“Please tell me,” Michael inquired anxiously, “what mental revolution converted you from the idea that smuggling was a legitimate and noble sport?” “I still don’t think it’s wrong,” Alice declared honestly. “Some of you men seem to, but I’d swindle the government any day.” “Then, for Heaven’s sake,” Nora wanted to know, “why waste all that good money?” Alice waved a jewelled white hand toward Steven Denby. “Behold my reformer!” Ethel Cartwright looked at him quickly. Her distrust of motives was the result of her conversation with Daniel Taylor, who believed in no man’s good faith. “Mr. Denby?” she asked, almost suspiciously. “What has Mr. Denby to do with it?” Nora cried, equally surprised that it was his influence which had stayed the wilful Alice. “He frightened me,” Alice averred. “I want to have a good look at the man who can do that,” Michael cried. “I’m afraid Mrs. Harrington is exaggerating,” Denby explained patiently; “I merely pointed out that things had come to a pass when it might be very awkward to fool with the Customs.” “They didn’t give us the least bit of trouble at the dock,” she answered. “I wish I’d brought in a trunk full of dutiable things. They hardly looked at my belongings.” “That sometimes means,” Denby explained, “that there will be the greatest possible trouble afterwards.” “I don’t see that,” Nora asserted. “How can it be?” “Well,” he returned, “according to some articles in McClure’s a few months ago by Burns, very often a dishonest official will let a prominent woman like Mrs. Harrington slip through the lines without the least difficulty--even if she is smuggling--so that afterwards he can come to her home and threaten exposure and a heavy fine. Usually the woman or her husband will pay any amount to hush things up. I was thinking of that when I advised Mrs. Harrington to declare everything she had.” “But you said a whole lot more than that,” Mrs. Harrington reminded him. “When our baggage was being examined at Dover, you spoke about that man of mystery who is known as R. J. It was cumulative, Mr. Denby, and on the whole you did it rather well. My bank-book is a living witness to your eloquence.” Ethel asked rather eagerly, “But this R. J., Mr. Denby, what is he?” “I’ve heard of him,” Michael answered. “Some man at the club told me about him, but I very soon sized that matter up. If you want to know my opinion, Ethel, R. J. is the bogey man of the Customs. If they suspect an inspector he receives a postal signed R. J., and telling him to watch out. It’s a great scheme, which I recommend to the heads of big business corporations. I don’t believe in R. J.” Ethel looked up at Denby brightly. “But you really believe in him, don’t you?”