LUCILLE LOVE. The Girl of Mystery
A Soul thrilling Storu ofjEove. Devotion, Danger and Jntrique
By the "MAS TEH TEJS"
Copyright, 1914. All moving picture rights reserved by the Universal Film Manufacturing Company, who
arc now exhibiting this production in leading theaters. Infringements will be vigorously prosecuted.
CHAPTER XXXXIV.
Accident.
LOW in the sent beside the driver
crouched Lucille, still a bit numbed
by the rapid succession of events
which preceded her finding herself
free once more from the spy's sur
t? *} veil lance. Scarcely more than an
**'•, c 0 hour had it been that she sat op
fai'jjß jsS posite him at dinner and found
the note from the butler hinting to
her of a safetv she had almost for
gotten how to hope for. The two
hoots of the pseudo owl, the instinct of terror
which had led her to Loubeque's quarters barely
in time to rescue the precious papers and rubies
from the pair, the waiting automobile the butler
had arranged for himself and which she occupied
alone—all these seemed now things that had
happened in the long ago.
Suddenly she leaned forward, beating her lit
tle fists together, urging the Mexican chauffeur
to accelerate his speed. The man smiled down at
her, shaking his head to signify he did not un
derstand the words, even as he stepped on the
clutch and shot the car forward like a huge
arrow newly released from the bow.
Like a living thing, all a-tremble with bis
precious cargo, throbbing with the sacredness of
his race, the car leaped through the night, eating
up the zigzag stretch of road like some giant
monster, then spewing it forth again and con
tinuing his orgy. And behind somewhere, upon
the same road, here was another machine with
a determined man in it, a man who had never
yet allowed machine or man or even the ele
ments to thwart him.
Then came the dull crunching sound from
before her. The car swerved viciously, swung in
such an abrupt circle s"he clung to the side of
her seat to avoid being hurled out. The driver
righted his machine swiftly, dexterously and she
started to heave a huge sigh of relief.
But only started to. For the front wheels
suddenly slipped, seemed smoothly to be gliding
upon a" surface of nothingness, clawing for a
font-hold. The chauffeur reversed heavily, fought
with his wheel, but vainly.
Then the heavy car lost balance, tilted heav
ily atid rolled down —down—down —
Lucille felt no fear. It was all too deadly
for that. She was only conscious, even as her
tiny hands clutched the edge of her seat, of a
droning sound from behind that was growing
into the rythmic hum of a motor car. And even
as she recognized the sound, her hands loosened
their grip and pressed the precious papers more
fervently to her breast.
Came a long period of delicious languor, of
sinking, much as though she floated upon ether.
A harsh, crunching jolt and blackness —merciful
unconsciousness that closed black shutters across
the mental vision of her and brought a sweet
smile to the lips that had been tightened so long.
Sleep—
CHAPTER XXXXV.
.1 Tenacious Thief.
""THERE are but two stages to unconsciousness—
the blank *tnte and the drowsy stage where
scenes transpiring are vaguely sensed by the
sufferer only to be obliterated completely as the
murmur of a brook is wiped from memory of
the ear.
Lucille pieced together happenings vaguely
after that, then dismissed them as of no ac
count. Nothing appeared to matter. She was
comfortable and partially content. She recol
lected for a fractional space of time being lifted
and carried away by strong, friendly, pitying
arms: the memory passed immediately with the
coming of an impression of swift travel in a
motor car, which in turn gave way to the more
sharply etched impression of being wheeled
aboard a train in an invalid's chair. Then came
a vision of the lean, powerful face of I.oubeque
close to her own, the gentle whisper of his voice
close to her ear. calling her name over and over
again, while, matching the suffering in his tones
was the deeply carved lines of agony upon his
face. Over and over again the man called to her.
and yet she knew it was not to her he called
but to the mother whom she resembled, the
woman he had loved and lost and whose memory
had stirred up such a hatred in his heart that
he had been obliged to spend his life torturing
the daughter of the loved one.
