Kitabı oku: «The Curved Blades», sayfa 11

Did it all come back, then, to suicide? No, not with that glad face, that happy smile, that joyful look of anticipation. A suffering invalid, longing for death, might thus welcome a happy release, but not life-loving Lucy Carrington.

It was too bewildering, too inexplicable. Again and again Stone scanned the powder papers. They told nothing more than that they were the powder papers. That was positive, but what did it prove? To whom did it point?

Frowning, Stone studied his own face in the mirror before him. Desperately, he repeated again all the sentences on Anita’s list.

At one of them he paused, even in the act of repetition.

He stared blankly into his own mirrored eyes, a dawning light beginning to flame back at him. Then, a little wildly, he glanced around, – up, down, and back to his almost frenzied, reflected face.

“Oh!” he muttered, through his clinched teeth, for Stone was not a man given to strong expletives, “it is! I’ve got it at last! The powder, the pearls, – the snake! My Heavens! the snake! Oh, Pauline, my love, my love – but who? who? Have I discovered this thing only to lead back to her? I won’t have it so! I am on the right track at last, and I’ll follow it to the end – the end, but it shall not lead, I know it will not – to my heart’s idol, my beautiful Pauline!”

XXI
FLEMING STONE’S THEORY

Alone in the library, Fleming Stone and Detective Hardy were in counsel.

“I’m going to show you this thing as I see it, Mr. Hardy,” said Stone. “I frankly admit it’s all theory, I haven’t a particle of human testimony to back it, but it seems to me the only solution that will fit all points of the mystery. And I shall ask you to consider it confidential for the present, until I can corroborate it by unmistakable proofs.”

Hardy nodded assent, his eyes fixed on the speaker in a sort of fascination.

This young detective had not been at all idle of late, but his work had amounted to nothing definite, and though he was himself convinced that Pauline Stuart was responsible for her aunt’s death, he seldom exploited that view before Stone, having learned that it was an unwelcome subject.

“Here’s the theory in a very small nutshell,” said Stone, “but remember, you’re not to mention it to any one until I give you permission. Miss Lucy Carrington took that powder, thinking it a drug that would make her beautiful.”

“A charm? a philter?” Hardy’s eyes seemed to bulge in his excitement.

“I’m not sure whether it was a fake magic affair, say, from a clairvoyant or fortune-teller, or whether it was a plain swindle from a beauty doctor or something of that sort. You know such people play on the credulity of rich patrons and get enormous sums and a promise of secrecy for a so-called beauty producer.”

“But why would the beauty doctor or the clairvoyant person give a patient poison?”

“They didn’t. They gave a harmless powder, and some evil-minded person added the aconite, secretly, knowing of the beauty scheme.”

“Who did it?”

“That’s yet to be discovered, but it will be easier if we can trace the one who sold her the nostrum. Now, listen while I reconstruct the scene. Miss Carrington, having dismissed her maid, goes to her bath-room, and takes the powder dissolved in water. These powder papers, which I found in her bath-room waste-basket, carry out that idea.”

Hardy stared at the papers, but did not interrupt the speaker.

“Then, joyfully waiting the effect of the charm, she sits in front of the mirror to watch her features become beautiful. This is why she said to her own reflection, ‘To-morrow I shall be freed forever from this homely face!’ She gazed at the picture of Cleopatra above her dressing-table, and said ‘Yours is the most beautiful face I have ever seen. I wish mine were as beautiful.’ The remarks concerning Count Charlier were addressed to the glove which she held in her hand, a sentimental part of the whole performance.”

“Mighty interesting, Mr. Stone, but pretty fantastic, so far.”

