“That is a pretty song, my dear child,” exclaimed Miss Sallie Stuart, from a cushioned seat in the stern of the boat, “but you should substitute ‘naphtha launch’ for canoe. Nothing would induce me to ride in one.”

“The Count de Sonde is going to be at the fête in a canoe,” observed Maud Warren in the tone of one imparting a piece of valuable information. “He asked me to go with him, but Papa was unreasonable, as usual.”

“In a canoe with that little foreigner!” cried Miss Sallie in amazement. “Does he know how to paddle?”

“The count is an expert boatman,” replied Maud stiffly. She had mixed sensations of fear and dislike for Miss Sallie, although fear was the stronger sentiment of the two.

“I imagine his swimming and his canoeing are about alike,” said Ruth aside to Barbara; “just paddling in shallow water.”

The “Automobile Girls” were busily engaged in decorating their launch for the Venetian Fête, which was to take place that evening. The lake dotted with numbers of boats looked like an immense flower bed. Hundreds of craft of every land were anchored near the shore, each filled with gay parties of young people who were stringing up rows of Japanese lanterns, bunting and flags.

“There’s not a boat on the lake that can compare with ours,” cried Mollie proudly, as she tacked the end of a festoon of small banners to the awning-pole, while Barbara gave a finishing touch by crossing the silk flags of the “Automobile Girls” on the bow.

“If only the lanterns don’t catch fire this evening,” said Miss Sallie.

“What a pessimist you are, Auntie, dearest!” exclaimed Ruth. “We can easily pitch them in the water if they do, and still be very handsome with our banners and things.”

“Here comes the count,” cried Maud, who had ignored the conversation of the others and was busily scanning the multitudes of boats in search of her admirer.

Her friends politely controlled a desire to laugh when they saw the count presently emerge from the boats along the shore in a small canoe that was decorated with one lantern hung from a bamboo stick in the bow, while the French flag waved triumphantly from the stern. The count, in white flannels, was working laboriously with the paddle. His little mustache twitched in an agony of exertion and occasionally he paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

“The count is quite an athlete, isn’t he, Maud?” asked Mollie wickedly. “I should think he might lead the parade to-night.”

But Maud was not listening. Her whole attention was concentrated on the canoe, which was making straight for the launch.

“Here I am, Count,” she cried, waving her handkerchief to the young Frenchman, who, as soon as he espied the boat full of girls, had begun to paddle with a grand flourish, at the same time casting melting glances in the direction of Maud. But he had not calculated on the distance between the canoe and the launch, and a final, fancy stroke with the paddle, sent the frail little boat scurrying over the water.

It collided with the larger boat, and in an instant turned turtle, dragging the flag of the French ignominiously into the depths while the discomfited son of France, clung to the side of his boat, and wildly called for help.

At first the girls were speechless with laughter and the last of the De Sondes received neither sympathy nor aid. Even Maud joined in the merriment, while the enraged nobleman sputtered angrily in French and denounced America and everything in it as fit only for pigs.

Presently Barbara wiped the tears from her eyes and threw out a life preserver to the unfortunate man.

“There, Count,” she called, “you can’t sink as long as you hold on to that. We’ll see if we can’t right your boat, and you can paddle back to shore.”

“I’m sorry we can’t offer you the hospitality of our boat,” said Miss Sallie, “but we are anchored, you see, and the engineer is ashore. Besides, I am afraid your wet clothing would spoil our decorations.”

The count, however, was too enraged to remember any English. He shook his fist at the upturned canoe and poured forth a perfect torrent of maledictions against it.

Just then a passing launch paused and gave the needed assistance, taking the count on board and towing the canoe to shore. As the little boat was righted an envelope that had evidently fallen from the count’s pocket, floated past them in the current.

“You dropped something,” called Barbara, but the launch had already started for shore and the count did not hear her. Using the crook of her parasol Ruth tried to fish it out. As she drew it to the side of the boat it sank out of sight but not before she had read the inscription on it, written in an angular foreign-looking handwriting: “To Madame La Comtesse Sophia von Stolberg.”

