“This will be used in evidence against you,” warned Michael flippantly.
The girl was not posing. Of that he was convinced. Her big grey eyes were brighter, her whole face was alight with the excitement of the thought, her voice had a new thrill. She was exalted, transfigured at the thought of the power which her shrewd brain gave to her.
“What did you want of Reggie?” he asked again.
The light faded out of her eyes and she was her normal self again.
“Oh, I wanted to pick his pocket,” she said mockingly; “or, no, I know something better—I wanted to marry him. He’s worth two millions.”
“I don’t think you will ever marry for money,” said Michael.
“What makes you say that?” she asked quickly.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“That is the estimate I have formed of you. I may be wrong.”
“I shall never marry,” she said with decision. “I’m not of the marrying kind. I hate men in some ways. I hate them so much, that it gives me a real joy to take away the one thing in the world that they really love. You know the Claude Duval tradition—I mean the idealized Claude Duval of tradition, not the sneak-thief valet of actuality—of robbing the rich and never robbing the poor—well, I rob men, and I never rob women.”
“In fact you rob the people who have the money,” said Michael. “That isn’t clever.”
“No, but it sounds awfully good. I’m thinking of including it in the great speech I shall deliver one of these days at the Old Bailey.”
“What did you want from Reggie?” he asked.
“You are almost monotonous,” she laughed. “Well, I wanted information.”
She turned and again he saw that bright light in her eye and that eager look in her face.
“I will tell you, Michael Pretherston,” she said, pointing a white finger toward him. “We will play fair. I am going to do a big thing. I am going to make the most wonderful steal that the world has ever known. That is why I found Reggie. That is why I made a martyr of myself and endured the boredom of Lord Flanborough’s society.”
She clapped her hands like a child.
“It’s a big thing, Michael, but it’s full of complications, wonderfully full of strategy, and I am going to do it all with your assistance.”
He jumped up and flung out his hand.
“Put it there, Kate,” he said.
“This is going to be the big thing for both of us and I am going to be the victor. If you win you have whatever you’re after. If I win, you have me,” she said with a little laugh.
He looked at her in silence.
“I can almost see you gripping my arm and pushing me into the steel pen,” she said. “I can see you sitting in court in a brown—no, a blue—overcoat, with your hat nicely balanced on your knees, looking up at me in the dock and wondering how I am going to take it.”
A cloud passed over his face.
“You’re a pessimistic little devil,” he growled. “No, I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“What were you thinking about?” she asked, her eyes wide open in surprise.
“I was thinking I’d marry you,” he said.
She looked at him in amusement.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said; “didn’t you know?”
“Marry you!” she said scornfully. “Great Heavens!”
“You might do worse,” he said with his cheerful smile.
“Can you name anything I could do that would be more hopelessly degrading than marry a policeman?”
“Yes,” he said, “you might be an old maid and keep cats. You take it for granted, of course,” he went on, “that I am letting you go now.”
“Naturally,” she replied, “I have given you something to live for.”
“You may be right,” he said quietly and opened the door for her.
They walked down the felt covered passage to the front door.
“I owe you something,” she said as they stood in the doorway. “The young man from the South nearly put an end to my promising career.”
“A little thing like that is hardly worth mentioning. Good night, Kate, are you sure it is safe for you to be out alone so late?”
She made a little face at him and went tripping down the stairs. She turned into the street, but had not gone two paces when a hand caught her arm.
“Excuse me,” said a voice.
By the light of a street lamp she recognized her captor as a detective sergeant from Scotland Yard.
Before she could protest a voice spoke from the darkness of the balcony above and it was the voice of Michael.
“All right, sergeant,” he said.
She shook herself free of the man and looked wrathfully up at the dim figure.
“I forgot you’d have your nurse handy, Michael,” she jeered.
“Good night, dear,” said the voice from the balcony and to her intense annoyance she felt an extraordinary sensation wholly new to her, but which with her quick woman’s wit she correctly diagnosed, as she hurried angrily along the street.
For Kate Westhanger had blushed for the first time in her life.
VII
The Princess Bacheffski—Beautifully Dressed
Lord Flanborough gave a dinner party. He was a methodical man and invariably made his arrangements a long time in advance, and he was not unnaturally annoyed, when, at the eleventh hour, his daughter suggested a change in the plans.
“My dear Moya,” he said testily, “don’t be absurd. Surely after what has passed—after his extraordinary attitude—”
“Oh, daddy, what nonsense!” said the girl. “Michael is really a good sort and he will be amusing. I really cannot sit out a dinner with all those boring people, and if you don’t invite him, I shall have a headache.”
“But, my dear,” protested her father, “Sir Ralph will be quite entertainment enough, surely?”
“Sir Ralph is the biggest bore of all,” she said calmly. “Please let me have my way.”
So to his surprise and amusement Michael received an invitation to dinner, couched in such gracious terms that he formed the wholly incorrect impression that some other guest had failed Moya and
