and friendly terms with your wife.”
“With my wi – ”
Alan Warburton stopped short and looked sharply at the eyes gazing out from behind the yellow mask.
Did this detective think himself conversing with Archibald? If so – well, what then? He shrank from anything like familiarity with this man before him. Why not leave the mistake as it stood? There could be no harm in it, and he, Alan, would thus be free from future annoyance.
“I will not remove my mask,” thought Alan. “He is not likely to see Archibald, and no harm can come of it. In fact it will be better so. It would seem more natural for him to be investigating his wife’s secrets than for me.”
So the mistake was not corrected – the mistake that was almost providential for Alan Warburton, but that proved a very false move in the game that Van Vernet was about to play.
There was but one flaw in the plan of the proposed incognito.
Alan’s voice was a peculiarly mellow tenor, and Van Vernet never forgot a voice once heard.
“Did you say that this disguised person knows – Mrs. Warburton?”
“I did.”
“Who is the fellow, and what disguise does he wear?”
“I am unable to give his name. He is costumed as the Goddess of Liberty.”
“Oh!”
Van Vernet had his own reasons for withholding Richard Stanhope’s name.
“So!” he thought, while he waited for Alan’s next words. “I’ll spoil your plans for this night, Dick Stanhope! I wonder how our Chief will like to hear that ‘Stanhope the reliable,’ neglects his duty to go masquerading in petticoats, the better to make love to another man’s wife.”
For Van Vernet, judging Stanhope as a man of the world judges men, had leaped to the hasty, but natural, conclusion, that his masquerade in the garb of the mother of his country, was in the character of a lover.
“Vernet,” said Alan at last, “you are a clever fellow! Let me see; there are half a dozen young men here who are ripe for novelty – set the whisper afloat that behind that blue and white mask is concealed a beautiful and mysterious intruder, and they will hang like leeches about her, hoping to discover her identity, or see her unmask.”
“It’s a capital plan!” cried Vernet, “and it can’t be put into execution too soon.”
CHAPTER X.
“I AM YOUR SHADOW.”
It is not a pleasing task to Alan Warburton, but, spurred on by Vernet, and acting according to his suggestions, it is undertaken and accomplished. Within twenty minutes, two gay, fun-loving young fellows, one habited in the garb of a Celestial, the other dressed as a Troubador, are hastening from room to room in search of the mysterious Goddess of Liberty.
“Who was the Mask that posted us about this mysterious lady?” queries the Celestial, as he lifts a portierie for his comrade to pass.
“If I am not mistaken, it was Warburton.”
“Isn’t that a queer move for His Dignity?”
“Well, I don’t know. Presuming the fair Mystery to be an intruder, he may think it the easiest way of putting her to rout. At any rate there’s a little spice in it.”
And there is spice in it. Before the evening closes, the festive Celestial is willing to vote this meeting with a veiled mystery an occasion full of flavor, and worthy to be remembered.
Leaving the pair in full chase after the luckless, petticoat-encumbered Stanhope, we follow Van Vernet, who, having set this trap for the feet of his unconscious comrade, is about to play his next card.
Gliding among the maskers, he makes his way to a side entrance, and passing the liveried servant on guard at the door with a careless jest, he leaves the house, and hastens where, a few rods distant, a solitary figure is standing.
“How long have you been here, Harvey?” he asks hurriedly, but with noticeable affability.
“About half an hour.”
“Good; now listen, for you are to begin your business. Throw on that domino and follow me; the servants have seen me in conversation with the master of the house and they will not require your credentials. Keep near me, and follow me to the dressing-rooms; by-and-by we will exchange costumes there, after which, you will personate me.”
“But, – ”
“There will be no trouble; just mingle with the throng, saying nothing to anyone. No one will address you who could doubt your identity; I will arrange all that. You comprehend?”
“I think so. You are wanted, or you want to be, in two places at once. This being the least important, you place me here as figure-head, while you fill the bill at the other place.”
“You have grasped the situation, Harvey. Let us go in, and be sure you do justice, in my stead, to the banquet – and the Warburton champagne.”
Van Vernet had planned well. Knowing the importance of the Raid in hand for that night, he had determined to be present and share with Stanhope the honors of the occasion, while he seemed to be devoting all his energies to the solution of the mystery that was evidently troubling his wealthy patron, the master of Warburton Place.
Vernet was a man of many resources, and trying, indeed, must be the situation which his fertile brain could not master.
Having successfully introduced his double into the house, he made his way, once more, to the side of his patron, and, drawing him away from the vicinity of possible listeners, said:
“Mr. Warburton, if you have anything further to say to me, please make use of the present moment. After this it will be best for us to hold no further conversation to-night.”
Alan Warburton turned his eyes toward the detective with a cold, scrutinizing stare.
“Why such caution?”
“Because it seems to me necessary; and, if I may be permitted to suggest, you may make some slight discoveries by keeping an eye, more or less, upon Mrs. Warburton.”
With these words Van Vernet turns upon his heel, and strides away with the air of a man who can do all that he essays.
“He is cool to the verge of impudence!” mutters Alan, as he gazes after the receding figure in the British uniform. “But I will act upon his advice; I will watch Mrs. Warburton.”
It is some moments before he catches sight of her glimmering robes, and then he sees them receding, gliding swiftly, and, as he thinks, with a nervous, hurried movement unusual to his stately sister-in-law.
She is going through the drawing-room, away from the dancers, and he hastens after, wondering a little as to her destination.
From a flower-adorned recess, a fairy form springs out, interrupting the lady in the glimmering robes.
“Mamma!” cries little Daisy, “oh Mamma, I have found Mother Goose —real, live Mother