Barbara, too, saw it, and so did Mollie, whose face flushed crimson with the memory of what her beloved countess had said to her that night on the balcony of Thorne House. At that very moment, pinned inside of Mollie’s white silk blouse, was the dangerous paper which “concerned the count very intimately.”

Was it about that mysterious document that he was now writing to the countess?

For the first time Mollie felt the shadow of a doubt cross her mind. It was only a tiny speck of a doubt, but it left its impression, try as she would to shake it off.

Ruth and Barbara exchanged glances, but said nothing. They had seen enough to know that some sort of correspondence was being secretly carried on between the Countess von Stolberg and the Count de Sonde. If Maud were to marry the count she would deeply regret it, the Countess Sophia had said.

Strangely enough, this speech came back to each of the three girls at the same moment.

Ruth felt that perhaps they had rushed too quickly into an intimacy with the countess. For the first time Mollie was inclined to be a little suspicious. While Barbara who had even more evidence against the Countess Sophia tried vainly to fit together the pieces of this most mysterious puzzle.

“Well, fair and beautiful ladies, are you quite ready for a sail on the Grand Canal? Have you your wraps and bonnets? Is Grace’s guitar on hand?” called Mr. Stuart that evening, after dinner, rapping on three doors one after the other.

“In a minute!” called a chorus of voices from the three rooms, while Mr. Stuart put on a look of resigned patience and waited for the girls to appear. At length, tired of waiting, he strolled toward the elevator when Marian De Lancey Smythe hurried along the corridor.

She averted her face when she saw Mr. Stuart, for Marian had sedulously kept out of sight for a number of days, and they had wondered not a little at it.

“Why, Miss Marian,” called the kind-hearted man, who had always felt an interest in the strange young girl, “aren’t you going to see the water fête to-night?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Stuart,” she replied, her lips trembling a little, partly from loneliness and partly because people were not often kind to her. “Mama is going with Mr. Duval and some friends, but I didn’t care to go with them.”

“Very well, Miss Marian; you must go with us, then. Get your wraps and meet us on the piazza.”

And ten minutes later, her eyes alight with pleasure, Marian made one of the party of girls who presently found themselves floating in the long procession of illuminated boats on the lake.

All the hotels had emptied themselves upon the lake front, and hundreds of boats had already filled and were forming in line for the water. The moon would not be up until very late, but the place was aglow with Japanese lanterns, which decorated the launches and rowboats and hung in festoons along the boat landings.

The girls had hardly got their lanterns lit when there was a burst of music, and the procession began to wind its sinuous way about the lake.

“The fireworks will begin in a moment, girls,” said Mr. Warren, “and then you will be a part of a wonderful spectacle to those on shore.”

Certainly the Stuart boat was one of the most picturesque of all the craft that floated in the parade. The glow of the lanterns made a soft illumination about the four young girls, each of whom wore a long broadcloth cape, a final gift from Mr. Stuart before leaving Chicago. Barbara’s was her favorite dark red, Ruth’s was pink, Mollie’s her own particular blue and Grace’s a delicate lavender.

“Daughter,” continued Mr. Warren, turning to Maud who in an elaborate white silk evening wrap, was leaning languidly back in her seat, “aren’t you feeling well to-night?”

“Oh, perfectly well, Papa,” replied Maud, resting her chin on her hand and looking out across the fleet of boats moving slowly along the shore. “But spectacles of this sort are so childish and tiresome, I think. They do bore me – oh, there’s the count,” she cried, interrupting herself.

Her father looked so grieved and annoyed that Mr. Stuart’s heart was filled with compassion for his old friend.

“See what a good time the other girls are having,” went on Mr. Warren, in a pleading tone. “Look how jolly they are in their bright capes. I wish you would get one, daughter. These grown-up things make you look so much older than you really are.”

He pressed the girl’s hand but she drew away with a petulant expression.

