"Good-by, Mary. Wave your hand at Mary, Jimmy. By-by, Mary! Jimmy says by-by."

Some of this heard, but much unheard, was answered similarly from the steamer. It was a good-natured crowd.

One passenger, however, did not take part in the general joyousness. He was a young American with blond hair and steady features and steady brown eyes. A little humorless, you thought. A little inclined to take himself seriously. Not wholly unlikable, however, in spite of his solid, grim jaw.

His farewell was solemn. A friend of his own age-perhaps twenty-five came down to the dock with him. There was no banter or jests.

"Oh, you'll come out all right; don't worry. I haven't got the slightest doubt."

The trip over did not bring him added cheerfulness. The other passengers formed small groups to play deck-tennis and shuffle board, or discovered that two and only two could sit comfortably behind a lifeboat in the moonlight. He walked alone, looking gloomily at the sea-gulls. Occasionally, it is true, he had a drink, but he downed it as if it were cough medicine. The blue Azores did not interest him, neither did the snow-clad Atlas Mountains. He did not even get off the Garibaldi when she halted at lavenderand-gold Palermo.

When they reached Naples he was the first ashore. While the others entertained plans of climbing in the funicular to the creamy feather on top of Vesuvius or sailing toward violet Capri across the most beautiful bay in all existence, he assembled his baggage and secured a porter. "Treno. Rome. Firenze," he directed him, under the impression that he was speaking fluent Italian. Presently he was jolting north.

Now that he was actually in Italy he felt let down, empty. After all, was there any chance that he would accomplish anything by having crossed the ocean? Their parting had been absolute, final. They had both allowed themselves to get angry.

"I wonder if you realize that you have been both rude and offensive." "Of course. I always am. It's the nature of the beast."

"And it won't do you any good to be sarcastic, my conceited young man." "Wrong, as usual."

"Oh, you're so clever. But I want to tell you one thing. I think you're hateful. I think you're rotten selfish and completely stuck on yourself. I don't want to ever see you again."

This gave him the opportunity to retire victorious. "You won't!"

A hill crowned with a pink villa went by. The train was running through a fireformed country of vines and cedar-trees. Distant blue mountains had veined snow on their summits. "How long will it take to get to Florence?" he wondered. "Will this damn train be late? Of course it will. Do you suppose that she will even see me when I get there? Why did I ever quarrel with her in the first place? It was my fault. I had no business being jealous. Oh, my God!"

IX

"BUT if I love her, why shouldn't I marry her? Why is that so silly?"

"Because you're sixty, and she can't be twenty-four, if she is that old. There you have the excellent reason, my good fellow."

"I have money." "You're sixty."

"I can keep us both comfortable." "More than twice her age." "We both have the same tastes; like the same sort of things."

"But you're sixty, Holland Porter. It wouldn't be fair to her." "Why not?"

Ever since Colonel Allentown's tea Holland Porter had carried on this debate with himself. There was no respite from it.

"Why not let her decide?" he cried suddenly.

He went into the library. On his stiff blue-gray paper he wrote a note to her. Would she take tea with him the next day?

But now, as he stood in the garden waiting for her to walk laughing in among

the red and white roses, a queer doubt came over him. After all, was it really fair to her? Suppose she should have some obscure reason for accepting him? Wouldn't he be responsible? Suppose she should have some obscure reason for not accepting him-was, however, his more panicky wonder as his discontented thoughts on this subject were broken by a grating sound of wheels!

He was so eager that he strode to the gate without waiting for Giuseppina. The person who stood there was not Leonie, but a white-faced and harrowed young man.

And the young man addressed him. "Is this Mr. Porter?" he said.

It was not until David was out of sight that he realized fully the decision he had made. Yet even then he was not wholly regretful, so intoxicating it is to be selfsacrificing and noble. Leonie came in a few minutes later, and only for a moment was he tempted to forego his resolution. He put this aside as unworthy and started to work.

