The Amateur ........................................................................................................................................................1

Richard Harding Davis............................................................................................................................1

It was February off the Banks, and so thick was the weather that, on the upper decks, one could have driven a

sleigh. Inside the smokingroom Austin Ford, as securely sheltered from the blizzard as though he had been

sitting in front of a wood fire at his club, ordered hot gin for himself and the ship's doctor. The ship's doctor

had gone below on another "hurry call" from the widow. At the first luncheon on board the widow had sat on

the right of Doctor Sparrow, with Austin Ford facing her. But since then, except to the doctor, she had been

invisible. So, at frequent intervals, the ill health of the widow had deprived Ford of the society of the doctor.

That it deprived him, also, of the society of the widow did not concern him. HER life had not been spent

upon ocean liners; she could not remember when staterooms were named after the States of the Union. She

could not tell him of shipwrecks and salvage, of smugglers and of the modern pirates who found their victims

Ford was on his way to England to act as the London correspondent of the New York Republic. For three

years on that most sensational of the New York dailies he had been the star man, the chief muckraker, the

chief sleuth. His interest was in crime. Not in crimes committed in passion or inspired by drink, but in such

offences against law and society as are perpetrated with nice intelligence. The murderer, the burglar, the

strongarm men who, in side streets, waylay respectable citizens did not appeal to him. The man he studied,

pursued, and exposed was the cashier who evolved a new method of covering up his peculations, the

dishonest president of an insurance company, the confidence man who used no concealed weapon other than

his wit. Toward the criminals he pursued young Ford felt no personal animosity. He harassed them as he

would have shot a hawk killing chickens. Not because he disliked the hawk, but because the battle was

Had you called Austin Ford an amateur detective he would have been greatly annoyed. He argued that his

position was similar to that of the dramatic critic. The dramatic critic warned the public against bad plays;

Ford warned it against bad men. Having done that, he left it to the public to determine whether the bad man

When the managing editor told him of his appointment to London, Ford had protested that his work lay in

New York; that of London and the English, except as a tourist and sightseer, he knew nothing.

"That's just why we are sending you," explained the managing editor. "Our readers are ignorant. To make

them read about London you've got to tell them about themselves in London. They like to know who's been

presented at court, about the American girls who have married dukes; and which ones opened a bazaar, and

which one opened a hat shop, and which is getting a divorce. Don't send us anything concerning suffragettes

and Dreadnaughts. Just send us stuff about Americans. If you take your meals in the Carlton grillroom and

drink at the Cecil you can pick up more good stories than we can print. You will find lots of your friends over

there. Some of those girls who married dukes," he suggested, "know you, don't they?"

"Well, anyway, all your other friends will be there," continued the managing editor encouragingly. "Now that

they have shut up the tracks here all the con men have gone to London. They say an American can't take a

drink at the Salisbury without his fellowcountrymen having a fight as to which one will sell him a gold

"Look them over," urged the managing editor, "and send us a special. Call it 'The American Invasion.' Don't

"It will be the first one I send you," said Ford. The ship's doctor returned from his visit below decks and sank

into the leather cushion close to Ford's elbow. For a few moments the older man sipped doubtfully at his gin

and water, and, as though perplexed, rubbed his hand over his bald and shining head. "I told her to talk to

"Do you know why I thought not?" he demanded. "Because all the time she was at luncheon she kept turning

over her weddingring as though she was not used to it. It was a new ring, too. I told you then she was not a

"Not on purpose," said the amateur detective; "I can't help it. I see ten things where other people see only one;

just as some men run ten times as fast as other men. We have tried it out often at the office; put all sorts of

junk under a newspaper, lifted the newspaper for five seconds, and then each man wrote down what he had

seen. Out of twenty things I would remember seventeen. The next best guess would be about nine. Once I

saw a man lift his coat collar to hide his face. It was in the Grand Central Station. I stopped him, and told him

he was wanted. Turned out he WAS wanted. It was Goldberg, making his getaway to Canada."

