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<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> <h3>TRAVERS GLADWIN GETS A THRILL.</h3> A ring at the door bell should suggest to the ordinary mind that some person or persons clamored for admission, but Whitney Barnes’s announcement seemed to have difficulty in hammering its way into Travers Gladwin’s gray matter and thence downward into the white matter of his brain cells. “What is some one at the door for?” he asked vacuously. “To see you, of course,” snapped Barnes. “Nonsense!” exclaimed the other with annoyance. “The house has been closed for ages and you are the only one who knows I am home. Why I”––– Bateato skimmed in, grinning like a full moon. “Well, what is it?” his master asked, shortly, “Two ladies, sair!” “Two––that’s good!” chimed in Barnes. “They must have got a wireless that I was here.” “What do they want?” Gladwin addressed Bateato. “You, sair,” replied the Jap. “They say you come to door one minute.” <div></div> “Two ladies to see me? Are you sure?” Travers Gladwin was both bewildered and embarrassed. “Ees, sair!” Bateato assured him. “Did you tell them that I was here?” “They no ask. They say, ‘Please, Mr. Gladwin come to door!’” “Well, you tell them Mr. Gladwin is not at home––that I’m out, away––in Egypt.” “Ees, sair,” and Bateato was about to skim out into the hallway again when Barnes stopped him. “Wait a minute, Bateato––what do they look like?” “Look nice, sair,” and Bateato’s moon-like grin returned in full beam. “You’re sure?” asked Barnes, gravely. “Oh, fine,” uttered the Jap, enthusiastically. “Young?” inquired Barnes. “Ees, sair––much young––come in autbile. I tell them you no home?” turning to Gladwin. “No, wait,” responded Gladwin, his curiosity taking fire. “You tell them to come in.” “They say you come door.” “Very well,” but Whitney Barnes stopped him. “Better see them in here, Travers. If they really want to see you they’ll come in. Ask them to come in, Bateato.” The little Jap was gone with the speed and noiselessness of a mouse. “Who in heaven’s name can it be?” whispered Travers Gladwin as Bateato could be heard lisping in the vestibule. Before Whitney Barnes managed to frame a reply a swift, muffled step was audible and Helen Burton stood framed in the narrow space between the portières. Her timid cousin stopped behind her, staring timidly over her shoulder. She was manifestly surprised and startled as she paused and regarded the two young men. In point of startled surprise, however, Travers Gladwin’s emotion matched hers. He stared at her almost rudely in his amazement and involuntarily he turned to Whitney Barnes and said under his breath: “The grapefruit girl!” Whitney Barnes’s lips merely framed: “No! You don’t mean it!” He was going to add something more, when the two girls came on into the room diffidently and stood by the great carved table, close together, as if prepared to cling to one another in case something extraordinary happened. Travers Gladwin was the first of the two young men to come to their rescue. “Pardon me! Did you wish to see me?” he said with his best bow. “No,” replied Helen Burton quickly, her lips trembling; “we want to see Mr. Gladwin, please.” The young man did not recover instantly from this staggering jolt, and a clock somewhere in the great hall nearby ticked a dozen strokes before he managed to mumble: <div></div> “Well––er––I am”–– “Isn’t he here?” broke in the brown-haired beauty, breathlessly. “His man just asked us to come into this room to see him.” “What Mr. Gladwin did you want?” asked that young man incoherently. “Why, Mr. Travers Gladwin!” exclaimed the girl indignantly, the color mantling to her forehead. “Is there more than one?” “Well––er––that is,” the young man turned desperately to his friend, “do you know Mr. Gladwin?” “Do I know him?” cried Helen Burton, and then, with a hysterical little laugh as she turned to her cousin, “I should think I did know him. I know him very, very well.” Sadie Burton appeared both distressed and frightened and slipped limply down into one of the great chairs beside her. As Travers Gladwin’s features passed through a series of vacant and bewildered expressions and as the attention of Whitney Barnes seemed to be focussed with strange intensity upon the prettiness of the shy and silent Sadie, anger flashed in Helen’s expressive eyes as she again addressed the young man, who felt as if some mysterious force had just robbed him of his identity. “You don’t suppose,” she said, drawing herself to the full height of her graceful figure, “that I would come here to see Travers Gladwin if I didn’t know him, do you?” <div></div> “No, no, no––of course not!” sputtered the young man. “It was stupid of me to ask such a question. Please forgive me. I––er”–– Helen turned from him as if to speak to Sadie, who sat with erect primness suffering from what she sensed as a strange and overpowering stroke. She had permitted herself to look straight into the eyes of Whitney Barnes and hold the look for a long, palpitating second. While Sadie was groping in her mind for some explanation of the strange thrill, Whitney Barnes had flung himself headlong into a new sensation and was determined to make the most of it, so when Travers Gladwin turned to him and asked: “I rather think Gladwin’s gone out, don’t you?” Barnes nodded and answered positively: “He was here only a few minutes ago.” This reply drew Helen’s attention immediately to Barnes and taking a step forward she said eagerly: “Oh, I hope he’s here. You see, it’s awfully important––what I want to see him about.” Whitney Barnes nodded with extraordinary animation and turning to Gladwin impaled that young man with the query: “Why don’t you find out if he’s in?” While Gladwin had come up for air he was still partially drowned. Turning to Helen Burton, he forced an agreeable smile and said hurriedly: “Yes, if you’ll excuse me a moment I’ll see, but may I give him your name?” <div></div> It was Helen’s turn to recoil and stepping to where Sadie had at last got upon her feet, she whispered: “Shall I tell him? They both act so strangely.” “Oh, no, Helen, dear,” fluttered Sadie. “It may be some awful trap or something.” While this whispered conclave was going on Travers Gladwin made a frantic signal to Whitney Barnes behind his back and mumbled: “Try and find out what it’s all about?” “I will––leave that to me,” said Barnes confidently. Leaving her cousin’s side, Helen again confronted the two young men and said tremulously: “I’d rather not give my name. I know that sounds odd, but for certain reasons”––– “Oh, of course, if you’d rather not,” answered Gladwin. “If you will just say,” Helen ran on breathlessly, “that I had to come early to tell him something––something about to-night––he’ll understand and know who I am.” “Certainly, certainly,” said the baffled young millionaire. “Say that you want to see him about something that’s going to happen to-night”––– “Yes, if you’ll be so kind,” and Helen gave the young man a smile that furnished him the thrill he had hunted for all over the globe, with a margin to boot. “I’ll be right back,” he gasped, spun on his heel and passed dizzily out into the hallway. <hr class="toprule" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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