Fleming Stone gave his slow, grave smile, that always betokened a surety of his own statements. “Wait a bit, Hardy, before you condemn this notion. I haven’t finished yet. Now Cleopatra figures pretty strongly in this scheme. Look at these photographs taken after death. They show the lady exactly as she looked when she sat there. See, she is gazing at the picture of Cleopatra, too intently to be merely a casual glance. And, what do you think of this? She gazed at Cleopatra, and, holding the Count’s glove, her mind and heart full of the Count, who would adore her when she achieved this looked-for beauty, she said, ‘You are the Mark I aim at!’ meaning, as Cleopatra had her Mark Antony, she, Lucy Carrington, aimed at the Mark of her choice, – the Count.”

“If that’s true, Mr. Stone, you are the wizard of the ages! How did you dope it out? What – ”

“Now, wait a minute. This isn’t the pipe dream you think it. But listen while I tell the rest in my own way.”

“Listen! I should think I would! Go on.”

“You know, these fakers give out these charms with all sorts of fool directions to impress the duped customer. As I say, I’m not sure yet whether it was a professional of the clairvoyant type, or a regular beauty doctor. But in either case, I’ve no doubt that Miss Carrington paid him enough to compensate for giving up his practice and leaving for parts unknown. For after the charm failed to work, of course she would expose the fraud.”

“But the poison – ”

“Never mind that for the moment, Mr. Hardy. Surely, if we can discover for certain how and why the dose was taken, it will go far to help us trace the criminal who added the deadly element to the powder. Now, continuing the Cleopatra idea, I am sure that the clever clairvoyante, – we’ll assume that’s what she was, – ”

“She?”

“Merely to designate this faker person. Somehow I seem to see her as one of those crystal-gazing, frowsy-headed kimonoed females, who prey on the credulity of rich and foolish women, – well, let’s call her that for the present, this clever clairvoyante somehow conceived the idea of offering to make Miss Carrington as beautiful as Cleopatra. Perhaps she had been here to see Miss Carrington on the subject, and that beautiful picture of Cleopatra put it into her head. But, assuming something of this sort, assume further that she directed Miss Carrington to robe herself, in a general way, like the queen in the picture. Note the pearls! Wouldn’t this explain Miss Carrington’s getting her pearls from the bank for this occasion? And wouldn’t it explain her speech, ‘You love pearls,’ as being addressed to Cleopatra, to whom she was talking!”

“Go on, Mr. Stone! Go on!”

“I will go on! Wouldn’t that explain, as nothing else on this green earth can, the purchase of a paper snake by the woman who feared and abhorred the reptiles! Supposing the fool clairvoyante had told her that to become like Cleopatra she must have a semblance of a snake at her throat, as Cleopatra had the asp!”

“Good Heavens!”

“I tell you, Mr. Hardy, nothing else would account for that snake! And any one of these things might seem the result of a lunatic imagination by itself, but taken all together, the theory holds water! Why think of the Oriental scarf, the embroidered robe, the mass of jewels in addition to the significant pearls, and the scarabs! All point to the type of Cleopatra. If there had been a picture on the wall, say, of Helen of Troy, and Miss Carrington had been rigged up in a Greek costume, with a fillet in her hair, and sandals on her feet, – or if the picture had shown the Goddess of Liberty, and we had found Miss Carrington draped in an American flag, could any one have denied the significance? There can be no doubt, – no doubt in this world, Hardy, that the costume, the jewels and the snake all point to a connection with the picture of Cleopatra, and if so, what other connection is possible than the one I’ve blocked out? Answer me that! And, finally, the speech to the Count, whose glove she fondled, ‘You are the Mark I aim at.’ A pleasantry of wording inevitably suggested by the thought of the man Cleopatra charmed and the man Miss Carrington desired to charm. And a play on words too, not at all unnatural to her, for I’m told she was both witty and clever in conversation.”

“Mr. Stone, I am carried away by your arguments. I can’t deny their plausibility, but I am bewildered. How did you fathom this remarkable plan?”

“Simply because there is no other plan that will fit the facts. I believe Miss Carrington did say all those things Miss Frayne relates. I believe she was alone in the room when she said them. Therefore, they must have had some meaning, and the meanings I have just ascribed to them must be the true ones.”