"No, it's a nuisance," laughed the reporter. "I see so many things I don't want to see. I see that people are

wearing clothes that are not made for them. I see when women are lying to me. I can see when men are on the

"If you're sorry," urged the doctor eagerly, you'll help her. She is going to London alone to find her husband.

He has disappeared. She thinks that he has been murdered, or that he is lying ill in some hospital. I told her if

any one could help her to find him you could. I had to say something. She's very ill."

"She has photographs of him and she knows where he spends his time," pleaded the doctor. "He is a company

"Maybe he doesn't want her to find him," said Ford. "Then it wouldn't be so easy for me."

The old doctor sighed heavily. "I know," he murmured. "I thought of that, too. And she is so very pretty."

"She must stop worrying," he exclaimed, "or she will have a mental collapse. I have tried sedatives, but they

don't touch her. I want to give her courage. She is frightened. She's left a baby boy at home, and she's fearful

that something will happen to him, and she's frightened at being at sea, frightened at being alone in London;

it's pitiful." The old man shook his head. "Pitiful! Will you talk to her now?" he asked.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Ford. "She doesn't want to tell the story of her life to strange young men."

"But it was she suggested it," cried the doctor. "She asked me if you were Austin Ford, the great detective."

Ford snorted scornfully. "She did not!" he protested. His tone was that of a man who hopes to be

"But she did," insisted the doctor, "and I told her your specialty was tracing persons. Her face lightened at

once; it gave her hope. She will listen to you. Speak very gently and kindly and confidently. Say you are sure

Doctor Sparrow scrambled eagerly to his feet. "She cannot leave her cabin," he answered.

The widow, as Ford and Doctor Sparrow still thought of her, was lying on the sofa that ran the length of the

stateroom, parallel with the lower berth. She was fully dressed, except that instead of her bodice she wore a

kimono that left her throat and arms bare. She had been sleeping, and when their entrance awoke her, her blue

eyes regarded them uncomprehendingly. Ford, hidden from her by the doctor, observed that not only was she

very pretty, but that she was absurdly young, and that the drowsy smile she turned upon the old man before

she noted the presence of Ford was as innocent as that of a baby. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes brilliant,

her yellow curls had become loosened and were spread upon the pillow. When she saw Ford she caught the

kimono so closely around her throat that she choked. Had the doctor not pushed her down she would have

The doctor, misunderstanding, hastened to reassure her. "Mr. Ford is old in experience," he said soothingly.

"He has had remarkable success. Why, he found a criminal once just because the man wore a collar. And he

found Walsh, the burglar, and Phillips, the forger, and a gang of counterfeiters"

Mrs. Ashton turned upon him, her eyes wide with wonder. "But MY husband," she protested, "is not a

"My dear lady!" the doctor cried. "I did not mean that, of course not. I meant, if Mr. Ford can find men who

don't wish to be found, how easy for him to find a man who" He turned helplessly to Ford. "You tell her,"

Ford sat down on a steamer trunk that protruded from beneath the berth, and, turning to the widow, gave her

the full benefit of his working smile. It was confiding, helpless, appealing. It showed a trustfulness in the

person to whom it was addressed that caused that individual to believe Ford needed protection from a wicked

"Doctor Sparrow tells me," began Ford timidly, "you have lost your husband's address; that you will let me

The young girl regarded him, apparently, with disappointment. It was as though Doctor Sparrow had led her

to expect a man full of years and authority, a man upon whom she could lean; not a youth whose smile

seemed to beg one not to scold him. She gave Ford three photographs, bound together with a string.

Ford jotted down a mental note to the effect that she "got them out." That is, she did not keep them where she

could always look at them. That she was not used to look at them was evident by the fact that they were

The first photograph showed three men standing in an open place and leaning on a railing. One of them was

smiling toward the photographer. He was a goodlooking young man of about thirty years of age, well fed,

well dressed, and apparently well satisfied with the world and himself. Ford's own smile had disappeared. His

"The one with the Panama hat pulled down over his eyes is your husband?" he asked.

