Monty shivered a bit. “I never thought of that,” he said innocently. “Then you’d better begin now,” his mentor suggested, “and have for once a voyage where you won’t be bored.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s later than I thought and I have to be up early. I’ll walk to your hotel.” During the short walk Monty glanced apprehensively over his shoulder a score of times. Out of the shadows it seemed to him that mysterious men stared evilly and banded themselves together until a procession followed the two Americans. But Denby paid no sort of attention to these problematic followers. “Wait till I’ve got the pearls on me,” he whispered mischievously. “Then you’ll see some fun.” CHAPTER TWO Although the carriages and automobiles of the wealthy were no longer three deep in the Rue de la Paix, as they had been earlier in the season, this ravishing thoroughfare was crowded with foot-passengers as Monty and his friend made their way under the red and white awnings of the shops into Cartier’s. The transaction took very little time. The manager of the place seemed to be expecting his client, to whom he accorded the respect that even a Rue de la Paix jeweler may pay to a million-franc customer. Bank of France notes of high denominations were passed to him and Steven Denby received a small, flat package and walked out into the sunshine with it. “Now,” said the owner of the pearls, “guard me as you would your honor, Monty; the sport begins, and I am now probably pursued by a half dozen of the super-crooks of high class fiction.” “I wish you’d be serious,” Monty said plaintively. “I am,” Denby assured him. “But I rely on your protection, so feel more light-hearted than I should otherwise.” “You are laughing at me,” Monty protested. “I want you to look a little less like a detected criminal,” Denby returned. “If I happened to be a detective after a criminal I should arrest you on sight. You keep looking furtively about as though you’d done murder and bloodhounds were on your track.” “Well, they are on our track,” Monty said excitedly, and then whispered thrillingly: “Have a cigarette, Dick.” There was trembling triumph in his voice. He felt he had justified himself in his friend’s eyes. “What is it?” Denby asked with no show of excitement. “There was a man in Cartier’s who watched us all the time,” Monty confided. “He is on our trail now. We’re being shadowed, Steve. It’s all up!” “Nonsense!” his companion cried. “There’s nothing compromising in buying a pearl necklace. I didn’t steal it.” Suddenly he turned around and looked at the man Monty indicated. His face cleared. “That’s Harlow. He’s one of Cartier’s clerks, who looks after American women’s wants. Don’t worry about him.” By this time the two had come to the Tuileries, that paradise for the better class Parisian children. Denby pointed to a seat. “Sit down there,” he commanded, “while I see what Harlow wants.”