"While the iron is hot--strike," murmured Madison. He gazed a moment
longer at the group--Mrs. Thornton's hand was on her husband's shoulder
now--then his eyes roved over the frenzied scenes still being enacted
everywhere upon the lawn. "I wonder?" he muttered. The frown on his
forehead cleared suddenly. "Of course!" said he to Pale Face Harry.
"It's a cinch--it's as good as done!"

Pale Face Harry stared at him queerly.

"No, Harry," smiled Madison, "my pulse is quite normal now, thank you.
Listen. This is where we call the first showdown on cold hands--and the
dealer slips himself an ace." He drew a key from his pocket and put it
in Pale Face Harry's hand. "That's the key of the small trunk in my
room at the hotel--front room, right hand side of the hall. There's a
check-book in the tray--and I'll give you twenty minutes to get back
here with it. You'll find me somewhere around here, but you needn't let
the whole earth in on the presentation--see? Now beat it!"

As Pale Face Harry hurried away, Madison, seemingly as aimless, as
hysterical as the hundreds about him, moved here and there, but
unostentatiously he kept nearing the upper end of the lawn, and,
finally, hidden by the woodshed at the further end of the cottage, he
slipped quickly around to the rear. Here the garden stretched almost to
the edge of the sandy beach--not a soul was in sight--and the beat of
the surf deadened the sound from the front lawn to little more than a
low, indistinct murmur.

Quickly now, Madison stepped to where one of the old-fashioned windows,
that swung inward from the center like double doors, was open, and,
reaching in his hand, tapped sharply twice in succession with his