CHAPTER VIII

WHEN A WOMAN SMILED

ANTHONY TRENT apparently was in no way confused at this interruption. The woman was not to guess that his _nonchalant_ manner and the careless lighting of a cigarette, cloaked in reality a feeling of despair at the untoward ending of his adventure. Calmly she walked past him and looked at the assemblage of finely tempered steel instruments of his profession.

“So you’re a burglar!” she said with an air of decision.

“That is a term I dislike,” said Anthony Trent genially. “Call me rather a professional collector, an abstractor, a connoisseur--anything but that.”

“It amounts to the same thing,” she returned severely, “you came here to steal my father’s money.”

“Your father’s money,” he returned slowly. “Then--then you are Miss Guestwick?”

“Naturally,” she retorted eyeing him keenly, “and if you offer any violence I shall have you arrested.”

She was amazed to see a pleasant smile break over the intruder’s face. He was exceedingly attractive when he smiled.

“What a hard heart you have!”

“You ought to realize this is no time to jest,” she said stiffly.

“I am not so sure,” he made answer.

She looked at him haughtily. He realized that he had rarely seen so beautiful a girl. There was a look of high courage about her that particularly appealed to him. She had long Oriental eyes of jade green. He amended his guess as to her age. She must be seven and twenty he told himself.

“It is my duty to call the police and have you arrested,” she exclaimed.

“That is the usual procedure,” he agreed.

She stood there irresolute.

“I wonder what makes you steal!”

“Abstract,” he corrected, “collect, borrow, annex--but not steal.”

She took no notice of his interruption.

“It isn’t as though you were ill or starving--that might be some sort of excuse--but you are well dressed. I’ve done a great deal of social work among the poor and often I’ve met the wives of thieves and have actually found myself pitying men who have stolen for bread.”

“Jean Valjean stuff,” he smiled, “it has elements of pathos. Jean got nineteen years for it if you remember.”

She paid no heed to his flippancy.

“You talk like an educated man. Economic determination did not bring you to this. You have absolutely no excuse.”

“I have offered none,” he said drily.

She spoke with a sudden air of candor.

“Do you know this situation interests me very much. One reads about burglars, of course, but that sort of thing seems rather remote. We’ve never had any robberies here before, and now to come face to face with a real burglar, cracking--isn’t that the word you use?--a safe, is rather disconcerting.”

“You bear up remarkably well,” he assured her.

It was her turn to smile.

“I’m just wondering,” she said slowly. “My father detests notoriety.”

The intruder permitted himself to laugh gently. He thought of that pretentious tome “Operas I Have Seen.”

“How well Mr. Guestwick conceals it!”

Apparently she had not heard him. It was plain she was in the throes of making up her mind.

“I wonder if I ought to do it,” she mused.

“Do what?” he demanded.

“Let you get away. You have so far stolen nothing so I should not be aiding or abetting a crime.”

“Indeed you would,” he said promptly. “My very presence here is illegal and as you see I have opened that absurd safe.”

“What an amazing burglar!” she cried, “he does not want his freedom.”

“It is your duty as Mr. Guestwick’s daughter to send me to jail and I shan’t respect you if you don’t.”

She was again the haughty young society woman gazing at a curious specimen of man.

“It is very evident,” she snapped, “that you don’t appreciate your position. Instead of sending you to prison I am willing to give you another chance. Will you promise me never to do this sort of thing again if I let you go?”

Trent looked up.

“I have enjoyed your conversation very much,” he observed genially, “but I have work to do. Inside that safe I expect to find fifty thousand dollars and possibly some odd trinkets. I am in particular need of the money and I propose to get it.”

Swiftly she crossed the room to a telephone.

“I don’t think you’ll succeed,” she said, her hand on the instrument.

“Put it to the test,” he suggested. “The wires are not cut.”

“Why aren’t you afraid?” she demanded; “don’t you realize your position?”

“Fully,” he retorted, “but remember you’ll have just the same difficulty as I in explaining your presence here. Now go ahead and get the police.”

“What do you mean?” she cried. He noticed that she paled at what he said and her hands had been for a moment not quite steady.

“First that you are not a Miss Guestwick. There are only two of them and I have just left them at the Opera. Next you are neither servant nor guest. The servants are all abed and there are no house guests. I am not accustomed to making mistakes in matters of this sort. Now, I’m not inviting confidences and I’m not making threats, but the doors are locked and I intend to get what I came for. Ring all you like and see if a servant answers you. By the way how is it I overlooked you when I came in?”

“I hid behind those portières.”

“It was excusable,” he commented, “not to have looked there.”

She sank into a chair her whole face suffused with gloom. He steeled his heart against feeling sympathy for her. He would liked to have learned all about her but there was not much time. The Guestwicks might return earlier than usual or Briggs might be lurking the other side of the door.

“You’ve found me out,” she said quietly, “I’m not one of the Guestwick girls.”

“I told you so,” he said a little impatiently.

“Don’t you want to know anything about me?” she demanded.

“Some other time,” he returned, “I’m busy now.”

“But what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I thought I told you. I’m going to see what Mr. Guestwick has which interests me. Then I shall get a bite to eat somewhere and go home to bed.”

“Are you going to take that fifty thousand dollars?” she demanded. Her tone was a tragic one.

“That’s what I came for,” he told her.

“You mustn’t, you mustn’t,” she declared and then fell to weeping bitterly.

Beauty in distress moved Anthony Trent even when his business most engrossed his attention. It was his nature to be considerate of women. When he had garnered enough money to buy himself a home he intended to marry and settle down to domestic joys. As to this weeping woman, there was little doubt in his mind as to the reason she was in the Guestwick home. Perhaps she noticed the harder look that came to his face.

“Whom do you think I am?” she asked.

“I have not forgotten,” he answered, “that women also are abstractors at times.”

She gazed at him wide open eyes, a look of horror on her face.

“You think I’m here to steal?”

“I wish I didn’t,” he answered. “It’s bad enough for a man, but for a woman like you. What am I to think when I find you hiding in a house where you have no right to be?”

“That’s the whole tragedy of it,” she exclaimed, “that I’ve no right to be here. I suppose I shall have to tell you everything. Can’t you guess who I am?”

Anthony Trent looked at the clock. Precious seconds were chasing one another into minutes and he had wasted too much time already.

“I don’t see that it matters at all to me,” he pointed to the safe, “I’m here on business.”

It annoyed him to feel he was not quite living up to the debonair heroes he had created once upon a time. They would not have permitted themselves to be so brusque with a lovely girl upon whose exquisite cheeks tears were still wet.

“You must listen to me,” she implored, “I’m Estelle Grandcourt. Now do you understand why I’ve come?”

“For the money that you think is already yours,” he said, a trifle sulkily. Matters were becoming complicated.

“Money!” cried the amazing chorus girl, “I hate it!”

His face cleared.

“If that’s the case,” he said genially, “we shall not quarrel. Frankly, Miss Grandcourt, I love it.”

She glanced at him through tear-beaded lashes.

“I suppose you’ve always thought of a show girl as a scheming adventuress always on the lookout for some foolish, rich old man or else some silly boy with millions to spend.”

“Not at all!” he protested.

“But you have,” she contradicted, “I can tell by your manner. For my