CHAPTER XXXVII.

HANDCUFFS AND LOVE.

Helen Burton could not have found a cozier place to faint in than that

ultra-luxurious den of Travers Gladwin. Every chair and divan in the

place invited one to swoon within its folds.

The young man had ordered his decorator to provide him with a chamber

wherein stiffness and formality would be impossible unless one stood

erect. The decorator had spent money with a lavish hand upon Spanish

leathers and silken stuffs from the near East and the Orient and he

had laid these trappings over the softest of swan's down. Once you

sank upon them you could not help a sensation of utter peace and

relaxation.

That final and irrevocable blasting of her ideal was a shock upon many

shocks that the young girl had experienced within the course of a few

hours and that she reached the den on her feet was due more to

Bateato's strength and agility than to any nervous or physical force

within her slender body.

The little Jap had fairly flown up the stairs with her in such fashion

that she had no distinct recollection of her feet touching any stable

surface. Then he had turned a sharp corner while she seemed to stream

behind him like a fluttering pennant, and next she had felt herself

sink into a soft, delicious embrace, when her senses left her and she

seemed to drop pleasantly through fathomless space.

It was a great crimson chair embroidered with yellow poppies

into which Bateato had dropped his burden, then switched on a

myriad of tiny lamps suspended from the ceiling by slim chains of

different lengths or gleaming from dark niches and embrasures in

the tapestry-hung walls.

All these subdued and colored lights mingled to produce a wonderfully

soft and reposeful effect, and when at last Helen opened her eyes--and

her swoon had been of only a few minutes' duration--she was sure that

the setting was a dream and half expected some impossible creature of

phantasmagoria to rise from the floor and address her.

Then she felt an intermittent draught upon her cheek and looked up to

see Whitney Barnes fanning her with an elaborate contrivance of

peacock feathers that was alleged to have once done duty in the harem

of Abdul Hamid, one-time Sultan of Turkey.

She was not sure at first that this strange looking being who fanned

her in such an amazing fashion was the young friend of the real

Travers Gladwin who had appeared on the scene from time to time during

that fateful afternoon, for his features were far from being in

repose. Positive torture was written on his clean-cut boyish face as

he wielded that fast fan in his handcuffed hands as if it were a task

imposed upon him by some evil spirit.

Certainly there was no grace in the savage gestures of his arms as his

wrists twisted and writhed in their shackles, but he stuck to his task

desperately, now and then hissing over his shoulder at Bateato to

learn why in thunder he didn't find smelling salts or whiskey or

brandy or something with which to restore the young lady to

consciousness.

And on his part, Bateato was racing about like a scared mouse, diving

into mysterious chests and cabinets or under divans or climbing up the

walls to explore recessed shelves. His activities were confined to

that one chamber, for a big, implacable policeman stood at the

entrance, with orders to keep his eye on the young woman and the Jap

and see that they did not escape or attempt to assist the vanished

picture expert in concealing himself or getting away.

As Helen's dazed faculties gradually resumed their normal activities

and she realized that Whitney Barnes was a reality, the humor of the

situation suddenly struck her fancy and she smiled. She was smiling

with eyes and lips when young Barnes turned back his head from another

reproach of Bateato and looked to see how she was coming on.

"Thank heaven!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were dead. I wanted to go

out for a doctor, but these confounded policemen wouldn't let me--yes,

and they wouldn't unlock me. Have I fanned enough? I'm pretty well

tuckered out, and these feathers get in one's nose so. Then this is an

extraordinary kind of a fan--they use them in harems or something of

the sort, and I've never fanned in harems."

"Please stop, then," laughed Helen, "and I'm a thousand times obliged

to you. If I could only have a glass of water I think I would be

myself again."

Bateato had at last pried into a cabinet that contained a decanter of

brandy and strange looking Moorish goblets, and from some curtained

enclosure he obtained cold water from a faucet. A sip of the potent

brandy and draught of water brought the color back to the girl's

cheeks and the light to her eyes. The change was so reassuring that

Whitney Barnes actually beamed and for a few moments dropped all

thought of his handcuffs.

"My, but you are beautiful!" he said impulsively. "I don't blame

Travers for going daffy in the Ritz, and do you know your eyes are

exactly like your cousin's!"