"This was taken about a year ago?" inquired Ford. "Must have been," he answered himself; "they haven't

raced at the Bay since then. This was taken in front of the club standprobably for the Telegraph?" He lifted

Rising on her elbow the young wife bent forward toward the photograph. "Does it say that there," she asked

In his role as chorus the ship's doctor exclaimed with enthusiasm: "Didn't I tell you? He's wonderful."

Ford cut him off impatiently. "You never saw a rail as high as that except around a racetrack," he muttered.

He interrupted himself to address the widow. "This is an owner's badge. What was the name of his stable?"

"I don't know," she answered. She regarded the young man with sudden uneasiness. "They only owned one

"I see," exclaimed Ford. "Your husband is a bookmaker. But in London he is a promoter of companies."

"So my friend tells me," said Mrs. Ashton. "She's just got back from London. Her husband told her that

Harry, my husband, was always at the American bar in the Cecil or at the Salisbury or the Savoy." The girl

shook her head. "But a woman can't go looking for a man there," she protested. "That's, why I thought

"That'll be all right," Ford assured her hurriedly. "It's a coincidence, but it happens that my own work takes

me to these hotels, and if your husband is there I will find him." He returned the photographs.

"I won't forget him," said the reporter. "Besides"he turned his eyes toward the doctor and, as though

The eyes of the woman grew troubled. Her lips pressed together as though in a sudden access of pain.

As though fearful, if she spoke, the tears would fall, the girl nodded her head stiffly.

Having learned what he wanted to know Ford applied to the wound a soothing ointment of promises and

"He's as good as found," he protested. "You will see him in a day, two days after you land."

"You will try?" she begged. "You will find him for me"she corrected herself eagerly"for me and the

The loose sleeves of the kimono fell back to her shoulders showing the white arms; the eyes raised to Ford

He freed himself from the appeal in the eyes of the young mother and left the cabin. The doctor followed. He

"That was fine!" he cried. "You said just the right thing. There will be no collapse now."

"The blackguard!" he protested. "To desert a wife as young as that and as pretty as that."

"So I have been thinking," said the reporter. "I guess, he added gravely, "what is going to happen is that

Apparently, young Mrs. Ashton believed everything would come to pass just as Ford promised it would and

as he chose to order it; for the next day, with a color not born of fever in her cheeks and courage in her eyes,

she joined Ford and the doctor at the luncheontable. Her attention was concentrated on the younger man. In

"She acts," growled the doctor later in the smokingroom, "as though she was afraid you were going to back

"Don't think," he protested violently, "it's you she's interested in. All she sees in you is what you can do for

"Any one as clever at seeing things as I am," returned the reporter, "cannot help but see that."

Later, as Ford was walking on the upper deck, Mrs. Ashton came toward him, beating her way against the

wind. Without a trace of coquetry or selfconsciousness, and with a sigh of content, she laid her hand on his

"When I don't see you," she exclaimed as simply as a child, "I feel so frightened. When I see you I know all

will come right. Do you mind if I walk with you?" she asked. "And do you mind if every now and then I ask

For the three days following Mrs. Ashton and Ford were constantly together. Or, at least, Mrs. Ashton was

constantly with Ford. She told him that when she sat in her cabin the old fears returned to her, and in these

"I'm not so greatly to be envied," suggested Ford. "'Harry' at meals three times a day and on deck all the rest

of the day becomes monotonous. On a closer acquaintance with Harry he seems to be a decent sort of a young

"Well," sighed the doctor sentimentally, "she is certainly very much in love with Harry."

Ford shook his head noncommittingly. "I don't know her story," he said. "Don't want to know it."

The ship was in the channel, on her way to Cherbourg, and running as smoothly as a clock. From the shore

friendly lights told them they were nearing their journey's end; that the land was on every side. Seated on a

steamerchair next to his in the semidarkness of the deck, Mrs. Ashton began to talk nervously and eagerly.

