admit that it was a bit spooky.” He tapped his pocket mechanically, and stopped dead.
“Gone!” he gasped, and dived into his pocket.
“My memorandum book!” Suddenly he grasped his companion and shook him savagely.
“It was you, damn you! I felt you pawing over me in the dark.”
Grayson looked at him goodnaturedly. “Don’t be an ass, Baggin,” he said. “What would I do with your code when I had it? God knows I don’t want the responsibility of this business!”
Baggin released him sullenly.
“I — I beg pardon, Grayson. But I did feel hands upon me in the darkness, and thought at the time it was you. I daresay it was that accursed Spaniard.”
He looked about him eagerly. The crowd was dispersing in all directions. The stranger was not to be seen.
“Thank Heaven, the thing was in cipher. He won’t be able to make anything of it, anyway. He probably thought it was a fat wallet full of money, and will be desperately disappointed.” He laughed mirthlessly. Plainly he was greatly disturbed. Grayson observed him with a malicious satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t carry valuables around in a place like this,” he remarked gravely.
The two men descended the hill and made their way to their hotel.
The stranger went into the cathedral, and took from the pocket of his mantle a small memorandum book.
“‘Men babble away their secrets, and whisper away their lives,’” he murmured with a smile.
“Never was my friend Baggin more apropos.” He set to work upon the cipher. It was very quiet in the cathedral.
That evening, at ten o’clock, the trim serving-maid tapped lightly at the sittingroom door of the two American gentlemen, and tendered Baggin, who answered it, a card.
“Tell him to come up,” he said in a surly voice.
He flipped the bit of pasteboard across to his friend. “Poltavo! What the devil is he doing in this part of the world? No good, I’ll be bound.”
A sudden idea shot across his mind and struck him pale. He stood in the middle of the room, his head down, his brows drawn blackly together. A red light flickered in his eyes. Grayson, lounging easily in a deep leather chair, regarded him with something of the contempt the lazy man always entertains for the active one. The beginning of a secret dislike formed vaguely in his brain. His thoughts flew to Poltavo, a bright contrast. “I wish he would bring me news of Doris,” he muttered. A wistful look crept into his face.
There was a discreet double knock at the door, it fell open, and Count Poltavo was revealed framed picturesquely in the archway.
He wore a black felt hat and a velvet-lined cappa which fell about him in long graceful folds. A small dark moustache adorned his upper lip. He removed it, and the hat, gravely, and stood bareheaded before them, a slender, distinguished figure.
“Good-evening, gentlemen.”
He spoke in a soft, well-modulated voice, which held a hint of laughter. “Mr. Baggin, permit me to restore something of yours which I — er — found upon the hill.” He held out the memorandum book, smiling.
Baggin sprang at him with an oath.
The count, still smiling, flung out his other hand, with a motion of defence, and the candlelight gleamed brightly upon a small dagger of Spanish workmanship. “‘Ware!” he cried softly. “That point, I fancy, is sharp.”
Baggin fell back a pace, his face twitching with rage.
“You would knife me, an unarmed man!” he cried furiously. “You low foreign cur!”
The count took a quick step toward him. His eyes sparkled. “I must ask you to retract that,” he said. There was a dangerous note in his tones like the thin edge of a blade.
Grayson started to his feet. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” he cried. “Are you gone stark mad, to quarrel over such a trifle? Baggin, stop glaring like a caged beast. Sit down. The count has returned your book, which doubtless you dropped upon the hill. And did you not boast that its contents were undecipherable?,”
Baggin took the book. “I may have been over-hasty,” he acknowledged grudgingly, suspicion still in his eye. “But your disguise—”
“Was necessary, my friend, and I accept your apology. Say nothing more of it.” The count unfastened the clasp at his throat, stuck the dagger into the panel of the door, and hung his hat and mantle upon it. The moustache he held up between thumb and forefinger with a grimace.
“How do you like me with mustachios, Mr. Grayson? They fell off three times to-day.” The man whom most of London supposed to be dead laughed heartily.
“They change the entire cast of your countenance,” he remarked candidly. “They make you look like a rascal.”
“That is true,” admitted the count. “I have observe’ the same. They bring out the evil streak in my nature. I used to wear them, five years ago, in London,” he continued pensively, “and then I shaved for — ah — aesthetic reasons. Mr. T. B. Smith does not fancy mustachios. He thought they gave me the look of a nihilist — or perhaps a Russian spy. Apropos,” he nodded to Grayson, “he has charge of your case. He is a clever man, my friend.” He sighed gently.
Grayson looked at him sombrely. “I wish I were out of this job,” he muttered, “and back in America with DoYis. You saw her?”he demanded eagerly.
The count nodded, with a significant glance toward Baggin. The latter caught the look, and suspicion flamed again in his eye.
“May I ask you a plain question?” he said harshly.
“Surely!”
“How much of this business do you know?”
The count permitted himself a smile. “Since this afternoon,” he answered softly, “I know — all.”
Baggin’s face grew black with rage. “Thief! I knew it!” He stuttered in the intensity of his passion.
The count surveyed him dispassionately.
“Wrath in, reason out,” he murmured. Grayson intervened again. “For my part,” he declared, “I am heartily glad of it. Poltavo is one of us now, and can tell us what he thinks of the scheme. I have always wished for his opinion.”
Baggin rose abruptly, and strode about the room. Plainly the man was in a great, almost uncontrollable passion. The veins on his temples stood out in knots, and his hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically. Presently he turned, mastering himself with a strong effort, and held out his hand.
“I agree,” he said in a constrained voice. “You are one of us, count.” The two shook hands and resumed their chairs.
“And now,” said Grayson, “tell
