Under Cover. Martyn Wyndham
unusual is up, just say without any excitement, ‘Will you have a cigarette, Dick?’”
“But why ‘Dick,’” Monty cried, “when you’re Steve!”
“For that very reason,” Denby explained. “If you said Steve merely I shouldn’t notice it, but if you say Dick I shall be on the qui vive at once.”
“Great idea!” cried his fellow conspirator enthusiastically. “When do you buy them?”
“I’ve an appointment at Cartier’s at eleven. Want to come?”
“You bet I do,” Monty asserted, “I’m going through with it from start to finish.”
He looked at his friend a little anxiously. “What is the worst sort of a finish we might expect if the luck ran against us?”
“As you won’t come in on the profits, you shan’t take any risks,” Denby said. “If you agree to help me as we suggested that’s all I require of you. In case I should not get by, you can explain me away as a passing acquaintance merely. Don’t kick against the umpire’s decision,” he commanded. “If they halved the sentence because two were in it I might claim your help all the way, but they’d probably double it for conspiracy, so you’d be a handicap. You’ll get a run for your money, Monty, all right.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Monty doubtfully.
Denby fell into the bantering style the other knew so well. “There’s one thing I’ll warn you about,” he said. “If a very beautiful young woman makes your acquaintance on board, by accident of course, don’t tell her what life seems to you as is your custom. She may be an agent of the Russian secret police with an assignment to take you to Siberia. She may force you to marry her at a pistol’s point and cost your worthy progenitor a million. Be careful, Monty. You’re in a wicked world and you’ve a sinful lot of money, and these big ships attract all that is brightest and best in the criminal’s Who’s Who.”
Monty shivered a bit. “I never thought of that,” he said innocently.
“Then you’d better begin now,” his mentor suggested, “and have for once a voyage where you won’t be bored.”
He glanced at the clock. “It’s later than I thought and I have to be up early. I’ll walk to your hotel.”
During the short walk Monty glanced apprehensively over his shoulder a score of times. Out of the shadows it seemed to him that mysterious men stared evilly and banded themselves together until a procession followed the two Americans. But Denby paid no sort of attention to these problematic followers.
“Wait till I’ve got the pearls on me,” he whispered mischievously. “Then you’ll see some fun.”
CHAPTER TWO
ALTHOUGH the carriages and automobiles of the wealthy were no longer three deep in the Rue de la Paix, as they had been earlier in the season, this ravishing thoroughfare was crowded with foot-passengers as Monty and his friend made their way under the red and white awnings of the shops into Cartier’s.
The transaction took very little time. The manager of the place seemed to be expecting his client, to whom he accorded the respect that even a Rue de la Paix jeweler may pay to a million-franc customer. Bank of France notes of high denominations were passed to him and Steven Denby received a small, flat package and walked out into the sunshine with it.
“Now,” said the owner of the pearls, “guard me as you would your honor, Monty; the sport begins, and I am now probably pursued by a half dozen of the super-crooks of high class fiction.”
“I wish you’d be serious,” Monty said plaintively.
“I am,” Denby assured him. “But I rely on your protection, so feel more light-hearted than I should otherwise.”
“You are laughing at me,” Monty protested.
“I want you to look a little less like a detected criminal,” Denby returned.
“If I happened to be a detective after a criminal I should arrest you on sight. You keep looking furtively about as though you’d done murder and bloodhounds were on your track.”
“Well, they are on our track,” Monty said excitedly, and then whispered thrillingly: “Have a cigarette, Dick.” There was trembling triumph in his voice. He felt he had justified himself in his friend’s eyes.
“What is it?” Denby asked with no show of excitement.
“There was a man in Cartier’s who watched us all the time,” Monty confided. “He is on our trail now. We’re being shadowed, Steve. It’s all up!”
“Nonsense!” his companion cried. “There’s nothing compromising in buying a pearl necklace. I didn’t steal it.”
Suddenly he turned around and looked at the man Monty indicated. His face cleared. “That’s Harlow. He’s one of Cartier’s clerks, who looks after American women’s wants. Don’t worry about him.”
By this time the two had come to the Tuileries, that paradise for the better class Parisian children. Denby pointed to a seat. “Sit down there,” he commanded, “while I see what Harlow wants.”
Obediently Monty took a seat and watched the man he had mistaken for a detective from the corner of his eye. Denby chatted confidentially with him for fully five minutes and then, it seemed to the watcher, passed a small packet into his hand. The man nodded a friendly adieu and walked rapidly out of sight. For a few seconds Denby stood watching and then rejoined his friend.
“Anything the matter?” the timorous one demanded eagerly.
“Why should there be?” Denby returned. “Don’t worry, Monty, there’s nothing to get nervous about yet.”
Monty remembered the confidential conversation between the two.
“He seemed to have a lot to tell you,” he insisted.
Denby smiled. “He did; but he came as a friend. Harlow wanted to warn me that while I was buying the necklace a stranger was mightily interested and asked Harlow what he knew about me.”
“There you are,” Monty gasped excitedly, “I told you it was all up. Did Harlow know who the man was?”
“He suspected him of being a customs spy. Our customs service takes the civilized world as its hunting ground and Paris is specially beloved of it.”
“What are you going to do?” Monty asked when he had looked suspiciously at an amiable old priest who went ambling by. “They’ll get you.”
“They may,” Denby said, “but the interested gentleman at Cartier’s won’t.”
“But he knows all about you,” Monty persisted. “It will be dead easy.”
“He doesn’t,” the other returned. “Harlow took the liberty of transforming me into an Argentine ranch owner of unbounded wealth about to purchase a mansion in the Parc Monceau.”
“That was mighty good of him,” Monty cried in relief. “That fellow Harlow is certainly all right.”
Denby smiled a trifle oddly, Monty thought. “His kind ways have won him a thousand dollars,” he returned. “Did you see me pass him something?”
Monty nodded.
“Well, that was five thousand francs. I passed it to him, not in the least because I believe in the mythical stranger – ”
“What do you mean?” the amazed Monty exclaimed. It seemed to him he was getting lost in a world of whose existence he had been unaware.
“Simply this,” Denby told him, “that I disbelieve Harlow’s story and am not as easily impressed by kind faces as you are. I think Harlow’s inquisitive stranger was a fake.”
Monty looked at him with a superior air. “And you mean to say,” he said with the air of one who has studied financial systems, “that you handed over a thousand dollars without verifying it? I call that being