As though something had snapped inside her
brain the voice and face of the man brought her
to a consciousness so keenly acute it was positive
suffering. As had happened so many times be
fore she felt all her sympathy going out to this
man who had proved such a bitter enemy, who
had brought such catastrophe upon her and
her's, and who would again prove so relentless
should she attempt to take advantage of his
temporary weakness to appeal to the better side
of him.
She fought back the words of sympathy that
came to her with an effort, even as she closed
her eyes and feigned slumber. Her brain was
working at a rate that pained her, as though it
was forced to make up its tardiness. Loubeque
had caught and rescued her. Undoubtedly he was
again in possession of the papers. Suddenly she
felt that he had conquered his emotions and
moved away. She slowly opened her eyes and
looked about. She was in her own private com
partment on the train. She was alone.
Tremulously, fearful yet almost positive her
hands would not encounter that which she
sought, she touched her bosom. The feel of the
necklace and papers reassured her, drove away
the last mists of unreality. Where she was go
ing she did not know nor care. With the precious
papers she could do anything. Simultaneously
with the thought came one of terror. Vague at
first it spread over her spirit like a veil that
obliterated all light, all hope. She tiptoed to the
door, locking it, then stood a moment in the
center of the tiny place, her fingers seeking for
the papers which her courage would not allow
her to touch.
As though forcing herself against her will,
jhe closed her eyes and drew forth the bundle
and necklace. Yes, there could be no doubting
the genuineness of the rubies. Their scintillant
luster was fairly blinding. But she paid them
little heed. Her fingers groped at the papers
even as her eyes snapped open. Then a little cry
of rage and chagrin came from her lips.
The packet upon the table had evidently
been nothing but a blind. Hugo Loubeque had
taken no chances with the stolen papers even
while awake. She had stolen a sheaf of worth
less waste paper. The international spy still held
the whip hand.
She clenched her pretty teeth tightly to
gether' even as she kept repeating to herself over
and over again the question of why—why had he
bothered to pursue her when he knew how she
had been misled; why had he not allowed her
tr> go her way and leave him safe to transact
the last act. in his plan of revenge? Why—why
why had he taken to himself so dangerous an
enemy?
She knew he was fond of her, fond of her
in the same way her own father was—hut what
of that? Alone, with the. ruby necklace, she had
sufficient means to do as she pleased and be per
fectly safe from any danger?
But was she safe from any danger? Had she
not been in danger before—yes, on the train.
And the reason was because Thompson knew she
held the ruby necklace. Thompson was one to be
feared and respected. He had well nigh proven
himself able to cope with the mighty Loubeque
himself.
She unlocked the door very softly and slipped
down the vestibuled aisle. She had reasoned out
the answer. Thompson had escaped Loubeque
and, foiled in his attempt, to gain the necklace,
was still one of the pursuit.
Swiftly she stepped down the aisle, through
car after car until she halted abruptly and
moved back again. For. dozing against a pillow
in the tourist ear. a long gash over his e.ve ren
dering him a bit villainous looking was the but
ler-thief.
Lucille sought her compartment, her brain
a-whirl. It was a three cornered fight now.
Loubeque to retain the papers and to protect her
in her wealth: Thompson to gain the ruby neck
lace and revenge himself upon his master. But
she —Lucille only sought the papers. Nothing else
counted as against that. And Loubeque held the
papers.
Let the three cornered fight go on. All the
parties to it save herself had double motives.
She wanted but the papers that would lead to
the fulfillment of her heart's desire. Nothing
could divert her from that. And she was so close
to them-—so close —so close that she must win.
CHAPTER XXXXYL
Lucille Indulpeg a Feminine Instinct.
