Ceaselessly von Derp's 
 voice rippled through her moodiness. 
 
 "I count myself most fortunate that your 
 father should have so signally honored me," 
 he was saying. 
 
 "How?" Cicely queried, dully. 
 
 "By admitting me to the inner circle of 
 his family, as he has done," was the reply. 
 "Friendships made in that way are lasting, 
 and sometimes they lead " 
 
 Cicely turned squarely and faced him. 
 There was a belligerent gleam in the depths 
 of her eyes, and the rosebud lips straightened
 
 1 68 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 themselves into a thin line. Coolly she sur- 
 veyed him from his lemon-colored hair to 
 his speckless boots, corking down in her 
 mind his every oddity of dress and person. 
 
 "Sometimes they lead where?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 The yellow-topped exquisite shrugged his 
 shoulders and didn't say. Misinterpretation 
 of her mood was impossible. He had chosen 
 the wrong moment, and was quick to see it. 
 
 They walked on in silence, past the little 
 cottages, until the beach opened before them. 
 The Pyramid bobbed idly on a sea as blue 
 as turquoise; and out a little farther the 
 Maid-of-the-Sea lazily strained at her anchor. 
 Her tender was just putting off, with two 
 men in it. 
 
 Again Cicely was struck with the thought 
 that somewhere at some time she had met 
 one of these men. She paused and watched 
 him curiously as he landed and came toward 
 her. He would have passed on, heedlessly, 
 but she recognized him and in her surprise 
 involuntarily called his name. 
 
 "Mr. Meredith!" 
 
 He looked up quickly and stopped. 
 
 "Why, it's Miss" 
 
 ' ' Quain, ' ' she interrupted quickly. ' ' I met
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 169 
 
 you in New York a few days ago, you remem- 
 ber, in the" 
 
 "I remember perfectly." The detective's 
 eye traveled up and down the immaculate 
 figure of von Derp, after which he turned to 
 the girl again, inquiringly: "Quain? Why 
 are you here?" 
 
 "My mother and I are in in retirement, 
 shall I say?" Cicely explained. "We've 
 been here more than a week. " 
 
 "I see," Meredith commented. 
 
 "But why why are you here?" 
 
 The detective glanced again at von Derp, 
 meaningly. Cicely took the hint. 
 
 "Mr. von Derp, allow me Mr. Mere- 
 dith," she introduced. "Mr. von Derp is a 
 friend of my father's." 
 
 The two men shook hands, Meredith with 
 the scant courtesy of a busy man, and von 
 Derp with an elaboration of detail which 
 made a social function of a simple intro- 
 duction. 
 
 "What name, please?" asked the detective. 
 
 "Von Derp August von Derp, of Hol- 
 land." 
 
 "Von Derp," Meredith repeated. "Once 
 I make sure of a name I never forget it, any 
 more than I ever forget a face." Von Derp
 
 1 70 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 smiled courteously; Meredith turned to 
 Cicely: "Why am I here? I'm here be- 
 
 cause " 
 
 And he stopped abruptly, as if amazed. 
 Coming across the sands toward them was 
 Bruce Colquhoun. With no word of excuse 
 or explanation Detective Meredith left them 
 and hurried forward to meet Bruce. They 
 came face to face, out of hearing of the girl 
 and her companion. 
 
 "You found it necessary to stay in town 
 all night, I see?" There was marked empha- 
 sis in the detective's voice, almost an accusa- 
 tion in his direct gaze. 
 
 " I judge from your manner that you didn't 
 expect me to come back at all?" Bruce 
 remarked, crisply. "Am I right? Very 
 well, I'm here. I shook off your man Dexter 
 ten minutes after I reached Boston. He's 
 a child at trailing. Tell him so, with my 
 compliments." 
 
 Meredith's teeth snapped. He too, like 
 Cicely, felt the strength of this man behind 
 the placid exterior. 
 
 "And it was absolutely necessary to shake 
 him off?" he demanded. 
 
 "To do what I had to do, yes." Bruce 
 was quite calm about it. "I thought I'd
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 171 
 
 convinced you that I'm not the man you 
 want?" 
 
 "You ^ave, " Meredith assured him, with 
 an inward smile at some subtle thing which 
 was not apparent. "You have convinced 
 me, but you haven't proved you are not the 
 man I want. I'm going to ask you to prove 
 it, now." 
 
 "Very well. How?" 
 
 "I'm going to ask you," and the detective 
 spoke measuredly, meaningly, the while his 
 keen eyes searched the undisturbed face of 
 the young man, "I'm going to ask you to 
 write a few words on a slip of paper for 
 me!" 
 
 Colquhoun merely stared at him ques- 
 tioningly. If there was anything save a 
 question in his countenance it was not given 
 to the New York man to fathom it; or even 
 to isolate it. 
 
 "Is that all?" Bruce asked. "Just what 
 words, may I ask?" 
 
 "I want you to write the words, 'Regards 
 to Mr. Meredith, 1 and sign it, 'The Hawk!' ' 
 
 "Oh, just a trifle of forgery, eh?" Colqu- 
 houn taunted. "So, you're going to connect 
 me with that Brookline affair? Very well. 
 I'll write it for you but in the presence of
 
 172 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 witnesses. Here are two Mr. von Derp 
 and Miss Quain. They'll do." 
 
 Cicely was distinctly disappointed, and 
 fuel was added to her indignation by the fact 
 that Bruce didn't once ask, in greeting her, 
 how she felt, or whether she had recovered, 
 or or anything important like that. Instead 
 he merely lifted his hat, bobbed his head, 
 and then curtly: 
 
 "Mr. Meredith requests me to write a 
 phrase for him," he explained. "I've agreed 
 to do it in the presence of witnesses. I have 
 a fountain pen here. Please remember the 
 phrase: 'Regards to Mr. Meredith. The 
 Hawk. 1 He was writing as he spoke. 
 "In the upper right-hand corner of this slip 
 of paper I am placing a distinguishing mark 
 so that by no chance will this particular slip 
 ever be confused with another. Please ob- 
 serve it." 
 
 He had written on the back of the long 
 pocket-book which contained the Countess 
 of Salisbury's garter! He held the paper in 
 front of Cicely and von Derp. Within a 
 circle he had made three hieroglyphs. 
 
 "Letters of the Phoenician alphabet, that's 
 all," he explained as he handed the slip to 
 Meredith. "I'll tell you that, to relieve the
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 173 
 
 convolutions of brain which may afflict your 
 handwriting expert when he sees them. I'll 
 ask you, Miss Quain, and you, Mr. von Derp, 
 to remember that I called attention to them." 
 
 There was a ludicrous expression of cunning 
 gone wrong on the face of Detective Meredith, 
 and into that of von Derp came a change, too 
 a subtle nothing that might have been com- 
 prehension, or again it might not have been. 
 
 "If you'll express to your mother, Miss 
 Quain, my appreciation of her invitation to 
 call I shall be deeply obliged," Bruce con- 
 tinued casually. The girl was staring at 
 him, wide-eyed; all at once everything seemed 
 so mysterious, and intangibly threatening. 
 "I shall give myself the pleasure of seeing her 
 this afternoon; that is, of course," and he 
 questioned Meredith with his eyes, "if a 
 certain legal paper, issued by the Common- 
 wealth of Massachusetts, is not served upon 
 me before? In that event I'll be compelled 
 to run over to New York?" 
 
 It was a question, a taunt, a blatant jeering 
 at the long arm of the law. He was referring 
 to the new warrant which Meredith had 
 in his pocket; the detective understood, and 
 shook his head sadly.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WITH that precious specimen of Bruce 
 Colquhoun's chirography clasped 
 fondly to his bosom, Detective Meredith went 
 tearing out of Satuit into Boston with a low, 
 rushing sound. There, in the lair of the 
 handwriting expert, he hoped for just one 
 word to connect the message left by The 
 Hawk in the Brookline robbery with its 
 verbal duplicate obligingly furnished by Bruce 
 Colquhoun for one word would be as illum- 
 inating as a searchlight on this odd problem 
 of identity. Automatically, the vacuum 
 created by the detective's departure was 
 filled by the appearance in Satuit of half a 
 dozen keen, shrewd-eyed plain-clothes men 
 summoned from New York. Dexter, seem- 
 ingly, had vanished into thin air. 
 
 Meredith hoped for the best without expect- 
 ing it. The more he considered it the more 
 improbable it seemed that Bruce would have 
 so willingly given the specimen asked for 
 if he had written the one found after the 
 robbery. Then, too, there was a possibility 
 that The Hawk in person had not written this 
 last at all. He must have had an accomplice, 
 
 174
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 175 
 
 or accomplices, so But anyway it was 
 worth while submitting the two to an expert 
 for his opinion! And Meredith compelled 
 himself to hope for light. 
 
 Professor Wayne, often employed by the 
 police department of Boston, made an imme- 
 diate comparison of the two specimens of 
 handwriting to oblige the impatient New 
 York officer. For two hours or more he 
 labored in silence with enlarging camera, 
 magnifying glasses, microscopes, acids, and 
 what not. Meredith's eyes were fairly 
 blazing when the expert turned to him at 
 last. 
 
 "It's the same handwriting, " said Professor 
 Wayne. " The specimens were written under 
 different conditions, at different times, with 
 different pens and ink, but the habits of the 
 pen" 
 
 "Never mind the details now," the detec- 
 tive interrupted. "It is the same, beyond 
 doubt?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "You will swear to that in a court of law?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 A great joy was bubbling in Detective 
 Meredith's heart. At last he was about to 
 put his hand on The Hawk! He had no fear
 
 176 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 of Bruce Colquhoun's escape, for half a dozen 
 men were there with orders to keep him in 
 sight every moment. And while he was at 
 it, he'd just cinch his proof against Colquhoun. 
 Straightway he went to another handwriting 
 expert; the words of two on this one point 
 would be incontrovertible! 
 
 Meanwhile, in Satuit, Detective Meredith's 
 instructions were being followed minutely 
 by his half dozen satellites. Two of them 
 were lounging on the beach when Bruce 
 Colquhoun came ashore from the Pyramid, 
 and he paused to stare at them curiously 
 with a singular grim tightening of his lips 
 before he turned into the winding road 
 toward Stepping Stones. One of the men 
 sauntered on after him idly, whipping the 
 roadside weeds with a slender switch. 
 
 Bruce stopped abruptly and waited for 
 him to come up. 
 
 "You're one of Meredith's men, aren't 
 you?" he asked, briskly. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon?" The plain- 
 clothes man was obviously disconcerted. 
 
 "I merely wanted to know," Bruce 
 explained, "I don't mind if you follow me 
 about; but I must know who you are." A 
 boisterous wind obliged him; it flipped open
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 177 
 
 the coat of the plain-clothes man, showing 
 his badge. "Oh, all right!" 
 
 Bruce went on up the road. Cicely Quain, 
 coming down the drive from Stepping Stones 
 on her way to the village, nodded to him 
 brightly, and he walked on beside her. The 
 man who had been following Bruce dropped 
 back; another idler, who had paused on the 
 causeway to toss stones into the tide, took 
 up the trail. At this man, too, Bruce had 
 stared curiously for an instant. 
 
 All conversations begin with banalities; 
 this one did. The interchange of small talk, 
 however, gave Cicely opportunity to study 
 this mysterious young man, and she did it 
 at her leisure from beneath the wide sun hat 
 which shadowed the blue, blue eyes, and 
 darkened the brick red of her hair. She 
 insisted to herself that she still hated him; 
 but a woman's curiosity is greater than a 
 simple little passion like hate. 
 
 ''I I didn't know you were acquainted 
 with Mr. Meredith? " Cicely remarked, irrele- 
 vantly. 
 
 "I only met him the other night," Bruce 
 explained. "I almost shot him." 
 
 Cicely gave him a quick, startled look; he 
 didn't seem to notice.
 
 178 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He came blundering aboard my motor 
 boat when he had no business there, " he told 
 her placidly. "I wasn't certain who it was, 
 and if I hadn't recognized him I should have 
 killed him." 
 
 That stopped the conversation for a few 
 minutes. Somehow Cicely couldn't think of 
 the next thing to say, though her curiosity 
 was nearing the boiling point. 
 
 "How did it happen?" she asked at last. 
 
 "Meredith chased me all the way from New 
 London in the Maid-of-the-Sea under the im- 
 pression that I was another man. I tried to 
 escape under the impression that he was an- 
 other man. It seems we were both mistaken. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Does that account for that that curious 
 thing about that thing where you wrote 
 something and gave it to him?" 
 
 "Yes," Bruce elucidated tranquilly. "He 
 still thinks I'm the other man, but he can't 
 prove it." 
 
 "Who is he this other man?" 
 
 "A notorious criminal The Hawk, Mere- 
 dith calls him. It seems he is wanted for 
 murder, and jewel thefts, and all sorts of 
 things, among others complicity in the disap- 
 pearance of your jewels."
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 179. 
 
 "Oh!" Cicely was staring up into his face 
 with wide-open eyes. "If he thinks you are 
 The The Hawk, why don't you tell him who 
 you really are?" 
 
 "It's none of his business." 
 
 "But he's a detective?" 
 
 "That doesn't make it his business to 
 know who I am. It is sufficient for him to 
 know that I am not The Hawk." 
 
 There was a tiny gleam of indignation in 
 the girl's eyes, glowing spots in her cheeks. 
 Helen Hamilton's father, under similar cir- 
 cumstances, would have expected a storm. 
 
 " No honorable man, " she declared, "would 
 have any objection to the world knowing 
 who and what he is." 
 
 " Do you think so? " He didn't seem to be 
 offended. 
 
 "I do," emphatically. 
 
 "Well, you don't know what you are 
 talking about." 
 
 The glowing spots in Cicely's cheeks spread 
 until her face was suffused she was just plain 
 mad at the calm insolence of this this 
 creature! Her small hands closed angrily. 
 
 "Being of the world, I personally should 
 like to know who you are, ' ' she taunted. "Of 
 course, if there is anything disreputable in "
 
 i8o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "I am Bruce Colquhoun, " he said. 
 
 "But beyond that?" There was mockery 
 in her voice. "Don't you dare say? Am I 
 to assume after all that Mr. Meredith is not 
 mistaken?" 
 
 "It's immaterial to me what you assume. 
 I can't tell you who I am." 
 
 "You mean you won't?" 
 
 "If you prefer it that way." 
 
 Cicely laughed, not because she was amused, 
 but high tempers grow under red heads; and 
 some laughs are merely outward manifes- 
 tations of high tempers. Turning, Bruce 
 regarded her gravely. 
 
 "It's very mysterious, and theatric, isn't 
 it?" she demanded. "Really, I find it most 
 amusing! A man afraid and ashamed to say 
 who he is!" 
 
 Came some subtle change in Bruce's man- 
 ner. For an instant he stared at her stared 
 until the color paled in her cheeks and the 
 mockery vanished from her lips. There was 
 something deep in his eyes that moved her 
 strangely; she was seeing through a mist. 
 
 "I should like very much to make you 
 understand," he said slowly. "I don't be- 
 lieve it has ever occurred to me as worth 
 while to try to make any one else understand.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" i8r 
 
 But if I told you the reason for the necessity 
 of concealing my identity, you would either 
 laugh, or not believe me?" 
 
 It was a question. Cicely felt vaguely 
 that she was being put upon honor, and being 
 Cicely, she resented it. 
 
 "I don't always laugh," she retorted, "and 
 sometimes melodrama is good enough to 
 believe." 
 
 "I'll go so far as to say that Bruce Colqu- 
 houn isn't my name at all," Bruce continued 
 gravely, ' ' any more than Cicely Quain is yours. 
 I'll go farther, and say that my life may 
 depend upon my ability to keep my identity 
 secret. It is melodrama, isn't it? Very 
 well. With your permission, now we'll 
 change the subject. " 
 
 He glanced behind them; Meredith's satel- 
 lite was still trailing at a respectful distance. 
 
 Cicely's brain was in a tumult. He was 
 masquerading; Bruce Colquhoun wasn't his 
 name! His life was in danger, he had said. 
 Was he The Hawk? As she understood it, 
 The Hawk's life was forfeit to the law for 
 murder! Was he ? The thought startled 
 her, frightened her ! Her mother had received 
 him in their own home. Suppose he should 
 be! Of a sudden she was seized with fear.
 
 1 82 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Her first thought was to leave him there in 
 the road. A half cry rose to her lips; there 
 was horror in her eyes. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, really," Bruce apol- 
 ogized in the same serious tone, and there 
 was still that indefinable something deep in 
 his brown eyes. "I didn't mean to frighten 
 you. I'm not a thing to be afraid of. " 
 
 The calm gravity of his voice dissipated 
 the little panic which was upon her; she 
 found herself standing her ground valiantly. 
 
 "Why why do you stay here?" she asked 
 with an odd tight feeling in her throat. 
 "Why don't you go?" 
 
 "I have no intention of going," was the 
 reply, and again he gazed gravely into the 
 blue, blue eyes until she looked away, embar- 
 rassed. "I like it here." 
 
 Yet ten minutes later, as they sat together 
 on the veranda of the quaint little tea room 
 where three charming ladies served them, 
 he announced, without apparent reason, a 
 possible change in his plans. He had leaned 
 forward to look at a stranger passing; Cicely's 
 eyes followed his. The stranger was distinctly 
 foreign in appearance; Italian or Russian, 
 she judged hastily from the scant glimpse 
 of him. Bruce settled back in his chair.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 183 
 
 "There is a possibility, after all," he said 
 quietly, "that I shall go away." 
 
 " Why? " Cicely's bewilderment was evident. 
 
 "Because," he replied enigmatically, "be- 
 cause that man is here!" 
 
 I'll go ahead of myself to say that Cicely 
 hated Bruce Colquhoun so much that she 
 was unable to sleep that night for thinking 
 of him. 
 
 Dr. Harvey, the second handwriting expert 
 to whom Meredith submitted The Hawk's 
 message, together with the specimen of Bruce's 
 chirography, handed them back, and shook 
 his head. 
 
 "They are not the same," he said em- 
 phatically. "There is not a single point of 
 resemblance between them." 
 
 "But but " And Meredith's mouth 
 opened in his astonishment. 
 
 "There is absolutely not one character- 
 istic in common; they are totally uncon- 
 nected." 
 
 The detective went his way in a daze. 
 He called Professor Wayne, whose expert 
 opinion had been directly opposed to this, 
 on the telephone. 
 
 "Who the deuce is this Dr. Harvey?"
 
 184 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Meredith demanded curtly.' "Is he a first- 
 class man? Does he know his business?" 
 
 "Dr. Harvey?" Professor Wayne repeated. 
 "Why, to my mind he is the greatest hand- 
 writing expert in the world. I'd set his 
 judgment before that of any man living. 
 What did he say?" 
 
 Meredith didn't tell him.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 "\\ 7HERE," asked Mrs. Quain at din- 
 
 VV ner, "where is Skeets?" 
 
 "He is down thanking Miss Dale for sav- 
 ing his life," Cicely told her. 
 
 "Where," asked Mrs. Quain, at luncheon 
 on the following day, "where is Skeets?" 
 
 "He is down thanking Miss Dale for saving 
 his life," Cicely responded as before. 
 
 "Again?" Mrs. Quain questioned with 
 uplifted brows. "Or or merely yet?" 
 
 Cicely shrugged her shoulders, and made it 
 plain by a slight movement of her hands that 
 the matter was of no consequence to her. 
 Von Derp smiled with mathematical precision. 
 
 "Don't you think," he observed with a 
 trifling cynical curl of his lips, "that he 
 is grateful in excess of the actual value of 
 services rendered? " 
 
 He may have intended it merely as a wit- 
 ticism, but Cicely didn't smile. Instead, she 
 shot an antagonistic glance at von Derp, for 
 after all, Skeets was her own personal prop- 
 erty, and not a butt for a Dutchman to hurl 
 ponderous jokes at! I am merely recording 
 her own thoughts. 
 
 185
 
 i86 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 And, as a matter of fact, Cicely had done 
 Skeets an injustice. He was not thanking 
 sweet Mercy Dale. Already he had per- 
 formed that matutinal rite, and now, with 
 coat off and hair rumpled poetically, he was 
 in the workroom of the tiny study on the 
 lawn making some experiments in the gentle 
 craft of verse writing. Here and there in 
 some of his poems he was changing "Helen" 
 to "Mercy" not that he meant anything 
 by it; it was purely an experiment. For 
 instance : 
 
 " O Helen, thy hair is an aura of gold 
 
 O Helen! 
 
 O Helen, thine eyes hold a secret untold 
 O Helen!" 
 
 With a few deft strokes of his pen this had 
 been transformed into a classical appeal, 
 after this fashion: 
 
 " O Mercy, thy hair is an aura of gold 
 
 O Mercy! 
 
 O Mercy, thine eyes hold a secret untold 
 O Mercy!" 
 
 Skeets regarded this astonishing product 
 of his labors with dubious eyes, then sighed 
 deeply, and realized he was late for luncheon. 
 As he entered the dining room with an
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 187 
 
 apology, Cicely smiled upon him dazzlingly, 
 then ostentatiously tilted her charming nose 
 at von Derp, who had dared to fling a casual 
 javelin of wit in his direction. There had 
 been a time only a day or so before when 
 Skeets would have been ague-stricken with 
 delight at that smile; now he inquired what 
 kind of soup they had. 
 
 "We dine aboard the Pyramid to-night," 
 Mrs. Quain announced. "Mr. Colquhoun 
 assures me he can seat the four of us com- 
 fortably." 
 
 Cicely, von Derp, and Skeets glanced up 
 at her simultaneously, with widely varying 
 expressions. To Cicely had come a thought 
 had come, did I say? It had been with her 
 constantly! a thought of her conversation 
 with Bruce on the day before; and here her 
 mother, unconscious of the suspicions envel- 
 oping him, was about to accept his invitation 
 to dinner! True, he might be all that he 
 should be, and again he might be, for all they 
 knew, The Hawk in person! There was 
 always the chance that Detective Meredith 
 was right. 
 
 "But but, mother," she faltered, "are 
 you sure we we want to to " 
 
 "I'm sure I do," was the placid response.
 
 1 88 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "It threatens to be a distinct novelty. Mr. 
 Colquhoun is the cook." 
 
