Truxton King. George Barr McCutcheon

you?"

      Very quickly—he noticed that she went about it clumsily despite her supple gracefulness—she withdrew the heavy weapon from the window and laid it upon the counter. He was looking at her with a peculiar smile upon his lips. She flushed painfully.

      "I am not—not what you would call an expert," she said frankly.

      "You mean in handling broadswords," he said in his most suave manner. "It's a cunning little thing, isn't it?" He picked up the ponderous blade. "I don't wonder you nearly dropped it on your toes."

      "There must have been giants in those days," she said, a slight shudder passing over her.

      "Whoppers," he agreed eagerly. "I've thought somewhat of buying the old thing. Not to use, of course. I'm not a giant."

      "You're not a pigmy," she supplemented, her eyes sweeping his long figure comprehensively.

      "What's the price?" he asked, his courage faltering under the cool, impersonal gaze.

      "I do not know. My uncle has told you?"

      "I—I think he did. But I've got a wretched memory when it comes to broadswords."

      She laughed. "This is such a very old broadsword, too," she said. "It goes back beyond the memory of man."

      "How does it come that you don't know the price?" he asked, watching her narrowly. She met his inquiring look with perfect composure.

      "I am quite new at the trade. I hope you will excuse my ignorance. My uncle will be here in a moment." She was turning away with an air that convinced King of one thing: she was a person who, in no sense, had ever been called upon to serve others.

      "So I've heard," he observed. The bait took effect. She looked up quickly; he was confident that a startled expression flitted across her face.

      "You have heard? What have you heard of me?" she demanded.

      "That you are new at the business," he replied coolly.

      "You are a stranger in a strange land, so they say."

      "You have been making inquiries?" she asked, disdain succeeding dismay.

      "Tentatively, that's all. Ever since you peeked out of the window up there and laughed at me. I'm curious, you see."

      She stared at him in silent intensity for a moment. "That's why I laughed at you. You were very curious."

      "Am I so bad as all that?" he lamented.

      She ignored the question. "Why should you be interested in me, sir?"

      Mr. King was inspired to fabricate in the interest of psychical research. "Because I have heard that you are not the niece of old man Spantz." He watched intently to catch the effect of the declaration.

      She merely stared at him; there was not so much as the flutter of an eyelid. "You have heard nothing of the kind," she said coldly.

      "Well, I'll confess I haven't," he admitted cheerfully. "I was experimenting. I'm an amateur Sherlock Holmes. It pleases me to deduce that you are not related to the armourer. You don't look the part."

      Now she smiled divinely. "And why not, pray? His sister was my mother."

      "In order to establish a line on which to base my calculations, would you mind telling me who your father is?" He asked the question with his most appealing smile—a smile so frankly impudent that she could not resent it.

      "My mother's husband," she replied in the same spirit.

      "Well, that is quite a clue!" he exclaimed. "'Pon my soul, I believe I'm on the right track. Excuse me for continuing, but is he a count or a duke or just a—"

      "My father is dead," she interrupted, without taking her now serious gaze from his face.

      "I beg your pardon," he said at once. "I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

      "My mother is dead. Now can you understand why I am living here with my uncle? Even an amateur may rise to that. Now, sir, do you expect to purchase the sword? If not, I shall replace it in the window."

      "That's what I came here for," said he, resenting her tone and the icy look she gave him.

      "I gathered that you came in the capacity of Sherlock Holmes—or something else." She added the last three words with unmistakable meaning.

      "You mean as a—" he hesitated, flushing.

      "You knew I was alone, sir."

      "By Jove, you're wrong there. I give you my word, I didn't. If I'd known it, I'd surely have come in sooner. There, forgive me. I'm particularly light-headed and futile to-day, and I hope—Beg pardon?"

      She was leaning toward him, her hands on the counter, a peculiar gleam in her dark eyes—which now, for the first time, struck him as rather more keen and penetrating than he had suspected before.

      "I simply want to tell you, Mr. King, that unless you really expect to buy this sword it is not wise in you to make it an excuse for coming here."

      "My dear young lady, I—"

      "My uncle has a queer conception of the proprieties. He may think that you come to see me." A radiant smile leaped into her face, transforming its strange sombreness into absolutely impish mirth.

      "Well, hang it all, he can't object to that, can he? Besides, I never buy without haggling," he expostulated, suddenly exhilarated, he knew not why.

      "Don't come in here unless you expect to buy," she said, serious in an instant. "It isn't the custom in Edelweiss. Young men may chat with shopgirls all the world over—but in Edelweiss, no—unless they come to pay most honourable court to them. My uncle would not understand."

      "I take it, however, that you would understand," he said boldly.

      "I have lived in Vienna, in Paris and in London. But now I am living in Edelweiss. I have not been a shopgirl always."

      "I can believe that. My deductions are justified."

      "Pray forgive me for offering this bit of advice. A word to the wise. My uncle would close the door in your face if—if he thought—"

      "I see. Well, I'll buy the blooming sword. Anyhow, that's what I came in for."

      "No. You came in because I smiled at you from the window upstairs. It is my sitting-room."

      "Why did you smile? Tell me?" eagerly.

      "It was nature asserting itself."

      "You mean you just couldn't help it?"

      "That's precisely what I mean."

      "Not very complimentary, I'd say."

      "A smile is ever a compliment, sir."

      "I say, do you know you interest me?" he began warmly, but she put her finger to her lips.

      "My uncle is returning. I must not talk to you any longer." She glanced uneasily out upon the square, and then hurriedly added, a certain wistfulness in her voice and eyes. "I couldn't help it to-day. I forgot my place. But you are the first gentleman I've spoken to since I came here."

      "I—I was afraid you might think I am not a gentleman. I've been rather fresh."

      "I happen to have known many gentlemen. Before I went into—service, of course." She turned away abruptly, a sudden shadow crossing her face. Truxton King exulted. At last he was touching the long-sought trail of the Golden Girl! Here was Romance! Here was mystery!

      Spantz was crossing the sidewalk. The American leaned forward and half-whispered: "Just watch me buy that broadsword. I may, in time, buy out the shop, piece by piece."

      She smiled swiftly. "Let me warn you: don't pay his price."

      "Thanks."

      When Spantz entered the door, a moment later,