“Please don’t, Papa. You know how I detest public demonstrations.”

“Oh-h-h!” cried the others.

A sky rocket had exploded and thousands of stars hung for an instant suspended in mid-air. Then an entire artillery of Roman candles seemed to be let loose at once. There was a blare of trumpets, a grand burst of music and the gorgeous water pageant was outlined against the sky like an illuminated picture.

Other boats began dropping out of line after the music had stopped, and Mr. Stuart ordered the engineer to run farther out into the lake where the illumination could be seen to better advantage. Grace struck a chord on her guitar and began to sing: “’Tis night on Venice waters,” when Marian, to the surprise of the others, suddenly joined in with a sweet contralto voice.

“Why, Marian, I never dreamed you could sing like that,” exclaimed Ruth, when the song was done.

Marian blushed, but said nothing. She had hardly spoken during the whole evening.

The air was full of music that night and the sound of laughter and singing floated across the lake from scores of other boats. The strains of the “Marseillaise” came to them from a launch that Maud had been watching for some time.

“I know whose voice that is,” said Barbara. “It’s Monsieur Duval’s.”

“It is, I think,” replied Ruth, “although the boat is too far away for us to see him plainly.”

Marian drew a scarf over her head and crouched down in her seat.

“Could she be afraid of her own mother?” wondered Barbara, for Mrs. De Lancey Smythe was easily recognized as one of the occupants of the boat. The count, who was playing on a tinkling little mandolin, sat beside her. As the boat drew nearer they noticed another figure wrapped in a long blue broadcloth cape. It was that of a woman, sitting with her back to them. A scarf concealed her head and face.

“Barbara,” whispered Ruth, “are we dreaming or is it the Countess Sophia?”

Barbara strained her eyes to distinguish the figure. Mollie and Grace also had seen the familiar wrap and poor little Mollie’s face burned with something very like mortification.

The boat skimmed lightly over the water and in a moment only the lantern at its bow could be seen swinging in the blackness.

“It looks like the countess,” whispered Barbara briefly in reply. “Marian,” she said, turning to the other girl who had closed her eyes as though she wished to shut out the sight of the other boat, “we just saw your mother go past with Monsieur Duval and the count, and we thought – we were almost certain we recognized the other person in the boat. Did you notice who it was?”

Marian opened her eyes and looked straight into Barbara’s.

“I am sorry, Barbara,” she said sadly, “but I can’t answer that question to-night.”

CHAPTER XIX
RED DOMINOS

The water fête a thing of the past, the Warrens’ domino ball became the excitement of the hour.

The “Automobile Girls” were talking over their costumes when there came a rap on their door.

Grace responded, to find the corridor empty; but at her feet lay a sealed envelope addressed to Barbara, who hastily tore it open and read aloud the enclosed note.

“Maud and the Count have planned to elope during the domino ball. At midnight Maud and her chaperon will steal out of the side entrance of the hotel. The chaperon will wear a black domino, but will remain in her room until ten minutes before midnight, when she will go to the veranda, meet Maud, and the two will go to the east entrance of the hotel grounds, where they will be met by the count with an automobile. They will go to the village and be married there. Arrangements have been made and the license secured. Maud will wear a red silk domino and a black mask. Just over her heart will be a small black silk heart the size of the one enclosed. I promised to warn you should anything serious arise, and have done so at great personal risk. Stop the elopement if you can without outside aid. Some day I will explain why.

“M. S.”

“‘M. S.’ Marian Smythe. She is a good scout, girls,” said Ruth. “But I didn’t think that Maud would go so far as this.”

“This pattern for the heart – I imagine that Marian is suggesting that we all wear dominos exactly like Maud’s. But why?” put in Barbara.

“We’ll take that step in the dark, for Father is waiting now to telegraph for the silk to make our dominos, and discuss details later.”

“I did want a pink domino,” sighed Mollie. “But you’re right, Ruth; and the count will be a dizzy man before we’re through with him!”

