The Red Book Magazine/Volume 31/Number 4/Any Man with Red Blood

HE mad romance of Woof-woof Ingraham, a moving- picture director who had his own opinion of women.

NGRAHAM selected a table by the wall and sat down. At the same time a woman sank gracefully into a chair at the table in Ingraham's immediate rear. She wore a dark gray whipcord, a single fine sable around her throat, a toque of peacock tips, and heavy dogskin gloves, which she drew off at once. She opened and shut her hands several times, an indication that they were stiff and cold. She was veiled; but presently she began to lift the veil. It was as if a cloud had rolled up, revealing the houri at the gates of paradise.

The wonder of the human eye—which catches the afterglow on snow-peaks, the swimming purples of the abyss, the green fields and the silver waters, the jeweled sky, the flame on the wing of a bird! This young woman's eyes leveled their glance at the back of Ingraham's head—with dreamy speculation.

Ingraham gave his order—a war-order—and snapped open his evening paper irritably. War—and German spies thick as flies on a Cairene beggar! When would the Government line them up against a wall? After a little time he tossed aside the paper and looked about. He had been in this restaurant only once before. He wasn't a Broadway prowler by habit or instinct; but to-night he had had a craving to be a!one in the midst of a stupendous noise: And noise there was—the tintinnabulation of dishes, the blare of syncopated music, laughter, shrill chatter, and the swish-swish of feet on the dancing square. He found himself alone, but he wasn't happy.

He was still being pulled forward and backward by the net sense of two duties—one to his employers and one to his country. The contract itself did not matter in the least; it was his word of honor, and he had given that. In all his life he had never broken his word. The word of Ingraham was known from California to New York, among film people, as the one unbreakable thing in the movie world. In a burst of loyalty he had added his word to his signature; and now he was definitely tied down for two years. The greatest war the world had ever known, and Dick Ingraham directing triangle stuff, cowboy stuff, murder serials, sob-stuff and saccharine piffle! Gray hairs were already taking up homesteads above his ears.

at the Planet studios they called Ingraham “Woof-woof” because, from the moment he took up his megaphone until he laid it down, he barked, stormed, raged about; but he got out the “features” on time. After a while it went forth that he was the best director in the country and the worst tempered. What the public never found out was this, that Ingraham was as much afraid of his “strollers” as they were of him, and that his barking was a device to hide the absolute inefficiency of his bite. Once the heroes and heroines discovered the fact that he was naturally tender-hearted—that would finish him as a successful director.

His dinner came. He had no appetite, but he ate everything patriotically.

He had a conscience, which was another fact he kept from public knowledge. This conscience had been disturbing him of late. It didn't matter how many times he smothered it; continually it bobbed up to debate. Why the deuce should he care, anyhow? He could name three men who might be busier than Dick Ingraham—Lloyd-George, President Wilson and Bill Hohenzollern. And to his routine work the Planet had added fifty per cent through its bally advertising campaign. From Maine to Oregon the movie-fans had had Ingraham's history to read and his photograph to look at. This was bad enough. But that he was constantly on the lookout for new talent—what did Noah know about floods, anyhow? So what right had conscience to keep digging at him in this fashion?

Some of the dancing women threw admiring glances at him, but he was at all times perfectly unconscious that he possessed physical attractions of an unusual type—a lean face, smooth and tanned, slate-colored eyes that were always roving, investigating, a strong jaw, a winning mouth and a shock of sandy hair that not even water and brush could iron out. The ensemble suggested the scholar, which he genuinely was; but the salients—the strong jaw, the high-bridged nose and the hair—discovered the man of action. In his work he was both artistic and practical, so the Planet Films could very well pay him twenty-thousand a year.

Finishing his second cup of coffee, he lighted a cigar. The world did not seem so badly out of joint after the first puff of smoke.

He felt a hand on his arm, and turned his head.

“Beg pardon, sir,” began the waiter, “but the lady at the table behind you will be very grateful if you will pay her check for her.”

HAT'S that?” said Ingraham, not sure he had heard aright.

“I said, sir, that the lady in the rear of you is in a bit of difficulty. She finds that she hasn't her purse with her. She offered a ring as security until she could bring the money around. But that's against the rules, sir. Never saw her in here before, or she might be permitted to sign the check. I was going for the head waiter, sir, when she suggested that you might assist her.”

“That I might!”

“Yes sir. She said that perhaps you might help her.”

“Well, of all— How much is the check?”

“A dollar fifteen, sir.”

“Look here, waiter; keep your eyes on me while I talk. Don't look at the lady.”

“Yes sir,” replied the waiter, puzzled.

“Now, tell me, is she young and pretty?: No, no! Keep your eye on me, hang it!”

“She is very good-looking.”

“About how old would you say?”

“I can't stay, sir—without looking again. Twenty-something I should say, sir.”

“Well dressed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And she picked me out!”—wrathfully.