X I'CILLE thrilled with inexpressible delight
when she found herself once more in San
Francisco. Somehow, it seemed a harbinger of
good that she should come back to the place
where last she had seen her sweetheart. She
imagined him roving the city, using every means
in his power to find her. She knew he had read
aright the message she shot him from the win
dow of Loubeque's mysterious house, that he had
led the assault upon that house, and that not
even the secret exit made by the occupants could
divert him from his purpose of finding her. All
woman at that thought, she fought against the
natural instinct to hunt him up and rely upon
him. She had a far better chance than he with
Loubeque. She only caught herself hoping thcit
the international spy would return to his home.
She knew the hope was foolish as it immed
iately turned out to be. Not for the cunning
brain of such a one as the spy to go back to a
place from which he had been driven and which
he had every reason to believe would be under
surveillance. Instead of doing this he promptly
took a motor to the St. Francis, relying upon the
very audacity of his move to protect him.
Lucille followed him quietly, almost meekly.
They had but little to say to each other. Both
knew the other's thoughts too well to waste time
in words; both knew the other's relentlessness
of purpose. And, more than anything and every
thing else, both knew that the fight between
them must be settled very shortly, that any move
must be made quickly.
Lucille slipped out of the hotel her second
day, undecided as to what to do and caring little
to plan or plot. Before this opportunities had pre
sented themselves. Providential opportunities
which no one could have foreseen. Only at such
times had she been enabled to make a satisfac
tory move. And she felt convinced that the very
justice of her cause would permit her to win
when the last hands were dealt in this strange
game. And always there was Thompson to be
reckoned with.
Thompson was the man who had been capa
ble enough to be the right hand of Hugo Lou
beque; Thompson was the one who. when he
turned against his former master, was the one
who excited such alarm in the spy that he took
the most elaborate precautions against him;
Thompson was the man. upon whom she con
vinced herself with feminine intuition she must
depend. Thompson would lay open a way. And
the hate of Thompson would turn itself against
the hate of Loubeque and then her own great
Love would have its innings.
Somehow this utterly illogical, unreasonable
viewpoint upon the situation buoyed her hopes
to such an extent that she went out the great
doors of the hotel, fairly beaminsr with satisfac
tion. And in th's mood, for the first time since
leaving- Manila so abruptly in the aeroplane of
Harley, her thought turned from the sweetheart
she felt was in the city to the thought of meet
ing him. And simultaneously with this thought
came a dismayed alarm.
She stopped short, the song upon her lips
frozen there as she looked down at herself. For
the first time in months an idea recurred to her,
an idea that seemed to have, formed a major
portion of her ideas in life before that time—
clothes.
Clothes! She fairly blushed as she looked
upon the beautiful dressed women upon the
street. Clothes! Why, she looked a perfect rag
amuffin. She became frightfully self-conscious,
ascribing the glances of admiration bestowed upon
her from pedestrians to her shabbiness. Uncon
sciously her hands sought the precious necklace.
She shuddered ana drew into an areaway. Sup
pose she should meet Lieutenant Gibson here.
Would he not be a bit ashamed of her?
She speeded swiftly and furtively down the
street. Self-reliance had become a part of her
from her experiences but the thought of obtain
ing money was something that appalled her. She
had never known anything of money in her life.
Things had always seemed to just come to her
without the necessity for worrying.
Resolutely she bit her lips and forced her
way through the doors of a jewelry establish
ment, fighting her resolution to the point of ap
proaching the bespectacled, important looking
man behind the counter. Somehow, she could not
repress a faint smile at sight of the glittering
baubles so temptingly outlined beneath the glass.
She found her amusement intensified by the
obvious lack of impression she made upon the
salesman as he looked her over.
As he bent forward politely, questioning her
as to her pleasure, her hand sought the necklace
and brought it forth, laying it quietly upon tha
counter.
"I wished to sell," she murmured bashfully.
The salesman stared from her to the neck
lace, his eyes growing wider and wider with be
wilderment as he looked upon such stones as he
had never seen before in his life.
"The proprietor—" he muttered.
Lucille followed the direction of his pointed
finger, on the verge of bursting into laughter at
the change in his demeanor. With added con
fidence she pushed open the ground glass door
upon which was marked a caution for all out
eiders to keep out.