“Won’t the count be suspicious on seeing five Mauds and change his plans?” asked Grace.

“He’ll not see five Mauds. There will be a big crowd at the ball, and four of the Mauds will carefully keep out of one another’s way,” explained Ruth.

It was after the girls had gone to bed that night that the full answer came to Ruth, so she aroused Barbara to tell her of the plan.

“I have it, Bab! We’ll switch couples on the count! I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take the risk, for you’re the only one tall enough to represent Maud. I’m sure that Mrs. De Lancey Smythe is to be the chaperon on the occasion, and if we can persuade Aunt Sallie – and I think we can – to take her place, our Count de Sonde will find himself with the wrong pair on his hands – and, oh, Bab, shan’t we have fun seeing the count rage!”

It was a brief statement of the plan, but Barbara understood.

“Maud will not be easy to fool, and what if the count gets the right pair?”

“Just before the hour set, one of us will get a note to Mrs. Smythe changing the place of meeting. There – at the new place – Maud and her chaperon will wait in vain for her count, who will be eloping with the wrong couple.”

“It leaves many loopholes for failure, but I can think of no better way; so I’m for it if your Aunt Sallie consents.”

“Monsieur Duval is the unknown X of the problem,” stated Ruth slowly, “but that’s one of the many chances we’ll have to take.”

At last it was the night of the ball.

“How lovely!”

One of the five red dominos paused on the threshold of the ball room, almost breathless with admiration. Glowing lights, exotic decorations, swaying, brilliantly clad figures moving to perfect dance music, made indeed an entrancing scene.

“Yes, lovely, but lovelier outside. Shall we go into the garden?” whispered a voice in the ear of the little red domino.

“Not yet,” she responded, and sped away among the dancers.

“Mademoiselle,” whispered a voice that made the blood of a second red domino tingle, “is it all arranged?”

“Yes,” she answered under her breath.

“You won’t fail us?” whispered the other.

“No,” she replied quietly, but there was a threat in his tone that boded evil. Then this red domino slipped away in the crowd.

Meanwhile, a third red domino was peering from behind a screen of palms when she felt her arm seized and, turning, encountered the angry little mask that had been pursuing red dominos until his brain reeled.

“Mademoiselle,” he hissed, “you are cruel! Why do you avoid me so?”

“Ah, Count, can’t you wait so short a time?” and the third red domino was lost in the crowd.

The fourth red domino had been amusing herself like a wilful butterfly on a summer’s day. But it was getting late, and she paused at length to look about her. As she passed a grotto in the garden, formed by palms and orange trees, she heard the low chatter of voices speaking French. A vine-covered trellis screened her from view. One of the voices she recognized as Monsieur Duval’s. She heard him say:

“In three quarters of an hour we shall start. The maid tells me the officer is asleep. She saw to that. The young one is on the veranda with the older one, and they never retire until after midnight. We must have that paper to-night, even though we use violence.” The fourth red domino did not wait for more.

“I must find Father,” she told herself. “How shall I ever get him in time? They’re talking of the countess, and Monsieur Duval intends to go to the villa!”

But what of the fifth red domino, the hostess of the great ball?

Time had hung rather heavily on her hands. No one recognized her, and, not being a graceful dancer, she was somewhat neglected.

CHAPTER XX
CONCLUSION

At about half-past eleven Barbara concluded that she had better deliver the letter to Mrs. De Lancey Smythe. Summoning a bellboy, she went to the woman’s room. On the way she showed the boy a dollar bill.

“This will be yours,” she said, “if you do exactly as I tell you. If, when you deliver this note, the recipient should ask who gave it to you, say ‘some one in a domino,’ then come away quickly. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the boy, his eyes on the dollar bill.

In a few minutes the room was reached. Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, in a black silk domino and mask, responded to the knock on the door.

“Now,” whispered Barbara, who kept out of sight, and the boy delivered the note which read:

“Meet me at the Casino gate. Same time. Have found it necessary to change meeting place.”