“You happened to be nearest—alone. Perhaps she wanted to avoid the embarrassment..... Well, you understand, sir.” “A whole lot! I'm one of the wise men of Gotham. Listen to me: Here's the dollar fifteen and a tip. Here's the money for my own check.” Ingraham took out his card, scribbled a few words on it and gave it to the waiter, who was in a state of bewilderment over the lack of interest displayed by this handsome stranger. “Take this card and give it to the beautiful stranger,” said Ingraham ironically. “That's all.”

Ingraham began to blow smoke-rings. He knew exactly what had happened. Even in here some embryo “queen of the fillums” had discovered him and had put up this job to make his acquaintance. It was an old dodge; but he determined to teach this one a lesson. He smoked on with until the heat of the cigar began to tickle his lips. Seeing the waiter idling, he beckoned.

“Keep your eye on me. Is she there yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is she doing?”

“Watching the dancers.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She didn't say anything. She took the card, read your writing and smiled.”

“Did you read what was on the card?”

“Yes, sir. 'Send the money to this address. Sorry, but no opening in the Planet Films.'”

Ingraham laughed. “On my word, I'm glad I dropped in here. In another minute I wont [sic] have any grouch left at all.”

The waiter wiped his forehead. “Anything else, sir?”

“No. Much obliged.”

But two minutes later the waiter returned. He laid a card on the table. “The lady directed me to give you this, sir.”

Ingraham inspected the card without touching it. Her name was Elsa Scharfenstein; and she had written: “Thanks for the address but not for the information accompanying it.”

Ingraham turned his head—caught off his guard. He hadn't meant to look around at all. His intention had been to dally for a while, rise and leave the restaurant without so much as a casual glance behind. That would teach this young woman that the ruse was played out.

As I have remarked, Ingraham's eyes were the color of slate. Interest had a way of instantly turning them into fire-opals, burning, flashing fire-opals. It was a hard. eye to meet and hold up against. Yet the dark eyes of the lady at the table behind never wavered, and her face was as set in expression as that of an Italian cameo. It was in what might be called perfect poise. There was neither interest, amusement nor disdain; it was like a blank wall around her thoughts. And all the while—a full sixty seconds—her eyes looked squarely into his.

Spellbound, Ingraham let go his breath in a sharp sigh. A raving beauty, and a thoroughbred! His decisions were quick and sure. In his work they had to be. Resolutely he pushed back his chair and stepped around it.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but it is quite evident that I have made a mistake—acted a little hastily upon a mere supposition. It would take me too long to acquaint you with the circumstance which led me to act as I did. I'm sorry. Can I be of further assistance?”

“No doubt,” she said, “I laid myself open to the rebuke. I was never in this restaurant before; and I came in, in a hurry. The waiter refused to accept the ring.”

Was she smiling, or wasn't she? For the life of him, he couldn't tell. “I'm glad you called on me,” he said. “Send the money to the address. Good evening.”

“Just a moment, please! I'd rather pay you at once. Where I live is but a short distance from here, and my car is outside. It wont take me a minute to get the money.”

“I am at your service.” Odd thing, a thought. popped into his head. He would follow this young woman anywhere in the world, at a nod. It wasn't a subconscious thought, either; it was paramount. Old Woof-woof bowled over like this!

The young woman rose and gathered up her gloves. Tactfully he preceded her to the entrance.

“The gray car there,” she said as they stepped forth.

E climbed into the passenger's seat, and she dropped beside him and threw on the power. Two blocks up Broadway, then west—Riverside Drive, probably. This deduction proved to be correct. She stopped the car finally before a building which looked as if four châteaux had been placed one upon the other. Suddenly he realized that she was speaking—for the first time since leaving the restaurant.

“I have plenty of money in my purse,” she was saying. “Had you turned with a smile, I should have recalled the waiter, discovered my purse, paid the check and departed. I am in need this night of a man who can control himself. I might add,” she continued, “that I've had some singular adventures so far this evening. Sometimes men smile in a horrid fashion. Half a dozen restaurants since six, and I think less of men than I ever did. But you didn't turn and you didn't smile. You didn't even smile after you learned you had made a mistake. That decided me. I am in desperate need of a man whom I feel I can trust—a man I do not know. I have friends; but none of my friends must know what takes place to-night..... Do you love your country?”

“Yes.” Ingraham smiled in the dark.

“Enough to risk a little physical discomfort?”

“Yes. But on the other hand, I must know before I start what's at the other end of the road.”

“That is only just. A man would be a fool to walk blindly into the unknown, even if he was red-blooded, simply at the nod of a woman who has temporarily intrigued him.”

“Temporarily?” thought Ingraham. “Well, perhaps.” Then he said:

“What are we to do, rescue a munitions-plant?”

“No. At the end of the road—for we must cross into Jersey—there is a secret German wireless. Why I have not notified the Department of Justice, why I have not sought my friends, I promise to explain all in good time. Will you accept the adventure, or shall I drop you here and continue my quest for a man?”

“I'll go,” he announced simply—and smiled again in the dark.

NEW YORK!” she cried, standing up and extending her arms toward the starry wonders—like a priestess at worship! “Thanks, Mr. Ingraham, for if I remember, that was the name on your card. Please wait here about ten minutes. I must change. And as we shall travel fast, I'll bring down two fur-lined trench-coats.” She got out. “You are not a man who changes his mind?” she inquired then.