“They must be – ”

“And I will further satisfy you that they are. Here is a memorandum I found in Miss Carrington’s desk. It is, as you see, a list of items. Read it.”

Hardy’s eyes stared more widely than ever as he read:

Green and gold boudoir robe.

Jewels, especially pearls.

Scarabs.

Scarf.

Snake.

Something belonging to H.

“Now, that,” and Fleming Stone spoke in low, even tones, without a hint of boasting or pride in his achievement, “is a list in Miss Carrington’s own writing, and is undeniably a list of things to be worn on the occasion which she hoped would mean a delightful change to the beauty she so desired to be, but which, instead, was a change to the cold stillness of death. I found that, after reaching my own conclusions about the Cleopatra business. If I had found it before, I would have known it must refer to her costume, but I couldn’t have gleaned from it the conclusions I had already come to. Now, Hardy, are you convinced?”

“I am, Mr. Stone. And I am also puzzled. From all this knowledge, we start fresh, as it were, and we – ”

“Wait a minute, Hardy. Let’s go slowly. Now, here are two ways to look at this thing. I told you about the clairvoyante first, because that first came to my mind as the inevitable explanation. But, suppose, instead of a professional clairvoyante or beauty doctor, some friend or – ” Stone set his teeth, but went on steadily, “or some one in the household, planned all this scheme, and pretended to get a powder that would accomplish this transformation, gave it to the unsuspecting lady to take by herself, and in reality this powder was the aconite.”

Hardy jumped. “Then Miss Stuart – ” he began.

“Ah,” and Stone’s face was white and his voice like cutting steel, “Why Miss Stuart? Why not Miss Frayne, who listened at the door? Why not Estelle, who knew all her mistress’ secrets? Why not Haviland, who is openly enjoying his present responsible position as man of affairs? Why not Count Charlier, whose crafty cunning shows on his face? Of course, also, why not Miss Stuart, but why necessarily Miss Stuart?”

“Well, she has run away, you know – ”

“So she has, because of unjust and unfounded suspicions! When clues point directly to her, I shall admit them, but when they may equally well point to half a dozen others, I shall patiently investigate them and learn the truth. Now, I ask of you, Hardy, as man to man, not to favor Miss Stuart unduly, but to give her a fair show, and remember her lonely position and her timid nature.”

Hardy looked furtively at Fleming Stone, whose eyes were downcast and fastened on some papers he was holding.

“Count on me, Mr. Stone. I am at your orders. I subscribe to your theories, and I will do exactly what you tell me, and no more or less.”

“Good, Hardy, and thank you. Now, look at these papers. They are the ones that contained the fatal powder. See, this paraffin one was inside; then one of tin-foil, then one of rather heavy writing-paper.”

“That doesn’t look altogether like a clairvoyante’s work.”

“Why not? It does to me. They are mighty careful to do up their goods in an elaborate manner to impress their customers. But, mind you, I don’t for a moment suspect this clairvoyante individual of intended murder. Either the aconite was added to the parcel from the clairvoyante, or the whole affair was concocted by the murderer and under pretense of its having come from the clairvoyante.”

“H’m,” Hardy was clearly beyond his depth.

“So,” went on Stone, “we must deduce what we can from these papers. What do you see peculiar about them?”

“Just plain little old nothing,” Hardy declared after a good scrutiny. “I see, as you remarked, three papers, folded similarly, and of nearly the same size. What do you see?”

“Not much more,” confessed Stone, gazing discontentedly at the papers. “And yet, there must be something to notice. Here’s one point. These papers, if tampered with, I mean if anything was added to their contents, were manipulated very carefully. You know how difficult it is to unfold and refold a powder-paper without making it look messy. These, I would be willing to assert, have never been refolded, or, as I say, if they were, it was done very carefully.”

“That isn’t much of a clue,” and Hardy smiled.

