be making arrests even now, and once started, we'll never pause till every Spanish sympathiser who has knowledge of the plot is under lock and key."
"Stop! Stop!" cried Cecil. "You don't know what you're doing!"
"Oh, trust me for that, and think of the boom your book'll get. I'll make it my special care. I tell you 'The Purple Kangaroo' will be all the rage."
"But you're making a ghastly mistake," insisted the author. "You must listen to me – "
"Can't!" cried Marchmont, springing up as the sound of shouts and clanging bells fell upon his ear. "There's a fire! See you later!" and he dashed out of the club and was gone.
Cecil sank back in his chair fairly paralysed.
"Good heavens! Suppose any of the company should be suspected or arrested! Supposing – "
"A gentleman to see you, sir," said a page at his elbow.
"Show him in!" cried Banborough, fearing the worst, as he read Tybalt Smith's name on the card.
There was no need to have given the message. The actor was at the page's heels, dishevelled, distraught.
"Do you know we're taken for Spanish spies?" he gasped.
"Yes, yes; I've just heard – "
"But they've arrested – "
"Not one of your companions – Spotts, Kerrington, or Mill?"
"No," said the tragedian, shaking his head, "they've arrested Miss Arminster."
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH CECIL BANBOROUGH DRIVES A BLACK MARIA
Cecil Banborough's feelings can be better imagined than described at the announcement of the calamity which had befallen Miss Arminster. The winsome ways of the charming Violet had impressed the young man more deeply than he knew until he was brought face to face with a realisation of the miseries to which his own folly had exposed her.
"Where have they taken her?" he demanded of Smith as soon as his consternation could find expression.
"She's at the police station round the corner from here."
"Where did this occur?" asked Banborough.
"On Fourteenth Street," replied Smith, "Spotts and I met Miss Arminster, and she called out as she passed me, 'Don't forget "The Purple Kangaroo!"' A minute later the police arrested her, and when the crowd heard that she was a Spanish spy, I swear I think they'd have torn her in pieces if the officers hadn't put her in a prison van and got her away."
The tragedian paused, shivering from his recent agitation, and Cecil, seeing his condition, rang for some brandy.
"But what does it all mean?" asked the actor, tossing off his drink.
"I know what it means," cried Banborough, "but there's no time to talk now. We've not a moment to lose!" and he rushed downstairs.
Spotts met them at the doorway, and, as they walked rapidly along, the young Englishman poured into his companions' ears an account of what he had learned from Marchmont of the Spanish plot and the unforeseen use which had been made of the title of his book, while the tragedian rehearsed again the story of Miss Arminster's arrest, of his own hair-breadth escape from the clutches of the law, of his prodigies of valour in connection with Spotts, whom he had met in his headlong flight, and who, it seemed, had prevailed on his more timid companion to follow the prisoner in a hansom.
"It's a bad business," admitted Cecil; "but what's to be done?"
"Done!" exclaimed Smith in tragic tones. "Why, rescue the lady instantly and leave the city without delay. In the present excited state of the public no amount of explanation will avail. We may all be arrested as confederates. We must act!"
"You're talking sense for once," said Spotts. "Heroic measures are the only ones worth considering, and if you" – turning to Banborough – "will stand by us, we may come out on top after all."
"You can depend on me to any extent," declared the young author. "I've got you into this scrape, and I'll do my best to get you out of it."
"That's just what I expected of you, Bishop!" exclaimed Spotts, grasping his hand. "We can't waste time in talking. You must go and find the other members of the company, Tyb, and warn them of their danger. Now where can we rendezvous outside the city? Speak quickly, some one!"
"The leading hotel in Yonkers," said Smith.
"Right you are," replied Spotts. "Get there as soon as possible and wait for us to turn up. How about funds?"
"I've plenty of ready money with me," volunteered Cecil, "and very fortunately a draft to my credit arrived to-day, which I've not yet cashed."
"Good!" said Spotts. "We're in luck. Give Tyb fifty."
Banborough whipped out a roll of bills and handed the desired amount to the tragedian without demur.
"Now, off you go," cried his brother actor, "and keep your wits about you."
Smith nodded and hailed a passing cab.
"Come," said Spotts to the author, "we've no time to lose."
"What's your plan?" asked Cecil as they swung round the corner and sighted the police station.
"Haven't got any as yet. We'll see how the land lies first. The Black Maria's still before the door. That's lucky!"
Sure enough, there it was, looking gloomily like an undertaker's wagon, minus the plate glass.
"Must be hot inside," commented the actor, directing a glance at the two little grated slits high up in the folding doors at the back, which apparently formed the only means of ventilation.
Cecil shuddered as he thought of the discomforts which the girl must be enduring, and longed to throw himself upon the vehicle and batter it to pieces. But calmer judgment prevailed, and controlling himself he approached the police station, saying:
"Let me go first. You might be recognised. I'll try and find out where she's to be taken."
He accordingly went up to the driver of the Black Maria, who, cap in hand, was wiping his perspiring forehead.
"A fine pair of horses that," he said, indicating the mettlesome bays attached to the vehicle, which, in spite of their brisk run, were tossing their heads and fretting to be off.
"Oh, they're good enough," was the curt reply. "A trifle fresh, but we need that in our business."
"Something interesting on to-day?" queried Cecil.
"Who the devil are you, anyway?" asked the driver abruptly. And the Englishman, lying boldly, replied:
"I'm the new reporter on the Daily Leader. I was here last week with Mr. Marchmont on a burglary case."
"Oh, the New Rochelle robbery," suggested the driver.
Cecil acquiesced, drawing a quiet sigh of relief that his random shot had hit the mark.
"Yes," he said, "that's it. I was introduced round, but I don't remember meeting you."