“I often make it up suddenly; but I rarely change it suddenly.”

“Well said!” The unknown turned and ran lightly up the steps to the apartment entrance.

Ingraham got out his pipe. New York, indeed! Glorious old New York, lineal descendant of Bagdad! He chuckled. Men were all of a pattern. If she hadn't been a raving beauty, of a type he had never run across before, he would at this moment have been in the cozy corner of his club, reading a magazine. Yes sir, men were all alike—that is, men with red blood in their veins. All a beautiful woman had to do was to crook her finger, and Singapore might be the next stop.

He laughed aloud, sardonically. Old Woof-woof, sitting in a seven-thousand-dollar roadster, and waiting to be led into he knew not what! Long years ago he had sworn never to heed the crooked finger of any woman. So much for resolutions!

Presently he saw her coming down the steps. But for the trench-coats—the one she wore and the one she carried—he would not have recognized her. She was in riding breeches and puttees and a sport-cap which hid her hair completely; and it had taken her only a quarter of an hour to make the change!

He jumped out and ran to her assistance. She passed him the extra coat, which he drew on over his topcoat.

“You'll find an automatic in one of the pockets.”

“A shindy?”

“That depends upon our luck. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Let us get under way, then. Later, when we leave New York behind, I'll go into details. Please do not talk until we reach the ferry.”

Automatics! Well, why not? One didn't go out after German spies with salt-cellars. Slyly he explored the pockets of the trench-coat: an automatic, a battery-lamp, a chisel and a ball of stout twine. Efficient, anyhow!

“In the upper pocket you will find goggles,” she said.

“I've got them. This coat is what you might call the handy burglar. Nothing is lacking but the 'soup.'”

“The what?”

“The nitroglycerin.”

“Oh!”

Not until the car rolled onto the Jersey ferry did she speak again. “On your card you said something about there not being any opening at the Planet Films. Are you one of those wonderful movie-heroes who fall from cliffs—without mussing?”

He laughed. “Lord, no! I'm a director.”

“Oh, I see. You're just one of the stockholders.”

“No, that isn't it. I build the plays.”

“Ah, I begin to understand. The women have been bothering you.”

“Bother is the mildest word to apply. You see, the Planet advertised that I was on the lookout for new talent; and what the flood did to Noah, the women have done to me, only I hadn't any ark to crawl into. When the waiter said you wanted me to pay your bill, I thought of course you were one of them and were using this method—old as the hills—to get a job.”

“Good gracious!” She laughed. The sound of it was mighty pleasant to his ears.

Conversation lapsed again. It was ten o'clock when they rolled out into the open country. They were humming along at about fifty miles an hour when a grimly whimsical idea entered his head. He laid his arm across the back of the seat, and from there to the slouched shoulders of the girl. Less than a hundred yards farther on, the car stopped with a jar and a rattle that threatened to disintegrate it.

“No nonsense, Mr. Ingraham! If you touch me again in that fashion, I'll drop you on the road, and you shall walk back. It does not matter if to your masculine mind I have laid myself open to such advances. Shall I drop you here, or will you agree to act sensibly?”

“I'll go on sensibly. My object was to ascertain if you would resent the familiarity.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“Absolutely.”

“And in case I hadn't resented it?”

“Well, I hadn't reasoned beyond the initial fact.”

“Are you in the habit of putting your arm around actresses?”

“Good Lord, no! I'd as soon tackle a hot stove.”

“And strange women?”

“I have never had anything to do with strange women. You are my first transgression. But you appealed to me. The impulse to touch you was harmless and curious. Perhaps if you hadn't resented it, it is possible I should have gone on with the affair, cynically. Shall I get out and walk?”

“No.” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms. “You have been asking yourself why I did not report this affair to the proper authorities. For the simple reason that I am actuated by self-interest, almost wholly. Do you recall my name?”

“It was Elsa Scharfenstein.”

“Does not the sound suggest something to you?”

“That you might be German, or American with German forbears. I am perfectly willing to proceed—only, you must promise me that what you want me to do will no way conflict with my ideas of loyalty to my country.”

“I can promise that without reservation; and I do promise it. I was born in this country. I am as loyal an American as you. Here are the facts: My paternal uncle has my fortune in trust; and I have recently learned that he is using it unlawfully in the interests of Germany.”

SEE. We are going to pay this uncle of yours—with automatics and chisels.”

“My father left a curious will. I was not to have full control of my property until I was thirty. He was afraid of fortune-hunters. If I married young, I was likely to make a mistake. But Uncle Hermann could, did he so desire, turn over the property to me after I was twenty-four. Well, he didn't do it. I have five years to wait. In the meantime he has full control; and I have learned that he has been using it in the interests of Prussia. Night before last I drove out to argue with him once more. It was then that I discovered the wireless. It is rigged up on the stock-barn. My arguments were unsuccessful, and I came away without letting him know what I had discovered. I could not appeal to my friends. If I warned the authorities, the bulk of my fortune would disappear forever. So I had to search about for some stranger to help me. He has converted nearly all my real estate into stocks and bonds. His contention was that until the war was over it would be safer. I am sure he has them in his library safe. At any moment he may be forced to flee; and naturally he would hold the securities conveniently at hand. I'm going to rob that safe—that is, if it's possible. If he's up and about, I'll force him to disgorge under threat of exposure. I purpose to use the wireless as a club.”