“Who gave you this, boy?”

“Some one in a domino,” he replied, turning away.

“Wait! What did the person say?”

“Just ‘take this note to room 601 and give it to the lady there.’”

“It’s from the count,” and, satisfied, she reentered the room.

Meanwhile, Ruth, forgetting Maud Warren, searched frantically for her father. In and out of corridors, smoking and supper rooms, ball room, verandas, and garden she hurried. The recollection of Maud returned, however, when over the hum of talk and laughter the strains of the “Marseillaise” floated out.

“In honor of De Sonde,” thought Ruth contemptuously.

Some one began to sing, and the place soon rang with the notes of the stirring French song. People began throwing confetti, and the air was flecked with the bright-colored stuff. It was midnight.

No one noticed two red dominos, each accompanied by one in black, steal from different doors of the hotel and disappear in the dark.

Ruth finally found her father standing in a doorway, talking to a little red domino.

“Father! I overheard Mr. Duval and some accomplices planning to rob the countess of a valuable paper to-night! Do send help at once!”

“Paper! Oh, Mr. Stuart, it must be the one the countess entrusted to me,” and Mollie pulled from her bosom a chamois bag.

Mr. Stuart took a paper from the bag and glanced through it. Only a few minutes later he and four officers were speeding toward the villa of the countess.

Meanwhile, Miss Stuart and Barbara had been assisted into an automobile waiting at the east entrance. As they neared the station Barbara became nervous. Was the chauffeur a confederate of the plotters or had he been hired to make the run knowing nothing of the details?

Before the car had come to a full stop the count leaped out and turned to help his companions alight. Barbara leaned forward and said sharply to the chauffeur:

“Return at once to the hotel without the gentleman. Ask no questions. You will be answerable to Mr. Stuart for any treachery.”

The car disappeared in the darkness, leaving the count dancing and gesticulating in anger.

When Mr. Stuart and the officers entered the drawing room of the countess’s villa they saw the old man who had before menaced the two women standing threateningly in front of them. Behind him was another man, evidently ready to respond to any command of the old man.

“The paper you seek is not here, Monsieur,” said the countess proudly.

“I say it is here! Give it to me at once!”

“Officers, this is your man! Take him!” shouted Mr. Stuart.

Two of the officers seized and handcuffed the second man, but the old man with surprising agility leaped from the room, and the officers could find not the slightest trace of him.

“Ah, Mr. Stuart,” said the countess, “I do not know what chance brought you to my rescue, but help was greatly needed and I am grateful.”

“Ruth overheard a talk this evening and sent us here to see if we could serve you. The plot was instigated by Monsieur Duval.”

“That old man was Monsieur Duval himself. He is a very dangerous enemy to have.”

“That I already know, Countess. After we learned of your danger, Mollie gave me the paper you had put in her care. It was hardly prudent to give such a document to a young girl. I think we are entitled to an explanation.”

“Ah, please not to-night, Monsieur! But may I ask you to bring Miss Stuart and the girls here to-morrow afternoon? Then I shall be glad to tell you my story.”

“Very well,” replied Mr. Stuart stiffly, displeased at the countess’ lack of frankness.

On Mr. Stuart’s return to the hotel the girls overwhelmed him with questions and called eagerly for a glimpse of the mysterious paper.

Mr. Stuart unfolded the document. It was signed by the Prefect of Police of Paris and stamped with the official seal. Two photographs were pasted to the sheet and under each was a description of the man.

“The count and Monsieur Duval!” gasped Ruth.

From the paper the girls learned that Duval was a French criminal who had served several terms in prison, but who was usually clever enough to escape detection. His real name was Jacques Dupin. The “count,” whose name was Latour, was merely a tool of Dupin’s.

“This says,” cried Ruth excitedly, scanning the paper, “that Dupin can assume any disguise he wishes. He is a linguist and a trained actor and is known as Gentilhomme Jacques, or Gentleman Jack. He plays only for big stakes.”