"Do you happen to know a man named David Mellon?"

"I hate him."

"Then it won't do you any good to know that he is waiting for you." "Waiting for me? Where?"

"In the music-room."

"Right here? Oh, you dear person! Where did you find him?"

It instantly occurred to Holland Porter that here was undoubtedly the son of some friend of his who had lost or spent all his money. He would want to borrow a hundred dollars. This might never return, but even so the thing to do was to send him off dog-grateful before Leonie came.

"I'd be glad to," he said cordially. "You know Leonie Paulin, don't you?"

: "I do, sir."

I

Are you going to see her soon? mean, would it be possible for you to see her soon?"

"Of course. I see her frequently.” "Then you can help me. I was engaged to her, but we had some fool quarrel. I don't dare write to her, because she might tear up my letter, but I know if she saw me she would make up with me. Can't you invite her here and then invite me so that we can meet as if by accident?"

Holland Porter never knew why he replied what he did. "Go into the next room," he commanded, "and wait there until I send for you. She is coming here this afternoon."

X.

HALF an hour later she and David returned together. "We're engaged," she said.

"Isn't it wonderful, wonderful? We were before, but it got broken. That's why I said I hated him.".

"Thanks to you, sir," said David a little heavily. He was the solemn sort who always writes his bread-and-butter letters the day after he has finished a visit. And one bread-and-butter letter is like another bread-and-butter letter.

"And I know you'll like David. He's a perfect dear. Really he is," went on Leonie.

They both laughed at this, and it occurred to Holland Porter that their laughter sounded just a little bit like distant silver trumpets. After all, as far as he was concerned, why shouldn't it? It should, he thought. It was most appropriate. Thinking which, he congratulated them. Almost as stiffly as David would have done, he told himself. Then he assured them that his feelings and the feelings of Giuseppina would be hurt seriously if they did not stay to dine.

XVI

SIGNIFICANT DISCLOSURES

(Thursday, September 13; forenoon)

REATLY to Currie's astonishment Vance gave instructions to be called at nine o'clock the following morning; and at ten o'clock we were sitting on his little roofgarden having breakfast in the mellow mid-September sunshine.

"Van," he said to me, when Currie had brought us our second cup of coffee, "however secretive a woman may be, there's always some one to whom she unburdens her soul. A confidant is an essential to the feminine temperament. It may be a mother, or a lover, or a priest, or a doctor, or, more generally, a girl chum. In the Canary's case we haven't a mother ог a priest. Her lover-the elegant Skeel-was a potential enemy; and we're pretty safe in ruling out her doctor-she was too shrewd to confide in such a creature as Lindquist. The girl chum, then, remains. And to-day we seek her." He lit a cigarette and rose. "But, first, we must visit Mr. Benjamin Browne of Seventh Avenue."

Benjamin Browne was a well-known photographer of stage celebrities, with galleries in the heart of the city's theatrical district; and as we entered the reception-room of his luxurious studio later that morning my curiosity as to the object of our visit was at the breaking-point. Vance went straight to the desk, behind which sat a young woman with flaming red hair and mascaro-shaded eyes, and bowed in his most dignified manner. Then, taking a small unmounted photograph from his pocket, he laid it before her.

A summary of the preceding chapters of "The 'Canary'

Murder Case" will be found in "Behind the Scenes with Scribner's Authors."

VOL. LXXXII.-6

"I am producing a musical comedy, mademoiselle," he said, "and I wish to communicate with the young lady who left this picture of herself with me. Unfortunately I've misplaced her card; but as her photograph bore the imprint of Browne's, I thought you might be good enough to look in your files and tell me who she is and where I may find her."

He slipped a five-dollar bill under the edge of the blotter, and waited with an air of innocent expectancy.

The young woman looked at him quizzically, and I thought I detected the hint of a smile at the corners of her artfully rouged lips. But after a moment she took the photograph without a word and disappeared through a rear door. Ten minutes later she returned and handed Vance the picture. On the back of it she had written a name and address.

