Chapter VII: Part III: Hurricane Island (7)

Toroni, on the other hand, was watching the work with apathetic curiosity, self-centered, awaiting the result of the plot he had engineered with violence and cunning twelve months before; the hour when his hands should close on the coveted six millions. Did he really intend his two accomplices to have a share in the booty? Tom noticed the sinister look he cast at the others through his half-closed eyes. Was his subtle brain evolving another piece of villainy? The expression of his face seemed to say, "I am quite aware that you despise me, though you have no objection to share the roast ... but don't be too sure." He walked up to them, pointed to the water, and with a cynical grimace said a few words.

Tom noiselessly opened the ventilator and distinctly heard Corman's answer:

"And then? If they can't find it there, we are lost, that's all about it." He made a weary and deprecating gesture with his hands.

"But it is there," said Toroni, in a low voice. "Sixteen years ago I saw it disappearing in the sea on the very spot upon which we are standing to-day ... Why don't you say something? ... Why don't you laugh?" and once more he pointed to the dark, rolling waves. "Only ten fathoms from the prize," he whispered, "only ten fathoms from 'King Solomon' ... haven't you anything to say?"

Dixon turned his back upon him in order to make an end of the matter, at the same time shouting to the diver:

"Ready there? ... Look sharp about it."

The diver went down the steps and into the water up to his waist; he hitched an electric lamp with brightly polished reflector on to his chest, and the helmet was screwed on over his head. The air-pump began to work with long, absorbent puffs, and the copper helmet gradually disappeared under the water, which bubbled up over it; the assistant paid out the coil and the rope with mechanical precision. Fifteen minutes passed, then the diver came up again on the steps. Toroni bent down to him, and Dixon and Corman also came forward; the diver opened the little glass pane in the helmet.

"The wreck is there all right; it has sunk a little lower, but there are no difficulties. The chests are all right in the saloon."

"The fifteen, all told?" inquired Toroni.

"Yes, all of them, safe and uninjured."

Toroni gave his friends a look, but no word passed between them. A windlass had been rigged up over the side of the barge, and the diver at once went back to the wreck, taking a supple steel wire with him.

The group on the boat stood stiff and motionless in silent expectation; the men looked like coal-black shadows in the steady rays of the searchlight; it was pitch dark all round. Tom, sick with suspense, sought the back of a chair as support. Everything had gone so fast and in such a business-like manner that time after time he was forced to repeat to himself: "The gold is there, it is there."

Again, in despair, he asked: "Where can Wallion be, what can prevent him from coming?"

*CHAPTER XXII*

*MADAME LORRAINE'S SURPRISE*

There were suspicious movements in the saloon behind them, and Elaine uttered a cry. It was Madame Lorraine, but a greatly changed Madame Lorraine; her sea-green eyes shone with a peculiar emotion, and she looked at them both with an expression that made Tom hurriedly get up from his chair. She went close up to him and put a revolver into his hand.

"You are stout-hearted," she said in so low a voice that he could scarcely hear her. "Your friend says the time has come; take this, it is loaded ... I have always kept it by me as a last resource."

He hardly understood her.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Do not speak so loud," she answered. "It was I who slipped the card under your door, I have a surprise in store for you ... and _them_," she added, in still more subdued tone. Through the ventilator she cast a look of intense hate upon the silent group outside.

Then Tom grasped the fact that Madame Lorraine had deserted her associates and come over to the enemy! He remembered that her conduct throughout had often puzzled both Wallion and himself. Now she had come to a decision, driven thereto by the loathsome presence of Toroni. The cabin occupied by Madame Lorraine had been the only place not subjected to the rigorous search made for the "Problem Solver."

With one bound Tom dashed through the half-open door into Madame Lorraine's cabin ... there, at the table, stood Maurice Wallion, in the act of loading a revolver.

"I am just coming," he said, looking over his shoulder and smiling. "You know, it was rather cute of you to let yourself be caught this morning," he added, coming out into the saloon. "You see, I had sent a few wireless messages to McTuft during the night, but obviously that could not go on much longer; and when that big raid was on I had the good luck to find Madame Lorraine alone here in the saloon, so I persuaded her to come to a noble and reasonable decision" (here he made a polite little bow). "Thanks for your hospitality, Madame, it will never be forgotten," he said. Then he shot a keen glance through the window and frowned.

