style="font-size:15px;"> "This is worse than inhuman," he thought. "If I go out on such an errand to-night I sure am doing my bitter bit. … Probably some policeman will shoot me—unless I freeze to death. This is a vastly unpleasant affair…. Vastly!"
He was still caressing the fire with his regard when Miss Erith came back.
She wore a fur coat buttoned to the throat, a fur toque, fur gloves. As he rose she naively displayed a jimmy and two flashlights.
"I see," he said, "very nice, very handy! But we don't need these to convict us."
She laughed and handed him the instruments; and he pocketed them and followed her downstairs.
Her car was waiting, engine running; she spoke to the Kadiak chauffeur, got in, and Vaux followed.
"You know," he said, pulling the mink robe over her and himself, "you're behaving very badly to your superior officer."
"I'm so excited, so interested! I hope I'm not lacking in deference to my honoured Chief of Division. Am I, Mr. Vaux?"
"You certainly hustle me around some! This is a crazy thing we're doing."
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
"You're an autocrat. You're a lady-Nero! Tell me, Miss Erith, were you ever afraid of anything on earth?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Lightning and caterpillars."
"Those are probably the only really dangerous things I never feared," he said. "You seem to be young and human and feminine. Are you?"
"Oh, very."
"Then why aren't you afraid of being shot for a burglar, and why do you go so gaily about grand larceny?"
The girl's light laughter was friendly and fearless.
"Do you live alone?" he inquired after a moment's silence.
"Yes. My parents are not living."
"You are rather an unusual girl, Miss Erith."
"Why?"
"Well, girls of your sort are seldom as much in earnest about their war work as you seem to be," he remarked with gentle irony.
"How about the nurses and drivers in France?"
"Oh, of course. I mean nice girls, like yourself, who do near-war work here in New York—"
"You ARE brutal!" she exclaimed. "I am mad to go to France! It is a sacrifice—a renunciation for me to remain in New York. I understand nursing and I know how to drive a car; but I have stayed here because my knowledge of ciphers seemed to fit me for this work."
"I was teasing you," he said gently.
"I know it. But there is SO much truth in what you say about near-war work. I hate that sort of woman…. Why do you laugh?"
"Because you're just a child. But you are full of ability and possibility, Miss Erith."
"I wish my ability might land me in France!"
"Surely, surely," he murmured.
"Do you think it will, Mr. Vaux?"
"Maybe it will," he said, not believing it. He added: "I think, however, your undoubted ability is going to land us both in jail."
At which pessimistic prognosis they both began to laugh. She was very lovely when she laughed.
"I hope they'll give us the same cell," she said. "Don't you?"
"Surely," he replied gaily.
Once he remembered the photograph of Arethusa in his desk at headquarters, and thought that perhaps he might need it before the evening was over.
"Surely, surely," he muttered to himself, "hum—hum!"
Her coupe stopped in Fifty-sixth Street near Madison Avenue.
"The car will wait here," remarked the girl, as Vaux helped her to descend. "Lauffer's shop is just around the corner." She took his arm to steady herself on the icy sidewalk. He liked it.
In the bitter darkness there was not a soul to be seen on the street; no tramcars were approaching on Madison Avenue, although far up on the crest of Lenox Hill the receding lights of one were just vanishing.
"Do you see any policemen?" she asked in a low voice.
"Not one. They're all frozen to death, I suppose, as we will be in a few minutes."
They turned into Madison Avenue past the Hotel Essex. There was not a soul to be seen. Even the silver-laced porter had retired from the freezing vestibule. A few moments later Miss Erith paused before a shop on the ground floor of an old-fashioned brownstone residence which had been altered for business.
Over the shop-window was a sign: "H. Lauffer, Frames and Gilding." The curtains of the shop-windows were lowered. No light burned inside.
Over Lauffer's shop was the empty show-window of another shop—on the second floor—the sort of place that milliners and tea-shop keepers delight in—but inside the blank show-window was pasted the sign "To Let."
Above this shop were three floors, evidently apartments. The windows were not lighted.
"Lauffer lives on the fourth floor," said Miss Erith. "Will you please give me the jimmy, Vaux?"
He fished it out of his overcoat pocket and looked uneasily up and down the deserted avenue while the girl stepped calmly into the open entryway. There were two doors, a glass one opening on the stairs leading to the upper floors, and the shop door on the left.
She stooped over for a rapid survey, then with incredible swiftness jimmied the shop door.
The noise of the illegal operations awoke the icy and silent avenue with a loud, splitting crash! The door swung gently inward.
"Quick!" she said. And he followed her guiltily inside.
The shop was quite warm. A stove in the rear room still emitted heat and a dull red light. On the stove was a pot of glue, or some other substance used by gilders and frame makers. Steam curled languidly from it; also a smell not quite as languid.
Vaux handed her an electric torch, then flashed his own. The next moment she found a push button and switched on the lights in the shop. Then they extinguished their torches.
Stacks of frames in raw wood, frames in "compo," samples gilded and in natural finish littered the untidy place. A few process "mezzotints" hung on the walls. There was a counter on which lay twine, shears and wrapping paper, and a copy of the most recent telephone directory. It was the only book in sight, and Miss Erith opened it and spread her copy of the cipher-letter beside it. Then she began to turn the pages according to the numbers written in her copy of the cipher letter.
Meanwhile, Vaux was prowling. There were no books in the rear room; of this he was presently assured. He came back into the front shop and began to rummage. A few trade catalogues rewarded him and he solemnly laid them on the counter.
"The