"The young lady is Miss Alys La Fosse, and she lives at the Belafield Hotel." There was now no doubt as to her smile. "You really shouldn't be so careless with the addresses of your applicants-some poor girl might lose an engagement." And her smile suddenly turned into soft laughter.

"Mademoiselle," replied Vance, with mock seriousness, "in the future I shall be guided by your warning." And with another dignified bow, he went out.

"Good Lord!" he said, as we emerged into Seventh Avenue. "Really, y' know, I should have disguised myself as an impresario, with a gold-headed cane, a derby, and a purple shirt. That young woman is thoroughly convinced that I'm contemplating an intrigue. . . . A jolly smart tête-rouge, that."

He turned into a florist's shop at the corner, and selecting a dozen American Beauties, addressed them to "Benjamin Browne's Receptionist."

"And now," he said, "let us stroll to the Belafield, and seek an audience with Alys."

81

As we walked across town Vance explained.

"That first morning, when we were inspecting the Canary's rooms, I was convinced that the murder would never be solved by the usual elephantine police methods. It was a subtle and wellplanned crime, despite its obvious appearances. No routine investigation would suffice. Intimate information was needed. Therefore, when I saw this photograph of the xanthous Alys half hidden under the litter of papers on the escritoire, I reflected: Ah! A girl friend of the departed Margaret's. She may know just the things that are needed. So, when the Sergeant's broad back was turned, I put the picture in my pocket. There was no other photograph about the place, and this one bore the usual sentimental inscription, 'Ever thine,' and was signed 'Alys.' I concluded, therefore, that Alys had played Anactoria to the Canary's Sappho. Of course I erased the inscription before presenting the picture to the penetrating sibyl at Browne's. .. And here we are at the Belafield, hopin' for a bit of enlightenment."

The Belafield was a small, expensive apartment-hotel in the East Thirties, which, to judge from the guests to be seen in the Americanized Queen Anne lobby, catered to the well-off sporting set. Vance sent his card up to Miss La Fosse, and received the message that she would see him in a few minutes. The few minutes, however, developed into threequarters of an hour, and it was nearly noon when a resplendent bell-boy came to escort us to the lady's apartment.

Nature had endowed Miss La Fosse with many of its arts, and those that Nature had omitted, Miss La Fosse herself had supplied. She was slender and blonde. Her large blue eyes were heavily lashed, but though she looked at one with a wide-eyed stare, she was unable to disguise their sophistication. Her toilet had been made with elaborate care; and as I looked at her, I could not help thinking what an excellent model she would have been for Chéret's pastel posters.

"So you are Mr. Vance," she cooed. "I've often seen your name in Town Topics."

Vance gave a shudder.

"And this is Mr. Van Dine," he said sweetly, "a mere attorney, who, thus far, has been denied the pages of that fashionable weekly."

"Won't you sit down?" (I am sure Miss La Fosse had spoken the line in a play: she made of the invitation an impressive ceremonial.) "I really don't know why I should have received you. But I suppose you called on business. Perhaps you wish me to appear at a society bazaar, or something of the kind. But I'm so busy, Mr. Vance. You simply can't imagine how occupied I am with my work. . . . I just love my work," she added, with an ecstatic sigh.

"And I'm sure there are many thousands of others who love it, too," returned Vance, in his best drawing-room manner. "But unfortunately I have no bazaar to be graced by your charming presence. I have come on a much more serious matter.. . . You were a very close friend of Miss Margaret Odell's-"

The mention of the Canary's name brought Miss La Fosse suddenly to her feet. Her ingratiating air of affected elegance had quickly disappeared. Her eyes flashed, and their lids drooped harshly. A sneer distorted the lines of her cupid'sbow mouth, and she tossed her head angrily.

'Say, listen! Who do you think you are? I don't know nothing, and I got nothing to say. So run along-you and your lawyer."

But Vance made no move to obey. He took out his cigarette-case and carefully selected a Régie.