"Now that we are so near," she murmured, "I have got to tell you something. If you did not know I would feel

I had not been fair. You might think that when you were doing so much for me I should have been more

His tone caused the girl to start. She leaned toward him and peered into his face. His eyes, as he looked back

"You mean," said the amateur detective, "that your husband has deserted you. That if it were not for the baby

There was a long pause. When she faced him again the fact that there was no longer a secret between them

"Maybe," she said, "you can understand. Maybe you can tell me what it means. I have thought and thought. I

have gone over it and over it until when I go back to it my head aches. I have done nothing else but think, and

I can't make it seem better. I can't find any excuse. I have had no one to talk to, no one I could tell. I have

"If you can only make it seem less cruel. Don't you see," she cried miserably, "I want to believe; I want to

forgive him. I want to think he loves me. Oh! I want so to be able to love him; but how can I? I can't! I can't!"

In the week in which they had been thrown together the girl unconsciously had told Ford much about herself

and her husband. What she now told him was but an amplification of what he had guessed.

She had met Ashton a year and a half before, when she had just left school at the convent and had returned to

live with her family. Her home was at Far Rockaway. Her father was a cashier in a bank at Long Island City.

One night, with a party of friends, she had been taken to a dance at one of the beach hotels, and there met

Ashton. At that time he was one of a firm that was making book at the Aqueduct racetrack. The girl had met

very few men and with them was shy and frightened, but with Ashton she found herself at once at ease. That

night he drove her and her friends home in his touringcar and the next day they teased her about her

conquest. It made her very happy. After that she went to hops at the hotel, and as the bookmaker did not

dance, the two young people sat upon the piazza. Then Ashton came to see her at her own house, but when

her father learned that the young man who had been calling upon her was a bookmaker he told him he could

But the girl was now deeply in love with Ashton, and apparently he with her. He begged her to marry him.

They knew that to this, partly from prejudice and partly owing to his position in the bank, her father would

object. Accordingly they agreed that in August, when the racing moved to Saratoga, they would run away and

get married at that place. Their plan was that Ashton would leave for Saratoga with the other racing men, and

They had arranged to be married by a magistrate, and Ashton had shown her a letter from one at Saratoga

who consented to perform the ceremony. He had given her an engagement ring and two thousand dollars,

which he asked her to keep for him, lest tempted at the track he should lose it.

But she assured Ford it was not such material things as a letter, a ring, or gift of money that had led her to

trust Ashton. His fear of losing her, his complete subjection to her wishes, his happiness in her presence, all

seemed to prove that to make her happy was his one wish, and that he could do anything to make her

They were married the morning she arrived at Saratoga; and the same day departed for Niagara Falls and

Quebec. The honeymoon lasted ten days. They were ten days of complete happiness. No one, so the girl

declared, could have been more kind, more unselfishly considerate than her husband. They returned to

Saratoga and engaged a suite of rooms at one of the big hotels. Ashton was not satisfied with the rooms

shown him, and leaving her upstairs returned to the office floor to ask for others.

On the day of her marriage young Mrs. Ashton had written to her father, asking him to give her his good

wishes and pardon. He refused both. As she had feared, he did not consider that for a bank clerk a gambler

made a desirable soninlaw; and the letters he wrote his daughter were so bitter that in reply she informed

him he had forced her to choose between her family and her husband, and that she chose her husband. In

consequence, when she found herself deserted she felt she could not return to her people. She remained in

Saratoga. There she moved into cheap lodgings, and in order that the two thousand dollars Ashton had left

with her might be saved for his child, she had learned to typewrite, and after four months had been able to

support herself. Within the last month a girl friend, who had known both Ashton and herself before they were

married, had written her that her husband was living in London. For the sake of her son she had at once

"The son, nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor, when Ford retold the story. "She is not crossing the ocean

because she is worried about the future of her son. She seeks her own happiness. The woman is in love with

