Perhaps the small boss regained some of what would seem const.i.tutional bravado from the fact that his license to carry concealed weapons had not been demanded. At any rate, he started fresh protest.

"Say, if you'd any idea who I was working for--"

"I know who I'm working for. That's idea enough for me _and_ for you."

Pape sat down with his back against the trunk of the most aged and st.u.r.dy poplar. He looked as likely to stay there as the tree. The foreman, with a final sputter of indignation, stamped off down the hill, having made no secret of his objective-the nearest telephone. The Westerner saw him pause beside the motorcycle and make note of the number on its P. D. plate-a last amusing touch to a uniquely pleasurable experience. Small satisfaction would Welch get if he tried to trace and punish the particular "cop" who had ridden that particular police "firecracker" that particular afternoon. Kicko alone could give him away and Kicko was too much of a Belgian to tell on a friend.

Some minutes after the foreman had disappeared in the general direction of Columbus Circle, Pape arose and sauntered toward the park wall. He did not trouble himself further about his steed of raucous breath, steel ribs and rubber hoofs. A "sparrow cop" would happen upon that sooner or later and trundle it back to the Sheepfold garage. The Force could take for granted that its plain-clothe's borrower had found necessity to abandon it in course of duty. Plainly labeled as a piece of city property by its official number plate, it was safe enough.

He scaled the wall at a calculated point and gave himself completely to the joys of victory when he saw her who had sent him into the arena seated on a shaded bench a short distance above. He joined her.

Gallantly as some champion of old he handed her the trophy brought back from the fight-the venerable drain-building permit.

"This is all the authority they had for daylight digging," he remarked.

"Then-then they haven't deciphered it?" she breathed with manifest relief, after a moment's study of the official sheet.

"It? Just what-" he began to ask, then stopped.

Let her tell him if and when she liked. Until and unless, he would continue his rudderless, questionless course.

"Don't you see," she was generous enough to add, "if they had solved the cryptogram, they never would have been using this? With their influence they'd have secured a special permit. It may be that one of the gang saw me digging there last night and a.s.sumed that I knew more than I really do. There have been signs recently that I was followed by more than-than yourself. That man on the k.n.o.b last night-Don't you suppose he had watched me-trailed me-lain in wait for me to take from me whatever I might have dug up?"

They? Their? The gang?

These succinct demands Pape did not put in words although, telepathically, he did not restrain his curiosity. Probably she got something of his vehemence and decided that something was due him. She abstracted her attention completely from the pa.s.sers-by and gave it to him.

"You were fine, Peter Pape, _fine_. After dark to-night I'll come back and finish my search. If I'd stopped to think-except for my desperation, you know-I never should have asked you to put those people out, it was _so_ impossible. But you were inspired with the one-best idea. You handled the expulsion act as artistically as-as an actor in his big scene."

Now, had there been time for Pape to foreplan his curtain speech he might have continued to be artistic. But Jane's applause seemed to go to his head. He honestly had meant to continue histrionically suppressed, unasking, admirable. Yet he didn't; just couldn't. He stretched his arm along the back of the bench until his finger-tips touched the tweed of her sleeve. Perhaps the contact was unnerving. Perhaps her eyes were too earnest. Perhaps her faint, wistful smile was falsely promising. At any rate, he proceeded to do what he had determined not to do.

"It _was_ quite a stunt. I admit it," he said. "Don't you think you sort of ought to-That is, don't you want to reward me?"

"Reward you?"

She drew away from him and his suggestion.

"Of course I don't mean just that." Pape's eyes were on her lips. "You paid me beforehand. What I wish you'd do is to get me in your debt again. The credit system is the one for me. I can do anything to make good when I'm deep in debt. Will you-won't you--"

"_Odious_!"

A second or so he blinked into the blast of her interruption. By its flare he saw her interpretation of his bad beginning. He tried an extinguisher.

"Wait a minute. Don't flay me before you understand. I'm not such a jasper as to mean to exact-What I wish you'd do-What I want to ask-Jane, have a little mercy on me. Tell me who and what to you is that man living in your flat."