A keen eyed little man turned upon her
abruptly, his lips half open for a protest against
the intrusion when, his «.res fell upon the neck-
HARRISBURG TELEGRAPH
lace she carried loosely in her hands.
"I wished some ready money," Lucille quick
ly explained, blushing at her own temerity as she
placed the precious necklace upon the desk. I
don't know what the stones are worth but I
would like to realize as much as 1 can upon
them."
The man drew a jewler's glass from his
drawer and stooped to examine each stone, his
lips pursing to vent a little whistle of awe and
admiration every few moments. After what
seemed an interminable length of time he turned
abruptly upon her, his mouth very stern.
"Where did you get this necklace. Miss? I
presume you realize something of its value?"
"No. sir," she was frightened at his stern
manner. "I—T found it—"
The man sneered incredulously.
Found it! Where, may 1 ask?"
"I —I really don't know exactly where," she
HiM Voice Wat Hoarte, ®BfiS^S|
Terrifying in Its Bitter- jflH
ne*M, It* Scorn.
was on -the verge of tears now as she reached for
her possession. "It was on a savage island where
I was east away—an island just eight days out
of Manila."
"A savage island—from Manila —" A bit of
the incredulity had left his manner already.
Once more he stooped to examine the necklace.
Yes," he muttered, "the cutting of the stones is
different from any I have ever encountered —Old
Asiatic, undoubtedly." Again he turned to her.
"How long ago was this, Miss? What is this
story of being cast away? I do not recollect any
wrecks—"
"The Empress." Lucille quickly explained, her
eyes clouding with terror as she recollected the
horors of the subterranean cavern into which she
had fallen, recalled the clammy touch of the
sightless inhabitants, the grinning, hideous mon
ster-ape squatting in the arms of the still more
hideous idol.
"There—there," —the little man was bending
over her. a glass of water in his hands which he
pressed upon her. "I believe you, my dear young
woman. I merely wished to know —"
"It isn't that." she smiled faintly. "It's recol
lecting the terrible place underground—the hor
rible creatures—everything —"
"Well, well, well," he rubbed his hands to
gether in frank amazement. "To think that any
one escaped from the wreck of the Empress!"
Once more his lips pursued. "But why have you
not reached friends?"
"I am Lucille Love," she said qnietly. "I can
not go back—"
"Lucille Love—daughter of General Love?"
Stodied her keenly, nodding his head from
side to side. "Yes, yes, your father and I were
quite well acquainted when he was stationed at
the Presidio here. And you will not go back be
cause of the. disgrace that caused you to leave
when the orders from Washington were stolen?"
Lucille rose haughtily from her chair, tak
ing the necklace from the table and moving to
ward the door.
"There was no disgrace." she explained clear
ly. her tones fairly chilling. "The papers were
stolen by an outsider, sir. That was why I
boarded the Empress. That is why I am here.
That is why I seek money *, why I am still search
ing."
"There—there —" The jeweler's manner was
frankly proprietory. "I meant no offense. I
merely wished to know —"
"T came to know if you cared to purchase
the necklace." she coldly retorted, preparing to
replace it about her neck.
"But my dear Miss Love," he smiled, "you
must realize that there is not money enough in
the establishment to purchase such a wonderful
necklace as the one you own. A few stones —pos-
sibly. or," he added as an afterthought, "I might
purchase an option on the necklace for, say as
much of a reasonable sum as you desire at pres
ent, and will then look about for a purchaser."
Lucilie's face showed her relief.
"I will give you ten thousand dollars for an
option to sell the necklace within six months,"
the man continued quickly. "Meanwhile, I will
keep it here and give you a receipt for it, in
order that I may show it to possible customers."
"Ten thousand dollars!" Lucille's eyes were
wide in wonderment. She had never thought in
terms of dollars and cents before and the sum
seemed incredible to her.
It was not ten minutes later, with a mutual
promise to say nothing of the transaction that
she left the shop with a certified check for the
sum mentioned in her tightly clenched fist, ac
companied by a clerk.
