LITMIR.BIZ

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himself, and turned back to the girl. “Permit me to ask if your aunt has seen this — ah — communication?”

      She shook her head. “You see, he — he has forbidden me to speak!” Tears clouded her vision.

      The sternness melted out of his face, but he put another question.

      “And your estimable young friend whom I met at the door?”

      “No.”

      He took a deep breath and returned to his place at her side.

      “I wished to tell him,” she continued, “for Cord is so good! He is as dear to me as a brother.”

      The count restrained a smile. He bent down and possessed himself of her hand. “Dear lady,” he said, “you must conceal this, even from your brother. It was a mad thing for your father to do! I think Baggin would kill him if he knew!”

      His own face hardened as he spoke. “But what’s done can be undone.” He leaned forward and dropped the paper upon the glowing coals. It smoked, then turned a deep quivering red, against which the letters were blackly visible. “Look!” he exclaimed softly. One phrase stood out strong and clear upon the darkening ashes.

      “‘Trust Poltavo!’” Doris whispered. She bent a little toward him. Her eyes were luminous, and her red lips parted. “It is a good omen!” she breathed.

      “And you will trust me in this matter?” he asked.

      She nodded gravely.

      He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

      “And in others, also?”

      She flushed warmly. “You must not speak of such things now. I must not listen. I can think only of my father. He is not dead — for that I thank Heaven. But he is in danger — great danger, both from Baggin and the law. He — he loved me more than his millions, and wrote to reassure me of his safety. Oh!” she exclaimed passionately, he is not bad, Count Poltavo — as Baggin is — as I once thought you were — but only weak, and swayed by his imagination. He sees things big. He dreams of a financial empire such as the world never knew.”

      The count looked at her, and smiled queerly.

      “And you wish me to find your father?” he questioned.

      “Yes, or take me to him!”

      “And after that?” he demanded a little eagerly.

      “After that,” she replied wearily, “you may say what you will.”

      “Until that hour, then,” he said gently, “I shall set a seal upon my lips.”

      A silence fell between them. The count brooded, his eyelids down-dropped, his chin propped in the palm of his hand. A ruby, set in a curious antique ring, gleamed dully from his finger.

      “I think,” he observed finally in a low voice, “that Mr. Grayson is, by this time, safely upon the Continent. Paris — Rome?” He shook his head. “Too dangerous. Madrid? It is possible. Yes.” He nodded, and then sat erect. “Tonight, mademoiselle,” he announced, “I shall start for Madrid to find your father.”

      She thanked him with her eyes. “And you will stop this terrible scheme — you will save him from Baggin?”

      “I will save him from Baggin!” he promised grimly. “More than that, dear lady, I cannot undertake.”

      She gave him a shining look. “Ah, you are good,” she whispered. She laid a hand on his arm. “Good and — and faithful!”

      The count seemed deeply moved. He looked down at the hand, but made no motion to touch it.

      “Mademoiselle,” he said in a strange, choked voice, “it is you who are good! You conquer me with your divine tenderness!” A spasm as of pain crossed his countenance. “I — I am not good, as, the world knows that word. I am hard, ambitious, cruel.” He continued, his face white and stern:

      “Power is to me the greatest thing in the world, greater than love — even my love for you — greater than life. For what is human life? It is cheaper than the dirt in the street. Why should we value it? For myself, it signifies nothing. When it obstructs my path, I set it aside — or crush it.”

      She drew back from him half fearfully. A lock of dark hair had escaped, and fallen across her brow. It made her look singularly young and troubled. “Why do you say those wild things?” she faltered.

      He smiled, master of himself again, and took her hand.

      “You are afraid of me — Doris?” he whispered softly.

      She trembled at the word. Her white eyelids fluttered, and her colour came and went under his persistent gaze.

      “A — a little!” she confessed. It seemed to her that she could almost hear her heart beat. His personality was round about her like a spell.

      “Only a little!” the count laughed gaily. “I admit I am very much afraid of you!”

      The hand was still closely imprisoned. She disengaged it, and lifted her eyes bravely to him.

      “I believe that you are the most truthful man in the world,” she said simply. “But I — I fear your truth. It terrifies me.”

      “Yesterday,” he replied, with a whimsical smile, “you hated me. I was all evil. To-day I am the most truthful man in the world. What shall I be tomorrow?”

      She held her head down and refused to meet his look.

      “I — I cannot tell,” she whispered.

      “Nor shall I urge you,” he replied gently.

      “Later, perhaps, when your father is safe But until then, may I ask a very great favour?”

      She nodded mutely.

      He drew off the ring. “Will you wear this? I have a fancy that upon your hand it will bring me good luck and ward off danger.” He tried it upon one after another of her fingers. “Too large!” he murmured disappointedly.

      Doris smiled faintly. From about her throat, hidden in the lace of her gown, she pulled out a slender gold chain, from which a locket depended.

      “I will wear it here,” she promised, “together with the picture of my father.” She took the jewel from his hand, and undoing the clasp, threaded the ring upon the chain and restored all to their place.

      “That is better than I dared hope!” he said. He bent toward her. “And you will think of me sometimes?”

      “Every instant of the day,” she responded fervently, “until I shall see my father.”

      He laughed a little ruefully, and rose. “I suppose that must content me! And now I must be off. I will find your father. ‘Trust Poltavo.’”

      “I do — completely.” She gave him her hand.

      Her face was composed, almost cheerful. “Do you leave any commands?”

      He looked significantly at the fire, where the only trace of the note was a faint black film. “You have already received them,” he said gravely.

      “Everything is as it was this morning. Your father is dead. For you nothing is left but silence — and courage.”

      She shuddered a little. “Cord told me that the — the affair was in the hands of Scotland Yard, and that a Mr. Smith had been appointed to the case.”

      The count started at the name. He opened his lips to speak, but closed them again.

      “Will he come and question me?” she continued. “Oh,” she declared half wildly, “I could not bear that!”

      “I regret that Mr. Smith has been given the case,” observed the count thoughtfully.

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