“How did the countess become involved in this, Mr. Stuart?” asked Barbara, and at the question Mollie’s pretty face clouded.

“The countess has asked us to the villa to-morrow afternoon to offer an explanation,” replied Mr. Stuart shortly.

At noon the next day Ruth rushed up to her companions with exciting news.

“Girls, the count, or Latour, was arrested this morning when about to board a train and has confessed that he had plotted to marry Maud, obtain control of her fortune, and then desert her! Duval was the brains of the plot. Mrs. Smythe was helping them, and, listen girls, she’s been arrested as a professional swindler!”

“Oh, poor Marian!” exclaimed Mollie sympathetically, to be echoed by the others. But just at that moment Marian came up to them, her face radiant.

“Oh, girls, such news! Mrs. Smythe accused me last night of spoiling her plans, and in her anger she let out that she’s not my mother! My mother, who died when I was a baby, was her neighbor. Some money was left me and Mrs. Smythe was made my guardian. She used the money, of course, and kept the truth from me. My name is Marian Dale. I’m poor, but I’m free for the first time in my life, and I’ll work!”

Mr. Stuart had come up and heard the last part of the tale; so he now broke in:

“You are not friendless, my girl. You must stay here as my guest with my other girls for a while, then we’ll discuss your future.”

“You are kind, Mr. Stuart. But I can’t be a burden. I must find work at once. But, oh, I’m grateful to you!” and her eyes were misty.

“I must turn my other girls on you, I see.”

Maud Warren was a changed girl when she realized the danger her headstrong conduct had placed her in. Her father, feeling that a real reformation had begun, asked Marian Dale to come to them as Maud’s companion and encourage her in a saner view of life. This appealed to Maud, and the two girls became close friends, much to the happiness of both.

That afternoon when the “Automobile Girls” arrived at the countess’s villa they were introduced to the Baron von Lichtenberg, who, the countess told them, bore a message from her father.

To the girls’ amazement and fluttered delight, the countess was in reality the Princess Sophia Adele von Nichtenstern. The princess wished to marry the Count de Sonde; and when her father insisted that she marry instead a noble of advanced years for reasons of state, she fled to America under the protection of her cousin and second mother, the Baroness von Lichtenberg, whom the girls knew as Madame de Villiers.

“But since then, my friends, my father has met the Count de Sonde and he has also learned how greatly the man for whom he intended me has persecuted me, so he has given his consent to my marriage with the count. You can imagine my consternation when I met the false Count de Sonde and learned that he was trying to marry your friend Maud. I then sent to Paris and learned the identity of these two men. I wish to tell you, too, that both Monsieur Duval and my other persecutors have been using my maid, and that on several occasions she has taken my clothes and impersonated me.

“Mr. Stuart, I did wrong to involve the pretty Mollie in my affairs; but my father had not then forgiven me and I feared to have him learn at that time of my whereabouts. Will you forgive me?”

The princess was to start for home almost immediately under the protection of the Baron and Baroness von Lichtenberg, but before leaving Florida she exacted a promise from each of the “Automobile Girls” and from Maud Warren as well that they would visit her when she should become the wife of the Count de Sonde.

After the princess had left Palm Beach a package was handed to Miss Stuart. In it was a gift for each of the Automobile Girls. Mollie received a handsome bracelet beautifully ornamented and set with jewels. Inside was inscribed “S von N. – F. de S.”

“Oh,” cried Mollie, “the count gave her this! How she must have loved it, and she gave it to me!”

Barbara’s gift was a gold filigree star of exquisite workmanship; Ruth’s a splendid oriental scarf embroidered in gold and silver threads, and Grace’s a beautiful gold chain.

The “Automobile Girls” spent two more gay and happy weeks at Palm Beach, then turned their faces northward once more, each going to her own home.

It was not until the next winter that they were together again, and what befell them then is told in the sixth and last volume of “The Automobile Girls Series” under the title, “The Automobile Girls at Washington; Or, Checkmating the Plots of Foreign Spies.”