"I don't know!" he objected. "She's so extravagant in her praise of Harry that it seems unreal. It sounds

insincere. Then, again, when I swear I will find him she shows a delight that you might describe as savage,

almost vindictive. As though, if I did find Harry, the first thing she would do would be to stick a knife in

"Maybe," volunteered the doctor sadly, "she has heard there is a woman in the case. Maybe she is the one

"Well," declared the reporter, "if she doesn't stop looking savage every time I promise to find Harry I won't

find Harry. Why should I act the part of Fate, anyway? How do I know that Harry hasn't got a wife in London

and several in the States? How do we know he didn't leave his country for his country's good? That's what it

looks like to me. How can we tell what confronted him the day he went down to the hotel desk to change his

rooms and, instead, got into his touringcar and beat the speed limit to Canada. Whom did he meet in the

hotel corridor? A woman with a perfectly good marriage certificate, or a detective with a perfectly good

warrant? Or did Harry find out that his bride had a devil of a temper of her own, and that for him marriage

was a failure? The widow is certainly a very charming young woman, but there may be two sides to this."

"That may be," growled the reporter, "but I am not a private detective agency, or a matrimonial bureau, and

before I hear myself saying, 'Bless you, my children!' both of these young people will have to show me why

On the afternoon of their arrival in London Ford convoyed Mrs. Ashton to an oldestablished private hotel in

"Here," he explained, "you will be within a few hundred yards of the place in which your husband is said to

spend his time. I will be living in the same hotel. If I find him you will know it in ten minutes."

The widow gave a little gasp, whether of excitement or of happiness Ford could not determine.

"Whatever happens," she begged. "will you let me hear from you sometimes? You are the only person I know

in Londonandit's so big it frightens me. I don't want to be a burden," she went on eagerly, "but if I can

"What you need," said Ford heartily, "is less of the doctor's nerve tonic and sleeping draughts, and a little

"I have nothing to wear," she protested, "and over here, in the evening, the women dress so well. I have a

Ford assured her nothing could be better. He had a man's vanity in liking a woman with whom he was seen in

public to be pretty and smartly dressed, and he felt sure that in black the blond beauty of Mrs. Ashton would

appear to advantage. They arranged to meet at eleven on the promenade leading to the Savoy supperroom,

The finding of Harry Ashton was so simple that in its very simplicity it appeared spectacular.

On leaving Mrs. Ashton, Ford engaged rooms at the Hotel Cecil. Before visiting his rooms he made his way

to the American bar. He did not go there seeking Harry Ashton. His object was entirely selfcentred. His

purpose was to drink to himself and to the lights of London. But as though by appointment, the man he had

promised to find was waiting for him. As Ford entered the room, at a table facing the door sat Ashton. There

was no mistaking him. He wore a mustache, but it was no disguise. He was the same goodnatured,

goodlooking youth who, in the photograph from under a Panama hat, had smiled upon the world. With a

"Afraid you have made a mistake," he said. The reporter regarded him blankly. His face showed his

"But," Ford insisted in hurt tones, as though he were being trifled with, "you have been told you look like

Ford became garrulous, he could not believe two men could look so much alike. It was a remarkable

coincidence. The stranger must certainly have a drink, the drink intended for his twin. Ashton was bored, but

accepted. He was well acquainted with the easy goodfellowship of his countrymen. The room in which he

sat was a meetingplace for them. He considered that they were always giving each other drinks, and not

only were they always introducing themselves, but saying, "Shake hands with my friend, Mr. SoandSo."

After five minutes they showed each other photographs of the children. This one, though as loquacious as the

others, seemed better dressed, more "wise"; he brought to the exile the atmosphere of his beloved Broadway,

As a pokerplayer skims over the cards in his hand, Ford, in his mind's eye, ran over the value of giving or

not giving his right name. He decided that Ashton would not have heard it and that, if he gave a false one,

there was a chance that later Ashton might find out that he had done so. Accordingly he said, "Mine is Austin

Ford," and seated himself at Ashton's table. Within ten minutes the man he had promised to pluck from

among the eight million inhabitants of London was smiling sympathetically at his jests and buying a drink.