“It may be,” returned Stone. “It at least indicates a possible elimination of the clairvoyante and an indication of the murderer preparing the powder alone. At any rate, Hardy, I’ve told you all this in order to ask your help. Will you go and see what you can round up in the way of the clairvoyante of our dreams? Go to all you can find in New York City. That is the prominent ones. Get a line on beauty doctors, and generally look up this sort of thing. And keep it all under your hat.”

“All right, Mr. Stone,” and Hardy was off at once.

Fleming Stone put away the papers, and sat for more than an hour in a brown study. It must be admitted that a photograph of Pauline Stuart, which stood on a near-by table, held his eyes much of the time. And his gaze, as it rested on the lovely face, was now tender and now sad.

At last he rang for a servant. To the footman who replied, he made a request that a chamber-maid be sent to him.

The girl came, wondering.

“Mary?” said Fleming Stone, inquiringly.

“Jane, sir,” returned the maid, quietly.

“Good,” said Stone. “You have intelligence, Jane, as shown by your calm rejoinder. Now, I want you to go to the various bedrooms or dressing-rooms of all the members of the family and of all the servants, and bring me all the manicure scissors you can find. I assume that some of the servants might possibly have them?”

“Yes, sir, some of them.”

“Very well. Get all you can possibly find, and be very, very careful to remember which ones are whose. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go. If anybody questions you, say Mr. Stone ordered it.”

Jane returned with many pairs of the kind of scissors asked for by the Detective. Absorbedly, Stone took them from her, and one by one he used them to snip at a sheet of paper from the library desk.

At each test, he asked Jane whose the scissors were, and sometimes he wrote the name beside the cut and sometimes not. One pair in especial seemed to interest him. “Whose are these?” he asked.

“Those, sir, I took from Miss Carrington’s dressing-table.” Jane gave a slight shudder as if at the recollection of the tragedy of that table.

“But these are of a different patterned handle from the rest of that dressing-table’s silver.”

“I don’t know, sir, as to that. They were there and I brought them.”

“Very well, Jane. Take them all back to their places. Mind now, don’t mix them.”

“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”

A strange excitement seemed to seize upon Fleming Stone. Abruptly he left the room, and, flinging on his overcoat in the hall, he snatched his hat and went away, almost on a run. His steps took him to the garage and in a few moments he was in a swift little runabout being driven to the sanatorium where Estelle was still staying.

After a call there, he hurried to Police Headquarters. Thence, after a rather long call, to a telegraph office, to one or two shops and then back to Garden Steps.

Here he put several servants at work for him, packing his effects and such matters, then summoning Gray Haviland to the library, he said; “I’m sailing for Egypt this afternoon. May I ask you to make no further investigations till my return?”

“Egypt!” gasped Gray. “Good Heavens, man! what for?”

“In the interest of my work for you,” returned Stone, gravely.

“Rubbish! You’re chasing Pauline! We’ll never see either of you again!”

Fleming Stone smiled. “I do love her, Haviland, I make no denial of that fact. And I do hate to have her alone in a strange land. So, if I can be of any help to her, an ocean or two to cross shall not keep me from her.”

“And your detective work?”

“Will not suffer by my absence. I’ve been to the Police and to the District Attorney and they approve my plans as I’ve outlined them so far. The rest must wait my return.”

“Ah, and when will you be back?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I will keep you informed of my whereabouts. Say good-by to Miss Frayne for me, and please excuse me now, as I’ve heaps to do. By the way, where is that record of Miss Carrington’s song that I have heard of? Play it for me, will you?”

“Thought you were in such a hurry!” laughed Haviland, but granted the request.

“Wonderful!” commented the Detective, as he heard it on the phonograph. “It is a perfectly-made record. If you don’t mind, I’ll take possession of it.”

“All right,” said Gray, carelessly, and in another half hour Fleming Stone was on his way to the pier where the Macedonia was making ready to sail.