A strance shadow seemed to have fallen upon
,her. one which took a large part of the amuse
ment she anticipated getting from her shoppiq#
away. She could only ascribe it to meeting with
one who had known her father, who unwittingly
showed her what the judgment of the world had
been In regard to the missing orders, the neces
sity for immediately foiling Hugo Loubeque.
As she left the bank with the roll of bank
notes in her hand and a warning from the clerk
still ringing in her ears, she thought no longer
of adorning herself, had forgotten her shabbiness
and her fear of meeting her sweetheart. Her
thoughts were still upon clothes, the most
gorgeous clothes. And her thoughts were also
upon Hugo Loubeque. the international spy, the
man who stood between her and the fruition of
all her hopes, the man who had brought such an
estimate upon the ones she loved, the man who
had softened toward her, the man —and a warm
flush suffused h*r cheeks which she fought down
swiftly—who was constantly proving himself but
a mere man, after all; a man susceptible to
woman's charms just as the greatest and strong
est men of history had proven themselves sus
ceptible.
With the thought, Lucille seemed to change;
to shrink away from herself as though she were
defiled slightly by the mere thought. But her
head was high, her cheeks sparkling as she en
tered the first fashionable shop she came to; her
manner such that the crowding, jostling women
made way for her as for a queen in regal attire
instead of a young girl with habiliments torn
and dishevelled by such privations and adven
tures as those about her never dreamed of.
And always, alongside the doors of all the
establishments she entered waiting-patiently
waiting—furtively waiting, a rather servile ap
pearing man stood, respectful, quiet, contained.
Swift, certain, sure as the evening he had
stolen the papers from the safe of General Love,
leaving the banknotes in their stead which
planted suspicion at the feet of the old warrior' 3
aide, Thompson trailed.
CHAPTER XXXXVII.
A Mi/stcrioug Cabaret dumber.
rCCILLE'S return to her apartment at the ho
tel was greeted with an apparent respect that
spoke plainly of the arrival of the flood of pack
ages she had ordered sent immediately. Her lips
were still tightened, her eyes cold as ice, her
head high as she entered the elevator and shot
to the cozy room where the bundles and boxes
were piled.
Upon every conceivable article in the room
they were, but she seemed to take little pleasure
in opening them. In piles she assorted thein,
hats, gowns, lingerie, gloves, hose, little trinkets
dear to the heart of all women. Then she seated
herself and carefully, coldly made choice of what
she intended wearing for the conquest of Lou
beque.
How odd it all seemed! Before her rose a
picture of the great spy, many pictures, and a
curiously sad little smile twisted her lips as shi»
realized that winning over him would give a bit
terness to her life which she could never forget,
the bitterness of losing the great respect she
held for him as an enemy, the bitterness of hav
ing obliterated from memory those times when
the tenderness dormant in him had come to the
surface as he cared for a poor, sick girl, fighting
an unequal battle.
It was several hours later that she looked at
herself in the long cheval glass, frank admira
tion and wonder tingling within her, mantling
her cheeks with roses that no ruby necklaces
could have purchased. For the first time she real
ized that she was wonderfully beautiful, that the
girl who had landed aboard the Empress in her
riding habit, who had fought her way through
the jungles in tattered skirt of black had grown
into a wonderful woman whom men worship and
fall down before in breathless admiration. Her
eyes, too, were slanting, the eyes of an odalesque,
while there was just the curling hint of invita
tion in the full, red lips that tended to beguile.
Yes, adventure, purpose and fullness, the con
stant battling for others, the omnipresent Love
within her had broadened and ripened her into a
full, rich womanhood such as she had not
dreamed possible. And even as she stood there
came a clear tapping upon the door. With a
smile upon her lips she moved toward it, allow
ing it to open, the slightest fraction at a time,
all the dramaturgic which is part of femininity
telling her how to enhance the effect of her ap
pearance.
