The Gray Mask. Camp Wadsworth

of a gaudily colored skirt. The others had risen. The leader, grasping the youth's elbow, shoved him to one side, and Garth, his view unobstructed now, gazed incredulously at Nora's blazing, painted face.

      His first impulse was to cry out and warn the girl back from this ambush into which she had unaccountably strayed. He gripped the edge of the table. He half arose. For a moment the room went black. All at once he realized that her presence at this unique rendezvous must be without the slightest ambiguity. Perhaps it was an ill-advised attempt to rescue him from the net. He waited tensely for some word. His heart sank. She couldn't recognize him behind the mask.

      He wouldn't lie to himself any longer. Nora, whom he had always seen in black, wore a flashy dress. She had given the conspirators their own signal. She received from them a welcome of anxiety.

      The room darkened again. He sat in a frozen silence. He saw and heard as from a vast distance.

      "Whole force at your heels, Nora?" the leader asked gently.

      Closing the door, she faced them breathlessly. Her eyes flashed, but fear lurked there, too.

      "No," she said, "but it might be tramping on the dock without your guessing it. Listen, Slim."

      She raised her clenched fists.

      "There's a bull here. There's a cop with his hand at your throat."

      "Nora! You're having a nightmare."

      "Hold on," George said. "Nora ought to know."

      "Yes," she gasped, "and it's straight."

      Slim relaxed.

      "From your father?"

      She nodded.

      "How in – "

      "I don't know," she said, "but he was sure he'd have a stool with you to-night. He's tried so long I know he wasn't bragging. Slim! We can't trip up now. I've worked too hard. You've told me what a mess you made last time, when that cop, Kridel, was croaked. Where will we be if anything like that's pulled again?"

      "Easy, Nora," Slim said. "Maybe we wouldn't be any worse off than we were then. Has anybody burned in the chair for that? Does anybody know who croaked Kridel? Well – the man who did it. Don't lose your nerve. The cops would have a fine time getting a witness in a murder case out of this crowd. And, if what you say is so, maybe the same thing will happen to-night, only in a more convenient spot."

      "What are you going to do, Slim?" she asked. "Tie him up, but no more murder. I quit at that."

      "Leave it to me," he muttered. "Show me the bull."

      Garth received the words as a condemned man probably hears the voice of a judge who wears the black cap.

      The girl glanced rapidly around. Then, advancing steadily to the table, she raised her hand and pointed at Garth.

      He stared fascinated at the finger which, a few hours ago, he had held violently in the rush of his passion. He was aware of the flashing eyes which that afternoon had been wet with tears. But his brain was dull. He waited patiently for the exposure which now appeared unavoidable because of the woman he loved.

      She spoke evenly.

      "Who could it be but this man that hides his face? There's no doubt about the rest of you. You only have to see, Slim, whether this fellow, Simmons, has got a face."

      "He had the word," the leader answered, "and look at that scar. But you're right, Nora. If there's a bull here he's behind that mask."

      "Then make him take it off," she said.

      Garth raised his hands. His croaking voice was torn with dismay.

      "No. I warn you. Spare me and yourselves that. It's not pretty, what you'd see."

      "Take it off," the girl repeated.

      "I hide it," Garth cried. "For years – Listen, you. If you don't let me keep a little pride you can do your dirty work without me."

      The leader put his hand on Garth's shoulder.

      "Now, now," he said soothingly. "Depend on it, Simmons, if you're all right we don't want to hurt your feelings."

      "All right!" Nora mocked. "And I tell you there's a cop here. And you know as well as I he's the only one. You're crazy, Slim."

      "Good thing one of us is then," the leader sneered. "If this isn't Simmons we're out of the running for to-night anyway. If it is, what do we gain by making a show of him? That's what I was going to propose. Only one of us need look."

      "That'll do," Nora agreed. "Well! Who?"

      "George here was anxious."

      "Look yourself," George answered. "I'm no dime museum fiend."

      Suddenly Garth arose.

      "Maybe the lady – " he croaked. "She's so set on it. A pleasant sight for ladies."

      Nora flushed angrily.

      "I'll call that bluff."

      She waved the others back towards the end of the room.

      "And be quick about it," she said to Garth.

      Garth caught the expressions of the others. He noticed their ready hands. While his fingers rose to the fastenings of the gray mask he turned slowly and faced Nora.

      For a moment he hesitated. Even after all he had seen he shrank from forcing on the girl the responsibility of tossing him to those waiting hands. He was tempted to spare her that, to confess himself to the others. But the stamping of her foot, the tone of her voice, impatient, commanding, decided him.

      "Hurry, I say! There's no way out."

      So, holding her with his eyes, he slipped the gray mask aside.

      He saw her stare while the angry color left her cheeks. But at first her expression did not alter. It seemed to him a long time before terror twisted her face, before she screamed. He watched her cower back, crossing her arms over her eyes; watched her fall against the wall, where she bent, trembling.

      Garth replaced the mask, shrugging his shoulders, and turned to the others. The leader laughed lightly, with satisfaction.

      "Never dreamed it was as bad as that, Simmons. You're right. Don't blame you, but you must see we had to be sure."

      Garth nodded. He sat down. Let the girl speak. Until then he would play his part.

      "Looks as if the stool lost a leg somewhere," he said.

      He studied Nora. Her face hidden, she remained shrinking against the wall. Still she did not speak.

      George stepped to her side and put his arm around her.

      "Forget it, little girl. Wish I'd looked for you."

      She shook his arm off and pushed him away.

      "Forget it yourself, George," the leader warned. "You ought to have learned that won't go with Nora."

      "She knows I'm no butterfly," George answered sullenly.

      His touch had aroused her. She straightened and turned wild eyes on the gray mask. Garth waited then for her to betray him, but she only stammered a little.

      "He's right. A pleasant sight for ladies! Boat – must have thrown them off the track."

      She laughed hysterically. She sank on the end of the bench.

      Garth was surprised, now that the strain was broken, not to experience any exceptional relief. In spite of the game's vital stakes it had interested him chiefly because of the various effects it might have had on Nora. Yet it had yielded him no key to her presence here, to her disgraceful marketing of her father's confidence, to her assumption at home of black robes and grief, or, finally, to her apparent decision to let the night's work continue in spite of his presence. Probably she hoped he could not get help until the job had been done. Or – and the thought struck him with the shameful tingling of a slap – perhaps she thought he would let the others go rather than capture and convict the woman he had craved in marriage.

      He pressed his lips together. He beckoned to Slim. He took the whip in his own hands.

      "Is