From the look of her, judging dispa.s.sionately as possible, all was over between them. She got to her feet, as he to his. She looked strengthened by righteous rage, he weakened by unrighteous humility. She made the only utterances-and they did not help much, being rather fragmentary.

"You think that I-You have a.s.sumed that he-You believe that we-So _that_ is why--"

In the pause that preceded the lash of further language, Peter Pape realized what it was to be a dumb brute. He felt as must certain dogs he had tried to understand-faithful, well-intentioned, unequal to explaining themselves. He knew that he did not deserve chastis.e.m.e.nt at the beloved hand, yet could not resent or avert it. Like a dog he leveled his eyes on hers and looked-silent, honest, worshipful.

And Jane Lauderdale proved to have a heart for dumb brutes.

A taxi with flag out had slowed at her gesture. She was about to enter it. In quiet, crisp tones she gave her address to the driver; then these instructions to Pape:

"Get the next cab that comes along and follow me to East Sixty-third Street. Under the circ.u.mstances you will excuse me for preferring to ride over alone. I'll wait for you on the stoop."

She did. And without a word she preceded him up the three screeching, scrooping, shrieking flights, which were not nearly so uncommunicative as his guide.

"Life's a shaky thing. But love is worse-worse-worse"-the first. And the scroopy second: "Things get queerer every step-queerer-queerer."

Shrieked the third: "Look out. Like as not he'll leap and lam you. Look out lest he leap and lam!"

The fourth floor front was empty when they entered. Pape noted its quaint consistency during the moment she left him alone-an oblong room fitted sparingly with Colonial antiques, with a round rag rug over the boards of its floor, with several old, interesting engravings on its walls. He merely glanced at the horsehair Davenport to which she had waved him; turned and stood with face toward the sliding door through which she had disappeared.

Soon this door was drawn open. Forward she led by the hand the man. A tall, fit specimen he was, his face clean-shaved and strong-featured, his hair a tawny ma.s.s which probably once had been auburn, but now was blond from a two-thirds admixture of gray.

The light of devotion irradiated the girl's uplifted face as she stopped before him. She looked like a slender white taper beside some shrine, her lips the live red, her eyes the blaze blue, her hair the waving suggestion of its lighted tip.

"Dear," she said to her companion, "I want to introduce Mr. Why-Not Pape, the Westerner I told you about."

The man's smile was cordial, beautiful. He stepped forward with outstretched hand.

"Welcome to our city, Why-Not Pape," he quoted from the Times Canon sign which, patently, had been part of Jane's tale.

But Pape didn't-just couldn't meet the advance. He stood stubbornly still before the Davenport, his arms stiff at his sides, his suffering eyes upon the lit taper-upon Jane.

And into her devotional mood seemed to return that gentling comprehension of dumb brutes.

"I _beg_ your pardon," she said to him. "Mr. Pape, my father."

CHAPTER XV-THE LIMIT OF TRUST

Not until Jane was finishing an account of his disposal of the "grave-diggers" did Pape feel sure that the splendid old man was blind.

Suspicion had come from the uncertainty with which he had veered toward the chair placed for him, from his indirect gaze toward the girl, from the hand outstretched for the touch of her hand. Conclusion surprised from the Westerner a low, sympathetic exclamation which Jane heard, evidently understood and chose to answer openly.

"Yes," said she, "my father has been unable to see since the war.

France, you know, and mustard gas."

"Do you suppose-" Curtis Lauderdale himself put the question-"that otherwise I'd permit my dear girl to conduct this search against our enemies?"

"But the war-at your age, sir?" murmured Pape. "Weren't there enough of us who were young and free of family responsibilities to go into service?"

Again that rarely beautiful smile from eyes which appeared somehow to see more than was visible to those blessed with sight. "I was willing for you youngsters to do the actual fighting. But I felt called upon to take some part. What are two eyes compared with the inner knowledge that you did your bit? I only helped to make trench life easier, along with many other K-C's and wearers of the 'Y.'"

"And how did they-get you?"