Helen laughed in spite of herself at the young man's headlong gush of

words, then became suddenly serious.

"We haven't time to talk about eyes now," she said soberly. "You must

assist me in telling these policemen how I brought this terrible

embarrassment upon Mr. Gladwin."

"Nothing of the sort," retorted Barnes. "He wouldn't hear of it. He'd

cut off both his arms before he'd allow your name to be dragged into

such a sensation. And I'd add mine, too, willingly, with these

bracelets on them."

"But that detective said he had a warrant for Mr. Gladwin for eloping

with me," cried Helen, blushing scarlet. "And, you know"----

"Yes, I know you're going to weep or faint or something else. Tell me

about your cousin--she's not m-m-married?"

"Sadie married!" ejaculated Helen. "Why, she's deathly afraid of men.

She's the most timid little thing in the world."

"Good!" cried Barnes, enthusiastically. "These handcuffs are not half

bad, now you tell me that."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Helen, her eyes twinkling.

"Oh, nothing," said Barnes, trying to look unconcerned. "She's very

young?" he added quickly.

"A year younger than I am," said Helen, mischievously. There was

something positively fascinating about the intense seriousness that

had fallen upon the nervous features of Whitney Barnes.

"She's not too young to marry?" was his next query.

"N-no," Helen hesitated, "though I suppose you'd have to ask Auntie."

"Well, you didn't have to do that," he said in alarm. "Oh, I beg your

pardon," he added quickly, "please forgive me."

"You are forgiven," said Helen, with a catch in her breath; then

resolutely, "but that is all over with. It wasn't really real--only a

bad dream."

"Of course, it wasn't real," sympathized Barnes. "That fellow just

hypnotized you--and my eye, but he's a wonderful looking chap--sort of

a Hercules and Adonis all thrown into one. But to get back to

Sadie--I'm going to marry her."

"You are!" Helen half started from her chair.

"Be calm; be calm," and he waved her down with his shackled hands.

"When I say I'm going to marry her I merely state a fond belief I have

been cherishing since, m'm--well since a very long time ago to-day or

yesterday, for to-day is to-morrow by this time, you know. Now don't

stop me--I say I am going to marry your cousin because I believe in

Destiny with a big D. Do you?"

"I did," said Helen grimly, "but now I don't."

"Oh, yes, you do," Barnes breezed on. "You may not think that you

believe you do, but you really do, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised

if the destiny you thought out--as far as the name goes--Travers

Gladwin, I mean--comes true after all. But to come back to Sadie

and my Destiny. I have really got to marry her--orders from

headquarters!"

"Orders from headquarters!" gasped Helen.

"Exactly! My governor--that is, my dad--that is, the pater--wrung a

promise from me, issued a command, a ukase, an ultimatum--said:

'Whitney Barnes, you go right out and get married and bring home a lot

of grand-children.' No; that wasn't it exactly--now let me think a

moment. Yes, I've got it--he said: 'You've simply got to marry and

settle down or I'll turn you out into the street.'"

"Wasn't that enough to take the wind out of you, when you'd never

given the idea of marriage a thought. Simply bowled me over. At first

I refused point blank, but when I saw how cut up the poor old dad was

about it I shook his hand and said: 'Pater, done--I'll go right out

and find a wife.' And I did."

"What!" said Helen faintly. "You went right out and got married?"

"No, no, no, my dear cousin. I simply found Sadie."

"And have you asked her? Not surely while we were here this

afternoon."

"Oh, I saw her later--when she came to-night with your aunt, while

your aunt was searching all over the place for you. Not that I really

asked her then, but we looked at each other, you know, and I think we

liked each other--and that's a big start. I just know we'll get

married--we're soul-mates! There isn't any doubt of it."

"Well, it strikes me," said Helen severely, "that you're a trifle

conceited."

"Indeed I am," was his startling response. "You've got to be, in love.

If you don't think you're pretty fine how are you going to convince

anybody else that you are? But you'll have to excuse me for a

moment--these bracelets are cutting my wrists to pieces. I must find

that man who locked me up. You must stay here till I come back--I

won't be a minute," and the young man darted out of the room with a

ludicrous diving motion of his arms as he parted the heavy crimson

silk hangings at the doorway and caromed against the big policeman on

guard.