 "But we don't know this man?" Cicely 
 protested. "He may be anybody, an object 
 of suspicion? He is a man of mystery, refus- 
 ing to say who or what he is! He may even 
 be a thief?" 
 
 "I have never had dinner with a thief," 
 and Mrs. Quain smiled. "I'm sure I should 
 enjoy it once." 
 
 "Or or even a murderer!" Cicely went 
 on. 
 
 "Nor have I ever dined with a murderer, " 
 said Mrs. Quain, unruffled. 
 
 "The mere fact that he saved my life," 
 Cicely continued desperately, "doesn't place 
 us under any obligation to eat his dinners." 
 
 There was a curious smile on von Derp's 
 face a smile of toleration for the eccentrici- 
 ties of rich Americans, if Skeets' analysis was 
 correct. 
 
 "What is the cause of all these suspi- 
 cions?" Mrs. Quain queried of Cicely. "Mr. 
 Colquhoun called here at my invitation, and 
 I found him, outwardly at least, all that a 
 gentleman should be. Why are you sus- 
 picious?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" Cicely arose suddenly
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 189 
 
 and turned away from the table. She paused 
 in the dining-room door, and faced them. 
 "Did any of you ever hear of a notorious 
 criminal called The Hawk?" 
 
 ''The Hawk!" mused Mrs. Quain. 
 
 "The Hawk!" echoed von Derp. 
 
 Skeets' mind was far away, groping through 
 a chaos of words for a rhyme for Mercy. 
 The only one he could think of was Percy. 
 
 Helen ran on: 
 
 "This man Colquhoun is suspected of 
 being The Hawk, and Detective Meredith is 
 here trying to prove it. Don't ask me how 
 I know, but I do know! I may add that The 
 Hawk is, among other things, believed to 
 have been concerned in the theft of my 
 jewels." 
 
 She went out. Von Derp questioned his 
 hostess with a glance. She smiled. 
 
 "It would be odd, wouldn't it, if it should 
 develop that Mr. Colquhoun is The Hawk, 
 and that he did steal Cicely's jewels, and 
 later entertained us at dinner?" she asked. 
 "If there had been any doubt as to whether 
 or not we should have accepted his invitation, 
 it is gone now." 
 
 Von Derp's eyes opened, then narrowed. 
 It occurred to him suddenly that romance
 
 i 9 o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 always pictured beautiful maids as being 
 peculiarly susceptible to the fascinations of 
 good-looking young men who saved them from 
 drowning; it behooved him to be up and 
 doing. Wherefore it followed that he joined 
 Mrs. Quain in the conservatory for his after- 
 luncheon cigarette, and then and there put 
 the case to her plainly. 
 
 In his earnestness Mrs. Quain saw him for 
 the first time shorn of the trivial little niceties 
 of manner which smacked so strongly of 
 European boulevards and she almost liked 
 him for it. It was refreshing to see a young 
 man eager, ardent, human in the sway of 
 that greatest of all emotions love. All at 
 once he lapsed again into that precise, stilted, 
 ultra-courteous way she disliked. 
 
 " I love your daughter, " he concluded, with 
 an odd change in his voice. "I have not told 
 her so, nor shall I until I receive permission 
 to pay my addresses. I realize I am speaking 
 now of matters which, properly, I should 
 discuss with her father, but he is not here, 
 and if you 
 
 " It's a matter you will have to discuss with 
 him," Mrs. Quain told him gently. "And 
 frankly, I don't believe such such an alliance 
 would meet with his approval. I'm not
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 191 
 
 saying this to pain you; I'm saying it merely 
 to save you a disappointment." 
 
 Von Derp bowed very low, and with- 
 drew. A few minutes later Mrs. Quain saw 
 his lean gray motor car swing down the 
 driveway, and go scuttling off toward the 
 telegraph office. He was driving. It was 
 nearly six o'clock in the afternoon when he 
 returned. 
 
 Bruce caught his guests, one after another, 
 staring at him curiously as he received them 
 aboard the Pyramid an interest born, he 
 was certain, of something they had heard 
 concerning him. It could only be that. 
 Twice he looked inquiringly at Cicely, and 
 twice she looked away guiltily, her face rose- 
 red. Suddenly she was overcome with the 
 thought that she had betrayed his confidence 
 and it had been a confidence. All at once 
 it seemed horrid, and unfair to him. If she 
 had only stopped to think! 
 
 Bruce welcomed his guests, then with a 
 word of apology vanished into the tiny galley, 
 leaving them alone in the cabin. There was 
 an odd little restraint over all a silence born 
 of some queer psychological condition. The 
 silence was broken at last by Skeets, who had 
 discovered a phonograph. He chucked it
 
 i 9 2 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 over on a berth and began rummaging for 
 the records. Finally: 
 
 "Where are your phonograph records?" 
 he called. 
 
 "In one of the drawers of the table," and 
 Colquhoun thrust his head out of the galley. 
 "There beside you, Mr. von Derp." 
 
 He disappeared into the galley again. 
 Von Derp pulled open the drawer under his 
 hand and produced the photograph of the 
 Countess of Salisbury's garter! The effect 
 upon him was electrical. Quickly he glanced 
 toward the galley, and then, as some one 
 started to ask a question, lifted one finger 
 to his lips, warningly. When he spoke there 
 was a queer obstruction, it seemed, in his 
 throat : 
 
 "Here's a record, Mr. Gaunt," and he 
 handed it to Skeets. Again with that sig- 
 nificant command to silence, he replaced the 
 photograph in the drawer and closed it, 
 quickly. A moment, while the phonograph 
 whined and broke into a band concert, then 
 Bruce thrust his head out. 
 
 "Almost ready," he told them. "Miss 
 Quain, come and serve the soup." 
 
 There was no will-you-kindly, or if-you- 
 please, or by-your-leave just a plain, unvar-
 
 Page 797 
 
 'There, against the glass of the porthole, was a man's face!"
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 193 
 
 nished command to come and serve the soup. 
 Cicely went. It didn't once occur to her to 
 refuse, but there was defiance in the blue, 
 blue eyes as she entered the tiny galley. He 
 was going to scold her for repeating what he 
 had said to her in confidence! She would 
 brazen it out ! 
 
 "You told them," he remarked quietly, as 
 she stood beside him. It was not a question. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I have told them? " she 
 taunted. 
 
 "No reason at all." 
 
 "It was only fair that my mother should " 
 
 "Quite right," he agreed. "I don't mind. 
 I merely wanted to understand." 
 
 The unexpectedness of his attitude left 
 Cicely speechless for an instant, then: 
 
 "I I didn't tell them all." 
 
 "Very well, I will." 
 
 The soup course finished, Bruce, with a 
 word of apology, opened the drawer where 
 von Derp sat and with no sign of embarrass- 
 ment or uneasiness, took out the photograph 
 and passed it to Mrs. Quain. 
 
 " Did you ever see that? " he questioned, and 
 then, as he rummaged through the records: 
 "There's a Caruso solo here somewhere. 
 We'll have him with the fish." 
 
 13
 
 i 9 4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 With the reappearance of the picture there 
 had come again across von Derp's face a 
 fleeting tenseness; in the faces of the others 
 was only curiosity. 
 
 "What is this?" asked Mrs. Quain. 
 
 "It's a photograph of an interesting his- 
 torical relic," Bruce explained. "You know 
 the tradition of the founding of the Order of 
 the Garter in England? That is a represen- 
 tation of the original garter given to the 
 Countess of Salisbury by Edward III. For 
 many years the original lay in the British 
 Museum, and photographs were made of it 
 at that time. About a year ago the garter 
 was stolen, and since then the police of the 
 world have been searching for it. It is now 
 supposed to be in the possession of a noto- 
 rious American criminal, as I understand it 
 one, The Hawk, or George Harrington 
 Leigh, as he was known at the time of his 
 disappearance, six years ago." He hadn't 
 looked up ; he was still searching the records. 
 "Ah, here's Caruso! Stick him on the ma- 
 chine there, Mr. Gaunt." 
 
 Bruce left dead silence behind him as he 
 disappeared into the galley dead silence 
 and startled glances. For the first time the 
 serenity of Mrs. Quain's face was disturbed.
 
 i'l LOVE YOU!" 195 
 
 Von Derp, oblivious of all, was staring, star- 
 ing at the picture! 
 
 "I neglected to say," Bruce added cheer- 
 fully, as he reappeared at the head of the 
 table and sat down, "that there is a vague 
 belief among the police that I am The Hawk 
 in person. I thought it only fair that you 
 should understand." 
 
 Again dead silence! For some reason she 
 couldn't have explained there came a sudden 
 change in Cicely's feelings toward this man. 
 Perhaps it was born of his candor; his will- 
 ingness to make his position clear to those 
 about him. After all, there is something 
 admirable in the bold man regardless of what 
 he may be. And if it should develop that 
 Bruce Colquhoun and The Hawk were the 
 same! Cicely flushed, then paled, at the 
 thought. The silence seemed interminable. 
 
 "What an odd ring!" The necessity of 
 saying something wrung the trivial remark 
 from Cicely. The reference was to a ring on 
 Bruce's left hand. 
 
 " 'Tis curious, isn't it?" Bruce assented. 
 "I picked it up in Russia." Then to Skeets: 
 "What's the matter with Caruso? Won't 
 he work?" 
 
 Skeets turned to start the phonograph, and
 
 i 9 6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Bruce slipped off the ring and handed it to 
 Cicely. She accepted it, and examined it. 
 It was warm from contact with his hand ! 
 
 "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she commented. 
 
 "If you'll accept it with my compliments 
 I'll be pleased." Bruce added, courteously, 
 "With your mother's permission, of course? 
 It may serve to remind you to be more discreet 
 in dangerous waters." 
 
 Mrs. Quain arched her beautiful brows, 
 questioningly. 
 
 "In Russia, where I lived for many years, ' r 
 Bruce took the trouble to explain, "we give 
 to the admirer that which is admired. If 
 you'll permit your daughter to accept this? 
 It's of no real value; it's only odd." 
 
 Mrs. Quain was never quite certain why 
 she assented to the request; nor, indeed, was 
 she certain of anything else particularly that 
 came to pass during the remainder of the 
 dinner. She, too, felt the curious, fascinating 
 quality of the man of mystery. 
 
 Skeets was plugging along in his search for 
 a missing rhyme. Once he grew desperate, 
 and almost wished his name was Percy! 
 
 Mrs. Quain, at Bruce's right, became con- 
 scious suddenly of a tautening of his sinews 
 the rigidity of tense attention. She looked
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 197 
 
 up to find Bruce staring, with dead- white 
 face, at a porthole directly over Cicely's 
 shoulder. Involuntarily her eyes followed 
 his. There, against the glass of the port- 
 hole, was a man's face! 'Twas only a fleeting 
 glimpse she had of it, but even in that instant 
 she seemed to isolate the foreign qualities 
 in it. The features were of an Italian cast. 
 And as they looked, it vanished. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing." Brace's tone was casual, but 
 his quick eyes warned her to silence. "Par- 
 don me a moment!" 
 
 He arose and went out on deck. For five, 
 ten, fifteen minutes he was gone. When he 
 reappeared her closest scrutiny of his features 
 told her nothing; but he was dripping wet 
 from head to toe. 
 
 "I tumbled overboard," he explained, 
 tersely. "And, now if I may beg to be 
 excused? I've received an unexpected sum- 
 mons to the city, and I must answer it." 
 Inquiring glances were turned upon him. 
 "No, I haven't been arrested," he assured 
 them. "The Hawk isn't caught yet!" 
 
 There were two telegrams waiting at Step- 
 ping Stones one for von Derp and one for
 
 i 9 8 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Mrs. Quain. Von Derp's was curt and to 
 the point: 
 
 "My daughter's hand is pledged to another. 
 
 "BROKAW HAMILTON." 
 
 The telegram to Mrs. Quain was longer, 
 and vastly astonishing to her: 
 
 "Immediate marriage of young Gaunt and Cicely 
 absolutely imperative. May be the only way to save 
 me from ruin. "BROKAW." 
 
 Without a word, Mrs. Quain handed the 
 telegram to Cicely, who read it through 
 twice, then sniffed. 
 
 "Well, of all the unreasonable requests!" 
 she said.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 T TNDER the watchful eyes of two of 
 LJ Meredith's satellites, August von Derp 
 stepped into a dory on Peggotty Beach and 
 rowed out to where the Pyramid was lazily 
 swinging back and forth with the tide. 
 
 " Hello, aboard!" he hailed. 
 
 There was no answer. The dory bumped, 
 gently against the motor boat, and von Derp 
 took a half -hitch around a chock. Again he 
 hailed; still there was no answer. After a 
 moment of hesitation he made fast and 
 scrambled over the side, where he proceeded 
 to thump lustily on the sliding door which 
 led into the cabin. Meredith's men on shore 
 watched him curiously as he pushed open 
 the door and vanished down the companion- 
 way. 
 
 For a minute or more von Derp stood 
 motionless in the deserted cabin, with eyes 
 darting hither and thither. Everything indi- 
 cated that Bruce had departed hurriedly. 
 The dessert dishes and coffee cups were still 
 on the table; even the photograph of the 
 Countess of Salisbury's garter lay where von 
 Derp himself had placed it. On the floor, 
 
 199
 
 200 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 soaking wet, was the clothing Bruce had 
 worn the night before. He hadn't taken 
 time, even, to wring them out. 
 
 All these things von Derp saw and under- 
 stood. Whatever had been his purpose in 
 boarding the Pyramid there remained no 
 doubt of his intention, now that he had found 
 her owner absent. It was to search. He 
 went at the job deliberately, with a vast 
 attention to detail. First there were the 
 drawers of the gravity table. He pulled 
 one open, stared into it until he had photo- 
 graphed the arrangement of its contents in 
 his mind, then proceeded to haul everything 
 out. 
 
 There were some thirty or forty phono- 
 graph records, two or three books in which 
 he took no interest after glancing at the blank 
 pages in front, a sextant, and a pair of pipes 
 in a morocco case which bore the stamp of 
 a dealer in St. Petersburg. Also, there were 
 writing materials pens, pencils, paper, blot- 
 ting paper, and an airtight inkwell. All 
 these things von Derp examined minutely, 
 paying particular attention to the blotting 
 paper. Finally he shook his head, and began 
 to replace the various articles in the drawer. 
 It was a tribute to the accuracy of his
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 201 
 
 memory that when he had finished even Bruce 
 would never have known the drawer had been 
 opened. 
 
 The big drawer on the other side of the 
 gravity table contained only navigation charts 
 and to these von Derp paid no attention. 
 Instead he began systematically ransacking 
 the lockers beneath the berths on the port 
 side. Here he found table linen, bed linen, 
 articles of personal apparel, a huge box of 
 smoking tobacco, and another huge box of 
 cigarettes singularly enough, they were 
 Regents. As von Derp noted the brand he 
 smiled. 
 
 Without haste von Derp now turned his 
 attention to the lockers on the starboard 
 side. Apparently these were filled with cloth- 
 ing overcoats, sweaters, flannels, tweeds, 
 evening dress, shoes, collars, ties all those 
 things that make the outward man. Wher- 
 ever there was a pocket von Derp's deft 
 fingers found the bottom of it. He didn't 
 shirk the labor, although nothing came of it. 
 
 The starboard lockers gone over to his 
 satisfaction, von Derp leaned back in his 
 chair and thoughtfully regarded the remaining 
 lockers those under the long seat in the bow. 
 Once he started to light a cigar, but thought
 
 202 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 better of it, for he blew out the match he 
 had struck and dropped it on the floor; after 
 which he picked it up and thrust it into his 
 pocket. With the cigar fixed between his 
 teeth, he turned his attention to his work 
 again. 
 
 Here, for the first time, von Derp found 
 locks to oppose him. With the thin edge of 
 his knife blade he conquered the first lock 
 without trouble to find that the locker was 
 empty save for a shooting belt with shells, 
 a shot gun, a revolver, and three boxes of 
 cartridges. He stared at these things with- 
 out touching them, then carefully relocked 
 the door. Silently, patiently, systematically 
 as before, he began work on the second locker. 
 It yielded at last and he found inside only 
 a tin case, this, too, locked. 
 
 There was a little smile of satisfaction 
 on his face now obviously, here was some- 
 thing promising at last. It was ten minutes 
 before von Derp laid back the top of the tin 
 case without force and without having defaced 
 it with one tiny mark. Inside he found a 
 roll of bills seemingly four or five hundred 
 dollars. He looked at them without touching 
 them, closed and locked the tin box, replaced 
 it in its receptacle, then locked that.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 203 
 
 Remained only the slim chance of finding 
 the thing he sought, whatever it was, in the 
 little galley. No, here was still another 
 chance another locker beside the engine 
 hood. Von Derp raised the lid; it was a tool 
 box. He was about to turn away when he 
 caught sight of a book of some sort thrown 
 in carelessly with the tools. He dug it out 
 "Engine Troubles" was the title glanced 
 at the blank pages in front, and replaced it. 
 A black smudge of oil on one hand was his 
 reward for thoroughness. He wiped it off 
 as best he could with his handkerchief. 
 
 The galley was here almost behind him. 
 He turned and glanced in, and bracing him- 
 self with a hand on either side of the narrow 
 door, stood for a moment appraising the con- 
 tents of the tiny nook. It was as complete 
 a miniature kitchen as he had ever seen, and 
 generously stocked with stuffs secured in 
 racks. Obviously, there was little need to 
 search here, but 
 
 Von Derp started forward eagerly, with a 
 glitter of triumph in his eyes at something he 
 had seen. It was a spindle on which were 
 several sheets of paper. He slipped off the 
 first. It was nothing more important than 
 a laundry list, setting forth in due form that
 
 204 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Bruce Colquhoun was possessed of so many 
 collars, and shirts, and socks, and so many 
 other things certainly nothing to arouse 
 the tense interest von Derp displayed. It 
 was not a printed slip, but a memorandum 
 written evidently by Bruce himself for his 
 own information. 
 
 There was something sardonic in von 
 Derp's manner as he drew out his pocket- 
 book, folded the slip carefully, placed it 
 therein, then stowed it away again. In his 
 eagerness he failed to notice that he had 
 dropped another slip of paper! 
 
 When Bruce came aboard the Pyramid half 
 an hour later he found von Derp stretched 
 out at length in a deck chair smoking luxu- 
 riously and gazing out upon Bass' Cove with 
 beatific satisfaction upon his face. 
 
 "Hello!" Bruce greeted. 
 
 "Good morning," von Derp returned. He 
 arose ceremoniously and bowed with a per- 
 fect mechanical action. "I ran out to pay 
 my dinner call, found the boat deserted, and 
 made myself comfortable here. I was almost 
 asleep." 
 
 Bruce regarded him absently for a moment, 
 and his eyes swept the immaculate figure from 
 the yellow hair to the white buckskin boots.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 205 
 
 "Glad you came out, " he remarked at last. 
 "I want a little talk with you. Pardon me 
 just a moment." 
 
 He disappeared down the companionway 
 and shot a quick, searching glance about the 
 cabin. Evidently he was satisfied, for he 
 returned immediately. 
 
 "They tell me, " von Derp remarked lazily, 
 "that it's seven miles in an air line to that 
 wireless mast on Brant Rock. It looks as if 
 one might throw a stone and " 
 
 " Mr. von Derp, you'll pardon me if I seem 
 impertinent, won't you?" Bruce interrupted. 
 "There are some things I'd like to know about 
 you." 
 
 There was an expression of polite surprise 
 on von Derp's face nothing else. 
 
 "For instance?" he queried. 
 
 "I'd like to know who you are, where you 
 came from, and satisfy myself that you're 
 only what you seem to be!" Bruce stated it 
 crisply, pointedly. 
 
 "I am August von Derp, son of Wilhelm 
 von Derp, junior partner in the banking firm 
 of Hegeman, von Derp & Company of 
 Amsterdam, Holland," was the precise reply. 
 "I came to this country on a jaunt, just 
 knocking about, you understand; and among
 
 2o6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 other letters of introduction I brought one to 
 Mr. Brokaw Hamilton in New York. He and 
 my father are associated in business some 
 way. I presented the letter to Mr. Hamil- 
 ton, and he sent me along up here with his 
 family." 
 
 The eyes of the two men met unwaver- 
 ingly von Derp's shallow, languid under his 
 lemon-colored brows; in Bruce's there seemed 
 to be only tense curiosity. 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't understand the last 
 part of your question," von Derp continued, 
 after a little. "Am I only what I seem to be! 
 By that you mean just what?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, really." There was 
 crisp courtesy in Bruce's manner. "I'm 
 afraid, sometimes, I'm too direct in what I 
 say. ' ' Worried lines appeared suddenly in his 
 smooth brow. "I can't explain, but it is 
 very necessary that I know all about men 
 with whom I come in contact. I've done 
 you an injustice. Pardon me." 
 
 Von Derp waved his exquisite hands as if 
 to dismiss the subject. 
 
 "I'm only curious to know what you think 
 I might have been or what you think I am, " 
 he said. 
 
 "I don't know that I can answer that
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 207 
 
 question," Bruce told him frankly. "There 
 was something in your manner last night 
 when you chanced upon that photograph of 
 the Countess of Salisbury's garter that 
 that I don't know what I did think. I 
 merely got an impression that your interest 
 in it was more tense than it would have been 
 in an ordinary person." 
 
 "I think I comprehend," and von Derp 
 nodded understandingly. "You yourself be- 
 ing under suspicion I refer to it only because 
 you did you thought perhaps that I might 
 be a a detective, say?" 
 
 "No, it was hardly that." 
 
 "Or even perhaps The Hawk?" 
 
 Bruce made a quick gesture of impatience. 
 
 "It's absurd, all of it," he declared flatly. 
 "If you'll be good enough to overlook what 
 must seem to be an uncalled for interest in 
 your affairs I'll be deeply obliged. I should 
 have known, of course, that as a guest of the 
 Quains the Hamiltons please pardon me." 
 He arose abruptly. "I'm tired to death. 
 Will you join me in a little Scotch?" 
 
 Bruce vanished down the companionway, 
 and some subtle change came into von Derp's 
 face. It was a curious hardening of his 
 expression, a cunning glint in his shallow eyes.
 