“And if he surrenders, you will promise not to interfere with his wireless?”

“Oh, that's where you come in. That will be your reward for helping me out.”

“I see. What you want of me is to stand guard while you argue or open the safe.”

“Exactly. He will not necessarily see you—should he be awake. All you are to do is: to stand outside the window and watch, see that he does not try to take me prisoner. I know the combination of the safe. Probably all you will have to do will be to help me in and out of the window.”

“And once back in New York, I can notify Uncle Sam?”

“That's the idea.” She held out her hand, and he pressed it with friendly warmth. “No more nonsense?”

“Not a flivver. But I say, there's nothing to hinder us being friends when this shindy is over, is there?”

“That depends upon you entirely.”

“All right. Start the gas. The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back.”

HE car leaped forward. Certainly she knew how to handle the gray demon. Ingraham leaned back and smiled covertly at the stars and they winked back at him. Scheherezade! He had been wondering who in the world she reminded him of, and now he knew. Scheherezade!

Twenty minutes later the car took a turn toward the east, and he saw the Atlantic. They followed the coast for about five miles; then the girl drove the car into what looked like a cow-lane, and stopped.

“We leave the car here. The house is in the center of that grove. I know all the approaches. Please follow me. Got the pistol, the battery lamp and the chisel?”

“We'll strike through this cornfield to the rear of the house.”

“What's the chisel for?”

“To pry a window—the one I climb through. Follow, please.”

She led him swiftly through an aisle in the corn. A heavy frost had stiffened the stalks so that they gave back with a crisp metallic rustle. What a glorious night! He was going to remember it as long as he lived. And what a comrade she'd make—for the right man! Scheherezade, curled up on her pillows, and The Sultan nodding to the music of her voice.

The girl reached back a hand. “Stoop! I hear something in the corn!” she whispered.

He heard the noise too; but a moment later he stood up, laughing. “It's a cow,” he said. “Go on.”

“What kind of cow?”

“A cow-cow—possibly a sober-minded old grandmother. She wont bite. Wait; Ill heave a rock at her.” He lobbed the rock over the tops of the corn. A hurried swishing sound followed, diminishing rapidly. “There she goes. You're not afraid of cows, are you, old muleys?”

“Not under ordinary circumstances. Thanks. Only a little way now.”

Once out of the cornfield, there was a stone wall to climb over.

“We must go wide of the barn,” she whispered. “Come this way, around the dairy.”

As they skirted the building, Ingraham saw the house. It was a beautiful old place, with plenty of elbowroom, porticoed and double-winged—just the sort he diligently searched for when he was directing a country-home scene.

“No lights—that's luck! Now, when we get behind that pine there, we'll stop and look about.”

Once behind this pine, Ingraham stared at the top of the barn. Sure enough, there was the wireless. It looked very businesslike.

“All clear,” she whispered. “That's the window, by the lilac-bush. Come!” They reached the window without mishap. “Now the chisel. Pry the side jamb while I lift. I've fixed it so that will liberate the lock.”

He obeyed this direction, and the window went smoothly under her steady push.

“Help me up.”

He made a stirrup of his hands, and she crawled through the window. Next he passed up the battery lamp.

“Now what?”

“Stay where you are. If you see anyone in the ground whistle softly. If I am surprised, hold off the man until I get out.”

Her face disappeared. He leaned against the sill and watched the circle of light go fluttering hither and thither. By and by it stopped. He saw the silver combination-knob, a vividly white hand stretch out and encompass it. One minute passed—two—three; the door of the safe swung open.

Then came the sudden and brilliant illumination of the room! The shock of it entranced Ingraham. Separating the portières that divided the library from the hall stood a man in a dressing-gown—a tall man, broad, powerful and sinister. His gray pompadour and his bristling mustache with its upturned ends were as patently un-American as the Kaiser's Pickelhaube.

Certain preconceived ideas that had gained lodgments in Ingraham's mind began to waver. Good Lord, But supposing—

E stared at the giant between the portières. If ever there was a man who ought to be on the east side of the Great Cleavage, yonder he stood. His body, awkward and gangling like Bismarck's, his head like Hindenburg this colossus was the epitome of the Teutonic race. The girl did not appear to be frightened, only stupefied. And what a raving beauty she was!

The tableau lasted about thirty seconds.

“Elsa?” boomed the colossus, striding forward.

The sound of the voice electrified the girl. For the next minute she moved with incredible swiftness. She seized three packages from the safe and darted around the reading-table.

“Elsa, what does this mean?”

