“Are you going to do it?” she whispered.

“Of course,” I answered.  “To miss such a chance would be a downright sin.”

There was a little awe in her laugh.

“Miss Thorn is the only obstacle,” I added, “and Mr. Cooke is our hope.  I think he will go by me.”

“Don’t let Miss Thorn worry you,” she said as we climbed back.

“What do you mean?” I demanded.  But she only shook her head.  We were at the top again, and Mr. Trevor was reading an appended despatch from Buffalo, stating that Mr. Allen had been recognized there, in the latter part of June, walking up and down the platform of the station, in a smoking-jacket, and that he had climbed on the Chicago limited as it pulled out.  This may have caused the Celebrity to feel a trifle uncomfortable.

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Trevor, as he put down the paper.  “Mr. Cooke, do you happen to have any handcuffs on the Maria?”

But my client was pouring out a stiff helping from the decanter, which he still held in his hand.  Then he approached the Celebrity.

“Don’t let it worry you, old man,” said he, with intense earnestness.  “Don’t let it worry you.  You’re my guest, and I’ll see you safe out of it, or bust.”

“Fenelon,” said Mrs. Cooke, gravely, “do you realize what you are saying?”

“You’re a clever one, Allen,” my client continued, and he backed away the better to look him over; “you had nerve to stay as long as you did.”

The Celebrity laughed confidently.

“Cooke,” he replied, “I appreciate your generosity,—­I really do.  I know no offence is meant.  The mistake is, in fact, most pardonable.”

In Mr. Cooke amazement and admiration were clamoring for utterance.

“Damn me,” he sputtered, “if you’re not the coolest embezzler I ever saw.”

The Celebrity laughed again.  Then he surveyed the circle.

“My friends,” he said, “this is certainly a most amazing coincidence; one which, I assure you, surprises me no less than it does you.  You have no doubt remarked that I have my peculiarities.  We all have.

“I flatter thyself I am not entirely unknown.  And the annoyances imposed upon me by a certain fame I have achieved had become such that some months ago I began to crave the pleasures of the life of a private man.  I determined to go to some sequestered resort where my face was unfamiliar.  The possibility of being recognized at Asquith did not occur to me.  Fortunately I was.  And a singular chance led me to take the name of the man who has committed this crime, and who has the misfortune to resemble me.  I suppose that now,” he added impressively, “I shall have to tell you who I am.”

He paused until these words should have gained their full effect.  Then he held up the edition de luxe from which he and Miss Thorn had been reading.

“You may have heard, Mrs. Cooke,” said he, addressing himself to our hostess, “you may perhaps have heard of the author of this book.”