There pended a somewhat important question. Of this he reminded her by a level glance, his foot ready to leave the running-board and his hand ready to shut the door from the outside.

"I am not such an ingrate as to make you walk," she answered.

During the cross-town ride there was but one exchange between them.

"Jane"-Pape turned to her daringly, the humor twitches about his mouth defying any serious attempt which she might make to put him in his place-"I have to call you Jane, you see, because it is the only part of your name of which I feel sure."

As before, at a similar suggestion, she gave him a look of startled resentment. Then, with a faint but very sweet smile--

"Peter," she bade him, "pray proceed."

He did. "Should you mind telling me, Jane, whether what you are digging for in the park has any connection with the theft of that something you valued the other night?"

"I guess-I don't mind," said she, thoughtfully. "It has connection."

"Is it-- Of course refuse to answer if you wish, with the a.s.surance that there can be no hard feelings between us. Is it, just possibly, buried treasure?"

"Just possibly it is."

"Central Park, if piled up with hay, would be a right sizeable stack. By comparison, any treasure which might have been contained within that snuff-box would be needle-sized."

The girl looked intolerant, as if at stupidity on his part.

"The treasure which I hope to unbury before those grave-diggers you saw can unearth it for some one not ent.i.tled to it is larger than all the park."

Even at this, Pape didn't doubt her entire sanity. She had mentioned a cryptogram; merely was being a bit cryptic herself.

"I see," he a.s.sured her.

"I hope you don't," she a.s.sured him.

"That," he finished, "you don't trust me."

"Trust you? Why should I trust you?"

A moment her blue eyes blazed into his. He was feeling quite scorched by her scorn. Probably he looked wilted. At any rate, her next move amazed as much as it refreshed him.

One of her ungloved, ringless hands slipped into his that lay idle on the leather of the seat; the fingers curled around it.

"I'd like to trust you. I don't mind admitting that." She turned so directly toward him that again he felt her clover-field breath across his cheek. "But you'll have to excuse me for the present. I just don't dare."

He held her hand hard, pulsant palm to pulsant palm. But he took his eyes off the temptation of her face; a second or so stared straight ahead, trying to resist-trying to answer for himself the question of her.

Who and what was she-this woman of his first, deliberate self-selection?

"Trust-is a thing-some people have to-be taught," he said, steadily as he could. "You will trust me-in time. There is only one-quick way-to learn."

Having gone that far, he gave up; realized that he couldn't resist. His eyes swept back to the temptation of her face. His two arms swept around the temptation of her form. His face swept down until he yielded, in a serious kiss, to the temptation of her lips.

"Learn, Jane. Learn," he insisted into the panic of emotion he felt her to be in. "Your distrust has made it hard for me to trust you. But I find I do. I trust you with my soul. Don't say the angry things you might. Wait. Learn."

At her first effort to be free, he released her; leaned to his window; knew without turning that she was leaning to hers. After they had swung into the wide avenue that bounds the park on the west, he spoke quietly.

"I'd suggest that we land here. By looking over the wall you can see without being seen."

Without turning, she nodded. Pape dismissed the cab and guided his silent companion north a block. He pointed out the group of poplars to her by their tops, claiming what he called "the wild, or wilderness eye for location." When they reached what he considered a vantage point, however, she drew back, reluctant to look.

"If they've solved it-if they've found it, I'm lost-lost," she said.

"Another hour last night and I'd have known. If you hadn't come along--"

"Ain't I trying to make up for that?" he asked her.

Without meeting his demanding eyes, she set her lips; stepped close to the V-topped wall; peered over. For a s.p.a.ce both studied the scene of activity.

"Won't take them long," she commented. "They're just common laborers-Polakers, no doubt. The short, dressed-up man must be the boss.

Wonder whether I've seen him before. Wait, he's turning! His face is strange to me. One of their hirelings, of course."

The silencer which Pape put upon certain questions exploding in his mind-pertinent questions such as what was the nature of "it," who were "they," why should another hour last night have made all "known"?-was the result of a new-made decision on his own account. He would teach this determinedly untrusting young person by demonstration; would aspire only to such confidence as she saw fit to volunteer. The hope that telepathy already was at work strengthened him to meet manfully her calm, cold gaze when at last she faced him.

"You say you want to make up for--" She caught her breath and started afresh. "I am willing to-to learn-if I can. But some women might consider that you owed quite a bit."

"I am-" and he bent his head, the better to see her lips-"very deeply in your debt."

In spite of her flush, she continued crisply. "Very well, I am going to ask you for part payment."

"And I am only too willing, Jane, to pay in full."

She studied his serio-flippancy; evidently decided to value his statement above his smile.

"I need about one hour of dusk to finish in there. I could finish to-night if that gang could be driven off now, before they find-what I hope to find first. Can't you-won't you try to frighten them off?"

"I? What right have I--"

One of two things was certain. Either she thought very little of the courage of the four or very much of his frightsomeness. He did feel indebted to her, though; appreciated the born-and-bred conventionality which she had overcome at his request. When he compared the scathing, stereotyped things she might have said with the fact that she had said nothing at all-well, despite the confusions since that Zaza night, including the man over on East Sixty-third Street, she was-she must be the sort she at first had seemed. He shrugged off his own dubiousness and looked as hopeful as he could.

"Once you pretended to be a detective," she encouraged him.

"Got a supper out of that."

"Last night you were again taken for one."

"And had a sc.r.a.p that was lively while it lasted."

"This much you may a.s.sume. Something important-something more valuable, really, than any treasure that could be buried in the whole length of Manhattan Isle-something more than you possibly could imagine is at stake. It doesn't matter what or why or how, but try to do what I ask.

Get those hired looters out!"

"Get them out?" he objected, "Girl-alive, they have a right to be digging in there or they wouldn't dare to come in force and in daylight.

I'd need some authority to object before I could- Will you stay right here?"