 208 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Bruce reappeared with the glasses and 
 decanter. 
 
 "I wonder," von Derp observed, "if you 
 would answer the same question?" 
 
 "What question?" 
 
 "Who are you? Where do you come from? 
 Are you only what you seem?" 
 
 "You have the advantage of me, " and there 
 was a trace of bitterness in Bruce 's tone. 
 "I can answer no questions whatever about 
 myself." 
 
 "I wondered!" von Derp sipped appre- 
 ciatively at the drink. "I wonder if you 
 could answer a question as to what actually 
 happened last night when you left the dinner 
 table, and returned dripping wet?" 
 
 "Nor can I answer that," Bruce replied 
 with darkening expression. "I can only 
 say I anticipated a grave danger to all of us, 
 and nothing happened. That danger still 
 threatens me. That's all." 
 
 Oddly enough, it came to pass that two 
 men who had regarded each other with open 
 suspicion shook hands cordially when von 
 Derp took his leave. Bruce spent the after- 
 noon tidying up the Pyramid, and tinkering 
 with her engine. Just before sundown he 
 wrote a brief note to Cicely and, followed by
 
 Page 210 
 
 "The record was still playing as he . . . disconnected her 
 gasoline supply 1 '
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 209 
 
 one of Meredith's men, walked over to the 
 village post office. 
 
 Night came, a night of overhanging clouds, 
 tangibly dark and moist ly warm. From the 
 deck of the Pyramid Bruce could see the 
 bobbing night light of the Maid-of-the-Sea, 
 less than a hundred feet away, seaward; and 
 on shore, above the murmur of the ebbing 
 tide, he heard her pilot, left in charge by 
 Meredith, in loud conversation with old 
 Cap'n Barry. There was no mistaking their 
 voices. Wherefore it came upon him sud- 
 denly that the pilot, anxious for a bit of 
 human companionship, had left the Maid- 
 of-the-Sea deserted for the moment. He came 
 to his feet quickly, and, after a long scrutiny 
 of the skies, went below and pulled on his 
 bathing trunks. 
 
 This done, Bruce placed a record in the 
 phonograph and started it; old Cap'n Barry 
 and the pilot of the Maid-of-the-Sea paused 
 to listen. One record finished, there was a 
 pause of perhaps five minutes; then Bruce 
 put on another, and started that. As its first 
 strains reached the ears of those ashore, Bruce 
 slid silently over the side of the Pyramid, 
 into the water, and struck out, swimming 
 rapidly, for the Maid-of-the-Sea. 
 
 14
 
 2 io MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 The record was still playing as he clambered 
 up her side, darted into her cabin, discon- 
 nected her gasoline supply, stuffed the supply 
 pipe with cotton, and slid back into the sea. 
 He had almost reached the Pyramid again 
 when the record stopped. Up her side he 
 clambered, and thirty seconds later a new 
 record was playing. Watchful as they had 
 been, Meredith's men on shore had perceived 
 no break in the music longer than was neces- 
 sary to change a record. 
 
 'Twas less than a minute later that the 
 great engine of the Pyramid sputtered as she 
 was cranked, then settled down to a roar; 
 the waves curled away from her bow and she 
 was speeding into the open. Came a sudden 
 hubbub on shore, a scampering of the pilot 
 and Meredith's satellites, some picturesque 
 profanity, and three men put out for the 
 Maid-of-the-Sea, rowing madly. Bruce, run- 
 ning dark, looked back once, just before he 
 rounded Second Cliff. 
 
 "It will take them an hour to get her 
 going," he remarked to himself contentedly, 
 "and by that time I ought to be off Hull." 
 
 So 1 the hare was on her way again; the 
 hound wallowed helplessly in the trough of 
 the sea.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 211 
 
 There was another great robbery in the 
 suburbs of Boston that night, this being in 
 Cambridge. The Weldon Blakes were the 
 victims in this instance, losing jewels valued 
 at about twenty thousand dollars. In this 
 case, as in the other, a note was found: 
 
 "My compliments to Mr. Meredith. 
 
 "THE HAWK." 
 
 From gloomy contemplation of Bruce 
 Colquhoun's daring escape in the Pyramid, 
 Meredith was aroused to this new robbery. 
 Stranger than any other feature of it, to him 
 at least, was the fact that this second note 
 was in a handwriting totally different from the 
 first! He scuttled off madly to get the 
 opinion of an expert, Dr. Harvey, on it. 
 Again the tedious examination and compari- 
 son, after which: 
 
 "There are marked resemblances in this 
 second note to the specimen you submitted 
 with hieroglyphics in the corner," the expert 
 declared, "but they are not by the same hand. 
 There is great dissimilarity in the first note 
 and the second, but they are by the same hand!" 
 
 Meredith toddled along to Professor Wayne. 
 
 "This second note, " that learned gentleman 
 asserted, "is unquestionably in the same
 
 212 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 handwriting as the specimen with the hiero- 
 glyphics in the corner. That first note, 
 therefore, was not written by the individual 
 who wrote either this second note or the hiero- 
 glyph specimen!" 
 
 Meredith went away, holding his head.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "DEAR Miss QUAIN: 
 
 "I forgot to mention that there is a charm upon 
 that ring 'whosoever hath this ring shall love me 
 forever, and be beloved of me ! ' 
 "Sincerely, 
 
 "BRUCE COLQUHOUN." 
 
 Cicely read the note again, and yet 
 again, the while a wistful tenderness crept 
 into the blue, blue eyes and the tyrannical 
 curve of her rose-red lips softened. It was 
 not a surprise, this note; in her own mind she 
 likened it to the writer impertinent, mys- 
 terious, fascinating. Of course she would 
 snub him for it when she met him again 
 that was his due for daring to write such a 
 note; but after all, the foolish little ring was 
 very dear to her! He had worn it it had 
 come to her warm from the touch of his hand ! 
 "Shall love me forever, and be beloved of 
 me!" And even at that he might be a thief, 
 a murderer ! 
 
 Skeets came bustling in, fresh from his 
 matutinal worship at the shrine of Mercy 
 Dale. Cicely roused herself from a gentle 
 reverie. 
 
 213
 
 214 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Skeets, you don't love me, do you?" she 
 demanded suddenly. 
 
 Skeets didn't know the answer. He stood 
 stock still, twisting his hat like a bashful 
 schoolboy, and looked her over questioningly. 
 
 "Why, ye-yes, " he faltered. "I suppose 
 I do." 
 
 "Suppose you do!" Cicely repeated dis- 
 dainfully. "Tell me the truth! You don't 
 love me!" 
 
 "Well er since the other day when you 
 were so distant and er frigid, as it were, 
 I don't quite " 
 
 " Say it right out, ' ' Cicely commanded. ' ' I 
 don't love you, so you won't hurt my feelings." 
 
 Skeets drew a deep sigh of relief, after which 
 he assumed a near-melancholic expression, 
 and balanced himself on one foot. 
 
 "Since you put it that way," he confessed, 
 "I don't mind saying that I'm not as strong 
 for you as ' 
 
 "In other words, since Miss Dale hauled 
 you out of the water!" 
 
 "She's beautiful, isn't she?" Skeets broke 
 in irrelevantly, his poetic soul in his eyes. 
 "Fresh, sweet, simple, unspoiled, and " 
 
 "I know," Cicely nodded understandingly. 
 "Now that we understand each other, I'll
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 215 
 
 tell you something. My mother has a tele- 
 gram from my father in which he declares 
 that I must marry you at once! Must! 
 Do you understand?" 
 
 "Must?" Skeets repeated the word rebel- 
 liously. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't want to marry you, and 
 I don't think you want to marry me." 
 
 "Well, let's don't!" It was a clever 
 thought for Skeets. "You know," he 
 rushed on, "my father told me if I didn't 
 marry you he'd give all his millions to the 
 Fiji Islanders. Gad! You know, I think 
 I'll let him do it. What would money be to 
 me if the woman I loved " 
 
 ' ' It's a bargain then? ' ' Cicely asked. ' ' We 
 won't?" 
 
 "We won't!" Skeets promised. They 
 shook hands on it. Came another thought: 
 "Is there another man?" 
 
 "Why?" Cicely parried. 
 
 "It's not von Derp?" 
 
 "No, it's not von Derp!" 
 
 "Good!" Skeets commented. "I don't 
 like his yellow whiskers." He started up- 
 stairs, but paused at the door. "By the 
 way," he added, "that chap we had dinner 
 with was The Hawk."
 
 216 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Cicely came to her feet, crumpling the note 
 in her slender fingers. For a scant instant 
 her heart stood still, and words failed to 
 come as she stared at the poet. He was 
 frightened at her pallor and took a step 
 forward. 
 
 "Has he been arrested?" Her question 
 was almost inarticulate. "Has he con- 
 fessed?" 
 
 Men are stupid creatures; ask any woman. 
 Cicely's obvious agitation meant nothing to 
 Skeets save in so far as it was a manifestation 
 of outraged pride. They, Cicely and her 
 mother, had dined with a thief and murderer ! 
 
 "No, he has neither confessed nor been 
 arrested," he explained. "But he made a 
 getaway last night that left Detective Mere- 
 dith and the flock of men he had here on watch 
 gasping for breath. He swam out from the 
 Pyramid to the Maid-of-the-Sea they found 
 his bare footprints on deck and disconnected 
 the carbureter, after which he stuffed the 
 supply pipe with cotton. It took three men 
 four hours to get the engine going. By that 
 time pssst! the Pyramid was gone!" 
 
 "Then why, " Cicely was breathing quickly, 
 her small hands were still clenched, "why do 
 you say he was The Hawk?"
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 217 
 
 "Oh, the mere fact that he ran away like 
 that proves it," Skeets informed her. "But 
 I wouldn't lose any sleep about it. He was 
 an impertinent ass, anyway!" 
 
 Skeets went on upstairs. For a long time 
 Cicely sat motionless, torn by emotions she 
 had never known before. Finally she could 
 stand it no longer. She flung a veil about 
 the sensuous brick-red hair and started toward 
 the beach. It just happened that Meredith, 
 who had run down to Satuit in a rage to call 
 off his ferrets and incidentally to address 
 them at some length on the general subject 
 of stupidity met her in the road. 
 
 "Well, he got away," he greeted her. 
 
 "You are the very man I wanted to see," 
 said Cicely. "I want to ask you one ques- 
 tion you must answer it. Is Mr. Colqu- 
 houn a a thief?" 
 
 "I wish I knew," said the detective rue- 
 fully. 
 
 "Or a a murderer?" 
 
 "I can only say, Miss Hamilton pardon 
 me, Miss Quain that I believe he is both a 
 thief and a murderer." 
 
 "But you don't know?' 1 
 
 Meredith was gazing at her curiously. He 
 shook his head.
 
 2i8 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "I don't know!" he confessed. 
 
 "And the mere fact that he he ran away 
 is not a confession of of guilt?" 
 
 "It's against him, of course," Meredith 
 said judicially, "but it is not a confession. 
 Lots of innocent men get frightened and run 
 away from us." 
 
 "And he is gone?" Cicely rushed on. 
 "You've been unable to find him?" 
 
 "There's no trace of him yet," he said. 
 "Ultimately, of course, we'll get him." 
 
 The crumpled little note slid from Cicely's 
 nerveless fingers to the ground ; the detective 
 stooped courteously to pick it up. A glance 
 at the superscription on the envelope and his 
 eyes opened wide. With a little cry Cicely 
 snatched it from his hand. 
 
 "That note is from Colquhoun. " It was 
 not a question. "I know his handwriting." 
 
 "It is, yes." There was calm defiance in 
 Cicely's manner. 
 
 "Will you give it to me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "May I see it?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Will you tell me what's in it?" 
 
 "I will not!" indignantly. 
 
 The detective plucked a white-headed flower
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 219 
 
 from a near-by weed, and whipped it idly 
 against his knee. 
 
 "If," he asked, "if that note contained 
 information as to the present whereabouts 
 of Colquhoun, would you allow me to see it? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Will you give me your word of honor," 
 and he was studying her white face tensely, 
 "your word of honor that it contains nothing 
 which would give a clue to his whereabouts 
 directly or indirectly? " 
 
 "I will do that, yes my word of honor!" 
 
 "That is sufficient." 
 
 Meredith bowed courteously and went on 
 up the road, busy with his own plans. His 
 fruitful field of investigation had suddenly 
 become barren. He'd run by the post office, 
 order his mail forwarded, and clear out of 
 Satuit. For the present at least there was 
 nothing to be learned here. At the post 
 office he had another surprise. 
 
 In his mail there was one envelope bearing 
 the return address of a big New York hotel, 
 but the postmark showed it had been mailed 
 in Boston on the previous night. The en- 
 velope had been directed on a typewriter. 
 Meredith opened it. Inside he found a single 
 sheet of paper, evidently a scrap of wrapping
 
 220 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 paper; and roughly outlined upon it was a 
 sketch of some sort. It seemed to be the 
 interior plan of a residence, marked off into 
 rooms, halls, closets and against one of 
 these closets was a blue cross. Here and 
 there in the sketch were other cabalistic hier- 
 oglyphs. Beneath the sketch were some 
 figures, and one word, arranged in this fashion : 
 "21 Willow 7/3." 
 
 On the night of the second day following, 
 specifically the night of July 3, Detective 
 Meredith and one of his able assistants crept 
 silently into the big mansion, No. 21 Willow 
 Street, in a suburb of Boston, and stationed 
 themselves, one on each side of the closet 
 against which the blue cross appeared in the 
 sketch. The occupants of the house, Calhoun 
 Manning and family, had been called to 
 New York by a telegram early in the day. 
 Stationed outside the building were four of 
 Meredith's men, their orders being to inter- 
 fere with no one who might enter the house, 
 but to stop and hold any one attempting to 
 leave it. So, the trap was set! 
 
 Ten o'clock struck, then eleven, twelve, 
 one. Patiently the men waited, revolvers 
 and flashlights in hand. The faint noises of the
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 221 
 
 night had died completely now; the silence 
 was tense it was the stillness of the tomb. 
 
 All at once, without having heard a 
 sound, Meredith knew there was some one 
 else in the room. His muscles grew taut! 
 Five seconds, ten seconds! There was a 
 faint creaking in the direction of the table 
 in the center of the room! 
 
 Simultaneously the electric flashes of Mere- 
 dith and his aid blazed in the direction of 
 the table. Sitting upon it, placidly swinging 
 his perfectly shod feet, was von Derp! 
 There was an unlighted cigarette in his lips, 
 slightly parted in a smile which crinkled the 
 corners of his eyes. His hat was pushed 
 back so that the yellow fringe of his hair 
 showed, and with one gloved hand he plucked 
 thoughtfully at the point of his lemon- 
 colored beard. 
 
 "Is that you, Meredith?" he inquired 
 quietly. 
 
 "Yes, but" 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h! Not so loud!" von Derp 
 warned. He slid from the table and came 
 toward the detective. "And shut off your 
 light!" 
 
 "But but what are you doing here?" 
 Meredith was stammering in his amazement.
 
 222 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Shut off your light, you fool!" It was a 
 hissing command, as unlike the mathemati- 
 cally courteous von Derp as one could imagine. 
 "And be silent! He may come yet, and I 
 want him as much, or more, than you do!" 
 
 Insolence is bad medicine at times. It was 
 in this instance. Meredith's face flushed, 
 and he spoke to his assistant, in a velvety 
 undertone: 
 
 "Just throw on those electric lights, Stal- 
 lings." Silently Stallings obeyed the order, 
 and von Derp, himself bathed in light, could 
 see the two detectives for the first time. In 
 the right hand of each was a revolver. He 
 smiled cynically as he noted it. 
 
 "You want him as much or more than we 
 do!" Meredith repeated, his keen eyes fas- 
 tened upon the placid countenance before 
 him. "You want who?" 
 
 "Colquhoun The Hawk!" 
 
 "Why do you want him?" Meredith pur- 
 sued doggedly. 
 
 Von Derp's face showed clearly his aston- 
 ishment at the question. 
 
 "You know who I am, don't you?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 "I know who you say you are," Meredith 
 replied. "There is no better time than the
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 223 
 
 present and no better place than here for 
 you to give a detailed account of yourself; 
 and among other things, you might explain 
 your presence in this house at this time!" 
 
 Von Derp thrust one gloved hand into the 
 breast pocket of his coat, and two revolvers 
 clicked ominously in his face. 
 
 "Why, you two are regular policemen, 
 aren't you?" he mocked. "Permit me to 
 introduce myself. " He took out an engraved 
 card and handed it to Meredith. "I flattered 
 myself that you knew me all along." 
 
 Meredith read the card: 
 
 HERR AUGUST VON DERP 
 
 IMPERIAL 
 SECRET SERVICE OF 
 
 GERMANY BERLIN 
 
 Von Derp questioned the two men with 
 his eyes ; the mocking smile still played about 
 his lips. 
 
 "Any one may have cards engraved," 
 Meredith pointed out.
 
 224 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Von Derp laughed. 
 
 "You are what is it you Americans say? 
 you are a Missourian, I see." Again he 
 thrust a gloved hand into his breast pocket, 
 this time to produce a packet of papers. To 
 Meredith he handed these. ''My creden- 
 tials, signed by the Minister of Foreign 
 Affairs of Germany." Meredith glanced 
 down the printed form of the signature. 
 "And further," von Derp continued, as he 
 threw back his coat and waistcoat and showed 
 a small metal shield on his suspenders, "my 
 badge of office." 
 
 Without a word Meredith folded the paper 
 and returned it to von Derp, who accepted 
 it with a smile and restored it to his pocket. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, " Meredith said simply 
 as he thrust his revolver into his pocket; 
 Stallings did likewise. "May I ask why you 
 are here?" 
 
 "I told you," was the reply. "I, too, 
 want Colquhoun The Hawk." 
 
 "How do you know he is The Hawk?" 
 
 "I don't know it, any more than you do. 
 I only suspect it." 
 
 "And why do you why does Germany 
 want him?" 
 
 "Because he is believed to have in his
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 225 
 
 possession certain of the crown jewels of 
 Germany, " was the astonishing reply. "When 
 I say I want him, I am not strictly accurate; 
 I merely want the jewels." 
 
 Meredith didn't ask for details ; came again 
 into his face a shadow of suspicion. 
 
 "May I ask," he questioned, "how you 
 happened to suspect that he would be here 
 to-night?" 
 
 "May I ask," and for an instant there 
 was a return of the mocking smile to von 
 Derp's lips, "how you happened to suspect 
 it?" 
 
 "I received anonymously a rough sketch 
 giving the street and number, and a date. 
 I worked it out. It seemed to point here. I 
 came." 
 
 "It was I," and von Derp paused to light 
 his cigarette, "who sent you the sketch. I 
 credited you with intelligence enough to know 
 what it meant, and you've vindicated my 
 judgment. I knew you wanted to catch The 
 Hawk red-handed, and had authority to 
 arrest him I have not. I merely wanted 
 to be here when he was taken." He smiled 
 ambiguously. "Also, I thought you'd know 
 the handwriting on the sketch. It is mine." 
 
 "Oh!" said Meredith, after a long pause. 
 
 15
 
 226 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Stallings, turn out the light. We'll wait 
 awhile." 
 
 Von Derp made an impatient gesture with 
 one hand. 
 
 "Of course The Hawk won't venture here 
 now," he complained. "He's no fool. He 
 won't walk into a house where a light has 
 been burning for half an hour at this " 
 
 "We'll wait awhile," Meredith repeated. 
 
 So, the three men waited. They were 
 still waiting when the sun shot her first rays 
 ahead into the dark. Nothing happened. 
 Von Derp, Meredith, and Stallings left the 
 house together. 
 
 "There's one little thing I neglected to tell 
 you," von Derp remarked casually. "I made 
 it a point to search the Pyramid the other 
 day on a chance of finding something to 
 interest me, but I didn't. However, there 
 is something aboard the boat which might 
 interest you." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "A photograph of the Countess of Salis- 
 bury's garter. " 
 
 Meredith's eyes opened wide, but he was 
 silent.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 T TNANNOUNCED, Skeets walked into 
 V_J his father's office in New York, put 
 down his hat, and deposited himself on a 
 chair, evidently for a long stay. Old John 
 Gaunt looked up from his desk, then con- 
 tinued his writing. 
 
 "Hello," he greeted. "Where do you 
 come from?" 
 
 "Massachusetts," was the reply. 
 
 "What have you been doing up there?" 
 
 "I went up there," Skeets particularized, 
 "to carry out your wishes and win Helen 
 Hamilton. I'm back now to say that I 
 can't marry her because I don't love her." 
 
 "What!" John Gaunt roared, and he 
 whirled around in his swivel chair. "You 
 don't love her? You say that after all that 
 gush you spilled in here about her?" 
 
 Skeets blushed modestly. 
 
 "I I find that I was mistaken," he stam- 
 mered. "I interpreted my feelings for her 
 in the light of a stronger emotion, and " 
 
 "And all those poems you've been writing 
 to 'Helen'?" his father went on. "I ran 
 through the files of your magazine the other 
 
 227
 
 228 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 day to see if you were a good editor, and on 
 every other page was something 'To Helen'! 
 I will say this for 'em they're funny ! Gad ! 
 I don't know when I've enjoyed anything 
 
 more! 
 it 
 
 As I said, I interpreted my feelings for 
 her " Skeets undertook to explain, with 
 dignity. 
 
 "They remind me of that introductory 
 verse to one of Bill Nye's books," old John 
 Gaunt interrupted. "Ever read it? It goes 
 something like this," and he quoted pon- 
 derously : 
 
 " 'Go, little booklet, go, 
 
 Bearing an honored name, 
 Till everywhere that you have went 
 They're glad that you have came.' ' 
 
 "I'm sure there is no comparison " 
 Skeets began defensively. 
 
 "No, but you're improving," his father 
 flattered. "I think toward the last they're 
 funnier than your first ones were. You're 
 all right, Sammy." 
 
 "Not Sammy, please, father!" 
 
 "And so, Samuel, you've found that you 
 don't love Helen Hamilton?" 
 