"Do you mind if I smoke?-And won't you have one? I import them direct from my agent in Constantinople. They're exquisitely blended."

The girl snorted, and gave him a look of cold disdain. The doll-baby had become a virago.

'Get yourself outa my apartment, or I'll call the house detective." She turned to the telephone on the wall at her side. Vance waited until she had lifted the receiver.

"If you do that, Miss La Fosse, I'll order you taken to the District Attorney's office for questioning," he told her indifferently, lighting his cigarette and leaning back in his chair.

"What's your game, anyway? Suppose I did know Margy-then what? And where do you fit into the picture?" "Alas! I don't fit in at all." Vance smiled pleasantly. "But, for that matter, nobody seems to fit in. The truth is, they're about to arrest a poor blighter for killing your friend, who wasn't in the tableau, either. I happen to be a friend of the District Attorney's; and I know exactly what's being done. The police are scouting round in a perfect frenzy of activity, and it's hard to say what trail they'll strike next. I thought, don't y' know, I might save you a lot of unpleasantness by a friendly little chat.... Of course," he added, "if you prefer to have me give your name to the police, I'll do so, and let them hold the audition in their own inimitable but crude fashion. I might say, however, that, as yet, they are blissfully unaware of your relationship with Miss Odell, and that, if you are reasonable, I see no reason why they should be informed of it."

The girl had stood, one hand on the telephone, studying Vance intently. He had spoken carelessly and with a genial inflection; and she at length resumed her

seat.

"Now, won't you have one of my cigarettes?" he asked, in a tone of gracious reconciliation.

Mechanically she accepted his offer, keeping her eyes on him all the time, as if attempting to determine how far he was to be trusted.

"Who are they thinking of arresting?" She asked the question with scarcely a movement of her features.

"A johnny named Skeel.-Silly idea, isn't it?"

"Him!" Her tone was one of mingled contempt and disgust. "That cheap crook? He hasn't got nerve enough to strangle a cat."

"Precisely. But that's no reason for sending him to the electric chair, what?" Vance leaned forward and smiled engagingly. "Miss La Fosse, if you will talk to me for five minutes, and forget I'm a stranger, I'll give you my word of honor not to let the police or the District Attorney know anything about you. I'm

somehow I dislike the idea of seeing the wrong man punished. And I'll promise to forget the source of any information you will be kind enough to give me. If you will trust me, it will be infinitely easier for you in the end."

The girl made no answer for several minutes. She was, I could see, trying to estimate Vance; and evidently she decided that, in any case, she had nothing to lose

-now that her friendship with the Canary had been discovered-by talking to this man who had promised her immunity from further annoyance.

"I guess you're all right," she said, with a reservation of dubiety; "but I don't know why I should think so.' She paused. "But, look here: I was told to keep out of this. And if I don't keep out of it, I'm apt to be back hoofing it in the chorus again. And that's no life for a sweet young thing like me with extravagant tastes-believe me, my friend!"

"That calamity will never befall you through any lack of discretion on my part," Vance assured her, with goodnatured earnestness. "Who told you to keep out of it?"

"My fiancé." She spoke somewhat coquettishly. "He's very well known, and he's afraid there might be scandal if I got mixed up in the case as a witness, or anything like that."

"I can readily understand his feelings." Vance nodded sympathetically. "And who, by the by, is this luckiest of men?"

"Say! You're good." She complimented him with a coy moue. "But I'm not announcing my engagement yet."

"Don't be horrid," begged Vance. "You know perfectly well that I could find out his name by making a few inquiries. And if you drove me to learn the facts elsewhere, then my promise to keep your name a secret would no longer bind me."

Miss La Fosse considered this point. "I guess you could find out, all right .. so I might as well tell you-only I'm trusting to your word to protect me.' She opened her eyes wide and gave Vance a melting look. "I know you wouldn't let me down."

"My dear Miss La Fosse!" His tone was one of pained surprise.