On the steamer Ford had rehearsed the story with which, should he meet Ashton, he would introduce himself.

It was one arranged to fit with his theory that Ashton was a crook. If Ashton were a crook Ford argued that to

at once ingratiate himself in his good graces he also must be a crook. His plan was to invite Ashton to

cooperate with him in some scheme that was openly dishonest. By so doing he hoped apparently to place

himself at Ashton's mercy. He believed if he could persuade Ashton he was more of a rascal than Ashton

himself, and an exceedingly stupid rascal, any distrust the bookmaker might feel toward him would

disappear. He made his advances so openly, and apparently showed his hand so carelessly, that, from being

bored, Ashton became puzzled, then interested; and when Ford insisted he should dine with him, he

considered it so necessary to find out who the youth might be who was forcing himself upon him that he

They adjourned to dress and an hour later, at Ford's suggestion, they met at the Carlton. There Ford ordered a

dinner calculated to lull his newly made friend into a mood suited to confidence, but which had on Ashton

exactly the opposite effect. Merely for the pleasure of his company, utter strangers were not in the habit of

treating him to strawberries in February, and vintage champagne; and, in consequence, in Ford's hospitality

he saw only cause for suspicion. If, as he had first feared, Ford was a New York detective, it was most

important he should know that. No one better than Ashton understood that, at that moment, his presence in

New York meant, for the police, unalloyed satisfaction, and for himself undisturbed solitude. But Ford was

unlike any detective of his acquaintance; and his acquaintance had been extensive. It was true Ford was

familiar with all the habits of Broadway and the Tenderloin. Of places with which Ashton was intimate, and

of men with whom Ashton had formerly been well acquainted, he talked glibly. But, if he were a detective,

The restaurant into which for the first time Ashton had penetrated, and in which he felt ill at ease, was to

Ford, he observed, a matter of course. Evidently for Ford it held no terrors. He criticised the service,

patronized the head waiters, and grumbled at the food; and when, on leaving the restaurant, an Englishman

and his wife stopped at their table to greet him, he accepted their welcome to London without embarrassment.

Ashton, rolling his cigar between his lips, observed the incident with increasing bewilderment.

"You've got some swell friends," he growled. "I'll bet you never met THEM at Healey's!"

"I meet all kinds of people in my business," said Ford. "I once sold that man some mining stock, and the joke

"I did not tell you that I was a company promoter, too, did I?" demanded Ashton.

Ashton watched for the next move, but the subject seemed in no way to interest Ford. Instead of following it

Ashton recognized that the mysterious stranger was about to disclose both himself and whatever object he

With pretended nervousness Ford leaned forward and began the story he had rehearsed. It was a new version

of an old swindle and to every selfrespecting confidence man was well known as the "sick engineer" game.

The plot is very simple. The sick engineer is supposed to be a mining engineer who, as an expert, has

examined a gold mine and reported against it. For his services the company paid him partly in stock. He falls

ill and is at the point of death. While he has been ill much gold has been found in the mine he examined, and

the stock which he considers worthless is now valuable. Of this, owing to his illness, he is ignorant. One

confidence man acts the part of the sick engineer, and the other that of a broker who knows the engineer

possesses the stock but has no money with which to purchase it from him. For a share of the stock he offers to

tell the dupe where it and the engineer can be found. They visit the man, apparently at the point of death, and

the dupe gives him money for his stock. Later the dupe finds the stock is worthless, and the supposed

engineer and the supposed broker divide the money he paid for it. In telling the story Ford pretended he was

the broker and that he thought in Ashton he had found a dupe who would buy the stock from the sick

As the story unfolded and Ashton appreciated the part Ford expected him to play in it, his emotions were so

varied that he was in danger of apoplexy. Amusement, joy, chagrin, and indignation illuminated his

countenance. His cigar ceased to burn, and with his eyes opened wide he regarded Ford in pitying wonder.