 "Not in the way I thought I did no, 
 sir."
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 229 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 ''I don't know," Skeets confessed, help- 
 lessly, " My viewpoint seems to have under- 
 gone some psychological change and " 
 
 "And you won't marry her. Won't was 
 the word you used?" 
 
 "I can't marry her. That was the word 
 can't! She doesn't love me." 
 
 "Impossible!" exclaimed John Gaunt. 
 "She doesn't love you after all that chatter 
 about" 
 
 "It seems that she, too, misinterpreted " 
 
 "She doesn't love you; you don't love her. 
 Now is it possible for you to love anybody? 
 Really love anybody?" 
 
 "It is." Skeets was quite firm about it. 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 "I do love somebody." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 Skeets picked up his hat and stroked it 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "A few days ago, father, Cicely that is, 
 Helen was nearly drowned while swimming. 
 In my efforts to get to her / was nearly 
 drowned. I was rescued by a girl, and " 
 
 "I know the rest of it. Who is she?" 
 
 "She's the daughter of a lobster fisherman 
 and mosser in the little town of Satuit,
 
 2 3 o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 in Massachusetts. She is well educated 
 worked her way through Radcliffe, and all 
 that and sweet and simple as the delicate 
 flower that blossoms unseen beside the " 
 
 "I got you, ' ' his father interrupted. ' ' What 
 does she look like?" 
 
 "She's very much the same type as Cicely 
 that is, Helen," Skeets explained. "Her 
 hair is deep red, her eyes blue blue as the 
 
 "Is she a good, clean American woman?" 
 his father demanded. 
 
 "Yes, American to the core, a direct 
 descendant of Mayflower ancestors, and 
 
 "What's her name?" 
 
 "Miss Dale. " Skeets hesitated. "Mercy 
 Dale." 
 
 "Her name is what?" 
 
 "Mercy" 
 
 "Mercy?" 
 
 "Mercy." 
 
 "Help! Where'd she get it?" 
 
 "It's not an unusual New England name. 
 I admire it very much." 
 
 John Gaunt turned in his swivel chair and 
 scribbled industriously for five minutes. Then : 
 
 "And you won't marry Helen Hamilton?" 
 
 "No, "firmly. 
 
 "In spite of my expressed wishes?"
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 231 
 
 "I'll give up the money." 
 
 "You'd deliberately make a pauper of 
 yourself for the sake of this what's her 
 name? Say it again." 
 
 "Mercy Dale!" Suddenly Skeets went 
 white. 
 
 "And then, I suppose, you'd go out and 
 dig ditches, and plow fields to support her?" 
 
 "I would, yes." 
 
 Old John Gaunt swung around in his chair 
 again, and leaned back and laughed. 
 
 "Good boy!" he said admiringly. "You 
 know, Sammy, I don't give a continental 
 whoopee in the hereafter who you marry, so 
 long as she is a good, decent, clean American 
 woman. You've got the real Gaunt spirit. 
 Good boy!" 
 
 Of necessity poets are psychologists, but 
 Skeets couldn't quite fit any theory that 
 happened to be around loose to this actual 
 condition. He was pondering it when his 
 father went on: 
 
 "The only reason I wanted you to marry 
 Helen Hamilton, anyway, was to slip one 
 over on her father. And now even that 
 doesn't matter. Believe me, Sammy, I've 
 got him in a deal and sewed buttons all up 
 and down him, front and back. First thing
 
 232 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 he knows I'll own his railroads. He called 
 me a coal heaver, you'll remember. I've 
 got him on the run. You know," shrewdly, 
 and the eyes of this masterful old giant of 
 finance snapped, "I've an idea that he'd 
 like for you to marry his daughter now, if 
 he thought it'd stop my fight on him." 
 
 Skeets was tempted to explain, in the light 
 of his conversation with Cicely, but he didn't. 
 His delicate poetic soul was appalled at the 
 mercilessness of this financial warfare; he 
 was silent. 
 
 "You know what Hamilton did the other 
 day?" his father ran on. "He's had detec- 
 tives on my trail for more than a fortnight 
 I don't know just why. The other day they 
 went up and searched my house for some 
 reason. I've got him on the run, sonny. 
 Now get out of here. I'm busy. And give 
 my blessings to Mercy." 
 
 On his way out Skeets met Dexter in the 
 hall Dexter of Scotland Yard, the gimlet- 
 eyed sleuth who had been sent over to 
 recover tne Countess of Salisbury's garter!
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 RS. QUAIN'S tranquil face was fur- 
 rowed by spidery lines of perplexity as 
 she strolled down the wide lawn from the 
 house and joined Cicely under the big apple 
 tree beside the tiny study building. For the 
 first time in her life she was laboring under 
 the weight of a grave responsibility; and to 
 her credit be it said that she met it dutifully, 
 albeit unenthusiastically. Upon her, at the 
 terse command of her husband, had devolved 
 the unpleasant task of compelling a match 
 between Cicely and Skeets Gaunt; and to 
 her aid she had brought all her diplomacy, 
 all her gracious tact, even maternal coercion 
 thus far vainly. 
 
 Cicely was sitting upon the grass, Turkish 
 fashion, thoughtfully flinging unripe wind- 
 fallen fruit into the thick multi-flowering 
 hedge. She looked up, instantly on the 
 defensive, and sighed wearily. Here was 
 come her daily grilling. 
 
 "Has Skeets returned from New York?" 
 Mrs. Quain questioned, as she sat down. 
 She was sweetly oblivious of the smouldering 
 rebellion in her daughter's face. 
 
 233
 
 234 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Yes, he came this morning," Cicely 
 replied, then pleadingly: "Now, mother, 
 let's don't start it all over again." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "He's down thanking Miss Dale for saving 
 his life," said Cicely. 
 
 "I had a long letter from your father this 
 morning in which he explains that unless you 
 and Skeets " 
 
 "I understand, perfectly," Cicely inter- 
 rupted. "If we don't get married imme- 
 diately the whole world is going to the 
 demnition bow-wows, and " 
 
 "Cicely!" 
 
 "I don't care. I won't marry him, and," 
 triumphantly, "he won't marry me. He's 
 said so!" She flung a green apple spitefully 
 and accurately at a strutting robin. "Why 
 is a marriage between us so necessary all at 
 once?" she demanded. "When I wanted 
 Skeets I couldn't have him, and now that I 
 wouldn't have him I must marry him?" 
 
 Mrs. Quain shrugged her shapely shoulders, 
 and laid a graceful hand gently upon the 
 wind-blown brick-red hair of her daughter. 
 The tenderness of the caress brought a quick 
 moisture to Cicely's blue, blue eyes; she 
 seized the slim white hand and pressed it
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 235 
 
 to her hot cheek. Mrs. Quain, in silence, was 
 staring out dreamily over the wimpling waters 
 of the harbor. 
 
 "You know, mother," Cicely ran on in a 
 strained, tense little voice, "I'd be sorry for 
 you and Pops if he should be ruined finan- 
 cially, as he seems to think he will be if I 
 don't marry Skeets, but I shouldn't mind 
 being poor myself. I don't think it quite 
 quite fair that he should put all the respon- 
 sibility upon me. I don't love Skeets; I 
 thought I did, and I daresay if the elopement 
 had had been a success we would have been 
 happy together, but now not now. " 
 
 "There is some one else. Who?" 
 
 "No one," Cicely denied. 
 
 "Is it Mr. von Derp?" 
 
 "No!" capitalized. 
 
 Another question trembled upon Mrs. 
 Quain's lips, but she didn't ask it. Strange 
 fears lie suppressed deep in a mother's heart ! 
 After a moment she went on: 
 
 "Did Skeets' going to New York have any 
 connection with his his refusal to marry 
 you?" 
 
 Cicely bobbed her head vigorously; the 
 latent fire in her brick-red hair leaped into 
 flame.
 
 236 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "He went," she explained specifically, "to 
 tell his father that he was in love with 
 Miss Dale and to ask him to give " 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Old Cap'n Barry came racking along the 
 winding road from Peggotty Beach in a haste 
 inspired by uncontrollable excitement. 
 
 "It's coming back! " he yelled at the snowy 
 white figures on the lawn at Stepping Stones. 
 
 "What?" Cicely asked. 
 
 "The Pyramid," he bellowed. "I'm ago- 
 ing over now to tell the constable." 
 
 Cicely had arisen, with a rush of color to 
 her cheeks; instantly it receded, leaving her 
 marble white. In her throat was a curious 
 tightness. 
 
 "Why, " she demanded with an effort, "are 
 you going to tell the constable?" 
 
 "Going to arrest him, by gravy!" The 
 old Cap'n exploded it directly under Cicely's 
 nose. "They say he killed a feller down to 
 New York, and stole a lot o' diamens and 
 things. Regular thief, you know. And," 
 the Cap'n continued shrewdly, "I don't 
 know whether you heerd it or not, but ole 
 man Bates up at the Center 's been missing a 
 lot o' chickens lately, too!" 
 
 Cap'n Barry went racking on across the
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 237 
 
 causeway toward the village, his hurrying 
 heels kicking up little spurts of dust behind 
 him. Motionless, Cicely stared after the 
 aged sailor man until he had crossed the 
 bridge spanning the backwater, then turned 
 to her mother. 
 
 "I'm going to warn Mr. Colquhoun, " she 
 said. 
 
 "Why?" questioned Mrs. Quain. "If he 
 is a thief and a murderer!" 
 
 "I don't believe it," Cicely declared. 
 "It's only fair to warn him after after 
 He saved my life, you know. I can't stand 
 by and see him arrested!" The word came 
 hollowly. 
 
 In that instant Mrs. Quain understood. 
 Hopelessly perplexed, she glanced toward the 
 beach. There, coming along the road toward 
 them, was Bruce Colquhoun in person. He 
 turned in the drive and came straight 
 across the lawn. With fingers locked tightly 
 together behind her back, Cicely faced him. 
 
 "Cap'n Barry," she said tensely, "has 
 gone for the constable to arrest you. " 
 
 "Thanks," he said simply. There was no 
 other greeting, no extraneous matutinal 
 wishes, no trite comments on the weather. 
 He addressed Mrs. Quain: "I am aware
 
 238 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 that I owe you and your daughter some 
 apologies. My sudden departure the other 
 night after I had put the engine of the Maid- 
 of-the-Sea out of commission must have 
 seemed curious to you, almost a confession 
 of those charges against me. It was abso- 
 lutely necessary that I should go, and equally 
 necessary that no one should follow me. 
 I can't explain why. My return, I hope, 
 will convince you that my running away was 
 through no sense of guilt. I can hardly 
 expect you to believe me; I can only hope 
 that you will. " 
 
 He was searching the faces of the two 
 women mother and daughter with his eyes. 
 Mrs. Quain's countenance was blank, inscru- 
 table, tranquil; but deep in the mother's 
 heart a tumult was raging, masked by the 
 conventions. Cicely's hands were brought 
 forward suddenly, and her fingers were locked 
 together. She still wore the ring! "Who- 
 soever hath that ring shall love me forever, 
 and be beloved of me!" 
 
 Mrs. Quain spoke: 
 
 " I appreciate your motives, Mr.Colquhoun. 
 Already I have thanked you for saving 
 my daughter's life and I am free to say 
 that personally I have no doubt as to your
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 239 
 
 innocence. On the other hand, you will un- 
 derstand that it is only fair to us and fair to 
 yourself that we should know who and what 
 you are. I recall distinctly that you have 
 frankly stated that these charges stood against 
 you, but I don't recall that there has been 
 the slightest effort on your part to explain 
 them away, or even to allow us to under- 
 stand who you are. You are here merely 
 as Mr. Bruce Colquhoun. I don't even 
 know that that is your name." 
 
 "It is not," Bruce told her. 
 
 "Then what is your name?" 
 
 "That I can't tell you," 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "That I can't tell you." 
 
 " Where are you from? What do you do? " 
 
 "Nor can I answer those questions." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I can't even answer that." 
 
 Mrs. Quain made a little deprecatory 
 motion with her slim hands. 
 
 "You yourself compel me to say that, in 
 view of all these things, I must, out of defer- 
 ence to the conventions, ask you to ask 
 you" 
 
 "I understand perfectly." He bowed 
 slightly, without a change in his countenance.
 
 240 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "It has been inconsiderate of me to expect 
 you to continue your your friendship, if I 
 may use the word. The withdrawal of your 
 confidence is my greatest regret." His eyes 
 dropped to Cicely's hands; the curious little 
 ring he had given her flashed in the sun. 
 "May I, before you dismiss me, have a few 
 words with your daughter?" 
 
 "In my presence, yes," was the reply. 
 
 There was no embarrassment, no hesitation 
 in Bruce's manner as he turned flatly to face 
 Cicely, still deathly white. 
 
 "Captain Barry and the constable are 
 coming across the causeway," she said 
 dully. 
 
 "I'm here," he replied, without so much as 
 a glance around. "I'm here, if they want 
 me." He seemed to dismiss the matter. 
 "I returned to Satuit," he went on, "for 
 several reasons. One of those reasons was 
 to try and make you and your mother under- 
 stand that I did not run away through fear 
 of arrest; another was that I thought, just 
 having left here, I would be safer here than 
 anywhere else against certain menacing con- 
 ditions which constantly surround me, my 
 idea being that men who had seen me flee 
 the place would not expect me to return.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 241 
 
 My third reason " He paused, and again 
 glanced down at the ring. 
 
 "Your third reason?" Cicely echoed 
 faintly. 
 
 "My third reason was to see if you still 
 wore the little ring I gave you aboard the 
 Pyramid," he said frankly. "I see that you 
 do, and I thank you for it. " Their eyes met 
 understandingly; it was a reference to the 
 note he had written her. She understood. 
 "Your mother has been good enough to 
 express her confidence in me, and she has 
 made me see that her attitude is necessary 
 as a concession to the conventions. So long 
 as you wear that ring I shall understand that 
 you, too, have faith in me. When you 
 return it, I shall know that the charm is 
 broken, that your faith is dead." 
 
 Through the haze of her emotions Cicely 
 remembered vaguely that she had promised 
 herself to snub this presumptuous young 
 person soundly for that note; but now she 
 lacked the courage to do it. Some savage 
 thing was tearing at her heart; she wanted 
 to scream. Already she could hear the 
 thump of footsteps on the bridge a couple 
 of hundred yards away as the constable and 
 old Cap'n Barry came toward them! 
 
 16
 
 242 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "There can be no reason sufficiently strong 
 to compel a man of honor to silence regarding 
 his identity," Cicely declared. Her voice 
 was oddly cold, unemotional. "I can con- 
 tinue to have faith in you only when you 
 clear up this mystery which surrounds you." 
 
 "I have told you that my life depends 
 upon my ability to keep my identity secret," 
 Bruce pointed out. 
 
 "I am not a child, Mr. Colquhoun!" The 
 blue, blue eyes flamed in sudden anger. 
 
 "I am under a sentence of death, " he pur- 
 sued, heedless of the scorn in her voice. "I 
 left here the other night as I did because my 
 executioners were at hand. They are seeking 
 me elsewhere now, I hope. I came back to 
 try to make you understand." 
 
 "You love the theatric, don't you?" she 
 taunted. "It is a most effective pose!" 
 
 She stopped and drew the ring he had given 
 her from her finger. "Whosoever hath this 
 ring shall love me forever and be beloved of 
 me!" It lay in her outstretched palm. 
 
 "Your faith is dead, then?" he asked. 
 
 "You yourself said what the return of 
 the ring would mean to you. " 
 
 "I'm sorry." 
 
 Old Cap'n Barry and the constable were
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 245 
 
 at the entrance to the driveway now. Bruce 
 took the ring from her hand, stared at it a 
 moment, then flipped it into the underbrush 
 directly across the winding road. Cicely 
 gasped a little in impotent anger. 
 
 With inscrutable face Bruce turned away 
 from her to find that the town constable, 
 smoking furiously, was almost behind him. 
 One hand rested threateningly upon the 
 official hip nearest the official weapon of 
 defense; the official face was pale, despite 
 the hurried walk across the causeway; and 
 there was a vast indetermination in the 
 official eyes. 
 
 "Now, don't you start nothing!" Bruce 
 was warned. "I see you're back?" 
 
 "Yes. What of it?" 
 
 "You ran away from here t'other night in 
 your boat." 
 
 "Well?" There was a steely glitter in 
 Bruce's eyes. 
 
 "They say you killed a feller down to New 
 York, and stole a lot o' things!" The con- 
 stable was uneasy beneath the placid glare. 
 
 "And old man Bates up at the Center 
 has missed a lot of chickens, too!" piped old 
 Cap'n Barry. 
 
 "If you're going to arrest me, do it,""
 
 244 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Bruce advised, curtly. "Show me your war- 
 rant and take me along." 
 
 The constable wriggled a little, and swung 
 from foot to foot. 
 
 "I don't calc'late to arrest you, exactly," 
 he confessed. "I I just wanted to see if 
 you was back, and tell you I've got my eye 
 on you. I'm going right up to the station 
 and telegraph to Mr. Meredith of New York 
 that" 
 
 "You may save yourself the trouble," 
 Bruce interrupted abruptly. " I telegraphed 
 Mr. Meredith from Boston last night that 
 I would be here to-day. " 
 
 "You did?" incredulously. 
 
 'Til be dinged!" So Cap'n Barry. 
 
 "Now, if you've finished," Bruce went on, 
 "please apologize to Mrs. Quain and her 
 daughter here for intruding and making a 
 scene, and go on about your business." 
 
 'Twas a crestfallen town official who went 
 stumbling across the lawn and down the 
 driveway. Old Cap'n Barry followed him 
 to the corner, then sat down on the fence to 
 await developments. Be dinged if he could 
 understand city folks! 
 
 "Why," Cicely asked, curiously, "why 
 are men afraid to arrest you?"
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 245 
 
 "Because," Bruce replied, tersely, "they're 
 not so certain as you are that I am a thief 
 and a murderer!" 
 
 Through all of it Mrs. Quain had been 
 silent. She was remembering that face she 
 had seen through the porthole of the Pyramid. 
 She started to ask a question, but changed 
 her mind. Bruce bowed ceremoniously. 
 
 " I regret more than I can make you under- 
 stand, " he said, "that things are as they 
 are." He laid a hand upon Cicely's arm 
 and drew her unresisting a few steps to one 
 side. "Some day you'll understand," he 
 said. " Do you see that thin spindle against 
 the sky, far off there to the north?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied wonderingly. 
 
 "Do you know what it is?" 
 
 "A lighthouse, isn't it?" 
 
 "Minot's Ledge lighthouse," he explained. 
 "Do you know what the folks about here 
 call that light? They have a name of their 
 own for it." 
 
 She shook her head, and her eyes were 
 raised questioningly to his. 
 
 "Ask some one," he said. "I wanted you 
 to understand. Good-by." 
 
 Again he bowed ceremoniously, first to 
 Mrs. Quain, then to Cicely, and withdrew.
 
 1246 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 For an hour or more old Cap'n Barry sat on 
 the fence, staring at the house with an immi- 
 nent expectation on his face. He was just 
 about to give it up when Cicely came down 
 the drive. 
 
 "That's Minot's Ledge lighthouse over 
 there, isn't it?" she asked, as she indicated 
 the spindle. 
 
 "Yessum." 
 
 "It has has another name, too, hasn't 
 it?" she asked. "I mean the folks about 
 here call it something else, don't they?" 
 
 "Yessum," obliged the Cap'n. "They 
 call it the 'I-love-you' light!" 
 
 "I love you!" 
 
 Cicely's face went scarlet, then white again, 
 
 Cap'n Barry stared at her blankly. Be 
 dinged if he could understand 'em!
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THREE telegrams, all forwarded by wire 
 from police headquarters in New York, 
 reached Detective Meredith at intervals of 
 half an hour in the small seacoast town in 
 Maine whither he had gone, following up the 
 elusive trail of the Pyramid. The first to 
 arrive was dated the day before, and said 
 tersely: 
 
 "I am returning to Satuit to-morrow. 
 
 "BRUCE COLQUHOUN." 
 
 'Twas amazing, unheard of, unethical even. 
 Here was a game of hare and hounds where 
 the hare, not content with playing his end 
 of the game, must constitute himself as 
 friend, adviser, and guide of the hounds. 
 For no obvious reason, Detective Meredith 
 was seized upon by consuming anger, and 
 there was something vindictive in the way 
 he packed his suit case. 
 
 He was just locking it when the second 
 telegram came: 
 
 "Motor boat Pyramid, Colquhoun aboard, arrived 
 here this morning. 
 
 "VoN DERP." 
 247
 
 24 8 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Close upon this came the third : 
 
 "Bruce Colkoon is back. Hurry up if you want to 
 see him. I got my eye on him. Bring a warrant. Is 
 there any reward? 
 
 "STEVE RICKETTS, 
 "Town Constable." 
 
 Meredith caught the first train for Boston, 
 where, at his telegraphed request, two men 
 from the Bureau of Criminal Investigation 
 met him at the station. And they had a 
 story to tell. 
 
 On the preceding night there had been 
 another big jewel robbery, this time in one 
 of the Newtons. The home of a former 
 governor of the state had been ransacked, and 
 a small fortune in jewels had been taken 
 away about eighty-five thousand dollars 
 worth among other pieces being a pearl 
 necklace valued alone at forty thousand 
 dollars. Here, too, had been found a mocking 
 little note: 
 
 "This closes my work in this vicinity. I wish to 
 thank the Police Department, and Mr. Meredith of 
 
 New York, for their stupidity. 
 
 "THE HAWK." 
 
 "This robbery was precisely like the others, 
 save in one particular," one of the Boston 
 detectives informed Meredith. "Up to this
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 249 
 
 time we have been working in the dark; now 
 we have a clue. A footman in the house 
 heard a noise about two o'clock, and quietly 
 went to investigate, taking a revolver with 
 him. He stopped at the door of a room where 
 the noise seemed to be, and fired three shots 
 into it, in the dark. Somebody ran away. 
 He thinks only one man, but is not at all 
 certain, so there may have been two. Any- 
 way, when the lights were turned on, and an 
 investigation made, this was found." 
 
 He produced a photograph from his pocket 
 and handed it to Meredith. It was an 
 enlarged picture of a thumbprint, remarkably 
 clear as to detail, and possessed of marked 
 individual characteristics. Meredith's eyes 
 opened wide as he stared at it. 
 
