The Lion's Mouse   By: Charles Norris Williamson (1859-1920)

by

C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON

Frontispiece By Harry Stacey Benton

Garden City New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1919

Copyright, 1919, by C. N. & A. M. Williamson All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian

[Illustration: Suddenly he became conscious of a perfume, and saw a young and beautiful woman hovering at the door.

'Oh, do help me!' she said. ]

CONTENTS

I. THE LION

II. THE NET

III. THE MOUSE

IV. THE MURMUR OF THE STORM

V. ON THE WAY TO THE CAR

VI. THE PARCEL WITH THE GOLD SEALS

VII. THE QUEEN'S PEARLS

VIII. BEVERLEY TALKS

IX. THE BLUFF THAT FAILED

X. THE BLUFF THAT WON

XI. O'REILLY'S WAISTCOAT POCKET

XII. THE HORIZONTAL PANEL

XIII. "THERE CAN BE NO BARGAIN"

XIV. THE STONE COPING

XV. THE NUMBER SEVENTEEN

XVI. A QUOTATION FROM SHAKESPEARE

XVII. THE MYSTERY OF THE BOUDOIR

XVIII. DEFEAT

XIX. THE BROWN TRUNK

XX. MURDER

XXI. "KIT!"

XXII. THE VOICE THAT DID NOT SEEM STRANGE

XXIII. "WHAT'S DONE CAN'T BE UNDONE"

XXIV. ROGER'S APPOINTMENT AT THE CLUB

XXV. KRANTZ'S KELLER

XXVI. THE GIRL IN PINK

XXVII. WHEN BEVERLEY CAME HOME

XXVIII. MR. JONES OF PEORIA

XXIX. ACCORDING TO THE MORNING PAPERS

XXX. WHAT CLO DID WITH A KNIFE

XXXI. THE NINE DAYS

XXXII. "STEPHEN'S DEAD!"

XXXIII. THE PATCH ON THE PILLOW

XXXIV. TRAPPED

XXXV. THE TIME LIMIT OF HOPE

XXXVI. "WE DO THINGS QUICKLY OVER HERE"

XXXVII. THE TELEGRAM

XXXVIII. WHO IS STEPHEN?

XXXIX. ON THE ROAD TO NEWPORT

THE LION'S MOUSE

I

THE LION

Roger Sands had steel gray eyes, a straight black line of brows drawn low and nearly meeting above them, thick black hair lightly powdered with silver at the temples, and a clean shaven, aggressive chin. He had the air of being hard as nails. Most people, including women, thought him hard as nails. He thought it of himself, and gloried in his armour, never more than on a certain September day, when resting in the Santa Fé Limited, tearing back to New York after a giant's tussle in California. But it was hot weather, and he had left the stateroom door open. Everything that followed came from this.

Suddenly he became conscious of a perfume, and saw a woman hovering, rather than standing, at the door. At his look she started away, then stopped.

"Oh, do help me!" she said.

She was young and very beautiful. He couldn't stare quite as coldly as he ought.

"What can I do for you?" was the question he asked.

He had hardly opened his mouth before she flashed into the stateroom and shut the door.

"There's a man.... I'm afraid!"

Though she was young and girlish, and spoke impulsively, there was something oddly regal about her. Princesses and girl queens ought to be of her type; tall and very slim, with gracious, sloping shoulders and a long throat, the chin slightly lifted: pale, with great appealing violet eyes under haughty brows, and quantities of yellow brown hair dressed in some sort of Madonna style.

"You needn't be afraid," he said. "Men aren't allowed to insult ladies in trains."

"This man hasn't insulted me in an ordinary way. But I'm in dreadful danger. American men are good to women, even strangers. You can save my life, if you will or more than my life. But there's only one way." Her words came fast, on panting breaths, as though she had been running. The girl had stood at first, her hand on the door knob, but losing her balance with a jerk of the train, she let herself fall into the seat. There she sat with her head thrown wearily back, her eyes appealing to the eyes that looked down at her.

A queer fancy ran through the man's brain. He imagined that a woman being tried for her life might look at the judge with just that expression. "What do you mean?" asked Sands.