“It means that I shall no longer argue with you—that I purpose to take what is mine. I sha'n't permit my money to be used to promote the German propaganda in this country.”

“Child, you are mad!”

“Mad after a fashion—yes. You have wasted thousands. I have proof. These very securities prove it. I demand that your guardianship be annulled at once.”

“Elsa, what in the world has come over you? Who's been telling you lies?”

“I know what is on top of the stock-barn.”

“So! That is too bad. I shall be forced to keep you under lock and key until the work is done.”

“And you would betray the country that has made you rich and free?”—scornfully.

“I owe nothing to the United States. Put those securities on the table.”

The girl laughed. “How you misunderstand me! I'll keep these securities; and I'll bid you good night, Because you are my father's brother, I'll give you twenty-four hours to put your house in order. If I have not by that time received the annulment, I shall expose you.”

Awkward and gangling in appearance, but not in fact. Rarely had Ingraham seen a man move so quickly. With a thrust of his leg, the giant sent the table crashing upon the girl. But as if she had been anticipating some such maneuver, she leaped back in time and raced toward  the window, her uncle thundering after.

Ingraham suddenly awoke to the fact that here was his cue. A jump carried him to the sill, and a twist propelled him into the room.

“Better stop!” he said. “I'm a good shot. Now, Miss Scharfenstein, duck around to the window. That's it. Put those securities into my pockets. That's the way. Out of the window with you! And keep your hands above your head, All Highest!”

“Fools!” roared Scharfenstein the avuncular. “I don't know who you are, but I do know you'll never leave these grounds to-night.”

Ingraham smiled as he backed toward the window. He reached blindly for the window-sill, touched it, threw a leg over and dropped to the ground. It was always wise to be on the safe side.

“Run!” cried the girl, catching at his sleeve.

Ingraham drew off the trench-coat, balled it and stuffed it down one of the cellar-window pits.

“They wont find that, anyhow. Now let's cut for it. We can return for the coat later.”

They dashed around the wing—smack into the arms of four men running up from the opposite direction. Ingraham hadn't time to raise the pistol, let alone set himself to meet the onslaught. He went down with the four on top, the breath knocked out of him. For all that, he heaved and squirmed until some one succeeded in getting a good grip on his wrists. He was whirled over upon his face. Then he subsided.

He felt his wrists being pressed against the small of his back. Rope! The sharp twist of it burned like fire. He heard a voice bark something in German, and he was jerked roughly to his feet. More men! They were running here and there about the grounds, peering behind trees, behind bushes, over the hedges. The girl had slipped away during the scrimmage.

A heavy hand laid hold of Ingraham's coat-collar, and instantly he fell into a dog-trot—of necessity. Years and years ago, when he was a boy, they used to call this peculiar method of ambulation “walking turkey.” There was no let-up in the gait until they had thrust him into an empty box-stall in the stock-barn. He was then tripped and flung upon the straw bedding, and his ankles were bound.

The men went out. Ingraham could hear them talking in low voices. Presently there was a commotion.

“Where's Elsa?”

“We missed her when the scrap was over.”

“Fools!” Then a rumble of gutturals, again in English: “Can he talk?”

“Yes. We only jarred him a bit”

“When will Nels turn up in the offing?”

“He's due at three.”

“Have the launch ready. I don't want to kill this meddling fool. I'll let Nels take him down the coast. We're due to change the base of operations in a few days anyhow. We'll move inland as far as Schwarzfeld's sawmill. That will confuse the Government. They will have to start narrowing a new static circle to locate us.”

HE next thing Ingraham knew, he was blinking into the glare of a flash-lamp.

“We have no wish to injure you—seriously. Where did you hide those securities?”

“Where you wont find them, Uncle Hermann,” said Ingraham, smiling.

“We shall see about that later.”

The light went out. Ingraham could not see anything for a moment or two, but he heard the men moving off. By and by his vision cleared. Outside the door of the stall sat a man on a milking stool—on guard. His cap was pulled down over his eyes.

Ingraham lay back easily upon the straw. It all depended upon whether the girl came to his rescue through that stall window up there. If she came that way, why, he was all right. But if she didn't come, then he was all wrong, and he would have to readjust himself. A raving beauty! And only a few hours gone he had been bored!

His glance happened to return to his guard. A chill ran over his spine. Berger? Berger, here? He saw the man's face clearly. There was no doubt of it; the man was Berger, a pro-German anarchist of the most dangerous type. Only two weeks gone he had discharged the scoundrel for treasonable utterances; and the fellow had gone away vowing vengeance. Berger!

From a man in a joyous frame of mind Ingraham became as one in a nightmarish trance. The moonlike visage of his guard began to swim as in a mist. Ingraham became temporarily hypnotized. Berger was no hoax; Berger was real.

“Are you there, Woof-woof?” Berger whispered. “Well, I told you I'd get you, you American swine!”

Snakes always held Ingraham in thrall. And yon man had all the attributes of the cobra, plus human shape. So Ingraham stared.

Berger began to chuckle to himself. Something was amusing him infinitely. He laid his automatic on his knee. He extracted the shells and dumped them into a pocket. From another pocket he produced a cartridge-box and proceeded to fill the empty magazine. Then he got up.