XXII
PAULINE IN CAIRO

On the first of March, about mid-afternoon, the Catalonia steamed into the harbor of Alexandria. Pauline, at the rail, watched the clearing outlines of mosques and minarets, as the beautiful city became visible. It was a glistening, dazzling strip, between the deep blue of the sea and the azure of the sky, and, breathless with delight, she gazed at the shining sunlit picture.

Then the Arab pilot came aboard, and soon Pauline found herself in a shore-boat, swiftly making for the quay. She knew Loria would meet her at Alexandria, she had had a telegram at Naples to that effect, and she thrilled with pleasure at thought of seeing wonderful Egypt with him. Landing, she was bewildered by the crowd of strange-looking people, natives, tourists, officials and porters, all shouting, running and getting in each other’s way. Luggage was everywhere, and the game seemed to be to present any piece of it to anybody except the owner. Pauline fell to laughing at the antics of a black man robed in white and a brown man robed in yellow fighting for possession of a small portmanteau, while its timid and bewildered owner desperately hung on to it herself.

Three or four Arabs gathered round Pauline herself, each asserting his claim to all the virtues of a perfect dragoman. In more or less intelligible English, each insisted he had been sent to her personally by Effendi This or That, of marvelous wealth and power. Greatly interested, she listened to their arguments, until, encouraged, they became so insistent that she was frightened. Seeing this, they waxed threatening, even belligerent, in their determination to be engaged, and just as one laid his brown, long fingers on her arm, and she drew back in a panic of fear, she saw Carr Loria’s smiling face coming to her through the crowd.

With a wave of his hand and a few short commands, he sent the bothersome Arabs flying, and greeted Pauline with affectionate enthusiasm.

“Polly, dear! but I’m glad to see you! Have you had a good trip? But such questions must wait a bit. Where are your checks? Do you see your boxes?”

“There’s only one, and some hand things. Here is – ”

“All right,” and Loria took the little sheaf of papers she produced from her handbag. “Ahri, look after these.”

A tall Arab glided to Loria’s side, and took the checks. “Ahri is my dragoman and body-servant and general factotum,” said Loria, by way of introduction. “This lady, Ahri, is my cousin, Miss Stuart. Her word is law.”

“Yes, Mr. Loria. Miss Stoort is queen of all.”

The man made a salaam of obeisance and turned away to look after the luggage.

“He’s a wonder, that Ahri,” said Carrington Loria, looking after the retreating Arab. “But be very haughty with him, Polly. He presumes upon the least encouragement. Treat him like the dust under your feet, and he’ll adore you.”

“That’s easy enough,” and Pauline smiled. “I’m scared to death of these brown and black men. But your servant is so grand of costume.”

“Yes, he’s a very high-class affair. Handsome chap and fond of dress. But he’s invaluable to me. Speaks almost perfect English, and knows everything there is to know, – and then some. Knows, too, everybody who has ever been in Cairo or ever thought of coming here. And he possesses the proud distinction of being the only dragoman here-abouts who hasn’t a letter of recommendation from Hichens. You haven’t that, have you, Ahri?” for the Arab had just reappeared.

A marvelous set of white teeth gleamed in the sunlight, as the response came quickly: “I had one, Mr. Loria, but I sold it. They are of use to others; Ahri needs none.” His self-conceit was superb, and he spoke with the air of a prince. But warned by Loria, Pauline gave him no answering smile, rather a patronizing nod, and Ahri’s respect for the newcomer went up several points.

“Come along, girlie,” commanded Carrington and he took Pauline’s arm as he hurried her to the boat-train.

Watchful Ahri showed them to the compartment he had secured for them, and soon they were on their way to Cairo.

“Now, tell me everything,” said Carr Loria, as they sat alone. “This is a three-hour trip and I want to know the whole story. Just think, Pauline, I’ve had only a few letters, and they were – well, – they were almost contradictory in some ways. So tell me all, from the beginning.”

Pauline did, and by the time they reached Cairo, Loria knew as much as she of the death of their aunt and the subsequent search for the murderer.

