“No, she hasn’t,” Denby protested, knowing he was lying. Monty looked at his friend in wonderment. Usually Denby was quick of observation, but now he seemed uncommonly dull. “Why, she never made a move to leave until she knew I’d put the pouch in the drawer. Then she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed. You must have noticed how she took in everything you said. She’s even taken to watching me, too. What makes you so blind, Steve?” “I’m not blind,” Denby said, a trifle irritably. “It happens you are magnifying things, till everything you see is wrong.” “Nonsense,” Monty returned bluntly. “If she gets that necklace it’s all up with us, and you needn’t pretend otherwise.” “Make your mind easy,” Denby exclaimed, “she won’t get it.” “May I ask what’s going to stop her?” Monty inquired, goaded into sarcasm. “Do you think she needs to know the combination of an ordinary lock like that top drawer?” “The necklace isn’t there,” Denby said. Monty looked at him piteously. “For Heaven’s sake don’t tell me I’ve got it somewhere on me!” Denby drew it out of a false pocket under the right lapel of his coat and held the precious string up to the other’s view. “That’s why,” he observed. “Then everything’s all right,” Monty cried with unrestrained joy. “Everything’s all wrong,” Denby corrected. “But, Steve,” Monty said reproachfully, “the necklace--” “Oh, damn the necklace!” Denby interrupted viciously. Monty shook his head mournfully. His friend’s aberrations were astounding. “Steve,” he said slowly, “you’re a fool!” “I guess I am,” the other admitted. “But,” he added, snapping his teeth together, “I’m not such a fool as to get caught, Monty, so pull yourself together, something’s bound to happen before long.” “That’s what I’m afraid of,” sighed Monty. CHAPTER TWELVE On the way to her room Ethel Cartwright met Michael Harrington, a box of cigars in his hand, coming toward the head of the stairway. “Whither away?” he demanded. “To bed,” she returned. “The excitement’s been too much for me.” “This box,” he said, lovingly caressing it, “contains what I think are the best that can be smoked.” He opened and showed what seemed to her cigars of a very large size. “I’m going to give the boys one apiece as a reward for bravery.” He laughed with glee. “And as Lambart is going to be one of the search party, I’m going to give him one, too. He’ll either leave at my temerity in offering him the same kind of weed his employer smokes, or else he’ll have it framed.” “A search party?” she said. “What do you mean?” “We’re going to beat the bushes for tramps,” he said. “I am directing operations from the balcony outside my room. The general in command,” he explained, “never gets on the firing-line in modern warfare.” “Is Mr. Denby going?” she asked. “No, no,” he said. “I can’t expect my guests to expose themselves to the risk of being shot. Don’t you be alarmed,” he said solicitously, “I shall be at hand in case of trouble.”