 "It's certain that one of the shots took 
 effect, ' ' the Boston detective went on. " This 
 thumbprint was found, outlined in blood, on 
 the edge of a sheet of paper that lay on the 
 desk. The original is at headquarters. Also, 
 it is certain that if The Hawk was alone it 
 was he who was wounded, probably only 
 slightly, however, as he was able to get away. 
 If there were two men, of course it might 
 have been the other man who was wounded 
 this may even be his thumbprint, and not
 
 250 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 The Hawk's. But at least we have the 
 thumbprint, and it furnishes a clue that 
 can't be disputed. " He was silent a moment. 
 "To my mind, it seems that the search has 
 narrowed down to an individual whose thumb- 
 print corresponds with this, and who is 
 probably slightly wounded." 
 
 The reasoning seemed clear and lucid 
 enough, but Meredith didn't comment upon 
 it. 
 
 "I think," he said slowly, after a little, 
 "that I know the man. That's why I 
 telegraphed you. I have a warrant; I want 
 you to serve it." The heavy jaw of the 
 detective closed with a snap. "And," he 
 added grimly, "there won't be any difference 
 of opinion among the experts. I am an 
 expert myself in this Bertillon thing. " 
 
 Von Derp, in his lean, gray motor car, met 
 them at the little station in Satuit, and 
 Meredith introduced him to the Boston men. 
 
 "Please be good enough to inform them who 
 I am," von Derp requested, "because I 
 should like to ask you, and perhaps ask them, 
 a few questions." 
 
 "Mr. von Derp is of the Imperial Secret 
 Service of Germany," Meredith obliged. 
 "He, too, is at work on this case."
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 251 
 
 There was something awe-inspiring to the 
 Massachusetts sleuths in Meredith's casual 
 manner, in the words themselves. Suddenly 
 they knew that an abyss separated them from 
 this slender, good-looking, immaculate, 
 yellow-bearded, lemon-haired young man. 
 They were plain-clothes men; he was of the 
 Imperial Secret Service of Germany a 
 detective, it was true, but more than that! 
 They admired the mathematical precision 
 with which von Derp steered his car through 
 the tangle of vehicles into the open roadway. 
 
 "You've come to take Colquhoun?" von 
 Derp asked of Meredith, who sat beside him. 
 
 "We have!" Meredith was unanimous on 
 that point. 
 
 "He went into Boston on the last train," 
 von Derp went on to explain. "However, 
 I have no doubt he'll be back to-night. The 
 Pyramid is still in the Cove. " 
 
 "It's just as well," Meredith commented. 
 "I want to take a look over the Pyramid. I 
 believe you said there was a photograph 
 of?" 
 
 "The Countess of Salisbury's garter in the 
 drawer of a table in the cabin," von Derp 
 interrupted. "At least it was there." He 
 was thoughtfully silent for a moment. "Just
 
 252 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 what is this garter affair, anyway? 1 ' he 
 asked. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand 
 it?" 
 
 "Simple enough, that part of it," Meredith 
 explained. "I myself don't know the history 
 of the garter particularly, but I do know it 
 was in the British Museum for many years, 
 and was stolen a few months ago. Scotland 
 Yard secretly traced it to America where, 
 presumably, it passed into the hands of an 
 American millionaire, as various stolen 
 paintings and other artistic valuables have 
 done. Dexter of Scotland Yard was sent 
 over here to find the particular millionaire 
 who has it, with the intention of prosecuting 
 him as an example to other millionaires who 
 have bought, and still hold, articles of the 
 sort that they know to have been stolen. 
 Old Daddy Heinz, who was murdered the 
 other day in New York, presumably by The 
 Hawk, seems to have conducted a sort of 
 clearing house for stuff of this sort. It was 
 there we found a trace of The Hawk, after we 
 had thought him dead; in my own mind, I 
 connected him with the theft of Helen 
 Hamilton's jewels, and possibly of complicity 
 in the disappearance of the garter. For that 
 reason Dexter came here with me. He is
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 253 
 
 now convinced, however, that Colquhoun 
 is not The Hawk, and has gone back to New 
 York to start all over." 
 
 Von Derp listened attentively, and at the 
 end he nodded understandingly, and smiled. 
 
 "But you want The Hawk for his other 
 other irregularities?" he questioned. 
 
 "I do," Meredith nodded grimly. "I 
 have been afraid to make a mistake and 
 take Colquhoun. Now I am not. I'll lock 
 him up, and establish his identity at leisure. 
 He's too slippery to leave around loose far 
 too clever to take chances with. This search 
 has gone on for years. I'd rather put my 
 hands on him now than to have five years 
 added to my life!" 
 
 The car whisked into the causeway leading 
 to Second Cliff, and von Derp glanced around 
 curiously into the set face of the detective. 
 
 "It seems to be something of a personal 
 matter with you?" he remarked, casually. 
 
 " It is a personal matter with me, " Meredith 
 admitted. "He's made a monkey of me! 
 Believe me, he won't do it again!" 
 
 "Are you sure?" von Derp questioned, with 
 a slight smile. "You yourself say he is a 
 clever man!" 
 
 "He won't do it again!"
 
 254 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 The motor car swung past the entrance to 
 Stepping Stones, around to the right and 
 along the winding road to Peggotty Beach. 
 Cicely, from her window, saw it, and there 
 was a hideous tightening of her heartstrings as 
 she recognized Meredith ! She knew now what 
 would come ! Meredith and his men alighted. 
 
 "Come along," he said to von Derp. 
 "You may find something to interest you." 
 
 Old Cap'n Barry peered around the corner 
 of a moss shanty where he was basking in 
 the sun, then arose and approached Meredith's 
 party. They were just stepping into a dory 
 when he came up. 
 
 "Ain't nobody on the Pyramid," he 
 volunteered. 
 
 "We know it," said Meredith, brusquely. 
 
 " The feller went into town. Couple o' men 
 here about an hour ago asking for him two 
 Dago-looking chaps." 
 
 "Who were they?" There was quick 
 interest in Meredith's manner. 
 
 "Dunno. Never seed 'em before. They 
 rowed out to the la'nch, and one of 'em went 
 aboard and stayed about fifteen minutes, 
 then they both came ashore and went away. 
 I told 'em the feller'd be back at midnight, 
 but they didn't wait."
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 255 
 
 There was an expression of bewilderment 
 on Meredith's face. He questioned von 
 Derp with his eyes; and von Derp shook 
 his head. Had Colquhoun escaped, after all? 
 Again the detective turned to Cap'n Barry. 
 
 "Did the two men take anything off the 
 Pyramid?" he questioned. 
 
 "Not that I seed." 
 
 "What did they look like?" 
 
 "Oh, " and the old man fished around in his 
 mind, "they looked like a couple o' dagos all 
 dolled up, like this feller," and he indicated 
 von Derp. "I mean, they looked sorter 
 furrin, like he does." 
 
 The Pyramid lay, perhaps, a hundred yards 
 out. In sheer impatience Meredith himself 
 took an oar, and the dory in which the four 
 men sat shot forward. Once it had been 
 made fast to the Pyramid, Meredith scrambled 
 on deck, and the other three men followed him. 
 
 In this new search there was none of the 
 exquisite care which had characterized the 
 search von Derp had made. Three pairs 
 of hands, less gifted than his own, pulled and 
 hauled and tumbled and tousled the interior 
 of the cabin regardless; but the search was 
 no less thorough. Those things which von 
 Derp had been so careful to replace precisely
 
 256 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 as he had found them went helter-skelter 
 now the while von Derp himself stood looking 
 on, idly smoking. 
 
 At last came a moment when every locker, 
 every drawer, every cupboard stood wide 
 open, and the reward had been nothing! 
 Even the photograph of the Countess of 
 Salisbury's garter was gone now. Silently 
 the three detectives stared at each other. 
 One of the Boston men, Curtis by name, 
 seemed to listen for an instant, then he 
 turned in his tracks, and his eyes swept the 
 cabin, top and bottom, fore and aft. 
 
 "Don't you hear a clock ticking?" he 
 asked, curiously. "Hanged if I see one!" 
 
 As if moved by one will the three other men 
 scanned the cabin as he had done. Cer- 
 tainly there was no clock in sight, and certainly 
 the search had revealed none. All listened 
 tensely for an instant. 
 
 "I don't hear anything," remarked von 
 Derp, "except the ripple of the water against 
 the side of the boat. " 
 
 "It isn't a clock we want, anyway," 
 Meredith said abruptly. "I wanted any 
 one thing in the world to connect Colquhoun 
 with The Hawk and I haven't found it." 
 
 Still Curtis stood listening tensely. Hang
 
 Page 260 
 
 "The next thing Meredith remembered, he was in icy cold water, 
 swimming"
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 257 
 
 it, it was a clock! He knew a clock- tick 
 when he heard it! It was of no consequence; 
 it merely annoyed him. Then suddenly it 
 occurred to him that it might be a clock up 
 beside the steering wheel outside, and he 
 vanished through the companionway. 
 
 An instant later came a little cry from the 
 cabin a guttural exclamation of satisfaction 
 and he ran in. Meredith had drawn the 
 photograph of the thumbprint from his 
 pocket, and was showing it to von Derp. 
 
 "That thumbprint was left by The Hawk 
 last night in the Newton robbery," he was 
 explaining, excitedly. "We have here on 
 the white woodwork of the Pyramid that 
 identical thumbprint. Examine it yourself!" 
 
 Von Derp did examine it with a curious 
 surprised expression on his face. For a long 
 time he scrutinized it, comparing every line 
 of it with the photograph. When he spoke 
 there was an air of finality, almost triumph, 
 in his manner. 
 
 "I congratulate you, gentlemen," he said 
 in that odd, precise little manner of his. 
 "Your problem is solved; identity is proved. 
 The thumbprint in the photograph and this 
 original are identical. It will be necessary, 
 of course, to photograoh it. At Stepping 
 
 17
 
 258 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 Stones I have a splendid camera. Perhaps, 
 Meredith, one of your men will run up and 
 get it?" 
 
 "Now, Mr. Bruce Colquhoun," and Detec- 
 tive Meredith permitted himself to gloat, 
 "now, Mr. Bruce Colquhoun, come to 
 me!" 
 
 Half an hour later, after the photograph 
 had been made and the searching party was 
 preparing to leave the boat, Curtis turned for 
 one final squint about the cabin, still with 
 that puzzled, listening expression on his 
 face. 
 
 "I'll bet eight dollars," he remarked to 
 the world at large, "that that is a clock 
 ticking!" 
 
 Nobody took him up. 
 
 'Twas past midnight, and the full moon, 
 riding high, drenched the world in a silver 
 sheen. Bruce Colquhoun came out of the 
 winding roadway upon the beach; Meredith, 
 von Derp, and the two Boston men, patiently 
 waiting in the shadow of a bathhouse, saw 
 him cross the sandy stretch, slide a dory 
 down to the water, and step into it. Just 
 as he pushed off they broke cover, and 
 came running across the beach toward him.
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 259 
 
 Colquhoun saw them coming, and rowed 
 rapidly. 
 
 Another dory lay near by. 
 
 "Put her in the water," Meredith com- 
 manded, angrily. "We shouldn't have let 
 him pass us. Hurry up. He's going to 
 run for it." 
 
 Already the small boat, with Bruce aboard, 
 was nosing the Pyramid, and as Meredith 
 looked he saw his quarry scramble nimbly 
 up her side and vanish down the compan- 
 ionway. An instant later a light in the cabin 
 flashed. 
 
 "Hurry!" Meredith shouted. "If he gets 
 away this time !" 
 
 The tide lapped at the bow of the second 
 dory, and she floated with four men crowded 
 aboard. The clock on the little white church 
 in the village boomed one! Meredith, revol- 
 ver in hand, stood at the bow of the dory, 
 prepared to leap for the Pyramid when she 
 came within reach. 
 
 And then then there before his eyes 
 came a great gushing flame from the placid 
 bosom of the ocean ; and with it a thunderous 
 crash under his very nose, and the sea seemed 
 to rise in a mass and envelop him. In one 
 fraction of a second he had seen the Pyramid
 
 260 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 leap clear of the water and turning, bow 
 down, plunge into it again. The next thing 
 Meredith remembered, he was in icy cold 
 water, swimming. Von Derp was here beside 
 him, and on the far side of the overturned 
 dory were the two Boston men. Gigantic 
 waves flattened out placidly. Where the 
 Pyramid had been there was nothing! 
 
 Ten minutes later von Derp and three 
 detectives, chilled to the bone, their teeth 
 chattering, were lined up along Peggotty 
 Beach, staring blankly at the murmuring 
 waters. 
 
 "Obviously, it was an explosion of some 
 sort," said von Derp. 
 
 "Sounded like dynamite to me," said one 
 of the Boston men. 
 
 Gasoline," remarked Curtis, tersely. 
 God!" The horror of the thing seemed to 
 strike him all at once. "He didn't have a 
 chance, did he? The Hawk, I mean." 
 
 "There," said Detective Meredith sol- 
 emnly, "there went the cleverest crook of 
 all time!" 
 
 It was an epitaph. 
 
 Aroused from horrid dreams by a dull, 
 thunderous crash, Cicely Quain arose and 
 
 44 
 
 it
 
 "I LOVE YOU!" 261 
 
 went to the window of her bedroom. Away 
 to the north Minot's Ledge lighthouse shot a 
 guiding message into the void. 
 
 "I love you!" Cicely trembled a little as 
 she read it. "I love you ! ' ' 
 
 Steadily, steadily, the flashes came to her; 
 and again: "I love you!"
 
 PART IV 
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK ? 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 BUFFERING strikes from the spirit of 
 
 youth that splendid assurance which 
 makes of youth the charming thing it is. 
 It was so in the case of Cicely Quain, or 
 Helen Hamilton as she became again now that 
 the avalanche of publicity had run its course, 
 and she was back in New York. The chasten- 
 ing rod of experience had brought a pathetic 
 little droop to the rebellious mouth, had 
 softened the defiant fire in the blue, blue 
 eyes; and the ruddy glow of her cheeks had 
 paled to a tender peach-blush. All this, 
 merely the reflection of some great change 
 wrought within, had etherealized her, trans- 
 figured her, made her into that sweetest of 
 God's creatures a woman! The shackles 
 which had bound her to willfulness were 
 severed; there had come even a trace of 
 humility into her manner, and surely here 
 was a miracle! 
 
 Mercifully the newspaper accounts of the 
 destruction of the Pyramid had been brief, 
 
 262
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 263 
 
 and inaccurate, and inadequate. They re- 
 cited baldly that Bruce Colquhoun, who 
 was wanted by the police for burglary, had 
 been killed by an explosion aboard a motor 
 boat, whither he had fled to escape arrest, 
 and had gone down in the wreck of the boat. 
 Either the explosion had been due to an 
 accident, or he had purposely blown up the 
 Pyramid with the gasoline aboard to avoid 
 a long term in prison. There had been no 
 effort to raise the boat, and would be none; 
 therefore Colquhoun's body had not been 
 recovered. 
 
 This was the outward aspect of the affair. 
 Helen knew how false it was, knew it deep 
 in her aching heart. But what was the truth? 
 Bruce Colquhoun had feared some threatening 
 unknown thing, she knew he had told her 
 so, but in riddles, and she had taunted him 
 for his confidence. "I am under sentence 
 of death," he had said in explanation of his 
 spectacular escape from the watchful police. 
 " My executioners were at hand! " And they 
 had found him at last! But who were his 
 executioners? Why had his death been neces- 
 sary? Why had he been unable to explain? 
 
 The inadequate newspaper dispatches had 
 contained no reference to the curious mystery
 
 264 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 which had enveloped this masterful, com- 
 pelling, arrogant young man there had not 
 been even a hint to the world that he was 
 supposed to be The Hawk, and Helen was 
 grateful for it. All at once she knew she 
 never had believed that he was The Hawk! 
 She had faith in him, now that he was 
 dead ; he had bought back her faith with his 
 life ! And more than her faith her love ! She 
 didn't deny it even to herself! 
 
 Von Derp had quietly told Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton what had happened how Colquhoun, 
 trapped in the cabin of the Pyramid, must 
 have been instantly killed by the explosion 
 which sent the boat to the bottom, and the 
 mother had deemed it best to tell the story 
 to Helen. The girl had shed no tears, in 
 spite of the sudden agony which overwhelmed 
 her; there had been little to show her emotion 
 beyond the swift blanching of her cheeks. 
 She had doubted him! And he had tried 
 to make her understand. She did under- 
 stand now that it was too late too late! 
 
 Born of the dumb grief which threatened 
 to crush her came the thought that she must 
 make some reparation to to his memory. 
 The ring he had given her! "Whosoever 
 hath that ring shall love me forever." She
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 265 
 
 would find it and wear it again! That last 
 day, when she returned it to him, he had 
 tossed it into a little jungle of wild roses and 
 elder bushes and tangled vines; and she 
 searched there for hours. Success rewarded 
 her efforts at last; she appeared before her 
 mother with hands torn and bleeding. 
 
 "Why, my dear!" Mrs. Hamilton had 
 exclaimed. ''Whatever is the matter with 
 your?" 
 
 "He would have liked for me to wear his 
 ring, " Helen had said, simply. " I shall wear 
 it, as a token of my faith in him." 
 
 That had been all; Mrs. Hamilton merely 
 stared. And within the week, at Helen's 
 insistence, Stepping Stones had been closed, 
 and the Hamiltons had returned to New 
 York. There, her father, harassed almost 
 unto madness by his first losing fight in the 
 great financial game, heaped reproach upon 
 her. She bore it calmly. 
 
 "John Gaunt is ruining me," he stormed. 
 "It was in your power to stop him, and you 
 have refused. He is fond of that only son 
 of his in spite of all his bluster; and if there 
 had been a marriage between you if his 
 son had become my son-in-law family con- 
 siderations would have made him let up on
 
 266 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 me." He was silent a moment. "It may 
 not be too late now?" 
 
 "You mean if I should marry Skeets?" 
 Helen questioned. 
 
 "Yes," eagerly. 
 
 "But he won't marry me." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "He doesn't love me." 
 
 "Bah!"j 
 
 "And I don't love him." 
 
 1 ' Love ! ' ' The railroad magnate was sneer- 
 ing. "Are we a lot of children to be prating 
 always of love when my my future your 
 future your mother's future may depend 
 absolutely upon you? What does it matter 
 if he doesn't love you, and you don't love 
 him? Love! Is that all there is in the 
 world?" 
 
 "Love!" Helen breathed the word softly. 
 "Yes," she said, "that's all there is in the 
 world!" 
 
 That ended the interview. Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton went back to his fight, raging. He felt 
 that he had been betrayed, and by his 
 own daughter. Now was no time for her 
 sentimental whims! There were millions at 
 stake ! 
 
 It may have been intuitive consideration,
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 267 
 
 or it may have been some hidden motive 
 which had prevented von Derp from mention- 
 ing Bruce Colquhoun, even indirectly, to 
 Helen in those days of her tense grief. The 
 change in her was obvious, and upon the 
 return of the Hamiltons to New York he had 
 gracefully withdrawn from the household 
 and quartered himself at a downtown hotel. 
 Two or three times she had seen him; and 
 vaguely she was grateful for his failure to 
 hark back to the tragedy. 
 
 Came a day, however, when von Derp, 
 immaculate as ever, exquisitely precise in his 
 courtesy, had called at the Hamilton mansion 
 in The Bronx, and there in his odd ultra- 
 correct manner had poured out his heart to 
 the girl. He loved her, he had said; he had 
 loved her from the first time he had seen her. 
 Helen felt, as her mother had once felt, the 
 deep sincerity of his profession. For the first 
 time she was conscious of the actual man 
 behind the mask of convention; and she was 
 inclined to be gentle. 
 
 "I don't believe," she had said finally, 
 "that I shall every marry any one." 
 
 "In the beginning I understood that you 
 were engaged to Mr. Gaunt," von Derp 
 explained, "therefore I could not speak.
 
 268 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 My understanding must have been correct, 
 because when I telegraphed to your father 
 for permission to pay my my addresses, 
 he assured me that your hand was pledged. 
 But now I know that Mr. Gaunt, whatever 
 his interest in you may have been, is 
 interested elsewhere, and I have hoped 
 that" 
 
 "I don't believe," she repeated, "that I 
 shall ever marry any one." 
 
 Von Derp seemed lost in meditation for a 
 moment. Then: 
 
 "May I hope that if there comes a change 
 in your what shall I say? your viewpoint, 
 that I?" 
 
 "Mr. von Derp," Helen interrupted, "how 
 well did you know Mr. Colquhoun?" 
 
 The young man lifted his pale yellow brows 
 and opened his brown eyes wide. 
 
 "How well did I know him?" he repeated. 
 "As well as you did, perhaps, but " 
 
 "You, my mother, the police all those 
 who know most of this this strange affair 
 have taken it for granted, since Mr. Colqu- 
 houn's death, that he was The Hawk. I 
 am right in assuming that you believe it even 
 now, am I not?" 
 
 " I can hardly believe otherwise, " von Derp
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 269 
 
 confessed, with a deprecatory gesture of his 
 hands. "I doubt if you understand " 
 
 "After all," Helen ran on again, "I knew 
 Mr. Colquhoun better than any one else, I 
 think. I know, for instance, that he had 
 never a fear of the police, as people seem to 
 think he had; I know that his fear was of 
 something mysterious, some menacing, threat- 
 ening thing that had nothing to do with the 
 police. It was fear of that that Thing 
 that made it necessary for him to conceal his 
 identity. But he only feared death! He is 
 dead now dead, and in death forever iden- 
 tified with a notorious criminal. To an 
 extent he confided in me, believed in me. To 
 me it seems a duty to clear his name of the 
 shame which rests upon it. That can be 
 done by establishing his true identity; a 
 clever man can do that. Can you?" 
 
 For a minute perhaps von Derp stared at 
 her. She was sitting with her slim hands 
 clasped tightly between her knees, gazing 
 into nothingness. 
 
 "Nothing was further from my intention 
 than to precipitate a discussion of " von 
 Derp began, apologetically. 
 