"The time has come," he said abruptly, "they are much too busily engaged out there to suspect our plans."

"What plans are those?"

"To take possession of the yacht."

Tom was just as eager for action as his friend. "Yes," he said, almost breathless with excitement, "go on, you'll have me near you."

They left the ladies in the saloon and hurriedly went out.

"Where is McTuft?" asked Tom.

"He is chasing us in the 'Albatross,' a patrol-boat; and, acting on my instructions, he will be here soon."

Tom's confidence in Wallion rose many degrees at that piece of information. He had no doubt that they could have surprised the conspirators without assistance, but to deliver them up to the law was a more ticklish affair; for that purpose McTuft and his "boys" would prove very useful.

They looked about them for a few minutes from the top of the gangway. On the larboard side lay the barge, well-lighted up by the rays of the searchlight, whilst all was dark and still on the yacht. The crew stood leaning over the railings, looking on with great interest; on the bridge near the wireless hut were Captain Hawkins and the pilot Weston. Tom accompanied Wallion along the dark deck to the bridge. Scattered lights from the wharf were reflected in the water, but there was no danger to be apprehended from that quarter.

"Moreland is in the wireless room," said Wallion. "When we get there you must go straight up to him and point your revolver at his head. I shall persuade the captain and pilot to go in there too; the rest I will take into my own hands."

They stole up to the bridge like a couple of cats, only stopping occasionally to take breath.

The well-lighted wireless room was just behind the chart-house; and immediately in front, on the other side of the steering-wheel, they saw the unmistakable silhouettes of Hawkins and Weston.

The rhythmic suction of the air-pumps and the sharp creaking of the windlass could be heard far and wide in the stillness of the night.

"Now then, go ahead," said Wallion.

Tom straightened himself and noiselessly entered the hut. Moreland looked up, and turned pale when he saw the revolver pointed at his head.

"Sit still," said Tom, in a commanding tone; "if you move I fire."

The telegraphist sat as motionless as a stone image.

Meanwhile Wallion crept up behind Hawkins and Western.

"Gentlemen," he said, "this is no time for talking; I shall fire without compunction, if necessary. Go to the wireless room at once in front of me."

They obeyed with hands up, and he ordered them to sit down with their hands in front of them. Then he locked the door.

"Now for a little explanation," he said with a smile. "I regret having to act in this cavalier fashion, but I had to make you hear what I have to say, without raising an alarm; you take us for two bandits belonging to the Black Hand gang, don't you?"

"Mr. Dixon said so," retorted the captain sullenly.

"Very well, listen now; Mr. Dixon told a downright damned lie. My name is Maurice Wallion, and I am a detective from Sweden, and this gentleman" (pointing to Tom) "is my friend and assistant, Mr. Murner."

Captain Hawkins stared distrustfully at him. "Anybody might say that," he growled.

"But I can swear that it _is_ so."

"In that case there should be no difficulty in proving your identity."

"My own papers have been lost, and Murner's have been taken away from him."

The captain shook his head. "Excuse me if I don't believe you; besides, what business could you have on board Mr. Dixon's yacht?"

"My business here is to arrest Ricardo Ferail for murder and theft, and Dixon and Corman for aiding and abetting," Wallion said very quietly.

Captain Hawkins stared as if he had heard something perfectly impossible. "You're a good 'un," he said scornfully, "you can tell that tale to the marines."

"Then you don't believe what I say?"

"I don't."

Tom cast a troubled look at Wallion; it seemed to him the situation was becoming critical.

"It will afford me much pleasure to prove every word I have said, Captain Hawkins."

"How are you going to do that? ... It would be rather amusing," was Hawkins' answer.

"It will be very simple: a few nautical miles from here is an American patrol-boat, the 'Albatross,' with Detective McTuft from Seattle on board. He knows me well, and is, like myself, on the track of the same delightful trio."

"Oh," said the captain, with growing interest.

"What could be easier than to make an inquiry by wireless, requesting McTuft to prove our identity?"

The captain rose, but immediately sat down again. "Not impossible," he said at last, "Moreland, call up the 'Albatross,' then we shall hear."

Wallion exchanged a look of triumph with Tom, but their present position was rather hazardous all the same. The operator bent over his apparatus, whilst the others kept silent; he called up the 'Albatross,' and waited for an answer. It came at once:

"Who wants 'Albatross'?"