Hugo Loubeque stepped within. It was char
acteristic of the man that he did not halt im
mediately he saw her but moved on until he was
well inside. Then he turned, immaculate in his
evening clothes, and bowed gravely, his eyes tak
ing her in from head to toe, frank admiration
glowing in them. Neither mentioned the contrast
in her appearance. The, spy merely waited, while
into his eyes crept the hint of a challenge min
gled with the cloud of a premonition of danger.
Instantly she resented it.
"You will dine 'vith me?" His manner was
courteous as ever, yet there was a change. Some
thing already was lost between them, some of
the strands which bound them together as in
separably through enmity as ever could have
bonds of friendship slackened, dropped apart
never to be put together again.
Lucille merely nodded. Her heart was grow
ing larger and larger, and she found herself
frightened. Dangers of all sorts, adventures,
everything she could endure with not the slight
est fear but there was'something in her now that
set her pulses throbbing irregularly and rendered
her speechless. She rested her hand upon his
sleeve and allowed him to escort her to the din
ing-room.
In the dining-room she gave herself over to
a mood effervescent as the champagne that bub
bled in the glass before her, creaming and cast
ing up its little spirals of sprites, laughing glee
fully with her own thrilling mirth a bit too nerv
ous to be quite unaffected.
Loubeque had not proven adamant against
the frank admiration which "went the length of
the room at the appearance of Lucille. Hit own
manner was bending, yielding and It was clear to
her that he was looking at her from a new
angle, one which frankly surprised him, that
Lucille had become, a gorgeously wonderful wom
an to him and not merely the pretty daughter
of the. woman he had loved in the Long Ago,
She was playing a part, she had never dreamed
of playing until she caught, sight of her beauti
ful reflection mirrored back at her from the long
glass in her apartment: was playing a part which
she would not. characterize even to herself, was
playing it as though born to just such a role.
And a great shame, was upon her, even as her
growing self-disgust divided itself between shame
at seeing the great Loubeque falling into the net
she was deftly weaving for him. The. creaming
champagne hßd no effect upon her. She %va«
astonished to see how it worked upon the spy,
not realizing his mood was one of self-relaxation
while her's was grounding upon one all-obsessing
idea. She watched him narrowly, marking the
constantly growing boldness of his frank admira
tion.
A rather pretty girl whirled into the center
of the big dining-room and without waiting for
the faint murmur of applause that, gTeeted her
appearance to subside, began to dance. Lucille
noticed that Loubeque had so far given himself
over to the spirit of revery that his dishes went
untouched as he watched the indifferent dancing.
Inspiration came to Lucille, a daring thought
that fired her eyes, that made her cheeks flush
so hotly she lifted her glass to conceal it from
her escort. Before. this she had acted on a vague
impulse without seeing any definite result that
could come from her endeavors. She saw the
weak spot in Hugo Loubeque's well-nigh perfect
armor, thought she saw a method of reaching it.
Quietly, she excused herself and left the room,
graceful, apparently unconscious of the undis
guised admiration bestowed upon her.
Once at the end of the room her manner
changed. Swiftly she turned, taking the direc
tion she had seen the dancer leave and coming
into a small room where ,the entertainers sat.
For just a second she paused, not knowing ex
actly how to do what she had started now that
she actually confronted the situation. Taking her
self firmly in hand she approached the girl, draw
ing her to one side.
"If I pay you well." she whispered eagerly,
"would you let me dance in your place, the next
time- pay you one hundred—five hundred dol
lars," she added as the girl regarded her suspi
ciously.
"Five hundred dollars!" Wonderment glinted
in the eyes upon her. "What do you want—to
get; a chance at cabaret work?"
"Xo—no. I can dance, but I merely wish to
do it once. There is a reason I cannot explain
now. But it means everything to me. Please —
please——" Tears glistened in eyes filled to over
flowing with such honest pleading that the girl
quickly nodded.
"Let's see you work," she demanded. "What
line, Miss?"