 "I know, I know deep in my heart, that 
 Bruce Colquhoun and The Hawk were not
 
 270 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 the same," Helen continued slowly, "and a 
 clever man can prove it. By proving it he 
 can dissipate the ignominy which enshrouds 
 Bruce Colquhoun. Can you do it? Will 
 you do it for me?" She waited. "You 
 say you love me. Do you love me well 
 enough to clear another man a dead man 
 of the hideous charges that stand against 
 him?" 
 
 Von Derp arose suddenly, the serenity of 
 his face disturbed by some powerful emotion 
 within. 
 
 "I do," he declared abruptly, violently. 
 "I love you well enough to do anything in 
 this world for you anything!" Helen 
 glanced up, a little astonished at his vehe- 
 mence; his gaze was burning into her 
 own. "And if I do clear Bruce Colquhoun's 
 memory of the shame that rests upon it if 
 I do?" 
 
 "I shall be grateful," Helen said simply. 
 
 "I shall demand more than gratitude," 
 von Derp warned her. "If it is possible for 
 the thing to be done I will do it. And then 
 when I have done it?" He was questioning 
 her with his eyes. "I could make you very 
 happy. May I, then, ask you if may I 
 ask you the question I have just asked?"
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 271 
 
 There was almost a promise in Helen's 
 clear blue eyes as she raised them to his. 
 
 "When the thing is done, " she said slowly, 
 " I shall not forget the debt I owe. " 
 
 "But," and von Derp's shapely hands 
 were writhing, "that is not sufficient. If I 
 clear Bruce Colquhoun's name of " 
 
 "Come back when you have done it. " 
 
 Motionless, von Derp stood for a long time 
 with his gaze fixed upon her eagerly, tensely. 
 There was something curiously diaphanous, 
 effulgent even, in the way the light struck her 
 hair. Bending, he pressed his lips to her 
 marble-cold hand, and an instant later he 
 was gone.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 r I "HERE was an inquiring uplift of Brokaw 
 JL Hamilton's brows as the door of his 
 study opened and August von Derp entered. 
 The railroad magnate looked him over 
 critically, curiously; he didn't recall that he 
 had ever seen an individual more perfectly 
 groomed. The lemon-colored hair had just 
 enough wave in it, the yellow beard was of 
 just the proper length and was pointed math- 
 ematically; even the dinner dress von Derp 
 wore looked as if it had been fitted to him by 
 geometrical rules. 
 
 "May I have ten minutes five minutes?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Certainly," the millionaire assented. 
 "Sit down." 
 
 " Thanks. And you don't mind if I smoke? " 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton settled back in his chair, 
 and watched von Derp select and light a 
 cigarette. At last : 
 
 "You will remember, Mr. Hamilton," the 
 young man began without further prelimi- 
 nary, "that a short time since I telegraphed 
 you from Satuit, asking your permission to 
 
 272
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 273 
 
 pay my addresses to your daughter? You 
 will also remember that you answered my 
 telegram with the statement that your daugh- 
 ter's hand was pledged to another?" 
 
 "I remember, yes." 
 
 "That was true at that time but it is 
 not true to-day," von Derp continued pre- 
 cisely. "Mr. Gaunt I am speaking with 
 his permission is about to announce his 
 engagement to a Miss Dale of Satuit. I 
 hope, this being the case, that I may repeat 
 my request with the assurance that your 
 answer this time will be more favorable?" 
 
 So there had been a rupture of some sort 
 between Helen and Skeets! In this Brokaw 
 Hamilton discovered the mystery behind 
 Helen's refusal to marry Skeets even even to 
 stop John Gaunt's merciless warfare upon 
 himself; even to hold the Hamilton millions 
 intact. He nodded grimly. 
 
 "I will say, too," von Derp added, "that 
 your daughter has intimated that, under 
 certain conditions, my attentions to her 
 would not be distasteful. " 
 
 "Those conditions being?" 
 
 "I am not at liberty to state them," von 
 Derp replied courteously. "She is not, of 
 course, unaware of my devotion to her. " 
 
 13
 
 274 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 For a long time the railroad magnate pon- 
 dered it with clouded brow, oblivious of the 
 young man who was waiting patiently for 
 his answer. The longer he considered the 
 situation the less chance von Derp had for 
 the answer he wanted. After all, there had 
 merely been some silly quarrel between Skeets 
 and Helen; and lovers' quarrels are easily 
 adjusted. Immediate adjustment of this 
 particular quarrel might mean a match be- 
 tween Skeets and Helen after all; and that 
 would mean Brokaw Hamilton smiled, 
 confidently. 
 
 "Even under the conditions you state," 
 he said slowly, "I will have to disappoint 
 you." Came a sudden, steely glitter into 
 his eyes. "I hope you won't ask for my 
 reasons, because I would be compelled to 
 refuse them." 
 
 There was a shade of chagrin in von 
 Derp's hitherto placid face. He flipped the 
 ashes from his cigarette, then arose abruptly. 
 When he spoke, however, his voice was 
 still casual, precise, unemotional. 
 
 "You won't mind if I lock the door?" he 
 questioned, as he turned the key. 
 
 The click of the lock startled Brokaw 
 Hamilton he couldn't have explained why.
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 275 
 
 He straightened up in his chair, vaguely 
 conscious of a menace in the velvety calm of 
 the other. 
 
 "Why is it necessary to lock the door?" 
 he demanded, curtly. 
 
 "Because," von Derp answered, "I may 
 say some things that you you would not 
 like to have overheard. " 
 
 "But there's nothing further to be said 
 about " 
 
 "Pardon me, there is much to be said." 
 Von Derp returned to his chair. "Your 
 daughter has placed me under an obligation 
 to to do a certain thing. Before I proceed 
 it is necessary that you and I have a complete 
 understanding. You have played a promi- 
 nent part in the " 
 
 ' ' The interview is ended. ' ' Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton arose angrily. "There is nothing further 
 to be said." 
 
 Von Derp leaned back in his chair, calmly 
 insolent. 
 
 "I dare say, Mr. Hamilton," he re- 
 marked, "that you have never discovered 
 that the letter of introduction I brought 
 you from a business associate of yours in 
 Amsterdam one Wilhelm von Derp was a 
 forgery?"
 
 276 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "A forgery?" It came explosively, in- 
 credulously. 
 
 "A forgery," von Derp repeated. "I am 
 not Wilhelm von Derp's son as a matter 
 of fact, I don't know if he has a son. And 
 von Derp is not my name. " 
 
 After one inarticulate burst of astonish- 
 ment, the railroad magnate stood motionless, 
 glaring down at his caller. 
 
 "I didn't imagine you would take the 
 trouble to make inquiries about me," von 
 Derp went on evenly, "and I was correct 
 in my surmise. It is a common American 
 fault. It remained for me to confess that 
 I am" 
 
 "An impostor!" exclaimed Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 "That is the word, yes, an impostor," the 
 young man agreed calmly. "If you'll sit 
 down a moment " 
 
 "An impostor!" The millionaire repeated 
 the phrase violently. "An impostor and a 
 forger!" 
 
 "Right," said von Derp. "If you'll sit 
 down " 
 
 "If you're not von Derp's son, then who 
 are you?" 
 
 ' ' We are coming to that. Please sit down. " 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton strode the length of the
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 277 
 
 study twice; von Derp, still smoking, watched 
 him imperturbably, with a little cynical 
 uplift of his lips. 
 
 "I'll expose you, of course," Mr. Hamilton 
 declared hotly. "Impositions of that sort 
 and forgery are crimes in " 
 
 "And you will not expose me." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Oh, there are several reasons, the first 
 being that you would bring another flood of 
 obnoxious publicity about you and your 
 family, and they would have to run away 
 from it again, and " 
 
 "Bah! That feature would have the least 
 consideration of " 
 
 "Well, then, there are other reasons why 
 you won't expose me, as you express it," 
 von Derp mocked. "For instance, I," his 
 whole manner changed; the polish sloughed 
 off, "I am one of the two men living who 
 know that you are the American millionaire 
 now being sought by Scotland Yard in con- 
 nection with the theft of the Countess of 
 Salisbury's garter from the British Museum; 
 and, further, I am the only man living who 
 knows that old Daddy Heinz was your agent 
 in that theft, and therefore, since the police 
 were hot after you, it was to your advantage
 
 2 78 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 to get rid of him; and I am the only man 
 living who knows that you were the last person 
 with him on the night he was murdered! Still 
 further, I am the only man living who knows 
 that you have in your possession at this moment 
 a certain diamond which was taken out of the 
 garter!" He stopped. "Now, will you sit 
 down?" 
 
 Stricken mute, with some hideous growing 
 terror deep in his eyes, the millionaire listened 
 to the end, then went reeling away from von 
 Derp as if from a blow. The young man 
 smiled unpleasantly as his host dropped back 
 weakly into the desk chair. 
 
 "Not murder, no," Brokaw Hamilton 
 denied hoarsely. "I didn't kill him!" 
 
 "I can prove that you did!" 
 
 " 'Twas some one else who shot him," the 
 words rushed out almost incoherently from 
 pallid lips, "some one who came in unex- 
 pectedly. I was in a back room, waiting " 
 
 "So you were there that night!" There 
 was triumphant emphasis in von Derp's 
 tone. "I thought I could not have been 
 mistaken. " 
 
 In the grip of a ghastly fear that left him 
 dead white the railroad magnate staggered 
 to his feet and leaned wearily against a window
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 279 
 
 sill, fighting for a self-possession that had 
 never before deserted him. The young man, 
 placidly smoking, waited for him to speak. 
 
 "I I if you accuse me," the words 
 came falteringly at last, "I shall tell the 
 truth! I am innocent!" 
 
 "I have no intention of accusing you," 
 von Derp assured him with a languid gesture. 
 " I am merely trying to make you understand 
 why my claims to the hand of your daughter 
 are not to be summarily dismissed. Also, 
 it will seem very curious for you to tell the 
 truth, as you express it, at this late date. " 
 
 For the first time in his life Brokaw Hamil- 
 ton had come face to face with terror. He 
 shook as with an ague; panic was upon him. 
 The imperturbability of his accuser crushed 
 the last ounce of resistance out of nerves 
 already racked by the financial conflict with 
 John Gaunt. Came now no denial remained 
 only curiosity. 
 
 "In the name of God, who are you?" 
 Brokaw Hamilton now demanded hollowly. 
 " What are you? How do you know these 
 things? How did you learn them?" 
 
 "Who am I?" von Derp mused. "The 
 name you know me by is sufficient. What am 
 I? I have the honor to be a special agent
 
 2 8o MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 of the Imperial Secret Service of Germany. 
 How have I learned all this? It is my busi- 
 ness to know things." 
 
 ' ' Germany? ' ' in bewilderment. ' ' I thought 
 England Scotland Yard men " 
 
 "My knowledge of your affairs of the 
 affair of the Countess of Salisbury's garter 
 is purely accidental," von Derp explained, 
 pleasantly. "Originally I came to this coun- 
 try to search for certain of the crown jewels of 
 Germany which disappeared a few months 
 ago. In my investigations I stumbled upon 
 the fact that you were implicated in the garter 
 affair it was a treasure to add to your art 
 collection. It occurred to me that a man who 
 would be interested in that affair might be 
 interested in other art treasures specifically, 
 those jewels which belong to the German 
 crown. So my interest in you was aroused; 
 I found it necessary to reach you socially, 
 to be close to you so I forged the letter of 
 introduction from a man whom, I learned, 
 was a business associate of yours in Amster- 
 dam. You know the remainder of that." 
 
 "Then, as I understand it, you have no 
 direct interest in " A gleam of hope 
 lighted the millionaire's pallid face. 
 
 "The garter?" von Derp [finished. "Not
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 281 
 
 the slightest. It merely happens that I 
 discovered your your complicity in that 
 affair, and now that Daddy Heinz is dead 
 I am the only man living, except your attor- 
 ney, who is aware of it. I may add that I 
 know the jewels I seek are not in your posses- 
 sion and never have been." 
 
 "Nor is the garter in my possession, now," 
 the millionaire supplemented. 
 
 "I know that, too." 
 
 "Perhaps you know who has it?" 
 
 "And I know that. The garter is now in 
 the possession of a notorious criminal known 
 as The Hawk." 
 
 Fell a long silence. Von Derp lighted 
 another cigarette and amused himself by 
 blowing precise little ringlets of smoke into 
 the air. Slowly the color came again to 
 Brokaw Hamilton's face, and with it some of 
 that self-possession which had deserted him 
 utterly at the first mention of those things 
 which he had imagined unknown to any man 
 save himself. 
 
 "Knowing all that you do, " fear was still 
 tugging at his heart, "what do you intend 
 doing?" 
 
 "I?" Von Derp seemed a little surprised. 
 "Nothing. These things are none of my
 
 282 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 affair. I mentioned them only to convince 
 you that it would not be wise to expose me, 
 as you express it, because my incognito is 
 necessary; also to impress upon you the 
 desirability of giving due consideration to 
 my request for permission to pay my addresses 
 to your daughter. I come of one of the best 
 families of Germany, a family of position 
 and wealth equal to your own. I am in the 
 Imperial Secret Service because it amuses 
 me that's all." 
 
 "I am to understand then that you are 
 threatening me? You demand my daughter's 
 hand as the price of your silence?" 
 
 "That is just as you look at it," was the 
 reply. " I hope before you give me a definite 
 answer that you will bear in mind the fact 
 that / can prove that you killed Daddy Heinz!" 
 
 "There you involve moral obligations. 
 If you can prove that, why don't you deliver 
 me over to the police?" There was no 
 answer. "What is the moral attitude of a 
 man who knows that another is guilty of 
 murder and refuses to surrender him in con- 
 sideration of a price in this case, my daugh- 
 ter's hand?" 
 
 "It is not unlike the moral attitude of a 
 man who, possessed of enormous wealth,
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 283 
 
 connives at the theft of an art treasure he 
 is unable to buy connives at the theft and 
 conspires to conceal it." 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton had never thought of 
 it in just that way; the freshness of the 
 viewpoint startled him a little. 
 
 "I am innocent of the murder of Daddy 
 Heinz you should know I am incapable 
 of it." There was a deadly calm in the rail- 
 road magnate's manner now. "Just how 
 would you proceed to convict an innocent 
 man of such a crime?" 
 
 " Let's go back a bit, " suggested von Derp, 
 obligingly, and his shallow eyes narrowed 
 slightly. "Let's go back to the night young 
 Mr. Gaunt was arrested. Some hours pre- 
 ceding that you had been informed that 
 Scotland Yard men were in America looking 
 for that garter, that they suspected it was 
 in possession of some rich American art col- 
 lector who had actually participated in the 
 theft, else had secretly bought it, knowing 
 it to be stolen. Very well. You were either 
 conscience stricken or afraid, so after consul- 
 tation with your lawyer, Winthrop Power, 
 you planned to return the garter to the police. 
 The scheme was to place the garter in a vacant 
 house where the police would find it with no
 
 284 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 clue as to how it got there. That was to 
 end your connection with the affair. You 
 would have made restitution. Am I right 
 so far?" 
 
 The millionaire didn't answer; he was fas- 
 cinated by this clear, concise recital of things 
 that he had imagined were locked safely in 
 his own brain. 
 
 "I am right." Von Derp answered his own 
 question. "You and Mr. Power went to 
 that vacant house in his automobile Number 
 1234 and placed the garter on the mantel 
 in a ground-floor room. This done, Mr. 
 Power telephoned to the nearest police 
 station to say where the garter would be 
 found. Already Mr. Dexter, of Scotland 
 Yard, had sent out broadcast to the police 
 a description of the garter, so they made a 
 rush for it. Somehow, ridiculously enough, 
 young Mr. Gaunt was entangled, but what 
 I have said covers your actual participation 
 in the garter affair. And now we come to 
 the murder of old Daddy Heinz." 
 
 Brokaw Hamilton shuddered a little as 
 von Derp paused and thoughtfully poked 
 his finger through a smoke ring. 
 
 "How I learned all this is immaterial," 
 he continued after a moment. "I did learn
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 285 
 
 it. So when you called at the house in West 
 Thirtieth Street to see Daddy Heinz I was 
 in reach always, you will bear in mind, with 
 an eye to locating the jewels I am seeking. 
 I was within hearing distance when the three 
 shots that killed the old man were fired; 
 you were the only other person in that house. 
 You" 
 
 "There was another man there," Hamilton 
 broke in quickly. "I have explained " 
 
 "Who was he?" von Derp flashed. 
 "Where is he? Can you say, even, what he 
 looked like?" 
 
 "I can swear that only one person left 
 that house after the shots were fired," von 
 Derp said slowly, "and that you were that 
 person! I can swear to that because I saw 
 you! So, you see, we have a motive for 
 murder, exclusive opportunity, and now 
 if further proof is needed you have in 
 your possession at this moment one of the 
 diamonds out of the garter a single stone 
 that had found its way back to Daddy 
 Heinz. That's all." He stopped abruptly 
 and arose. Instantly he became again the 
 courteous, mathematically precise individual 
 who had entered the room half an hour 
 before. "I have the honor," he said, "to
 
 286 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 ask your permission to pay my addresses 
 to your daughter. " 
 
 "No!" The single word came violently; 
 again Brokaw Hamilton had gone deathly 
 white. 
 
 "Don't be hasty, please. Take time, if 
 you like, and think it over." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Always remembering that / can prove 
 that you killed Daddy Heinz? 11 
 
 "No! That is final." 
 
 For half a minute von Derp remained 
 standing, searching the other's face for a 
 sign of weakness. 
 
 "Very well," he said at last. He dropped 
 down into his chair and drew the desk tele- 
 phone toward him. "Give me the nearest 
 police station quick ! " 
 
 No man may know the torturing thoughts 
 that swept in a flood through the millionaire's 
 mind; no man may judge his acts, or the 
 motives that prompted those acts. 
 
 "Hello!" Von Derp was talking. "Who 
 is this? The police station? Just a mo- 
 ment, please!" He glanced up at Brokaw 
 Hamilton. 
 
 "I I think I will take time to to think 
 it over," the millionaire was saying. His
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 287 
 
 face was haggard. "A week perhaps? I 
 I don' t know " 
 
 Von Derp nodded; then into the trans- 
 mitter: 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he apologized. 
 "There's a mistake in the number. I'm 
 sorry." 
 
 Vaguely Brokaw Hamilton was conscious 
 of a clatter as the receiver was returned to 
 the hook. And then he seemed to be alone ! 
 Von Derp, in the drawing room, was laughing 
 lightly at some trivial anecdote Mrs. Hamilton 
 was telling.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 and effect are as widely separated 
 as the poles. Toss a stone into a 
 millpond and the ripples arising therefrom 
 go scudding away to its remotest corners. 
 Tossed into the New York police department, 
 the mystery of my lady's garter sent ripples 
 to the uttermost ends of the earth. The 
 effect as a whole was as incongruous as it was 
 widespread, and as widespread as it was 
 apparently disassociated in its several units 
 from a series of inexplicable incidents which 
 transpired categorically in New York, the 
 center of agitation. Yet each effect could be 
 traced to a common cause. 
 
 For instance, in St. Petersburg the effect 
 was a hurried meeting of the Russian cabinet ; 
 in Rio Janeiro an Englishman put on false 
 whiskers; in Tokyo an American adopted 
 Japanese dress; in Washington, the British 
 ambassador lost a rubber at bridge; in Berlin, 
 Mynherr, the superintendent of the Imperial 
 Secret Service, received an odd cable dispatch ; 
 in Paterson, New Jersey, a jail was filled 
 with nihilists; in Boston, a detective's beans 
 grew cold because he was late for dinner; in 
 
 288
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 289 
 
 London, three Scotland Yard men developed 
 nervous headaches; in Satuit, Steve Ricketts, 
 town constable, cherished grave doubts as 
 to whether or not he would ever get 
 back eighty-five cents he had spent for a 
 telegram. In New York all sorts of things 
 happened. 
 
 As I have said, all these things were 
 tangibly, albeit tenuously, connected. The 
 Englishman in Rio Janeiro who put on false 
 whiskers was the individual who had stolen 
 the garter originally from the British Museum, 
 selling it later to Daddy Heinz ; the American 
 in Tokyo had been his accomplice in that 
 theft, and he adopted native dress as a 
 disguise; in Washington the British ambas- 
 sador had been directed by his government 
 to request this government to check news- 
 paper discussion of the garter affair until the 
 millionaire malefactor had been brought to 
 justice, and this unusual request upset him 
 so he lost his rubber; the cable dispatch to 
 Berlin had asked for a minute description of 
 the missing crown jewels, and was signed 
 Meredith; the detective's beans grew cold 
 in Boston because he was comparing two 
 thumbprints; the Scotland Yard men in 
 London developed headaches because of a 
 
 19
 
 2 9 o MY LADY'S GARTER , 
 
 stern rebuke from the foreign office for their 
 failure to recover the garter. 
 
 There were important consequences as a 
 result of the hurried cabinet meeting in St. 
 Petersburg first, a wholesale arrest of 
 nihilists some twoscore men and half a 
 dozen women gathered in from all parts of 
 the Russian empire; and as an echo of that, 
 fourteen nihilists were captured in Paterson, 
 New Jersey, by special agents. So the Czar 
 slept in peace because the backbone of the 
 greatest nihilistic machine in the world was 
 broken. 
 
 Now we come down to the things that were 
 happening in New York. Chronologically 
 they came after this fashion : 
 
 Detective Meredith received a telephone 
 message from a private suite of the Ritz- 
 Carlton. He was informed that the Russian 
 ambassador was desirous of seeing him im- 
 mediately, so Meredith hurried there. The 
 ambassador in person received him. 
 
 "Some few days since, Mr. Meredith,", 
 the diplomatist began, "while you were in 
 Satuit you received anonymously by mail 
 from Boston a roughly drawn floor plan of a 
 house with the words " he consulted his 
 notebook, " or, I should say, some figures
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 291 
 
 and one word: '21 Willow 7/3.' That is 
 correct?" 
 
 "Yes," Meredith assented in wonder. 
 