"Maurice Wallion, on board the 'Ariadne,'" replied Moreland. "Ask McTuft if he will, please, come to the apparatus."

"So far I have told you the truth, you see," remarked Wallion, while they were waiting for the reply. "I presume fire-arms will no longer be needed."

"No," replied the Captain, curtly; "but I mean to get to the bottom of this," he said, adding: "if you have told the truth and anybody down there in the barge heard you, this room may prove a dangerous place for you."

"There is no danger; the air-pump and windlass drown the wireless, and what is more, their attention is entirely taken up with those gold chests."

Moreland made a sudden movement as the reply came: "McTuft is here, go ahead, 'Ariadne.'"

"Will you speak, Captain, or shall I?" said Wallion.

He and Tom laid aside their arms as being no longer required. Captain Hawkins was deeply interested, and said:

"Let me, please, Mr. Wallion." Then he proceeded to dictate his message to Moreland: "Request McTuft to furnish us with a description of Wallion."

Moreland sent it off immediately, and after a scarcely perceptible delay a prompt answer came through space: "Maurice Wallion, detective from Sweden; tall, thin, eyes gray, complexion dark, hair brushed back from forehead; has Thomas Murner with him, do you want HIS description as well?"

Whilst the captain was hesitating about the next inquiry to make, further signs of life arrived from McTuft; he asked: "What's the matter with Wallion? Anything gone wrong?"

"No, nothing," dictated Hawkins, gloomily; "only that he wants to impress upon the 'Ariadne's' company that certain proceedings are unavoidable; send information regarding his business on board the yacht for registration."

The reply, a very emphatic one, came at once; one might have fancied it was in McTuft's own indignant tones: "It is Wallion's business to arrest every single soul on board the 'Ariadne,' if they make a fuss; first and foremost the owner and his party; will that do for you?"

"That's enough," said Hawkins, and laughed; then he added rather seriously: "I am quite convinced now, Mr. Wallion. It is an unsavory, horrible story, and my own plight is most deplorable; but, of course, I must bow to the law. What do you wish me to do?"

"That depends" ... said Wallion. He turned to Moreland and dictated as follows: "It is I, Wallion, speaking. Thanks for information, how long before the 'Albatross' will reach Hurricane Island?"

Out of the darkness came McTuft's reply: "Thanks to you for information given last night; the 'Albatross' will be up in half-an-hour." There the odd conversation ended. Wallion got on to his feet and laughingly remarked to Tom:

"I begin to appreciate McTuft's tenacity. He has no intention of missing the last act of the tragedy. I fancy I see him now on the 'Albatross.'"

He put his head out of the window for a moment. The work on the barge below was being carried on undisturbed; the pumps moaned and the windlass creaked at regular intervals.

"Are the crew to be trusted?" asked Wallion.

"Yes, if I may have the handling of them," answered the captain.

The pilot undertook to call the men in one by one and to explain the circumstances to them.

"Yes, that would perhaps be the best," Wallion agreed; "what is your opinion about the five men on the barge?"

"They belong to the wharf and they will give no trouble," said the captain. "I don't think any of the workmen on the wharf are particularly delighted with their employers."

"First rate. I propose that you will call your men to the chart-room and tell them to be quiet; it is not necessary for them to interfere. Dixon and his two associates are armed, but we shall get the better of them before they have finished their business down there."

All except Moreland left the cabin.

"Tom," said Wallion in a low voice, "in about ten minutes there will be a nice scuffle; you keep an eye on the barge whilst I help the captain to prepare the crew, and come up to the chart-room if any of our three friends make as though they meant to return to the yacht."

Tom leant over the rails on the bridge and looked down into the barge; he felt that never again in all his life would he find himself in such company or such a situation as this. He was calm and resolute, and his gaze was firmly fixed on what lay before him.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*GO SHARES ... THEN PART*

The rays of the searchlight fell upon the deck of the barge, on the rude planks of which a strange scene was being enacted, In the background lay Fir Island, like a dark side-piece, and the water in the channel rose and fell in glittering, heaving billows. On the stage, below where Tom stood, were eight performers all told.