ERGER walked into the stall. With cold malevolence he kicked Ingraham cruelly in the thigh.

“Discharge me, eh—I, of the superior people! Me to buy a Liberty Bond—or get out! Swine! But I go outside for a smoke now. When I come back—another like this!” Berger applied his boot again. Then he stalked out.

Ingraham tore at his bonds madly; but he succeeded only in torturing himself. A sob flew into his throat, but he stifled it. It wasn't the pain so much as it was the helplessness to retaliate, to defend himself. Berger, here! And even at that very moment the window was blotted out. Some one was crawling through. It was the girl. Almost without sound she dropped beside him and began to dig at the knots of the rope.

“I jumped into one of the cellar-window pits,” she whispered. “It was stuffy, but they never thought to look there for me. I've got the securities. Are you numb? We'll have to hurry. They are all down on the jetty, and they'll be returning soon.”

She helped him to his feet, and he swayed. The kicks had rendered his leg almost numb.

“Here!” She joined her hands and crouched like an acrobat.

He put his sound foot into the cup and sprang. He didn't want to be around here when Berger came back from his smoke. Somehow he managed to get through the window. Sprawling like a frog, he landed upon straw. Before he was up, she struck the straw beside him. This girl—and Berger! Mentally, Ingraham found himself in a curious kind of fog.

“The stone wall to the dairy! The man on guard by the barn-door cannot see us.”

“You lead. I'll stick as close as I can,”

He ran with a limp. The bruised nerves protested violently. Once he had to call to her.

“What is the matter?”

“Got to rest a moment. Schrecklichkeit. The guard kicked me.”

“He—what?”

“Kicked me.” A wave of relief ran over him. The tone revealed all he wanted to know. “Better get me to the car as soon as possible. You see, I fired that man from the studios two weeks ago for treasonable utterances, and he wished nine lives on me so he could kill each one of them.”

“The cowardly wretch!” She seemed to pause over some thought, irresolutely, as if there were two courses open and she wasn't certain which to take. Suddenly she thrust her arm through Ingraham's. “We'll run for it.”

They got through the corn all right. The girl jumped into the driver's seat. But as Ingraham stepped on the running-board there was a report. The bullet caught him in the right shoulder. He lurched heavily against the girl.

It was the girl's cue to seize the throttle and roar away, out of the danger-zone. Instead she sat staring at the slumped body—stonily, as if, in the distance somewhere, Perseus was wigwagging with Medusa's head. This tableau gave the madman in the cornfield a second opportunity. The automatic barked again. A corner of the wind-shield—beyond Ingraham's head—tinkled to the footboard. This patent evidence of the reality of the thing energized the girl. She threw on the power, and the car rolled out of the lane onto the highway. There she let the engine have all the power it had. With one hand on the wheel and an arm around Ingraham, she leaned her head down.

“Is it bad?” she cried brokenly.

“Shoulder..... Fortunes of war!”

“Oh, it is impossible! It can't be!”

“Fact,” he said drowsily..... “Farmhouse..... Things are getting black!”

“God forgive me!”

“Lovely!”

And then the world went away from under him and left him swimming in a black void. Far up, thousands of miles away, he saw a thread of light. He struggled toward it. After years of breathless endeavor he succeeded in getting his fingers over the ledge. For another immeasurable space he clung there, then drew himself up out of the black—into pain and wakefulness.

E was lying in a bed, on his left side. Some one with a hammer was hitting him on the shoulder every time his heart beat. But almost at once everything came back clearly. He made no effort to move. Whitewashed walls, a chromo of Abraham Lincoln, a window with the gray sea beyond, divided from the sky by dawn's vermilion: a bedroom in some farmhouse.

He began to hear voices—from the other side of the bed.

“Never, will I forgive myself! But I didn't know, I didn't know!”

“Now, Nancy!”

“He might have been killed! I'm a wretch! It is all horrible!”

“You will always be getting into trouble, Nancy. As the family physician I prescribe a husband—one with a loving disposition but a strong hand. Now, no hysterics. There's no danger. He got out of it nicely. He's lost some blood, but the wound is clean. A couple of days in bed, and he'll be all right. The nurse will be here shortly, and you'll have a whale of a taxi-bill to settle, among other things. You come into town with me.”

“I shall stay here and take care of him.”

“Then there'll be more trouble—worse than bullets. Ellory, you were old enough to know better.”

“I know it. But Nancy was so in earnest I couldn't refuse her. How was I to know that that fool Berger had a grudge against Ingraham? I'm sorry. When Ingraham told Nancy the fellow had kicked him—that should have been her cue to play safe and tell the truth.”

“I was anxious to get him away.”

“All I can say is, it was dangerous tomfoolery. It wasn't worthy of you, Nancy.”

“I know it. Oh, I am a wretch!”

“You picked a good-looking chap. On my word, I hope you fall in love with him. It would serve you right.”

“Doctor!”

“Better come to town with me.”

“No. I'll see it through.”