 "You made some investigation as a result 
 of that, I suppose?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "May I inquire the result of that investi- 
 gation?" the ambassador pursued. "I will 
 pledge myself to secrecy if you wish. " 
 
 "It isn't necessary," and the detective 
 shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing worth 
 while happened. There had been several 
 jewel robberies in Boston, all presumably the 
 work of one man a notorious criminal known 
 as The Hawk. There are several Willow 
 streets in the suburbs of Boston. Number 21 
 of one of these I found to be the home of a 
 wealthy family; and the 7/3 was obviously a. 
 date of some sort. Therefore on the night of 
 July 3, the family having been called away, I 
 took possession of the house, and waited." 
 
 " And what ?" 
 
 "Nothing. At least, there was no sign of 
 The Hawk. My men stationed outside must 
 have frightened him away, if indeed he 
 had contemplated a robbery there. Inci- 
 dentally, I made the acquaintance that night 
 of another man who was after The Hawk
 
 292 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 this being Mr. August von Derp of the Impe- 
 rial Secret Service of Germany. He waited 
 with us until dawn. It seems that some of 
 the crown jewels of Germany have disap- 
 peared, and he had reason to believe they 
 were in The Hawk's possession." 
 
 The ambassador smoked a vile Russian 
 cigarette down to the very dregs; Meredith 
 lighted a cigar in self-defense. 
 
 "You never knew who sent you the plan 
 of the house?" asked the diplomatist. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Von Derp sent it." 
 
 "Indeed?" in surprise. 
 
 "He had no authority to make an arrest, 
 and wanted me on hand if The Hawk should 
 appear." 
 
 " I see, " and the diplomatist smiled suavely. 
 "That is all, I think. I thank you." 
 
 Meredith swallowed a few questions that 
 he would have liked to have answered, for 
 instance: What business had the Russian 
 ambassador in all this? And how did he 
 happen to know so much about it? How- 
 ever, Meredith was growing used to finding 
 questions to which there seemed no answer, 
 so he let it go at that. 
 
 The next thing to happen in New York, 
 bearing on the mystery in hand, was the
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 293 
 
 sudden and complete collapse of Brokaw 
 Hamilton. Old John Gaunt, en route to 
 his office, picked up a morning paper to find 
 that his arch-enemy had gone down under the 
 strain of the great financial fight, and had 
 taken to his bed, desperately ill. 
 
 "Oh, hell!" said John Gaunt. 
 
 Half a dozen subordinates awaited him; 
 they were smiling, every one. With Brokaw 
 Hamilton ill and out of the game there was 
 nothing now to hinder the immediate accom- 
 plishment of John Gaunt 's designs on his 
 millions. Already the market was trembling, 
 industrials were panicky; it remained only 
 for the coal baron to go smashing through 
 at will. Under his immediate direction they 
 were to do the smashing. 
 
 John Gaunt came into his office like a 
 thunder cloud. The first thing he did was 
 to call up Brokaw Hamilton's home on the 
 telephone. 
 
 "How is Mr. Hamilton?" he demanded. 
 
 "Very ill, " came the reply. 
 
 "What's the matter with him?" 
 
 "A nervous breakdown, sir. Two physi- 
 cians remained with him all night." 
 
 "Unable to attend to business, I sup- 
 pose?"
 
 294 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir. The physicians say it may 
 be months before " 
 
 "All right, thanks. Tell him Mr. John 
 Gaunt inquired about his condition." He 
 hung up the receiver and turned to his sub- 
 ordinates. "The fight's all off, " he declared. 
 "There's no glory in licking a dead man. I 
 got about six millions out of him, anyway. 
 That'll hold me for a spell." He scribbled 
 some orders on a sheet of paper. "Get in 
 the market and stop it, ' ' he ordered. ' ' Believe 
 me, when Hamilton gets well again I'll take 
 his watch!" 
 
 The third thing to happen was some 
 strange metamorphosis in Helen. One after- 
 noon she dropped in to tea at the St. Regis, 
 alone. There was a drooping sadness about 
 the rosebud mouth, mute anguish in the blue, 
 blue eyes, a settled melancholy in her manner, 
 a pensive note in her voice. She remained 
 there until the limousine came up from down- 
 town with her mother and here was a new 
 Helen; the Helen of old, rosy cheeked, spark- 
 ling, buoyant. There was a spring in her 
 walk, and a laugh on her lips, and a flash 
 of that old defiant fire in the depths of the 
 blue, blue eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton stared at her, amazed.
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 295 
 
 Miracles of this sort were wrought only by 
 that greatest necromancer of them all Dan 
 Cupid. 
 
 "Heavens!" she soliloquized, "the child 
 falls in and out of love as a duck goes in and 
 out of water." Then aloud: "What is it, 
 my dear?" 
 
 In the seclusion of the limousine Helen 
 threw her vigorous young arms around her 
 mother, and squeezed her until she grunted. 
 
 "What is the matter?" Mrs. Hamilton 
 was alarmed. 
 
 "What do you think?" Helen demanded. 
 "Mr. von Derp asked me to marry him!" 
 
 "And," there was resignation in Mrs. 
 Hamilton's manner, "and are you so happy 
 because of that?" 
 
 "No," said Helen enigmatically, "I'm 
 happy in spite of it!" 
 
 Von Derp was at great concern as a result 
 of the next happening in the series. Osten- 
 sibly he called at the Hamilton home to 
 inquire after Mr. Hamilton; and once there 
 he took advantage of the situation to remain 
 to dinner. Helen fairly bubbled; he was 
 charmed. Keen delight alternated swiftly 
 in his face with some subtle thing which 
 seemed to be bewilderment.
 
 29 6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "What's the matter?" Helen asked curi- 
 ously at last. "You look as if you had been 
 sent for and couldn't go?" 
 
 "Nothing of consequence," he replied, in 
 that odd little way of his. "I had a sort 
 of shock this afternoon. I was in the grill 
 at the Knickerbocker, when I chanced to 
 look out into the lobby, and saw a man 
 whom," he was leaning forward, with his 
 eyes fixed tensely on hers, "whom I would 
 have sworn was Bruce Colquhoun!" 
 
 " Bruce Colquhoun ! " exclaimed Mrs. Ham- 
 ilton. 
 
 "You didn't see his face?" Helen asked, 
 quickly. 
 
 "No," was the reply. " 'Twas only a 
 glimpse. He was hurrying through. By the 
 time I reached the door he was gone. But 
 the impression was so strong that " 
 
 "Nonsense!" Helen reproved him flip- 
 pantly. "Bruce Colquhoun is dead." She 
 speared an olive with her fork. "You're 
 seeing things." 
 
 The heartlessness of the remark was trans- 
 parent. Mrs. Hamilton opened her beautiful 
 eyes to their widest; von Derp seemed more 
 puzzled than ever. And this was the girl 
 who had pledged him to clear Colquhoun's
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 297 
 
 name of ignominy! A strange chain of 
 thought ran through his mind. 
 
 "I may judge from your tone," he began 
 courteously, and again his shallow eyes were 
 fixed upon her, "that the obligation you 
 placed upon me, then, is of no no conse- 
 quence?" 
 
 "Not the slightest," Helen assured him, 
 with a dazzling smile. "I wouldn't worry 
 about it. I dare say Bruce Colquhoun was 
 The Hawk, after all!"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A^D last, came a happening so weird, so 
 fantastic, so bizarre, that Brokaw 
 Hamilton could hardly convince himself that 
 it was a reality. Surely this was the beginning 
 of madness. First was the torturing thought 
 it was just that and nothing else; and out 
 of that grew a keen, childlike interest which 
 kept him waiting tensely for developments, 
 as one does in a fairy story. 
 
 In his own room in his own home at dead 
 of night it happened. Pallid, and weak, and 
 nerve-racked he lay, staring with wide eyes 
 into the darkness. His physicians had gone; 
 his nurse in an adjoining room had dropped 
 off to sleep. Without having heard a sound, 
 the financier became suddenly aware of the 
 fact that there was some one else in the room. 
 His nurse, perhaps; she had crept in silent- 
 shod, to see if he was all right. 
 
 "Who's there? "he asked. 
 
 Instantly he was bathed in light from an 
 electric flash. It dazzled him. He raised 
 his hands to shield his eyes. Simultaneously 
 he discovered that there was a nasty looking 
 
 298
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 299 
 
 revolver beside the light; it was pointed 
 directly at his breast. 
 
 "Now don't call any one, and don't move, " 
 came a warning from the pall behind the 
 light. "You may put your hands down." 
 
 Obediently the millionaire lowered them. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked. 
 
 "I am The Hawk!" 
 
 It was a simple introduction, but an effec- 
 tive one. There was almost a touch of pride 
 in the intruder's tone. Brokaw Hamilton for- 
 got that he was ill, and sat up straight in bed. 
 
 "The Hawk!" he repeated. 
 
 "Not so loud, please, " came the command. 
 "Don't forget that the nurse is asleep in the 
 next room, and we wouldn't care to disturb 
 her." 
 
 "What do you want?" Vainly the finan- 
 cier tried to pierce the darkness beyond the 
 glare of the flash. 
 
 "I had an impression that you'd be lonely, 
 and I dropped in for a few minutes' conver- 
 sation," was the cheerful response. "You 
 won't mind if I lock the door into the nurse's 
 room, will you? And the door into the hall? 
 Then you may turn on your night light, and 
 we'll be cozy." 
 
 Fascinated, the financier watched his visitor
 
 300 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 as he silently turned the keys in the locks. 
 
 "Now," said The Hawk, "you may turn 
 on the light beside your bed." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton's hand trembled with eager- 
 ness as he reached for the button. He was 
 overwhelmed with curiosity to see this man 
 face to face. But he didn't. The Hawk was 
 masked. A black hood was drawn down over 
 his head to his shoulders; a pair of pleasant 
 brown eyes looked out through a narrow slit. 
 He drew up a chair and sat down. 
 
 "If you'll just remember now that I have 
 this revolver," he remarked, "we'll get along 
 nicely. Nothing's going to happen. I'm 
 here looking for information. " 
 
 "Information?" the sick man repeated, 
 dully. 
 
 "You got me," said The Hawk tersely. 
 His voice was rather agreeable, Mr. Hamilton 
 thought; confident, good-natured, vibrant 
 with cheeriness. "You know," The Hawk 
 went on, "if I'm ever taken not that I ever 
 expect to be, but if I am I'll find myself 
 in some pickle, believe me, concerning one 
 little thing. That's why I am here. " 
 
 "What are you talking about?" 
 
 "Coming down to brass tacks, Mr. Hamil- 
 ton," said The Hawk, "did you, or did you
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 301 
 
 not, kill old Daddy Heinz?" He paused. 
 "I know it's a personal question, but I must 
 know the answer. " 
 
 Yes, it was madness. The financier was 
 convinced now. Suddenly it seemed that 
 everybody in the world knew he had been in 
 the house the night Daddy Heinz was killed! 
 Instinctively he was on the defensive. 
 
 "Why do you ask me that?" he demanded 
 instantly. 
 
 "You know, " The Hawk went on in cheer- 
 ful explanation, "I was in the house the night 
 Daddy Heinz was killed; and there's a 
 warrant out against me for his murder. Now 
 / didn't kill him, but I know you were in that 
 house because I saw you. I heard the shots; 
 I ran to the top of the stairs, and saw you 
 passing along the hallway with a revolver 
 in your hand. Also, I saw you leaning over 
 the body. Then I saw you pick up some- 
 thing I think perhaps it was a diamond, and 
 then well, I began to get the idea that the 
 police might have heard the shots and would 
 hustle in, so I grabbed my belongings and 
 hauled my freight. Now, what I want to 
 know is, if you killed Daddy Heinz. You see 
 I know / didn't; but there's a warrant charg- 
 ing me with it, and if I'm ever pinched I'll
 
 3 02 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 have to know all about what actually hap- 
 pened. In a way, we are in the same boat." 
 
 For a long time there was silence; the 
 financier's hands writhed nervously, then 
 under the friendly stare of The Hawk's eyes 
 he seemed to grow suddenly calm. Here 
 was a fairy tale; he was living a part of it. 
 
 "Suppose, " he questioned at last, "suppose 
 I should deny I was in that house? " 
 
 "Oh, come now." The Hawk was quite 
 good-natured about it. "I saw you, you 
 know. Don't be afraid to tell me, for, 
 believe me, I'm not going to appear in court 
 against you. I merely want to know what 
 actually happened. " 
 
 Positively, there was something winning 
 in The Hawk's manner. Mr. Hamilton felt 
 braced, exhilarated. If this was a fairy tale 
 it was a good one. 
 
 "I'll tell you frankly," he said. "I went 
 to the place to see the old man about 
 about" 
 
 "The garter thing. I know," interrupted 
 The Hawk. 
 
 "While I was talking to him the electric 
 buzz sounded, and it seemed to startle him 
 the buzz that connects with the front door, 
 I mean. He asked me to step into a rear
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 303 
 
 room for a minute, and I did so. I was there, 
 perhaps for five minutes, when I heard three 
 shots. I had a revolver. I drew it and ran 
 along the hall, with the one idea of protecting 
 myself and escaping. As I ran into the hall 
 I heard the front door bang some one 
 going out. Daddy Heinz was lying on the 
 floor, alone. I went in, terrified. I hastily 
 examined the body, and I got a splotch of 
 of blood on my hand!" He shuddered. 
 "There was a revolver on the floor I didn't 
 touch that. But I did pick up a diamond 
 which, I had reason to believe, came out of 
 the Countess of Salisbury's garter. I was 
 able to recognize it by the old-fashioned 
 cutting the rose cutting. My intention was 
 to save it until opportunity presented to 
 return it to the rightful owners. I have it 
 yet." 
 
 The Hawk nodded understandingly. 
 
 "I believe you," he said, graciously. "It 
 doesn't sound like the truth at that, does it? 
 But neither would my story, so far as that 
 goes." 
 
 Again fell a silence. The Hawk thought- 
 fully spun his revolver on his finger. 
 
 "You went to see old Daddy Heinz be- 
 cause ?"
 
 3 o 4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Because," the financier finished, "the 
 garter disappeared mysteriously at the very 
 moment I was trying to return it, through the 
 police, to the British government. I imag- 
 ined, perhaps, Daddy Heinz, from whom I 
 bought it originally, might know some- 
 thing" 
 
 "I get you," interrupted The Hawk. 
 "And the key to the house? You had one? " 
 
 "Yes. Daddy Heinz gave it to me. Pre- 
 viously I had made half a dozen trips there. " 
 
 The Hawk sat bobbing his head thought- 
 fully. Mr. Hamilton continued: 
 
 "There is a widespread belief that that 
 garter is now in your possession?" 
 
 "It is," The Hawk agreed. "Like to see 
 it?" 
 
 He produced it, and dangled it before 
 the financier's astonished eyes. The sheer 
 beauty of the trinket kindled a covetous 
 blaze deep in the millionaire's brain. Invol- 
 untarily he reached for it; The Hawk with- 
 drew it. 
 
 "That missing stone," The Hawk ex- 
 plained, "is the one you have. I gouged it 
 out and hocked it with Daddy Heinz the day 
 he was murdered. " 
 
 "Will you sell that?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 305 
 
 "No," The Hawk laughed. "I thought 
 you'd had enough of it. " 
 
 "I will buy it, if you will sell it, and return 
 it to the British government. " 
 
 "Nothing doing." 
 
 "I'll give you twenty-five thousand dollars 
 for it." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Fifty?" 
 
 ' ' No. I have another use for it ; and besides 
 I don't need the money. I've cleaned up a 
 quarter of a million in the last month, and 
 incidentally had a lot of fun with Meredith. " 
 He chuckled. ' ' He's a funny gink, Meredith. ' r 
 
 He arose, and stretched himself lazily. He 
 was slender, almost boyish in figure, graceful, 
 sinewy built like a steel bridge. 
 
 "I'm sorry to have disturbed you," he 
 apologized, "but I had to know how things 
 were, because there might come might, I 
 say a time when I'd need to know. And 
 what you've told me, of course, is just be- 
 tween us. Don't let it worry you. And 
 say," he was struck by a generous thought, 
 "if this garter thing you're mixed up in gets 
 too hot for you, shove it off on to me. I'll 
 stand for it anything you like but murder. 
 Now, me for the tall timbers. "
 
 3 o6 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 He silently unlocked the door into the 
 nurse's room, then the door into the hall. 
 
 "Good night," he said. "Hope you're 
 all right again soon. I'm sorry you're not 
 well. As a matter of fact, I'm rather strong 
 for your family. You know, I had an idea 
 once I'd like to be your son-in-law. Good 
 night." 
 
 The door opened and closed, silently; The 
 Hawk was gone. The fairy tale was at an 
 end. Brokaw Hamilton turned over com- 
 fortably, and went to sleep. 
 
 For the second time Detective Meredith 
 was summoned to the Ritz-Carlton by the 
 Russian ambassador. The first person he 
 met as he entered the private reception room 
 was Bruce Colquhoun!
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THERE was something closely akin to 
 elation in August von Derp's manner 
 as he came out of the room where Brokaw 
 Hamilton lay ill, and joined Helen on 
 the sun-drenched veranda. Aroused from 
 dreamy contemplation of Long Island Sound, 
 azure-blue in the distance, she glanced up 
 quickly. 
 
 "How is father?" she asked. 
 
 "He had a most comfortable night," was 
 the reply. "That, together with the assur- 
 ance from John Gaunt that the fight is off 
 until he is himself again, seems to have 
 acted upon him like a tonic. He is quite 
 cheerful." 
 
 "I'm so glad. Positively, I could kiss 
 Mr. Gaunt for his magnanimity." 
 
 "And better yet," von Derp continued, 
 the while his eager eyes blazed into her own, 
 "he has practically consented to to my 
 attentions to you!" 
 
 "He has?" There was a curious emphasis 
 in the question; von Derp opened his eyes 
 inquiringly. 
 
 307
 
 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "You speak," he said, "as if 
 
 "Let's don't talk about it," Helen broke 
 in hurriedly. "Let's talk about " 
 
 "We will talk about it, " von Derp insisted, 
 eagerly. "It is the moment I have lived for 
 and longed for. You know " 
 
 "Oh, dear!" Helen complained. "Why 
 will you?" 
 
 "Because I love you," he interrupted vio- 
 lently, passionately. In that moment of 
 declaration all the little graces had fallen 
 away from him. "Because there has never 
 been a moment since I first saw you that I 
 -didn't love you. To-morrow your father 
 will give his formal consent; to-day is mine 
 with you you!" 
 
 Helen regarded him with troubled eyes. 
 Mere man has never solved the mystery of 
 woman; von Derp, like all the rest of us, 
 failed, and in that instant he realized his 
 failure. Suddenly he was aware of some- 
 thing antagonistic in her attitude. 
 
 "Please don't," she requested, coldly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Oh, because," vaguely. 
 
 "But why? You know I love " 
 
 "I'm not in the mood for it, if you must 
 know," Helen exclaimed, with an angry little
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 309- 
 
 spot in her cheeks. "And besides you you 
 have no right!" 
 
 "You promised," he protested, "that if 
 I should clear the name of " 
 
 "You haven't done it," Helen pointed 
 out, "and besides, now it isn't necessary." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that Mr. Colquhoun has returned." 
 
 "You knew that?" von Derp didn't seem 
 to be surprised. "How did you know it?" 
 
 "Oh, I just knew it. " 
 
 "And Colquhoun's return?" he began. 
 
 "Don't you understand, Mr. von Derp?" 
 Helen asked, and there was almost an appeal 
 in her voice. "Don't you understand that 
 I I am under obligations to Mr. Colquhoun? 
 That I had faith in him? That it was horrible 
 to me to think that he should have died under 
 a cloud? That there was nothing I wouldn't 
 have given to have lifted that cloud? I had 
 been unjust to him; it was only fair that I 
 should make reparation even to a dead man!" 
 
 Von Derp arose suddenly, his fingers 
 gripped in his palms, his face pallid. 
 
 "And," he said steadily, with accusing 
 eyes, "you would have used me to Your 
 promises to me meant nothing?" 
 
 "I made no promises," Helen pointed out.
 
 310 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "But I have said that there is nothing I 
 wouldn't have given to do justice to his 
 memory nothing, understand, even myself! 
 Now that Mr. Colquhoun is alive, and is 
 back to prove his innocence; now that " 
 
 Von Derp didn't hear the remainder of it. 
 He turned away as if in anger and strode to 
 the far end of the veranda, where he stood 
 for a long time looking out upon the Sound 
 with smouldering eyes. Helen regarded him 
 curiously. Here was a new mood in him. 
 She had never believed him capable of strong 
 emotion; always to her he had been merely 
 ornamental, superficial, elegant like the the 
 trimmings of a motor car! Von Derp strode 
 back toward her, his face grave ; again he was 
 the mathematically precise, ultra-courteous 
 individual she had always known. 
 
 "Miss Hamilton, you have never under- 
 stood just who I am, " he said with that odd 
 twist of speech which was characteristic of 
 him in his serious moments. "Your father 
 understands, but for your information I'll 
 say I'm of a family old in German history, 
 and wealthy as your own. But," and he 
 emphasized the word, "in spite of all that I 
 am a special agent of the Imperial Secret 
 Service of Germany. I tell you this to make
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 311 
 
 you understand that when you pledged me 
 to to clear Bruce Colquhoun's name of its 
 enshrouding ignominy, as you expressed it, 
 you came to one who was able to bring to 
 bear a vast experience in matters of this 
 sort." 
 
 He paused. Helen's mouth had dropped 
 open a little in her utter astonishment. He 
 was only a policeman! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
 He went on: 
 
 "I began the task you set for me. But 
 I didn't go ahead with it because " He 
 broke off suddenly. "Perhaps I had better 
 stop. I had intended to save you the shame 
 of all this." 
 
 "Go on, please," said Helen bravely. All 
 at once something rose in her throat. "Go 
 on!" 
 
 Von Derp shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Instead of proving that Bruce Colquhoun 
 was not The Hawk I found myself proving 
 that he was The Hawk!" 
 
 Helen came to her feet with a blaze in the 
 blue, blue eyes. 
 
 "I don't believe it!" she said. 
 