Dixon and Corman, in the center of the barge and still motionless, were smoking, and had lighted their cigarettes without exchanging a word; Toroni sat on the railing as close as possible to the spot where the ever-seething air bubbles in the water indicated the place where the diver was working on the wreck sixty feet below. Two men attended to the air-pumps, one looked after the tube and signal-rope, and two others stood ready by the stake, from which wire ropes hung down into the deep.

But the picture had undergone a marvelous change since Tom had watched it from the loophole in the saloon. A collection of wooden cases of dark and curious appearance had been deposited on planks in a pool of muddy water. These cases were almost square and provided with thick iron bands; the offside of each showed letters carefully incised. Tom thought he could detect the name "Craig Russel" on one of the chests.... They contained gold from the ill-fated "King Solomon," which, after sixteen years, had at last come up from the bottom of the sea.

He counted the chests and had got as far as ten when the man in charge of the signal-rope raised his hand; the two on duty at the stake rushed over the tackling to the edge of the boat, and half a minute later the eleventh chest was hauled up over the railing and placed by the side of the others; then the wire rope slackened.

Toroni bent over this last chest and closely examined it on all sides. Like the others it was sound and uninjured; made of good, stout oak, the chests were in a wonderful state of preservation, though the wood had turned nearly black and the iron bands had been eaten away by rust and came off in bits. Apparently satisfied, Toroni returned to his post of observation in silence; his two companions had not stirred.

The diver down on the wreck seemed working with a will, and ere long the twelfth case made its appearance. There were three more to come up, and Toroni and his accomplices had all but attained their object.

There was something rather ghastly in the grim silence observed by these three, within reach of the coveted six millions they had agreed to share. What was it that so deeply engrossed their thoughts at this moment?

Tom was inclined to believe that he could pretty well guess what was in Dixon's mind; he meant to have the gold conveyed to the big motor-boat from the wharf and to smuggle it over the frontier into Canada, before abandoning the "Ariadne" with Elaine, Tom, and the other intruders on board. There was every prospect of such a plan proving successful, provided nothing occurred to nip it in the bud, but ... did that plan fit in with Toroni's calculations?

Tom narrowly scrutinized that little man's ill-favored countenance with its black beard, shifty eyes and pale brow; he appeared no longer to worry about Dixon or Corman, his eyes swept the water's which concealed "King Solomon."

Chests thirteen and fourteen also were safely transferred to the barge; water flowed over the planks freely, and masses of seaweed were thrown up all around.

Tom looked uneasily at the clock. Wallion had said ten minutes, but already twenty had elapsed. He turned his head; deliberations still seemed to be going on in the hut; he could distinguish the captain's broad back, Wallion's clear-cut profile and the pilot's anxious features; the last of the sailors had left and gone down. Tom turned his eyes to the deck; the crew had disappeared, but inquisitive eyes peered from the forecastle. The men were evidently prepared.

All at once the door of the hut was pushed open, and Wallion came out, followed by Hawkins and Weston, pocketing their fire-arms.

The windlass creaked for the fifteenth time ... the last remnant of "King Solomon's cargo was on its way up. Wallion looked down, his sharp features had assumed a hard, resolute expression.

"Just right," he said. "You, Mr. Weston, had better go down and keep an eye on the men and will you, Captain Hawkins, please remain on the bridge. You and I, Tom, will move a little nearer to our fellow-travelers down there."

Noiselessly they climbed down to the "Ariadne's" lower deck, then made their way along under the bridge which brought them within five yards of Dixon and Corman, who were standing with their backs turned to the yacht, not suspecting anything. Toroni was just getting on his feet again after a minute inspection of the fifteenth and last chest, which stood dripping beside the others. The diver came up and climbed over the side of the barge; his helmet was unscrewed and the air-pump ceased working.

All was quiet. Toroni turned to his two friends.

"None of them have been damaged," he said, in a voice which ended in a hoarse whisper. "Look sharp now, it's all done.... Let's get away with the stuff as fast as we can. Quick."

Dixon sighed as if he were just waking from a bad dream. He threw away the stump of his cigarette, turned his head in the direction of the bridge and shouted: "Captain Hawkins, give the signal for the motor-boat to come here."

The Captain neither moved nor spoke, but Wallion leveled his revolver.

"No signal is required, Dixon," he answered, "everything is arranged."

Dixon and Corman swung round and stared Wallion full in the face.

The Doctor muttered an oath and felt for his pocket. Wallion and Tom looked at him fixedly, and the former said:

"Don't add another to the list of your crimes; that would be foolish."

