“Will you have a cigarette, Dick?” she heard him call. Instantly Steven Denby wheeled about and faced the door through which she appeared to saunter languidly. Something told her that Monty had discovered her. “Still talking business?” she said, attempting to appear wholly at ease. “I’ve left my fan somewhere.” “Girls are always doing that, aren’t they?” Denby said pleasantly. There was no indication from his tone that he suspected she had been listening. “We’ll have to find it, Monty.” “Sure, Steve, sure,” Monty returned. He was not able to cloak his uneasiness. “Steve?” the girl queried brightly. “As I came in, I thought I heard you call him ‘Dick.’” “That was our private signal,” Denby returned promptly, relieving poor Monty of an answer. “That sounds rather mysterious,” she commented. “But it’s only commonplace,” Denby assured her. “My favorite parlor trick is making breaks--it always has been since Monty first knew me--and invented a signal to warn me when I’m on thin ice or dangerous ground. ‘Will you have a cigarette, Dick’ is the one he most often uses.” “But why ‘Dick?’” she asked. “That’s the signal,” Denby explained. “If he said ‘Steve,’ I shouldn’t notice it, so he always says ‘Dick,’ don’t you, Monty?” “Always, Steve,” Monty answered quickly. “Then you were about to make a break when I came in?” she hinted. “I’m afraid I was,” Denby admitted. “What was it? Won’t you tell me?” “If I did,” he said, “it would indeed be a break.” “Discreet man,” she laughed; “I believe you were talking about me.” He did not answer for a moment but looked at her keenly. It hurt him to think that this girl, of all others, might be fencing with him to gain some knowledge of his secret. But he had lived a life in which danger was a constant element, and women ere this had sought to baffle him and betray. He was cautious in his answer. “You are imaginative,” he said, “even about your fan. There doesn’t seem to be a trace of it, and I don’t think I remember your having one.” “Perhaps I didn’t bring it down,” she admitted, “and it may be in my room after all. May I have that promised cigarette to cheer me on my way?” “Surely,” he replied. Very eagerly she watched him take the pouch from his pocket and roll a cigarette. Her action seemed to set Monty on edge. Suppose Denby by any chance dropped the pouch and the jewels fell out. It seemed to him that she was drawing nearer. Suppose she was the one who had been chosen to “work inside” and snatched it from him? “Miss Cartwright,” he said, and noted that she seemed startled at his voice, “can’t I get your fan for you?” “No, thanks,” she returned, “you’d have to rummage, and that’s a privilege I reserve only for myself.” “Here you are,” Denby broke in, handing her the slim white cigarette. She took it from him with a smile and moistened the edge of the paper as she had seen men do often enough. “You are an expert,” she said admiringly.