The Dark Star

Halfway across the dark pasture she stopped short in her tracks.

"Have I got to carry you?" he demanded sharply.

"Don't have me locked up."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a--a thief."

"Oh! Excuse me. What are you?"

"You know. Don't humiliate me."

"Answer my question! What are you if you're not a lady crook?"

"I'm employed--as you are! Play the game fairly." She halted in the

dark pasture, but he motioned her to go forward.

"If you don't keep on walking," he said, "I'll pick you up as I would

a pet cat and carry you. Now, then, once more, who are you working

for? By whom are you employed, if you're not a plain thief?"

"The--Turkish Embassy."

"What!"

"You knew it," she said in a low voice, walking through the darkness

beside him.

"What is your name?" he insisted.

"Dumont."

"What else?"

"Ilse Dumont."

"That's French."

"It's Alsatian German."

"All right. Now, why did you break into that house?"

"To take what you took."

"To steal these papers for the Turkish Embassy?"

"To take them."

"For the Turkish Ambassador!" he repeated incredulously.

"No; for his military attaché."

"What are you, a spy?"

"You knew it well enough. You are one, also. But you have treated me

as though I were a thief. You'll be killed for it, I hope."

"You think I'm a spy?" he asked, astonished.

"What else are you?"

"A spy?" he repeated. "Is that what you are? And you suppose me to

be one, too? That's funny. That's extremely----" He checked himself,

looked around at her. "What are you about?" he demanded. "What's that

in your hand?"

"A cigarette."

They had arrived at the road. He got over the wall with the box; she

vaulted it lightly.

In the darkness he caught the low, steady throbbing of his engine, and

presently distinguished the car standing where he had left it.

"Get in," he said briefly.

"I am not a thief! Are you going to lay that charge against me?"

"I don't know. Is it worse than charging you with three separate

attempts to murder me?"

"Are you going to take me to jail?"

"I'll see. You'll go as far as Orangeville with me, anyhow."

"I don't care to go."

"I don't care whether you want to go or not. Get into the car!"

She climbed to the seat beside the wheel; he tossed in the olive-wood

box, turned on his lamps, and took the wheel.

"May I have a match for my cigarette?" she asked meekly.

He found one, scratched it; she placed a very thick and long cigarette

between her lips and he lighted it for her.

Just as he threw in the clutch and the car started, the girl blew a

shower of sparks from the end of her cigarette, rose in her seat, and

flung the lighted cigarette high into the air. Instantly it burst into

a flare of crimson fire, hanging aloft as though it were a fire

balloon, and lighting up road and creek and bushes and fields with a

brilliant strontium glare.