Dixon's lips had assumed an ashen hue, and he had evidently to make a tremendous effort to stand steady.

"Oho, so it was you, Mr. Wallion," he said with some bitterness in his tone. "Well, I give in, I have got into deep water. Corman, my boy, it wasn't written in the stars that this was the way we were to get rich...." Then, looking at Wallion, he said: "And what do you intend to do with us?"

"You are my prisoner, Dixon, and you too, Corman. Go shares and then dissolve partnership, that was your program, wasn't it? Well, the six millions will be shared, but not with you, and the partnership will be dissolved, though not quite in the way you intended."

Toroni, whom Wallion had kept well under observation, stood as if glued to the spot, his piercing black eyes fixed on the "Problem Solver."

The five bargemen and the diver were huddled together in a frightened heap. Toroni looked round.

"Don't expect you'll get any help," said Wallion sternly. "Come here, Toroni.... What? ... You would? ... Look out, Tom."

Quick as lightning Toroni had taken refuge behind the gold chests, pulled out his revolver and fired; the bullet made a hole in the wall of the hut. Wallion stooped and took aim, but he could not sight his adversary. Tom caught a glimpse of Toroni's right hand as he again raised his weapon between two of the chests and fired at random without any particular aim. A flash and a bang followed; Tom felt something like the sting of a whip on his left temple. He put up his hand; his fingers were wet and smeared with blood. He let fall his Browning and believed he heard himself call out: "I am wounded"; but in reality no sound passed his lips. He took a few steps without knowing where he was going, staggered and fell forward unconscious.

Toroni had dropped on his knees. He was grinning and showing his teeth like a wild beast. Under cover of the gold chests, he shot time after time at Wallion, who promptly returned the fire, and knew he had not missed his mark, but Toroni seemed possessed of an evil spirit.

"Give in," shouted Wallion. "I want to take you alive."

Toroni rose to his full height and threw away his weapon; he had fired his last shot. In his eyes there was the look of an untamed tiger.... Furious anger at the loss of what he thought already safe within his sordid grasp, lust of the millions upon which his thoughts had centered through sixteen years, had obliterated every trait of humanity.

"Never," he said huskily; he took a step forward.... A long, sharp knife gleamed in his hand as he raised it towards Wallion. At the same instant Madame Lorraine's voice was heard:

"You devil! It was you who dragged us down to perdition."

She had come to the railing of the yacht and picked up Tom's revolver. She looked as if she were intent on fulfilling a long neglected duty. She fired.... Toroni dropped the knife and reeled backwards, his failing eyes still sought the gold chests, then he folded his hands upon his breast, turned, staggered against the side of the barge, and blindly stretching out his arms, fell into the water. As his body sank, great bubbles rose to the turbid surface; the thirteenth passenger of the "King Solomon" had returned to where the gold had lain which lured him to his fate. Madame Lorraine silently retired to her cabin.

Dixon and Corman had looked on at the short but unforgettable scene with indifference and apathy. Their parts were played and they had neither the power nor the will to offer any resistance to the law.

Weston and two of the sailors went on board the barge and conveyed the two friends to the upper deck of the "Ariadne." They moved listlessly, like automatons, and Dixon sank wearily into one of the basket-chairs. He buried his head in his hands and, looking up at Wallion's approach, said feebly:

"I suppose jail will be our next destination, Mr. Wallion?"

The latter nodded and said nothing. He rather pitied Dixon, whose gray and crestfallen features had aged in a few days by ten years.

Doctor Corman stood behind him, stoical and resigned, with folded arms. "Ah, well," he muttered. "Toroni came off best after all."

By Wallion's orders Tom had been carried down into the saloon. The young man had only a flesh-wound, and that a slight one, on one of his temples; but the shock had stunned him and he was still unconscious.

As soon as Wallion had satisfied himself that his friend was not in danger, he returned to the upper deck. He had heard distant signals across the water. The lights of a steamer soon became visible in the channel. She was approaching at full speed. It was the "Albatross," with McTuft on board, his red hair blowing round his head like flames of fire.

"Hallo, Wallion," lie cried, "are things all right, or have I come too late?"