Lucille slowly recalled an old Spanish dance
she had learned years before, one she had danced
in private theatricals. The cabaret dancer whis
pered to a young man in the corner who took
his guitar from its' case and thrummed lightly
until Lucille nodded. Five minutes later, a bit
flushed but perfectly confident she has aquitted
herself well, she halted at a sharp word from the
woman she sought to supplant.
"You'll do," the girl said quickly, then, with
a tinge of envy in her voice and eyes, "dead sure
you ain't after me job?"
Lucille pressed the money upon her, warmly
assuring her over and over again that such was
not her intention.
"All right then. You're due in half an hour.
I'll fix it with the manager and put the orchestra
leader wise to the game. That dress ain't quite
the stuff fer—.—"
Lucille nodded gayly. Half an hour could be
ample time for her to make a change. Hur
riedly she scribbled a note to Loubeque, reassur
ing him as to her delay and begging him to
wait a short time untii she came. Then shq
darted to her suite, fairly tearing her gown from
her in her haste. She did not know what odd
whimsy had induced her to purchase the little
coquettish fluff of a dancing gown that fitted the
part she intended playing so perfectly.
A bit breathless she returned to the cabaret
room barely in time to make her entrance. She
turned a bit cold as she waited, frightened of her
own temerity. The girl gave her a shove forward
and she found herself standing in the big room,
heard, as' from a long ways off, the stringed or
chestra brilliantly playing La Paloma, playing
so irresistibly that, even with all her fear, her
toes tapped in time to the music.
"G'wan! Heat it!" It was the voice of the
cabaret dancer.
Lucille knew then that she must go through
with what she had started. Taking a long breath,
her body swayed to the strains. Slowly, grace-]
fully she glided into the room, her face par
tially concealed by the mantilla. A gasp of sur-<
prise followed her appearance, men and women!
leaned forward, forgetful of their dinner, lured by
her infectious grace and charm. But she had eyesl
for but one man, the international spy, who, a
surprised, puzzled expression on his face, leaned
far forward in his chair, watching this woman
who danced so wonderfully, with such Innocent
abandon and charm, who had eyes for no onej
thought of nothing save her work.
Then suddenly the music changed. Lucille!
flashed a glance at Loubeque and from that'
moment danced to him and him alone. It was per-«
fectly obvious to everyone in the room. The spyi
sank back in his chair, a bit embarrassed but
quite aglow with delight. The music was growing
Blower, slower, and, with a trickling laugh of imp
ish merriment, Lucille flung wide her mantilla
and bowed mockingly, yet with the pleading ex
pression of a child seeking applause, to the arch
spy.
For just, a second his splendid mouth gaped,
then, with eyes that shot strange fires at her,
his palms' crackled vigorously together as he led
off the whirlwind of applause that set the glasses
and cutlery dancing. The orchestra leader waved
his baton toward Lucille for an encore and, from
her chair opposite Loubeque into which she had
sunk, she half rose to respond with a bow.
"My God!"
"My God!" A
The voice was hoarse, terrifying in its bitter- 1
ness, its' scorn. Lucille turned, startled, then. In
voluntarily, her hands reached out toward the
man who was standing, tense, a horrified expres
sion of disgust and unbelief upon his countenance.
"Dick!" she quavered.
Lieutenant Gibson moved away as her slender,
figure swayed toward him. Her hands were upon)
his wrists - . He looked at, them a second then slow
ly detached them and turned away, leaving the
great room, leaving behind the woman who dared
everything for him.
And Lucille, the radiant face of a moment i
before gone into a mask, a frigid, icy mask,'
watched him as, without turning, he left her
alone to flght alone the battle for him. Loubeque
touched her shoulder sympathetically.
"Poor child, Lucille!" he murmured. "It was
Gibson. After all you might havo believed of hinx,'
to have him turn that way instantly—"
"Dick is a man." she smiled sadly. "Man is
full of suspicion. But when a woman loves she
does not ask for references."
(Continued Next Week.},