Presently he returned.
"You"re right!" he said. "Mine is missing, too. We"ll call off the boys."
He flung them some small coins, thereby precipitating a scramble and a fight, and they went slowly in.
"There is just one chance," he continued. "Pickpockets usually abstract the money, instantly, and throw the book and papers away. They want no tell-tale evidence. It may be the case here--they, likely, didn"t examine the letter, just saw it _was_ a letter and went no further."
"That won"t help us much," said Croyden. "It will be found--it"s only a question of the pickpockets or some one else."
"But the some one else may be honest. Your card is in the wallet?"
"With Hampton on it."
"The finder may advertise--may look you up at the hotel--may----"
"May bring it back on a gold salver!" Croyden interjected. "No! No!
Colin. Our only hope is that the thief threw away the letter, and that no one finds it until after we have the treasure. The man isn"t born who, under the circ.u.mstances, will renounce the opportunity for a half million dollars."
"Well, at the worst, we have an even chance! Thank Heaven! We know the directions without the letter. Don"t be discouraged, old man--we"ll win out, yet."
"I"m not discouraged!" laughed Croyden. "I have never antic.i.p.ated success. It was sport--an adventure and a problem to work out, nothing more. Now, if we have some one else to combat, so much greater the adventure, and more intricate the problem."
"Shall we notify the police?" Macloud asked. "Or isn"t it well to get them into it?"
"I"ll confess I don"t know. If we could jug the thieves quickly, and recover the plunder, it might be well. On the other hand, they might disclose the letter to the police or to some pal, or try even to treat with us, on the threat of publicity. On the whole, I"m inclined to secrecy--and, if the thieves show up on the Point, to have it out with them. There are only two, so we shall not be overmatched. Moreover, we can be sure they will keep it strictly to themselves, if we don"t force their hands by trying to arrest them."
Macloud considered a moment. "I incline to your opinion. We will simply advertise for the wallets to-morrow, as a bluff--and go to work in earnest to find the treasure."
They had entered the hotel again; in the Exchange, the rocking chair brigade and the knocker"s club were gathered.
"The usual thing!" Croyden remarked. "Why can"t a hotel ever be free of them?"
"Because it"s a hotel!" laughed Macloud. "Let"s go in to dinner--I"m hungry."
The tall head-waiter received them like a host himself, and conducted them down the room to a small table. A moment later, the Weston party came in, with Montecute Mattison in tow, and were shown to one nearby, with Harvey"s most impressive manner.
An Admiral is some pumpkins in Annapolis, when he is on the _active_ list.
Mrs. Weston and the young ladies looked over and nodded; Croyden and Macloud arose and bowed. They saw Miss Cavendish lean toward the Admiral and say a word. He glanced across.
"We would be glad to have you join us," said he, with a man"s fine indifference to the fact that their table was, already, scarcely large enough for five.
"I am afraid we should crowd you, sir. Thank you!--we"ll join you later, if we may," replied Macloud.
A little time after, they heard Mattison"s irritating voice, pitched loud enough to reach them:
"I wonder what Croyden"s doing here with Macloud?" he remarked. "I thought you said, Elaine, that he had skipped for foreign parts, after the Royster smash, last September."
"I did say, Mr. Mattison, I _thought_ he had gone abroad, but I most a.s.suredly did not say, nor infer, that he had _skipped_, nor connect his going with Royster"s failure!" Miss Cavendish responded. "If you must say unjust and unkind things, don"t make other people responsible for them, please. Shoulder them yourself."
"Good girl!" muttered Macloud. "Hand him another!" Then he shot a look at his friend.
"I don"t mind," said Croyden. "They may think what they please--and Mattison"s venom is sprinkled so indiscriminately it doesn"t hurt.
Everyone comes in for a dose."
They dallied through dinner, and finished at the same time as the Westons. Croyden walked out with Miss Cavendish.
"I couldn"t help overhearing that remark of Mattison"s--the beggar intended that I should," said he--"and I want to thank you, Elaine, for your "come back" at him."
"I"m sorry I didn"t come back harder," said she.
"And if you prefer me not to go with you to the Hop to-night don"t hesitate to say so--I"ll understand, perfectly. The Westons may have got a wrong impression----"
"The Westons haven"t ridden in the same motor, from Washington to Annapolis, with Montecute for nothing; but I"ll set you straight, never fear. We are going over in the car--there is room for you both, and Mrs. Weston expects you. We will be down at nine. It"s the fashion to go early, here, it seems."
Zimmerman was swinging his red-coated military band through a dreamy, sensuous waltz, as they entered the gymnasium, where the Hops, at the Naval Academy, are held. The bareness of the huge room was gone entirely--concealed by flags and bunting, which hung in brilliant festoons from the galleries and the roof. Myriads of variegated lights flashed back the glitter of epaulet and the gleam of white shoulders, with, here and there, the black of the civilian looking strangely incongruous amid the throng that danced itself into a very kaleidoscope of color.
The Secretary was a very ordinary man, who had a place in the Cabinet as a reward for political deeds done, and to be done. He represented a State machine, nothing more. Quality, temperament, fitness, poise had nothing to do with his selection. His wife was his equivalent, though, superficially, she appeared to better advantage, thanks to a Parisian modiste with exquisite taste, and her fond husband"s bottomless bank account.
Having pa.s.sed the receiving line, the Westons held a small reception of their own. The Admiral was still upon the active list, with four years of service ahead of him. He was to be the next Aide on Personnel, the knowing ones said, and the orders were being looked for every day.
Therefore he was decidedly a personage to tie to--more important even than the Secretary, himself, who was a mere figurehead in the Department. And the officers--and their wives, too, if they were married--crowded around the Westons, fairly walking over one another in their efforts to be noticed.
"What"s the meaning of it?" Croyden asked Miss Cavendish as they joined the dancing throng. "Are the Westons so amazingly popular?"
"Not at all! they"re hailing the rising sun," she said--and explained: "They would do the same if he were a mummy or had small-pox. "Grease,"
they call it."
(The watchword, in the Navy, is "grease." From the moment you enter the Academy, as a plebe, until you have joined the lost souls on the retired list, you are diligently engaged in greasing every one who ranks you and in being greased by every one whom you rank. And the more a.s.siduous and adroit you are at the greasing business, the more pleasant the life you lead. The man who ranks you can, when placed over you, make life a burden or a pleasure as his fancy and his disposition dictate. Consequently the "grease," and the higher the rank the greater the "grease," and the number of "greasers.")
"Well-named!--dirty, smeary, contaminating business," said Croyden.
"And the best "greasers" have the best places, I reckon. I prefer the unadorned garb of the civilian--and independence. I"ll permit those fellows to fight the battles and draw the rewards--they can do both very well."
He did not get another dance with her until well toward the end--and would not then, if the lieutenant to whom it belonged had not been a second late--late enough to lose her.
"We are going back to Washington, in the morning," she said. "Can"t you come along?"
"Impossible!" he answered. "Much as I"d like to do it."
She looked up at him, quickly.
"Are you sure you would like to do it?" she asked.
"What a question!" he exclaimed.
"Geoffrey!--what is this business which keeps you here--in the East?"
"Business!" he replied, smiling.
"Which means, I must not ask, I suppose."