“Wasn’t it strange,” he mused, “that that Bates person should go in to kill her, the very night somebody else had the same intention?”

“Well, but, Carr, Bates didn’t start out to kill her, you know; he went to steal the jewels, and he knew they were all in the house that night, because Estelle told him so. Now, of course, whoever gave her the poison, must have known it too – ”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why didn’t somebody want to put her out of the way to get a bequest? Not necessarily the Count gentleman, but maybe one of the servants. Maybe that Estelle? Didn’t she receive a legacy in Aunt Lucy’s will?”

“Yes, but nobody has thought of suspecting her.”

“Don’t see why not. I thought of her first clip. I don’t think that Stone paragon amounts to much. Hey, what are you blushing about? Sits the wind in that quarter?”

“Don’t tease me, Carr. I do like him better than any man I ever saw, but – ”

“And so you ran away and left him! Out with it, Polly. Tell your old Uncle Dudley the story of your life!”

“There’s nothing to tell, Carr, about Mr. Stone. But I came to you, because some people suspect me, —ME– of – of killing Aunt Lucy – ”

“Pauline! They don’t! Who suspects you?”

“All the police people, and Gray and Anita Frayne, – ”

“They do! You poor little girl! I’m glad you came to me. I’ll take care of you. But, Polly, whom do you suspect? Honest, now, who is in your mind?”

“I don’t know, Carr. I can’t seem to think. But when they fastened it on me, I was so frightened, I just flew. Why, just think, every one at Garden Steps was suspicious of me! I could see it even in the servants’ eyes. I couldn’t stand it, and I was afraid – ”

“Yes, dear, go on, – ”

“Well, I was afraid Mr. Stone would think so, and I couldn’t bear that, so I just ran off on impulse. I regretted it lots of times on the trip over, – and then at other times I was glad I came. Are you glad?”

“Sure, Polly. I wanted you to stick to your plan of coming over, you know. Yes, I’m glad you’re here. Now, we’ll soon be in Cairo, and you’ll love it, – all the strange sights and experiences. You’ll live at Shepheard’s for the present. I’ve engaged a chaperon for you.”

“How thoughtful you are, Carr.”

“Oh, of course, a beautiful young woman can’t live alone in Cairo, and also of course, you couldn’t live with me. So, Mrs. MacDonald will look after you, but she won’t in any way bother you. Whenever you need a duenna, she’ll be right at your elbow, and when you don’t want her about, she is self-effacing. You’ll like her, too, she’s not half-bad as a companion.”

At Cairo, Ahri handed them from the train. Again Polly was impressed with the Arab’s dignified bearing and rich costume. His long galabeah, shaped like a well-fitting bathrobe, was of white corded silk, exquisitely embroidered. Collarless, it gave glimpses of other silken vestments, and over it he wore a correct English topcoat, short and velvet-trimmed. From his tarbush to his English shoes and silk hose, he was perfectly garbed and groomed, while the scarab ring on his little finger was the only bit of jewelry visible.

“That’s nothing,” laughed Loria, following her glance. “Wait till you see him in all the glory of his burnoose and other contraptions. Here, Ahri, take this duffel, too. And, now, Polly-pops, you’ll see Cairo.”

The ride to the hotel was like a moving picture in color. The street crowds were rushing by, a flare of bright-hued raiment and dark-skinned faces. Everywhere, baubles were for sale. Street vendors carried them on their heads, in their arms, or thrust them forth with eager hands.

Post-cards, jewelry, scarfs, and fans. Fly-whisks with dangling beads. Embroideries, carved ivories, brasses, sweetmeats, fruits and newspapers, all were successively and collectively offered for immediate, almost compulsory sale.

“And I want to buy every one!” declared Pauline, entranced at the sight of the catch-penny toys.

“All in good time, honey. To-morrow, Ahri shall take you to the bazaars, with or without Mrs. MacDonald, as you choose, and you can get a bushel of foolishness if you want to. Everybody has to cure that first mad desire to buy rubbish, by yielding to it. You soon get enough.”

