“Surely,” he assented, walking toward the great stairway. “I have to dress, anyway.” “Your room is at the head of the stairs,” Lambart reminded him. “All your luggage is taken in, sir.” Denby looked down at her. “Till dinner?” he asked. “Till dinner,” she said, and watched him pass out of sight. She was a girl whose poise of manner prevented the betrayal of vivid emotion in any but a certain subdued fashion. But it was plain she was laboring now under an agitation that amounted almost to deadly fear. A few seconds later Daniel Taylor strode in with firm assured tread and looked at the luxurious surroundings with approval. “Good evening, Miss Cartwright,” he exclaimed genially. “Good evening.” “My sister,” she returned, trembling, “nothing’s happened to her? She’s all right?” “Sure, sure,” he returned reassuringly, “I haven’t bothered her; the little lady’s all right, don’t you worry.” “Then what do you want here?” she cried alarmed. No matter what his manner this man had menace in every look and gesture. She had never been brought into contact with one who gave in so marked a degree the impression of ruthless strength. “I thought I’d drop in with reference to our little chat this afternoon,” he remarked easily. “Nice place they’ve got here.” “But I don’t understand why you have come,” she persisted. “You haven’t forgotten our little conversation, I hope?” “Of course not,” she said. “Well,” he continued, “you said when I needed you, you’d be ready.” He looked about him cautiously as though fearing interruption. “I said it might be a year, or it might be a month, or it might be to-night. Well, it’s to-night, Miss Cartwright. I need you right now.” “Now?” she said puzzled. “Still, I don’t understand.” He lowered his voice. “A man has smuggled a two hundred thousand dollar necklace through the Customs to-day. For various reasons which you wouldn’t understand, we allowed him to slip through, thinking he’d fooled us. Now that he believes himself safe, it ought to be easy to get that necklace. We’ve got to get it; and we’re going to get it, through one of our agents.” He pointed a forefinger at her. “We’re going to get it through you.” “But I shouldn’t know how to act,” she protested, “or what to do.” Taylor smiled. “You’re too modest, Miss Cartwright. I’ve seen some of your work in my own office, and I think you’ll be successful.” “But don’t you see I’m staying here over Sunday?” she explained. “I can’t very well make an excuse and leave now.” “You don’t have to leave,” he told her. “What do you mean, then?” she demanded. “That the man who smuggled the necklace is staying here, too. His name is Steven Denby.” “Steven Denby!” the girl cried, shrinking away from him. “Oh, no, you must be mad--he isn’t a smuggler.” “Why isn’t he?” Taylor snapped. “I know him,” she explained. “You do?” he cried. “Where did you meet him?” “In Paris,” she replied. “How long have you known him?” “Just about a year,” she answered.