“More scandal!”

“You mustn't blame Miss Milburn, Doctor. The fault was mine. I really planned the whole affair.”

“At Nancy's suggestion. She twists us all around her little finger. But you! You're past forty. I've seen a picture of that wooden Hindenburg, and you look as if you could stand a few more nails in your head without affecting your balance. Fie! Uncle Hermann! Grown-ups, playing a child's game like this!”

Ingraham sighed; then he heard steps. First he saw the girl, then a white-whiskered old man with a ruddy complexion—beyond him a visage that was familiar but no longer terrible, only pathetically remorseful.

“Scheherezade!” Ingraham said in a cracked whisper.

The girl flung herself down on her knees. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“Nancy, no excitement. I forbid it. I don't want any fever. Here, young man—take this tablet. It will put you to sleep. If you wake up before noon, I'll wash my hands of you.”

“Doctor, how can you talk like that!”

“What do you want me to do—kiss him? That's not my job.”

Ingraham knew that some day he was going to like White-whiskers. After all, his first impression had been correct. Berger had come in as an “extra.”

“Better come to town with me, Nancy.”

“I shall stay until he is able to return to New York.”

“Can't you argue with her, Ellory?”

“I never argue with her,” replied the giant hopelessly.

“Uncle Hermann!” said Ingraham with a hysterical chuckle.

Immediately he sensed the refreshment of alcohol applied to his hot forehead—the gentlest touch he had ever known. Evidently she was sorry about something. Anyhow, all he needed was the motive.

“You men, please go!”

“Lovely!” whispered Ingraham—and lost his hold on the ledge and sailed down again into the black void.

HEN Ingraham awoke—a real awakening—the sun was shining brightly; beyond the window the sea glittered. And somewhere about the house they were frying bacon. He could smell it, and it made him hungry.

His shoulder ached dully. From the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair he was stiff and sore. Cautiously he began to raise his body upward.

“Wait, Mr. Ingraham!” warned an unfamiliar voice. “Please relax utterly. I will prop you up. Does it hurt?”

“Stings and draws. Are you a nurse?”

“Yes.”

“How long will I be in bed?”

“Three or four days. But it will be three or four weeks before your arm will be out of the bandages.”

“Can you call up the Planet Films and inform them what has happened?”

“It has already been done.”

“Ah! Where is Miss—Miss Scharfenstein?”

“Miss— Oh, yes!” stammered the nurse. “She is downstairs getting your breakfast.”

“Tell her I am ready to eat it.”

The nurse went to the door and called: “Miss Milburn!”

“Yes?”—almost immediately, as if she had been waiting for such a call.

“He is awake and wants breakfast.”

“I'll be right up with it.”

Two weeks loafing around within hail of that voice! Blessed bullet! When she came into the room, he saw that she was dressed in gingham—evidently borrowed from the farmer's wife. He recognized one fact: no matter what she wore, she would always be beautiful.

As she set down the tray, the professional nurse—whom Ingraham labeled then and there as a good scout—discreetly withdrew. Then Scheherazade turned her gaze upon him. Remorse, entreaty, interest, like cloud-shadows over wheat, raced across her face.

“Smile,” he said, himself smiling,

Her effort wasn't very successful. But she drew up a chair and sat down.

“I'm afraid you'll have to feed me. I'm bandaged pretty snugly.”

“Bacon first?”

“Please.”

She held out a succulent strip of bacon. But she let go of it just as his lips were about to touch her fingers. The fire-opal were in his eyes; and she looked away as often as she could. She couldn't remember any man looking at her quite like this—a bit masterfully and totally unafraid.

“Nicest breakfast I ever ate. Now, what's back of it all?”

“Back of what?”

“The scenario—the play. What kind of mentality do you suppose I possess anyhow? The moment you said German wireless, I knew it was a frame-up of some sort. German wireless on the Jersey coast? It couldn't last six hours after its first message. So I went along to see what was at the end of the road. Any man with red blood would have done the same. But Lord love you, you certainly had me guessing all over when I saw Berger. But your voice, when I told you he had kicked me, convinced me at once that his rôle was impromptu, that he had slipped a joker into the scenario.”

“You—you knew?”

“Well, you might say that I was slightly suspicious. In the movies anything may happen and get over. But in real life young women never act the way you did. No, no, Scheherezade!”

HE got up and walked over to the window.

“Come back here and sit down.”

She obeyed.

“You ought to know that New Yorkers are overwise. I mean, they see traps often where there aren't any. And when a woman crooks her finger, the average man ducks for the nearest subway. I followed you—played up to the part partly because I was bored, partly because you were the only woman I ever saw I'd follow more than a dozen rods. What was the idea?”

“It was all arranged to humiliate you and make you ridiculous. We picked the cast from various theatrical agencies. We wanted men you did not know. Mr. Ellory told each man exactly what was wanted of him, and the name of the victim. Ellory thought in getting Berger he had done something clever—a real German. When you told me he had kicked you, I was stunned. Your revelation determined me to get you away at once. Those shots were in the play—but not the bullets! When you crumpled up against me I just couldn't believe it! It was horrible!” She covered her eyes with her hands. “You might have been killed.” She plucked nervously at the gingham, her eyes downcast. “The car was to break down, and we were to be recaptured. You were to be put aboard a sailing vessel and dropped off at Key West. You were never to know what really happened. When you got back, the house would be boarded up,—my summer home,—and you would always be in the dark.”

