Harry Townsend and Gladys came up at this minute. Harry had promised to take Miss Stuart indoors to watch the dancing. There was a curious, restless look in the man’s eyes, but his manners were as charming as ever.
This was Barbara’s chance. She lagged behind the others, and bowed her head slowly in the direction of Miss Sallie’s escort. A strange, blond man, with a curly light mustache, standing some distance off, returned her bow.
All evening Ralph did not come near Barbara. He devoted himself to Grace, who was wise enough to guess that Bab and Ralph must have had a quarrel. But Barbara did not understand. Not having realized that Ralph had felt snubbed when she dismissed him a little while before, she supposed he had grown tired of her.
To tell the truth, Barbara was dull. All the merry, sparkling fun had gone out of her for this one evening. Whether she danced, or talked or rested quietly, she saw Harry Townsend’s face as it had looked at her for a single minute in the gypsy tent. “I am not a coward,” thought Barbara, “but I shall have to be careful if he discovers I was the gypsy who told his fortune this afternoon.”
Barbara was right.
Harry Townsend knew there was just one person in Newport who suspected him of being a thief; this person must be put out of the way. The fine Raffles preferred not to use violence, but at any cost he must win.
Harry Townsend had not recognized Bab in the gypsy tent, which served, for the time, to avert his suspicions from her. He believed she had only arrived, when he met her with Miss Stuart late in the evening. Then who was the gypsy? Either Barbara had seen her, some time in the afternoon, and told her the story of the necklace, or there was some one else who believed he had had a part in the robberies. He must find out.
“Gladys,” Harry Townsend said, “don’t let us dance all evening. I have not had any kind of chance to talk to you alone. Come out on the veranda with me, won’t you?”
Gladys and Harry seated themselves on the front porch, whence they could look through an open window at the dancers.
“Do you know Mrs. Cartwright very intimately, Gladys?” inquired Mr. Townsend.