"You have come in the nick of time," was Wallion's answer, "to take these fifteen chests, which contain gold, on board the 'Albatross,' and set the police seal on them. There you see Mr. Dixon and Doctor Corman; it is now your duty to arrest them. We shall remain on the 'Ariadne' with Captain Hawkins to take us back to Seattle. That's all, I think...."

"But what about Ferail?"

"Ferail, otherwise No. 13 Toroni, is dead."

McTuft cast a long inquiring look at Wallion.

"If only you were a Scotchman now proud I should be of you," he said.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*AFTER THE CONFLICT*

When Tom regained consciousness it was with the feeling that his body was lying at full length in a swing and that a screw was being driven into his head. He heard the clank of chains and the starting of machinery. His memory came back by slow degrees. A snapshot in black and white representing the deck of the barge, figures moving and smoke curling up in thick clouds floated across his brain. "Yes, of course, I have been wounded," he thought confusedly.

And then something even more strange occurred, and that quite close to his side. Someone was breathing hard and saying in a broken voice:

"Wake up, dearest, look at me, and say that you are not in danger, my dear one, my love." ... Two soft, warm lips were pressed on his, then shyly withdrawn, only to return in a passionate kiss. It was indeed marvelous!

"I expect I am dreaming," he thought as he opened his eyes.

Elaine's tear-stained, lovely face was very near to his, an expression of unspeakable anxiety and distress in her eyes. He raised himself upon his elbow and put a hand up to his head; it was tightly bandaged.

"Won't you say once more what you said just now?" he murmured, rather incoherently.

She bent her head and blushed.

"It is all over now," she said softly; "Dixon and Corman are prisoners, and Toroni is dead; it was he who fired at you, and oh ... I am so glad that the wound is not dangerous."

Tom fell back against the cushions. He had discovered that he was lying on the couch in the saloon and they were alone.

"I don't know," he said, hesitating. "I fancy it might be most dangerous unless I have a kind and loving nurse."

"I shall try to do my best," she replied in a gentle tone.

He sat up with a bound and drew her to him.

"Elaine," he said, "I love you."

She lay still in his arms; he raised her head and kissed her. "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you," he said.

She smiled faintly. "That's an old, old story which you can read in any book."

"Yes, I know that. I only said it as the correct thing and as a matter of form. But really, Elaine, I have loved you from the time when you were recovering from the fever of your wound, and I saw you at the window in my smoking-room. My darling, say once more what you said just now when I opened my eyes."

She bent down, looked into his eyes, and said: "I love you."

"No, say it in Swedish," he said, in a tone of command.

"_Jag aelskar dig_," she repeated obediently.

* * *

A month later Maurice Wallion was sitting in a chair facing the Chief of the Secret Service Division of New York in his private office. They were smoking the cigars the Chief had once mentioned on the telephone, and he was listening with intense interest to Wallion's graphic story.

"Well, and what do you think of McTuft?" he said genially when the story was finished.

"A fine, intelligent fellow, but as obstinate as a mule," replied Wallion, laughing. "I strongly recommend him for promotion."

The Chief sat quiet for a time, turning over in his mind the tale he had just heard.

"It will be a perplexing business to discover all those heirs and share out the gold properly."

"A local Seattle paper is going to take the initiative and form a sort of Managing Committee," said Wallion, "but William Robertson was not anxious that all the world should know about it and, I suppose, the higher powers will also have a word to say in the matter."

"Naturally. By the way, I conclude you will not be present when Dixon and Corman come up for trial?"

"No, I have other business in hand, but I left with the Public Prosecutor a clear and full account of my part in the affair. In a way, I am rather sorry for Dixon: his power and influence were in reality only nominal ... he coveted wealth and position, and was dragged down against his better knowledge. As to Madame Lorraine, she is sure to be acquitted, for she was entirely under her brother's sway. But Doctor Corman deserves and must expect severe punishment; he knew well enough what he was doing."

"Yes," said the Chief Detective, meditatively, "we humans are a queer lot to be called the 'crowning piece' of creation. And the nice little lady ... Elaine Robertson, what promises does the future hold out to her?"

"Elaine Murner, once Robertson, you mean; she is very well, judging from Tom's jubilant telegram despatched immediately after the wedding. Her father is coming over to Sweden to take up his abode with Christian Dreyel. Elaine, of course, will be with her happy--architect husband...."

For a time they continued to smoke without speaking, then the Chief asked:

"Now, as to your own plans, Wallion: the man who saved King Solomon's millions has a right to a good big reward."

