“I don’t need it,” he said, taking one similar in shape and color from his pocket. “Two pouches!” she cried aghast. “Two?” “An unnecessary precaution,” he said carelessly, “one would have done; as it is they haven’t suspected me a bit.” “You can’t be certain of that,” she insisted. “If they found out they’d put you in prison.” “And would you care?” he demanded. “Why, of course I would,” she responded. “Aren’t we friends?” He had that same steady look in his eyes as he asked: “Are we?” It was a gaze she could not bring herself to meet. Assuredly, she groaned, she was not of the stuff from which the successful adventuress was made. “Of course,” she murmured in reply. “But what are you going to do?” “I’ve made my plans,” he told her. “I’ve been very careful. I’ve given my confidence to two people only, both of whom I trust absolutely--Monty Vaughan and”--he looked keenly at her,--“and you. I shan’t be caught. I won’t give in, and I’ll stop at nothing, no matter what it costs, or whom it hurts. I’ve got to win.” It seemed to him she made an ejaculation of distress. “What is it?” he cried. “Nothing much,” she said nervously, “it’s the heat, I suppose. That’s why I wouldn’t dance, you know. Won’t you take me into the garden and we’ll look at the moon--it’s the same moon,” she said, with a desperate air of trying to conceal from him her agitation, “that shines in Paris. It’s gorgeous,” she added, looking across the room where no moon was. “Surely,” he said. “It is rather stuffy indoors on a night like this.” He moved leisurely over to the French windows. But she called him back. She was not yet keyed up to this supreme act of treachery. “No, no,” she called again, “don’t let’s go, after all.” “Why not?” he demanded, bewildered at her fitful mood. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “But let’s stay here. I’m nervous, I think.” “Nonsense,” he said cheerily, trying to brace her up. “The moon is a great soother of nerves, and a friendly old chap, too. What is it?” he asked curiously. “You’re miles away from here, but I don’t think you’re in Paris, either. It’s your turn to tell me something. Where are you?” He could not guess that her thoughts were in her home, where her poor, gentle, semi-invalid mother was probably now worrying over the sudden mood of depression which had fallen upon her younger girl. And it would be impossible for him to understand the threat of prison and disgrace which was even now hanging over Amy Cartwright’s head. “I was thinking of my sister,” she told him slowly. “Come, let’s go.” Before he could unfasten the French windows there was a sound of running feet outside, and Monty’s nervous face was seen looking in. Nora, breathless, was hanging on to his arm. Quickly Denby opened the doors and let the two in, and then shut the doors again. “What is it?” he demanded quickly. “Don’t go out there, Steve,” Monty cried, when he could get breath enough to speak. “Why, what is it?” Ethel Cartwright asked nervously.