“Dear old Berger! I see. But for him— What have I ever done to you that you should seek to humiliate me in this fashion?”

From somewhere she forth a letter. She opened it and held it out, her glance turned aside. He recognized the handwriting instantly. It was his own. All during the past fortnight his conscience had been troubling him in regard to this very letter. But he had been sorely put to keep his temper. These women! From one end of the continent to the other they had been flooding him with letters and photographs.

In a moment of extreme irritation he had written a brutal, insolent letter to one of the applicants. He had regretted the act the moment the letter was beyond recovery. And it had fallen into this girl's hands! Any woman, worthy the same would have demanded his heart's blood.

“Have you a brother?” asked Ingraham suddenly.

“No.”

“A man friend who is strong and lively.”

“Perhaps!”—humoring him, but wondering what he was driving at.

“Well, send him out. I'll take the licking without a whimper.”

She laughed; but when he turned his head he saw tears in her eyes.

“You might have been killed!”

“I wasn't. I did not see your photograph. I had given orders to destroy all that came addressed to me. The Planet made my life miserable when they sent out that advertisement. Katrina the cook and Sophie the lady's maid began to deluge me. And you caught me when I was out of temper with everyone. I wanted to go to France; and I had tied myself up so that I couldn't honorably. And I took it out on you! I'm all alone in the world. The lonesomest duffer! What is your name, anyhow?”

“Nancy Milburn.”

“Milburn!”—ruminatively. “Do you happen to be the Miss Milburn who owns about half of New Jersey—of whom we bought the Planet lot?”

“Yes.”

“And you wanted to be a movie-queen? Good Lord!”

“It was a wager. I made it—as I do many things—on the impulse of the moment. I suppose it's because I have always had my way. Your letter made me furious.”

“It would have made any woman furious.”

“I feel so miserable about it now!”

HE fire came back into his eyes. “When I looked around at you in the restaurant, I knew that all you would have to do would be to crook your finger, and I'd follow you into Tibet. The adventure itself didn't matter. It was you. If it had been any other woman— Well, I wouldn't have been here at this moment.” As she stood up, alarmed, he cried: “No, I'm not out of my head. I haven't a fever—not that kind of fever. Sit down. They call me Woof-woof at the studio; if you don't sit down, I'll start to woofing, and then I will have a fever! There, that's better. I boss the women around, but Lord love you, if I bark it's because I'm afraid of them. Fact! And if they ever found it out, I'd be done for. They think I'm a woman-hater, when all the time I've been hunting around for the right one. I'm glad I wrote that letter. I'm glad of the bullet. I'm glad of the sunshine outside—and you sitting there. How far from here is that pirates' den?”

“Four miles,” she answered in a small voice.

“And you held me in the car all that distance!”

“I shall never forgive myself! I am horrid!”

“But if there isn't anything to forgive?”

He was handsome, and he was different from any man she had ever met before.

“Do you really want a job?” he asked, smiling whimsically.

“Not now.” If he would only berate her and not smile like that!

“I don't mean in the movies, Nancy—Elsa; hang it, I like Nancy the best!” The whimsical smile left his lips and he gazed at her with tense soberness. “Human beings—aren't they queer! I'm an old hermit. All my life I've been afraid of women—spiritually afraid of them. I didn't want to make any mistake. Last night!.... I might have met you at some tea, called and taken you to the theater—and gone on calling and taking you to places. On that basis it would have taken me five years to know you as well as I do at this moment. Oh, that beautiful bullet! Nancy Milburn, I don't care a hang how rich are; I'm not afraid of your money. I'll give you a contract, but it wont be for the movies. You shall muss up my hair nights when I come back from work!”

“Mr. Ingraham!”—terrified, when she ought only to have been amused,

“Dick. Haven't I just told you we've passed years in hours?”

“Are— Is this a proposal?”—agitated beyond measure. Impossible! And yet in a way he was right. Years crowded into hours. “It isn't fair,” she stammered. “I do know you, but you don't know me. You have seen what a spiteful wretch I can be.”

“And how tender! Aren't you taking care of me? If you weren't the right sort, you'd have left me to the nurse. Don't you see, I have loved you for years—crowded into hours! Am I crazy?” he broke off, a catch in his voice.

She rose hastily and stepped away from the bed. He reached toward her—and fell back with a grimace of pain.

She longed to go to him, but she was afraid of him. So she ran to the door.

“Nurse!” she called.

“Here, where are you going?” he cried.

“But— Will you be sensible?”

“Why, I never was so sensible in all my life! Come back here and sit down! Come back!”

“Woof-woof!” she said. Something welled up in her heart and made her smile. Then she called down the stairs: “Never mind, nurse!”