Denby stood looking after her. “Bully, bully girl,” he muttered. “Anything wrong, Steve?” Monty inquired, not catching what he said. Denby turned to the speaker slowly; his thoughts had been more pleasantly engaged. “I don’t understand why they haven’t done anything,” he answered. “I’m certain we were followed at the dock. When I went to send those telegrams I saw a man who seemed very much disinterested, but kept near me. I saw him again when we had our second blow-out near Jamaica. It might have been a coincidence, but I’m inclined to think they’ve marked us down.” “I don’t believe it,” Monty cried. “If they had the least idea about the necklace, they’d have pinched you at the pier, or got you on the road when it was only you and the chauffeur against their men.” Still Denby seemed dubious. “They let me in too dashed easily,” he complained, “and I can’t help being suspicious.” “They seemed to suspect me,” Monty reminded him. “The fellow thought you were laughing at him, that’s all. They’ve no sense of humor,” Denby returned. “What I said to-night was no fiction, Monty. Cartier’s may have tipped the Customs after all.” “But you paid Harlow a thousand dollars,” Monty declared. “He wasn’t the only one to know I had bought the pearls, though,” Denby observed thoughtfully. “It looks fishy to me. They may have some new wrinkles in the Customs.” “That damned R. J.,” Monty said viciously, “I’d like to strangle him.” “It would make things easier,” Denby allowed. “All the same,” Monty remarked, “I think we’ve both been too fidgety.” “Dear old Monty,” his friend said, smiling, “if you knew the game as I do, and had hunted men and been hunted by them as I have, you’d not blame me for being a little uneasy now.” With apprehension Monty watched him advance swiftly toward the switch on the centre wall by the window. “Get over by that window,” he commanded, and Monty hurriedly obeyed him. Then he turned off the lights, leaving the room only faintly illuminated by the moonlight coming through the French windows. “What the devil’s up?” Monty asked excitedly. “Is there anyone there on the lawn?” Monty peered anxiously through the glass. “No,” he whispered, and then added: “Yes, there’s a man over there by the big oak. By Jove, there is!” “What’s he doing?” the other demanded. “Just standing and looking over this way.” “He’s detailed to watch the house. Anybody else with him?” “Not that I can see.” “Come away, Monty,” Denby called softly, and when his friend was away from observation, he switched on the light again. “Now,” he asked, “do you believe that we were followed?” “The chills are running down my spine,” Monty confessed. “Gee, Steve, I hope it won’t come to a gun fight.” “They won’t touch you,” Denby said comfortingly; “they want me.” “I don’t know,” Monty said doubtfully. “They’ll shoot first, and then ask which is you.” Denby was unperturbed. “I think we’ve both been too fidgety,” he quoted.