"Wait!" he commanded. He shook his head uncomprehendingly. "Tell me," he asked, "do I look as easy as

"Why, son," exclaimed Ashton kindly, "I was taught that story in the public schools. I invented it. I stopped

using it before you cut your teeth. Gee!" he exclaimed delightedly. "I knew I had grown respectablelooking,

but I didn't think I was so damned respectablelooking as that!" He began to laugh silently; so greatly was he

"I'm sorry for you, son," he protested, "but that's the funniest thing that's come my way in two years. And you

buying me hothouse grapes, too, and fancy water! I wish you could see your face," he taunted.

"All right," he declared roughly. "The laugh's on me this time, but just because I lost one trick, don't think I

don't know my business. Now that I'm wise to what YOU are we can work together and"

The face of young Mr. Ashton became instantly grave. His jaws snapped like a trap. When he spoke his tone

"I'm not thinking of you at all," said Ashton. "You're a nice little fellow all right, but you have sized me up

wrong. I am on the 'straight and narrow' that leads back to little old New York and God's country, and I am

The words were in the vernacular, but the tone in which the young man spoke rang so confidently that it

brought to Ford a pleasant thrill of satisfaction. From the first he had found in the personality of the young

man something winning and likable; a shrewd manliness and tolerant goodhumor. His eyes may have shown

"It's like this," he said. "Several years ago I made a bad break and, about a year later, they got on to me and I

had to cut and run. In a month the law of limitation lets me loose and I can go back. And you can bet I'm

GOING back. I will be on the bowsprit of the first boat. I've had all I want of the 'fugitivefromjustice' game,

thank you, and I have taken good care to keep a clean bill of health so that I won't have to play it again.

They've been trying to get me for several yearsespecially the Pinkertons. They have chased me all over

Europe. Chased me with all kinds of men; sometimes with women; they've tried everything except

"I!" interrupted Ford, exploding derisively. "That's GOOD! That's one on YOU." He ceased laughing and

For an instant the face of the bookmaker grew a shade less red and his eyes searched those of Ford in a quick

agony of suspicion. Ford continued to smile steadily at him, and Ashton breathed with relief.

"I'll take a chance with you," he said, "and if you are as bad a detective as you are a sport I needn't worry."

They both laughed, and, with sudden mutual liking, each raised his glass and nodded.

"But they haven't got me yet," continued Ashton, "and unless they get me in the next thirty days I'm free. So

you needn't think that I'll help you. It's 'never again' for me. The first time, that was the fault of the crowd I

ran with; the second time, that would be MY fault. And there ain't going to be any second time."

He shook his head doggedly, and with squared shoulders leaned back in his chair.

"If it only breaks right for me," he declared, "I'll settle down in one of those 'Ownyour ownhomes,'

The words almost brought Ford to his feet. He had forgotten the wife and the baby. He endeavored to explain

"Married!" protested Ashton. "I'm married to the finest little lady that ever wore skirts, and in thirtyseven

days I'll see her again. Thirtyseven days," he repeated impatiently. "Gee! That's a hell of a long time!"

Ford studied the young man with increased interest. That he was speaking sincerely, from the heart, there

Ashton frowned and his face clouded. "I've not been able to treat her just right," he volunteered. "If she wrote

me, the letters might give them a clew, and I don't write HER because I don't want her to know all my

troubles until they're over. But I know," he added, "that five minutes' talk will set it all right. That is, if she

The man crushed his cigar in his fingers and threw the pieces on the floor. "That's what's been the worst!" he

"Supper!" growled Ashton. "What's the use of supper? Do you suppose cold chicken and a sardine can keep

"You come with me," he said kindly. "I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to bring you a piece of luck.

Don't ask me any questions," he commanded hurriedly. "Just take my word for it."

