The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure. Rex Beach

a moment's work with no risk. We are alone in the house. No one but the Wolf knows you are here. Even I don't know—By the way, I—I haven't seen you yet."

      "Under the circumstances, I think I'll keep my mask on," Van Dam answered. "Perhaps the less you know about me, the better."

      "Then you agree?" queried the other, all ashake.

      Roly declined with a gesture.

      "Eh, God! Five thousand dollars! A fortune, indeed! Think of it! Heaven knows I am not a Cr[oe]sus, and yet—I might increase even that a little. What do you say? Six thousand, then, all cash?"

      "This is the money you stole from Emile, I believe," said Van Dam. "You could afford even more—"

      "Seven thousand five hundred!" chattered Alfred. "Not another cent, or I shall do it myself."

      "Good! You do it!" Roly exclaimed; whereat the tempter writhed and shivered in an ague of fear. With a wail that came like a sob and with a final wrench of his miserly soul, he exclaimed:

      "Wait, then! I will pay you ten thousand dollars if you kill him. The money is there. It will bankrupt me; but—God above! Ten thousand dollars! It is scarcely worth it—such a little job!"

      "How do I know you'd make good?" inquired the young man. "You robbed him. You might rob me."

      "I have promised! It is there—in the safe. The moment he is dead—"

      "Bah!" Mr. Van Dam managed a mocking laugh, although his heart was pounding. "Your word is worth nothing to me."

      Alfred made answer by slipping across the room and kneeling before the steel safe. He spun the knob swiftly to right and to left, then gave a wrench, and the massive door opened.

      "Come here!"

      Van Dam obeyed.

      "Look!"

      He saw legal documents, deeds, mortgages, and blue envelopes, all neatly marked, then a cash-drawer crowded full of symmetrical packages of crisp, new ten-dollar bills, each with its bank band plainly labeled "$1000."

      "Eh? Are you satisfied?" The owner was staring craftily up at him, careful to keep his body between Van Dam and the treasure.

      "Jove!" Roly exclaimed in astonishment. "You'll be robbed some night."

      "Is it a bargain?"

      "I'm no business man." The masker hesitated with an air of extreme suspicion. "Will you pay in advance?"

      At this, Cousin Alfred uttered a bleat of dismay, but Roly was firm.

      "I'm not sure you'd open the safe again, don't you see? Besides, it would take time, and—I'd prefer not to wait; really I would, for I'm always a bit nervous after a job of this kind."

      "Listen, then," exclaimed the old man. "I will close the safe, but I will leave the combination off. See! We must each run some risk in this matter, I suppose; but—I trust you. Once it is over, there will be no delay. A moment and you can be away with ten thousand dollars in your pocket—and with me to do the explaining."

      Why he had allowed the affair to run to so extraordinary a length Van Dam hardly knew, except that he wished to gain time. He had no idea that the mysterious Emile would really come to the house, for Madelon had as much as told him that a far different reason lay behind the young man's presence in the city.

      What did concern Roly, however, the more he considered it, was the possible consequence if the two girls returned. Thus far he had been able to meet each new surprise, each fresh situation, with a resource that amazed himself, but if they came face to face with him and Alfred, his own masquerade would end at once and disastrous explanations would certainly follow. Nevertheless, he could not run away and leave them in an awkward position. As he looked back over the fantastic occurrences of the past hour or more it amused and amazed him to realize how nicely he had fitted into the puzzle—and puzzle it surely was; for the whole sequence of events that had followed the purchase of the white gardenia that lay above his heart was now more bewildering than ever.

      That there was something more than mere roguery afoot he had ample proof. He felt himself groping along the edge of something vague and black and sinister. But what it was, what were the issues, or who were the people involved, he had not the slightest conception. Of one thing only was he sure, Madelon had no place in this elaborate web and woof of crime. She had impressed him more deeply even than he had realized, and his main anxiety now, outside of a desire to protect her from the venom of this poisonous old man, was to see her face, to lift with his own fingers the mask that had so tantalized him.

      The owner of the house was busily arranging the plans for Emile's destruction when the doorbell rang. He clutched his guest nervously by the arm and thrust the revolver into his hand, whispering:

      "It is he! The scoundrel has arrived! Quickly now—behind the door!"

      But Roly stepped to a front window and, cautiously drawing the curtain aside, peered out. He saw what he had feared—the figure of a petite Norman maid, and beside it that of a masked woman in a long, dark robe.

      "Well, now! Who can it be?" he heard Alfred whisper, and discovered the senile villain peering past his shoulder.

      "It is Madelon and Félice," Roly explained.

      "They! Here? Wait! I will give them a cursing to remember." But before the speaker could move he found his arms pinioned behind him and his own weapon pointed at his head. He uttered a squeak of amazement and terror. "Mon Dieu! What is this?"

      "Shut up!" Roly dragged the old man from the window, stripped a thick curtain cord from its hook, and knotted his wrists together.

      Alfred offered no resistance; a horrible fear had him by the throat; he hung like a sack in the younger man's grasp. His eyes alone retained their activity. These followed Van Dam in a horrified stare; they seemed about to emerge from their sockets.

      Roly deposited his limp captive in a chair and, stepping to the window, tapped sharply. When Madelon looked up he signaled her to wait. The hall portières furnished another cord for Cousin Alfred's ankles, and a handkerchief served as a gag. As this was being adjusted, however, the captive quavered, hoarsely:

      "Who—are you?"

      "I?" Roly laughed. "Why, I am your cousin Emile!"

      The householder voiced a thin shriek and began to plead for his life. Then the remnants of his strength escaped, leaving him a spineless heap in the great leather chair.

      Van Dam bore him in his arms down the hall, searching for a place of concealment. This he found in a closet, the door of which he closed. Then he hastened back to the front entrance.

      "You kept us waiting sufficiently," Madelon said, as he stepped aside for the two women to enter.

      Roly's eyes were glued upon the taller of the two figures, but Félice seemed to take no heed of him. He heard her murmuring in a sick, eager voice:

      "Emile! My own beloved! Emile!"

      Madelon raised her hand in a warning gesture and the young man shrank closer into the shadows.

      "Courage, dear!" she said to her companion. "We have arrived at last. A moment now and he will come." She half led, half supported the taller woman into the library. The next instant she was back at Van Dam's side. Drawing him into the parlor, across the hall, she exclaimed in a voice which showed that tears were in her eyes: "Thank Heaven, no one recognized us! But I was weak with fright. Oh! It was pitiful! I have wept at every step. She has been calling you like that, night and day. Go—quickly!" She removed his mask and thrust him into the hall.

      This was the most embarrassing moment Van Dam had experienced thus far. He had been prepared to face eventual discovery, and had decided to make a clean breast of his part in this comedy when the necessary moment arrived, but—this was altogether different. Félice was ill, half-demented. What might be the effect upon her of this disclosure? There was nothing to do, however, but to