“Then I may go alone with Ahri to the shops?”

“Yes, anywhere, by daylight, except to social affairs. There, or to any in-door entertainment, you must take her. But she’ll know all these things. Abide always by her decision.”

“But won’t you be with me, Carr? You speak as if I will be much without you.”

“I’m awfully busy, Pauline; I’ll tell you all about it this evening. Then you’ll understand. Here we are at Shepheard’s. Did you ever see such a horde of freaks?”

It was just about dusk. The last rays of the Egyptian sunset were lingering, as if for Pauline to get one glimpse of the picture by their rainbow lights. Many were at tea on the broad Terrace; the scarlet-coated band crashed their brasses; and Pauline entered the hotel, her whole being responding to the strange thrill that Cairo gives even to the most phlegmatic visitor or jaded tourist.

Later, at dinner, she met Mrs. MacDonald, a correct, tactful and diplomatic widow, who looked forward with pleasure to the chaperonage of the beautiful girl to whom she was introduced.

At Loria’s advice, Pauline had put on evening dress; and she made a striking picture, in black tulle, devoid of all jewelry or ornament save a breast-knot of purple orchids her cousin had sent to her rooms.

At dinner, conversation was general, and the trio was made a quartet by the addition of an English friend of Loria’s whom he ran across in the hotel lobby. Later, after they had had their coffee in the great hall, Mrs. MacDonald and the Englishman strolled away and the cousins were left alone.

“How beautiful you have grown, Pauline,” Carr said, his eyes resting on her piquant face, crowned with its mass of soft, dark hair.

“Speak for yourself, John,” she returned smiling up into the handsome, sunburned face of the man who scrutinized her. “You have acquired not only a becoming tan, but a new air of distinction.”

“Glad you think so, girlie. Thanks a whole lot. How do you like the MacDonald?”

“Very much so far. She won’t try to boss me, will she?”

“Not unless you make it necessary; but you must remember that English etiquette obtains in Cairo, and you mustn’t try to be unconventional, except as Mrs. MacDonald approves.”

“Oh, I won’t disgrace you, Carr, I’ve common sense, I hope. Now tell me about yourself.”

“I’m deep in a new project, Polly, a wonderful one. It’s an enormous undertaking, but I shall put it through all right.”

“What is it? Excavation?”

“In a way. But here’s the story. Mind, now, it’s a dead secret. Don’t mention it to Mrs. Mac. I trust you with it, but it must go no further. Well, in a word, I’ve come into possession of an old papyrus, that tells of a treasure – ”

“Oh, Carr, are you a treasure-seeker?”

“Now, wait till I tell you. This papyrus is authentic, and it’s nothing more nor less than an account of a great hoard of jewels and gold sunk, purposely, by an old Egyptian king to save them from seizure. You wouldn’t understand all the reasons that prove this is a true bill, but it is, and so you must take my word for it. All right. The old duffer saw fit to sink this stuff in the Nile, at a certain spot, designated in this papyrus thing, and all I’ve got to do is to dig her up, and there you are!”

Carr Loria’s face lighted up with the enthusiasm of the true archæologist, and Pauline caught the spirit, too, as she exclaimed, “How splendid! How do you get down to it, – if it’s under the Nile?”

“It’s a big scheme, Polly!” and Loria’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve got to have a coffer-dam, an enormous one, – and, oh, and a whole lot of paraphernalia, and it will cost like fury, but the end justifies the expense, – and then, think of the glory of it!”

“Have you got a right to do all this? Can anybody dig wherever he likes in Egypt?”

“No, you little goose! But I’ve managed all that part. I won’t tell even you about it, but I’ve – well, I’ve fixed it up. Now, listen here, Pollypops, you’re to tell just simply nobody a word of all this, – not one, littlest, leastest mite of a word! See?”

“All right, Carr, of course I won’t tell, if you say not to. But will you be away from us? Out of Cairo?”