 "It doesn't really matter whether you be- 
 lieve it or not," von Derp told her. "He 
 has never explained to your satisfaction who
 
 3 i2 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 he is, has he? No. Or why it was so neces- 
 sary to keep his identity hidden? No. He 
 has never explained his absence from Satuit 
 on every occasion when there was a jewel 
 robbery in Boston, twenty-five miles away, 
 has he? No. He has never " 
 
 "I don't believe it!" Helen repeated dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 "It is susceptible of proof immediate 
 proof," von Derp stated. "I knew, before 
 you did, that Bruce Colquhoun had chosen 
 to return to life. I located him, oddly 
 enough, in the hotel where I live; in my offi- 
 cial capacity I searched his apartments, and 
 found, not what I sought, but the Countess 
 of Salisbury's garter! I found some of the 
 jewels stolen in the Boston thefts; I found, 
 even, some of your jewels! And this was 
 the man whose memory " 
 
 "I don't believe it!" 
 
 "Your attitude," von Derp informed her 
 coolly, with a slight raising of his brows, "is 
 a credit to your heart, not your head; inci- 
 dentally, it is no compliment to me. Per- 
 haps you will give me an opportunity to 
 prove what I say?" His voice softened 
 strangely. "Believe me, there is nothing 
 vindictive in my attitude. I love you; you
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 313 
 
 don't love me you do love a man who is 
 not worthy! Could you imagine anything 
 more hideous than sacrificing yourself to 
 that man? And understand me, I haven't 
 reported to the police what I know, and 
 because of my love for you I will not. But 
 let me prove what I say I can give you all 
 the proof you can demand. If I fail to con- 
 vince you " He shrugged his shoulders. 
 "May I prove it?" 
 
 "How?" Helen demanded rebelliously. 
 
 "It's simple enough. Will you come to 
 his apartments with me and allow me to 
 show you the things he has stolen? The 
 jewels for which the police are scouring the 
 world? Will you come?" 
 
 "I will!" 
 
 Helen didn't hesitate; this was no time 
 for hesitation. Blindly, even against the 
 evidence of her own reason at times, she had 
 come to believe in Bruce Colquhoun; she 
 was wearing his ring now, as a token of her 
 faith in him. If he had deceived her! Her 
 strong young hands closed spasmodically. 
 
 The run downtown in the motor car was 
 made in silence. Von Derp ushered Helen 
 ceremoniously into the public parlor. 
 
 "Allow me," he said, "to inquire at the
 
 3 i4 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 office if Colquhoun is in. It is not desirable 
 that we should be interrupted." 
 
 She nodded, and he went away. He was 
 gone perhaps five minutes, then together 
 they went up in the elevator. Not once had 
 it occurred to Helen that she was doing the 
 unconventional thing. There was only the 
 thought that if Bruce had deceived her, she 
 must know it now. She suffered herself to 
 be led along a corridor; together they entered 
 an apartment on the fifth floor. There was 
 something uncanny in von Derp's silence. 
 
 "If everything is just as it was the other 
 day," he explained in a cautious undertone, 
 "the Countess of Salisbury's garter should 
 be here!" With his knife blade he threw the 
 bolt in a small drawer of an escritoire, and 
 pulled it open. ' ' It is here ! ' ' 
 
 Helen looked, and looking fell back a step 
 with one hand pressed to her eyes. The 
 garter was there; brilliant, beautiful, scintil- 
 lating. Von Derp paused, to gaze triumph- 1 
 antly into her face. In that instant she 
 hated him! He was working at a lower 
 drawer of a cabinet. Finally he pulled it 
 open. 
 
 "Here, please," he said quietly. 
 
 Again Helen looked, and a little cry rose to
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 315 
 
 her lips. She stifled it, in helpless agony, 
 and stood holding her clenched hands tightly 
 to her lips. The bottom of the drawer was 
 a shimmering, coruscating mass of jewels 
 here a pearl necklace worth many thousands 
 of dollars; brooches, bracelets, rings, neck- 
 laces of diamonds ! 
 
 "For some reason he keeps a portion 
 of the stolen stuff in this other room," von 
 Derp explained. "If you will step this 
 way?" 
 
 "I've seen enough," she gasped, helplessly. 
 
 "But you haven't seen the most important 
 of all, " he declared. 
 
 Mutely she followed him; another drawer 
 opened under his magic touch, and there 
 there were her own jewels, at least a part of 
 them! The cry came then rage, morti- 
 fication, agony! He had lied to her! That 
 great joy that had come to her the other day 
 when she, believing him dead, had found him 
 living, died now. He had said that he had 
 returned to prove his innocence. It had 
 sounded plausible, so like him; and even at 
 that moment he was hiding the jewels he had 
 stolen from her. She swayed a little, and 
 von Derp steadied her. 
 
 "Is the proof sufficient ?" he asked.
 
 316 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Home!" she murmured faintly. "Please 
 take me away. I am ill ! " 
 
 Von Derp bowed courteously, and together 
 they returned to the room they had just left. 
 At that instant the door from the hall opened, 
 and two men entered Bruce Colquhoun and 
 Detective Meredith. There was tense silence 
 for a moment, then Helen drew back with 
 a cry; von Derp seemed nonplused. Into 
 Bruce 's face came a sudden storm; it passed. I 
 
 "Lock the door, Meredith," he directed. 
 
 "You'll permit us to go, please," said von 
 Derp. 
 
 "Lock the door, Meredith," Bruce re- 
 peated. "We came to this apartment to 
 take The Hawk. " 
 
 "And you will," von Derp interrupted. 
 "Take him, Meredith there he stands beside 
 you, this so-called Bruce Colquhoun! Take 
 him! Meanwhile," he started toward the 
 door. Helen clung to him desperately. 
 
 Meredith, who had seemed oddly befuddled, 
 was galvanized into action all at once. There 
 was grim joy in his face as he strode toward 
 von Derp. 
 
 "We came to take The Hawk," he said. 
 "Hold out your hands!" 
 
 "I?" von Derp started back in amazement.
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 317 
 
 "I? The Hawk? Really, Meredith, you're 
 an amusing person. " He burst out laughing. 
 "I? The Hawk?" 
 
 The perfect sincerity of his laugh, his 
 manner, his tone caused Meredith to stop and 
 look around helplessly at Bruce. Helen 
 dropped down into a chair, with her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 "Perhaps, Miss Hamilton, you had better 
 go?" 
 
 Bruce stood beside Helen solicitously. She 
 shook her head. 
 
 "And where, pray, did you get the impres- 
 sion that / was The Hawk?" von Derp 
 taunted Meredith. His shallow eyes had 
 narrowed to mere slits. 
 
 "I know it," Meredith declared forcibly. 
 "I know it because " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "First, because there have been no crown 
 jewels stolen from Germany. I have that 
 on the direct authority of the chief of the 
 Imperial Secret Service." 
 
 "Naturally," and von Derp shrugged his 
 shoulders, "he doesn't let American policemen 
 into secrets of that nature." 
 
 "Also, I know it because you lied to me 
 about the plan of that house where I found
 
 3 i8 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 you that night. You said you had mailed 
 it to me. As a matter of fact, Mr. Col- 
 quhoun mailed it to me! He picked it up 
 aboard the motor boat where you had dropped 
 it." 
 
 "He's what do you Americans say? 
 he's bluffing." 
 
 "And finally," the detective drew two 
 photographs and a slip of paper from his 
 pocket, "I know it because I have exact, 
 indisputable proof here. Here is the thumb- 
 print of The Hawk, made in blood, in his 
 last robbery; here is a duplicate of that 
 thumbprint found on the Pyramid, showing 
 The Hawk had been there. " 
 
 "Naturally," von Derp nodded. "He 
 lived aboard the boat. " 
 
 "And last, on this slip of paper, I have Mr. 
 Colquhoun's thumbprint. // is not the same! 
 You can still convince me that you are not 
 The Hawk, here, now! Do you dare to put 
 your thumbprint beside these other three for 
 comparison?" 
 
 "Certainly," said von Derp obligingly. 
 "How shall I make the impression? There's 
 a plate-glass tray there ; it will take an impres- 
 sion admirably. Allow me," and he moved 
 toward the bathroom, "to step in here and
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 319 
 
 put a little soap on my thumb so we may get 
 a good print." 
 
 He disappeared into the bathroom. The 
 door closed behind him with a crash, and 
 Meredith and Colquhoun leaped toward it. 
 From beyond the sturdy oaken panels came 
 the muffled crack of a revolver ! 
 
 "God!" Meredith dropped back. "He's 
 killed himself!" 
 
 The world swam around Helen; she 
 screamed once, then fainted. Her last 
 impression of visible things was of Bruce and 
 Meredith battering at the bathroom door.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHEN consciousness returned to Helen 
 she was being held close, close, in 
 Bruce's arms, his eyes burning into hers, 
 his face seared by the torture of anxiety. 
 
 "Thank God," he said. 
 
 "Is is he dead?" she faltered. 
 
 "No," said Bruce. "He escaped. Mere- 
 dith's gone in pursuit. He locked the door 
 and fired the shot to make us think it was 
 suicide. While we were trying to break in 
 he stepped out on the fire escape, ran along 
 to the window opening into the hall, and got 
 away. It took us fifteen minutes to smash 
 the door; he has just that much start of 
 Meredith!" 
 
 Helen closed her eyes, infinitely relieved. 
 It was best that he should have escaped, for, 
 after all Suddenly she remembered that 
 she was being held very tightly in a young 
 man's arms, and struggled to free herself. 
 And that young man was a thief! He had 
 stolen her jewels. 
 
 "Let me go, " she panted angrily. 
 
 "No, "Bruce held her. 
 
 1 ' You must ! I you ' ' 
 320
 
 "From beyond the sturdy oaken panels came the muffled 
 crack of a revolver!"
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 321 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you you I hate you! You 
 are a thief!" 
 
 "Indeed!" Bruce pinioned her arms, and 
 gazed deeply into indignant eyes, with a 
 slight smile. "What have I stolen?" 
 
 ' ' Jewels my jewels other people's jewels. ' ' 
 
 "The Hawk von Derp stole those, not 
 I." 
 
 "Then what what in the name of goodness 
 are all those things doing here in your 
 apartment?" 
 
 "This," said Bruce, "is not my apartment. 
 It's von Derp's apartment. Meredith and 
 I came here to arrest him!" 
 
 "Von Derp's apartment?" Helen was so 
 amazed she forgot to struggle. "But he 
 said he brought me here to your apart- 
 ment to convince me !" She stammered on 
 into silence. ' ' Well ! ' ' she exclaimed. ' ' And 
 he is really The Hawk? He, and not you?" 
 
 "He is really The Hawk," Bruce assured 
 her. "I will pay him the compliment of 
 saying that he is one of the most gifted young 
 men of my acquaintance. He was prepared 
 for everything on earth but that thumbprint 
 test; he had even forged indisputable creden- 
 tials which, in an emergency, he used to 
 
 21
 
 332 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 identify himself to Meredith after Meredith 
 had actually caught him in a theft!" 
 
 "Then," Helen wriggled out of the encir- 
 cling arms and pushed him away, "then who 
 are you?" 
 
 "I? That's so, you don't know me, do 
 you?" Bruce was apologetic. "I am one 
 of the most cordially hated men in the world. 
 I'm in the diplomatic service of Russia, 
 despite the fact that I'm an American. I've 
 been in that service for years, and have been 
 honored with the confidence of the Czar. 
 He exalted me to a position beyond my 
 actual worth, and so it devolved upon me to 
 come in conflict with the nihilists. I defeated 
 a plot which had for its purpose the death of 
 the Czar, and the nihilists passed sentence of 
 death upon me. Never in the history of the 
 world has a man been so persistently pursued 
 as I have been through Siberia, China, 
 Japan, Hawaii, through Central and South 
 America for more than a year they have 
 sought me. Twice I have been slightly 
 wounded, four times I have been betrayed by 
 people I trusted. Finally I reached the 
 point where I trusted no one the police 
 least of all. I locked my identity within 
 myself, and even then "
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 333 
 
 "And even then?" Helen asked. 
 
 "And even then they found me in Satuit. 
 There was only one thing to do to run, and 
 I did run; however, I came back, you will 
 remember, to see if you still wore the little 
 ring. You found it, I see. I thank you. 
 I had not given my pursuers credit for their 
 shrewdness. They traced me back, and the 
 explosion on the Pyramid was the result. 
 As I told you, I ran away from Meredith and 
 his men that night because I thought they 
 were the nihilists. Aboard the Pyramid I 
 heard a clock ticking and to me a clock tick- 
 ing means an infernal machine! There was 
 no clock aboard the Pyramid. I didn't wait. 
 I went straight over the far side, and was a 
 hundred feet off when the explosion came. In 
 the excitement I swam ashore, and escaped, 
 allowing the police, the nihilists, the world 
 at large everybody to believe that I was 
 dead! That gave me opportunity to haul 
 in fourteen of the nihilists in Paterson, New 
 Jersey, with the aid of special agents of the 
 Russian government who are under orders of 
 the Russian ambassador. At the same time 
 half a hundred others were taken in Russia, 
 and I think it is safe to say that the most 
 powerful band of assassins in the world is
 
 324 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 broken up." He paused and stared deep, 
 deep into the wondering eyes. " I love you, " 
 he added irrelevantly. 
 
 "But but what is your name?" Helen 
 stammered, her face suffused. "You told 
 me that Colquhoun " 
 
 "Oh, my name. It's Treadway Bruce 
 Treadway , of Virginia stock. My mother was 
 a Colquhoun, a descendant, by the way, of 
 the Countess of Salisbury to whom, in 1344, 
 Edward III gave the jeweled garter which 
 has been so prominent in matters concerning 
 you and me. By the way," he added, "did 
 you ever see that garter?" 
 
 "Yes," said Helen. "I saw it in the 
 drawer " 
 
 "Oh, that's the one that was stolen from 
 the British Museum," Bruce informed her. 
 "Here's another." He produced the glitter- 
 ing trinket from his long pocketbook; Helen 
 caught her breath sharply. "There were 
 two of them, it seems, so 
 
 "Naturally a lady would require two," 
 said Helen. 
 
 "This one remained in my family, but I 
 was never able to identify it perfectly until 
 I picked up a photograph the photograph 
 you saw on the Pyramid in New London.
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 325 
 
 As a matter of fact, at that time I was out 
 of touch with my government, with my 
 friends, and I contemplated selling this to 
 replenish my supply of cash." 
 
 "Sell that?" exclaimed Helen. "Indeed, 
 you will not!" 
 
 "That's right; I will not," Bruce agreed. 
 And again, irrelevantly: "I love you!" 
 
 "Bruce Colquhoun, " and Helen struggled 
 in his arms, "if if you kiss me, I shall 
 scream." 
 
 "And if you don't kiss me," he said 
 solemnly, "I shall scream. It might make 
 it unpleasant for you, because there are four 
 detectives waiting outside the door for my 
 permission to come in." 
 
 He was a masterful, arrogant chap. 
 Helen's lips parted slightly, flower-like, to 
 receive his kiss. 
 
 Dexter, of Scotland Yard, was an amazed 
 person when he was summoned to police 
 headquarters that afternoon and the Countess 
 of Salisbury's garter, with one of the dia- 
 monds missing, was placed in his hands. 
 
 "Where did you get it?" 
 
 "It was among the stolen jewels recovered 
 in The Hawk's apartments," Meredith told
 
 326 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 him curtly. "Give me a receipt for it, and 
 hustle it over to London before something 
 else happens to it." 
 
 " But, I say, you know, who had it? " Dex- 
 ter insisted. ' ' What millionaire was it that ' ' 
 
 "Oh, forget it," Meredith advised. "It 
 wasn't John Gaunt, anyway." 
 
 "But, you know gad! It's too bad! I 
 was convinced Gaunt had it, you know; I 
 even searched his house for it. Too bally 
 bad, eh, what?" 
 
 Four days, with Meredith and his men 
 raging, sped by, and there was no trace of 
 The Hawk. A portion, but only a portion, 
 of the stolen jewels had been recovered; 
 obviously, from The Hawk's manner of 
 living, the remainder had been converted 
 into cash through some subterranean channel. 
 Early in the afternoon of that fourth day 
 Meredith's 'phone rang. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 "That you, Meredith?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "This is Bruce Colquhoun. Von Derp 
 The Hawk will be in Daddy Heinz' old 
 place at four o'clock this afternoon. Place 
 your men after he enters the place, not
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 327 
 
 before, and you'll get him. Look out for 
 the back way, too. " 
 
 "Thanks." Meredith's heart beat faster. 
 4 'How do you know he'll be there?" 
 
 "I'll explain when I see you. Now don't 
 fail if you want The Hawk!" 
 
 "If I want The Hawk!" Meredith repeated 
 grimly. "All I'd give to get him is one of 
 my arms, that's all." 
 
 "All right. I'll see you this evening some 
 time." 
 
 So it came to pass that while Meredith's 
 men were anxiously awaiting the specified 
 hour, a pale, clean-shaven young man in 
 rigid clerical attire, with thick eyeglasses and 
 brown hair brushed back smoothly from his 
 placid brow, strode up the walk to the front 
 door of Brokaw Hamilton's home and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 "Please be good enough," he requested of 
 the footman, "to hand my card to Miss 
 Hamilton. The Rev. Mr. Arthur Wallace." 
 
 He put his hat on the floor, and sat down 
 with his finger tips humbly touching, and 
 looked about him meekly at the splendor of a 
 millionaire's home. 
 
 "Miss Hamilton," the returning footman 
 reported, "has gone out."
 
 5-5 MY LADY'S GARTER 
 
 "Too bad," commented the caller, gently. 
 "May I leave a note for her?" 
 
 The footman bowed and conducted him 
 to a desk in the library adjoining. Suppose 
 we look over his shoulder as he writes: 
 
 " MT DEAB Miss HAMILTON: 
 
 "I loved yon that accounts for everything. 
 There's nothing I wouldn't have done to win yon. I 
 did steal; I would have done murder would have, 
 but didn't. Every other charge the police bring 
 against me is correct. 
 
 " The first thought of placing my identity upon the 
 shoulders of Bruce Cdquhoun came the day Meredith 
 asked him for that handwriting specimen. Only 
 chance had led Meredith so dose to me, and here was 
 an opportunity too good to overlook. That hand- 
 writing incident gave me an idea. I searched the 
 Pyramid to find a sample of Mr. Colquhonn's, and did 
 find it a laundry list. If the handwriting experts 
 hadn't disagreed then oh, welL 
 
 "I am leaving with the footman a parcel containing 
 some few of your jewels that were not found in my 
 apartments. Please don't think too badly of me. 
 
 "Sincerely, 
 
 The clerical young man sealed the envelope, 
 and banded it, with a parcel, to the waiting 
 footman. 
 
 " If you will please see that Miss Hamilton 
 in person receives these?" he requested
 
 WHO IS THE HAWK? 329 
 
 meekly. "And, while I am here, may I use 
 your telephone, please?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir." 
 
 The footman held open the door of the 
 booth, and the young man disappeared in- 
 side. Two minutes later New York police 
 headquarters was on the other end of the 
 wire. 
 
 "Mr. Meredith is out, isn't he?" 
 
 "Yes," came the reply. 
 
 " Please tell him when he conies in that cn:e 
 upon a time he remarked that The Hawk 
 could never make a monkey of him again. 
 And add that The Hawk has made a monkey 
 of him again. Inform him that it was not 
 Bruce Colquhoun who sent him on the wild- 
 goose chase to West Thirtieth Street, but 
 The Hawk in person. " 
 
 "Who who " there was a stammering 
 at the other end of the wire, " who is this?" 
 
 "The Hawk!" 
 
 "Holy Moses! Where are you?" 
 
 "Where am I?" The young man smiled 
 blandly. "I am in Jersey City. Give my 
 regards to Mr. Meredith. Good-by." He 
 was about to hang up. "Oh, one other 
 thing," he called. "It wasn't The Hawk 
 who was wounded that night the bloody
 
 ihnmbprmt was left in Boston, although it 
 
 i: 7?. 7 Hi" > 5 ih-.iniiir-n: 1.11 r.rh: The 
 ~&r who was wounded was The Hawk's 
 
 . 
 
 Tbe rr-^ifTrr :: :"1 Daddy Heinz was 
 never frj^ii. Brokaw FTprr^rnn was con- 
 vinced th^: thr r:. 
 
 zu: >:>: :".; s:~r iir.rr :r::> >.:. c.:=- 
 rr"jLH~.-ri :.~~- ::~r in irminir _ :v. 
 
 -rr in 
 j: 
 
 Scctiasd Yani, LondoiL
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 OU kmm,** said Helen, Tue ooJy 
 
 ODIGC&lOBl uk 2DB^'^"" r ^WMB 
 
 . .1.1": Z-rli" JI . ll'.r 1__ __f-.l. 
 It 
 
 - =-. -= ii-T 
 
 . . _ - ,. _ -'-'- -i.Lr~ ~.~ ' ~ ~ 
 
 . 
 
 I "_T _ :>1~~7'1 "..JLT't'f I H I'.r 
 
 *" 'Doa't grab 
 "*Sappose I had grabbed you?*" 
 "*I shcnM locve paodied yarn it 
 " Why Jta 
 
 A 
 
 ^^L^^M^t4vir 1%Mik^iAk -tfw^^rwiMVwV 4 
 - ~'~~.^ - - - . _'7i- .-"- ^ 
 
 oKfieSs ^fl*MiiM- JMI*I 
 
 ^ '_~ "_1 ~ T'^ Z r r"HTil~.J! 1-T. 7 r*7'5"~ 7';.~ ~l*7"r*5 1_1'T 
 
 zj::.:r ::!": _-_;" j^-.o _iy 
 i _::.f. 
 "Do you remember,*" she asfe 
 
 ILT5 1 " ... 
 
 There was saSesBce, brokesi only oy the 
 
 . - . _ ..^- *^- -*- -i,. -.-., .1 
 
 nmmnr <K me sea. unsar fBrappeoi 
 
 them tangibly; 'Aft goSd in the
 
 332 ' MY,LADY'S GARTER 
 
 became an angry crimson fh red sun was 
 gone. To the north, across the marshes, 
 a lighthouse leaped into life. Skeets and 
 Mercy had turned to watch it. 
 
 "I love you!" it said. "I love you!" 
 And again: "I love you!" 
 
 PBQPERTi'GF 
 . PROPACH 
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