"Abduction, maybe," Macloud suggested. "Some night a black cloth will be thrown over your head, you'll be tossed into a cab--I mean, an automobile--and borne off for ransom like Charlie Ross of fading memory." "Moral--don't venture out after sunset!" laughed Croyden. "And don't venture out at any time without a revolver handy and a good pair of legs," added Macloud. "I can work the legs better than I can the revolver." "Or, to make sure, you might have a guard of honor and a gatling gun." "You're appointed to the position--provide yourself with the gun!" "But, seriously!" said Macloud, "it would be well to take some precaution. They seem obsessed with the idea that you have the jewels, here--and they evidently intend to get a share, if it's possible." "What precaution, for instance?" scoffed Croyden. Macloud shrugged his shoulders, helplessly. "I wish I knew," he said. XVI THE MARABOU MUFF The next two weeks passed uneventfully. The thieves did not manifest themselves, and the Government authorities did nothing to suggest that they had been informed of the Parmenter treasure. Macloud had developed an increasing fondness for Miss Carrington's society, which she, on her part, seemed to accept with placid equanimity. They rode, they drove, they walked, they sailed when the weather warranted--and the weather had recovered from its fit of the blues, and was lazy and warm and languid. In short, they did everything which is commonly supposed to denote a growing fondness for each other. Croyden had been paid promptly for the Virginia Development Company bonds, and was once more on "comfortable street," as he expressed it. But he spoke no word of returning to Northumberland. On the contrary, he settled down to enjoy the life of the village, social and otherwise. He was nice to all the girls, but showed a marked preference for Miss Carrington; which, however, did not trouble his friend, in the least. Macloud was quite willing to run the risk with Croyden. He was confident that the call of the old life, the memory of the girl that was, and that was still, would be enough to hold Geoffrey from more than firm friendship. He was not quite sure of himself, however--that he wanted to marry. And he was entirely sure she had not decided whether she wanted him--that was what gave him his lease of life; if she decided _for_ him, he knew that he would decide for her--and quickly. Then, one day, came a letter--forwarded by the Club, where he had left his address with instructions that it be divulged to no one. It was dated Northumberland, and read: "My dear Colin--