“As we two men are free from suspicion, only Mrs. Harrington remains uncleared.”
“This is all crazy talk,” Monty asserted.
“I know one woman, well known in New York, who goes over each year and more than once has made her expenses by tipping off the authorities to things other women were trying to get through without declaration.”
“You speak with feeling,” Mrs. Harrington said, and wondered if this friend of Monty’s had not been betrayed by some such confidence.
“Are you going to take warning?” Denby asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’ve been reading the American papers and are deceived by the annual warnings to intending European tourists. I’m a hardened and successful criminal.” She leaned forward to look at a dancer on the stage below them and Denby knew that his monitions had left her unmoved.
“When were you last at home?” she demanded presently of Denby.
“About six months ago,” he answered. “I shall be there a week from to-morrow if I live.”
The last three words vaguely disturbed Monty. Why, he wondered crossly, was Denby always reminding him of danger? There was no doubt that what his friend really should have said was: “If I am not murdered by criminals for the two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of valuables they probably know I carry with me.”
“Have you booked your passage yet?” she asked.