They had sat so late over their cigars that when they reached the restaurant on the Embankment the

supperroom was already partly filled, and the corridors and lounge were brilliantly lit and gay with

welldressed women. Ashton regarded the scene with gloomy eyes. Since he had spoken of his wife he had

remained silent, chewing savagely on a fresh cigar. But Ford was grandly excited. He did not know exactly

what he intended to do. He was prepared to let events direct themselves, but of two things he was assured:

Mrs. Ashton loved her husband, and her husband loved her. As the god in the car who was to bring them

The young men left the coatroom and came down the short flight of steps that leads to the wide lounge of

the restaurant. Ford slightly in advance, searching with his eyes for Mrs Ashton, found her seated alone in the

lounge, evidently waiting for him. At the first glance she was hardly be recognized. Her lowcut dinner gown

of black satin that clung to her like a wet bath robe was the last word of the new fashion; and since Ford had

seen her her blond hair had been arranged by an artist. Her appearance was smart, elegant, daring. She was

easily the prettiest and most strikinglooking woman in the room, and for an instant Ford stood gazing at her,

trying to find in the selfpossessed young woman the deserted wife of the steamer. She did not see Ford. Her

eyes were following the progress down the hall of a woman, and her profile was toward him.

The thought of the happiness he was about to bring to two young people gave Ford the sense of a genuine

triumph, and when he turned to Ashton to point out his wife to him he was thrilling with pride and

satisfaction. His triumph received a bewildering shock. Already Ashton had discovered the presence of Mrs.

Ashton. He was standing transfixed, lost to his surroundings, devouring her with his eyes. And then, to the

amazement of Ford, his eyes filled with fear, doubt, and anger. Swiftly, with the movement of a man ducking

a blow, he turned and sprang up the stairs and into the coatroom. Ford, bewildered and more conscious of

his surroundings, followed him less quickly, and was in consequence only in time to see Ashton, dragging his

overcoat behind him, disappear into the courtyard. He seized his own coat and raced in pursuit. As he ran

into the courtyard Ashton, in the Strand, was just closing the door of a taxicab, but before the chauffeur

could free it from the surrounding traffic, Ford had dragged the door open, and leaped inside. Ashton was

"What the devil ails you?" roared Ford. "Are you trying to shake me? You've got to come back. You must

"Speak to her!" repeated Ashton. His voice was sunk to a whisper. The look of alarm in his face was

confused with one grim and menacing. "Did you know she was there?" he demanded softly. "Did you take

His voice subsided in a squeak of amazement and pain. Ashton's left hand had shot out and swiftly seized his

throat. With the other he pressed an automatic revolver against Ford's shirt front.

"I know she's been looking for me," the man whispered thickly. "For two years she's been looking for me. I

"You are wrong!" he cried. "She's been at home waiting for you. She thinks you have deserted her and your

The fingers on his throat suddenly relaxed; the flaming eyes of Ashton, glaring into his, wavered and grew

"That is not my wife," he whispered. His voice was unpleasantly cold and grim. "That's 'Baby Belle,' with her

hair dyed, a detective lady of the Pinkertons, hired to find me. And YOU know it. Now, who are YOU?"

To permit him to reply Ashton released his hand, but at the same moment, in a sudden access of fear, dug the

Ford collapsed against the cushioned corner of the cab. "And she begged me to find you," he roared, "because

she LOVED you, because she wanted to BELIEVE in you!" He held his arms above his head. "Go ahead and

shoot!" he cried. "You want to know who I am?" he demanded. His voice rang with rage. "I'm an amateur.

The gun in Ashton's hand sank to his knee. Between doubt and laughter his face was twisted in strange lines.

The cab was whirling through a narrow, unlit street leading to Covent Garden. Opening the door Ashton

"You get off here!" he commanded. "Maybe you're a 'Pink,' maybe you're a good fellow. I think you're a good

Ford scrambled to the street, and as the taxicab again butted itself forward, Ashton leaned far through the

window. "Goodby, son," he called. "Send me a picturepostal card to Paris. For I am off to Maxim's," he

"Not at all!" shouted the amateur detective indignantly. "I'm going back to take supper with 'Baby Belle'!"