But Maurice Wallion interrupted him, and stooping, unlocked a Gladstone bag which lay at his feet. Extracting therefrom twelve brown wooden dolls, he set them in a row on the table, and said with a laugh:

"As a reward I claim these ... as a souvenir of

NO. 13 TORONI."

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_Author of "Sinbad and His Friends," "Professor Latimer's Progress,"
Etc._

NEW EDITION. ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER JACK DUNCAN

This new edition of Mr. Strunsky's well-known book contains a great deal of new matter, and is further supplemented with illustrations depicting various aspects of New York. The author has few equals in the United States as a light essayist, and can touch a popular note, as the success of his recent "Sinbad" shows. $2.00

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
19 WEST 44TH STREET (VIII '22) NEW YORK

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SECRET PARTNER

_By Elizabeth Frazer_

A story with humor of love, conflict and a fateful dream. $1.75

_New York Post's Literary Review_: "A dream adds a touch of the occult, an eerie quality ... very well done and holds the interest ... a saving sense of humor."

_New York Times' Book Review_: "Marked by excellent suspense ... an unusual supernatural quality."

_Bookman_: "An easy-to-read book with delightful details."

CHILDREN OF TRANSGRESSION

_By G. Vere Tyler_

A dramatic tale of a woman's expiation, laid in the Virginia of to-day. $1.75

_New York Herald_: "There is a strength, sincerity and directness of passion that is not quite of our own day. It is almost necessary to go back to the tremendous "night pieces" of John Webster to find anything comparable in effect."

_Boston Transcript_: "Makes the Northern reader hold his breath.... A deeply considered and carefully wrought novel ... in many ways a remarkable book. One cannot leave it without a feeling of respect for the unrelenting bravery and deep insight of its author."

PATCHWORK

_By Beverley Nichols_

A novel of Oxford since the War that offers striking comparisons to "The Beginning of Wisdom." $1.75

_Yale Literary Magazine_: "It has sincerity and continuity, and occasionally gives us passages which are more beautiful than any in 'This Side of Paradise' and as lovely as the most delicate in 'The Beginning of Wisdom' ... The end is wholly satisfactory."

_Hartford Courant_: "A lovely, descriptive gift--the vision to perceive, and to make others perceive with him.... Something there, which, in a wholly indefinable way, suggests the work of Hugh Walpole."

_Outlook_: "Engaging, humorous, and delightfully youthful."

_London Observer_: At last! Here is not only a novel which will live, but one which has been lived."

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
19 WEST 44TH STREET (VIII '22) NEW YORK

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*NOVELS BY ROMAIN ROLLAND*

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE
DAWN--MORNING--YOUTH--REVOLT

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE IN PARIS
THE MARKET PLACE--ANTOINETTE--THE HOUSE

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE: JOURNEY'S END
LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP--THE BURNING BUSH--THE NEW DAWN

Each $2.00

"'Hats off, gentlemen--a genius.' ... One may mention 'Jean-Christophe' in the same breath with Balzac's 'Lost Illusions'; it is as big as that.... It is moderate praise to call it with Edmund Gosse 'the noblest work of fiction of the twentieth century.' ... A book as big, as elemental, as original as though the art of fiction began today.... We have nothing comparable in English literature...."--_Springfield Republican_.

COLAS BREUGNON BURGUNDIAN

OF A GALLANT MAN IN THE DAYS OF MARIE DE MEDICIS.

$1.75

"A book playful and tender, with an engaging philosophic courageous old man for teller and hero ... light-spirited yet penetrating.... He has a noble courage and can jest in the face of death.... Above all, he has all the domestic virtues."--_New York Evening Post_.

CLERAMBAULT

THE STORY OF A MAN WHO DARED TO STAND AGAINST THE MOB.

$2.00

"The sanest work of art that has come from the great war.... Indubitably Rolland's finest work."--_Boston Transcript_.

AN IDYL OF LOVE "BORN UNDER THE WING OF DEATH."

$1.50

"This exquisite bit of work.... It is his hatred of war that inspired the book, while it is his greatness as a man that gave it its present form."--_Chicago Evening Post_.

"He has equalled Victor Hugo's description of the love of Marius."--_New York Sun_.

_A 32-page leaflet on Rolland on request_

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
Publishers (VIII '22) New York