"I am not such an ingrate as to make you walk," she answered.
During the cross-town ride there was but one exchange between them.
"Jane"--Pape turned to her daringly, the humor twitches about his mouth defying any serious attempt which she might make to put him in his place--"I have to call you Jane, you see, because it is the only part of your name of which I feel sure."
As before, at a similar suggestion, she gave him a look of startled resentment. Then, with a faint but very sweet smile----
He did. "Should you mind telling me, Jane, whether what you are digging for in the park has any connection with the theft of that something you valued the other night?"
"I guess--I don't mind," said she, thoughtfully. "It has connection."
"Is it---- Of course refuse to answer if you wish, with the assurance that there can be no hard feelings between us. Is it, just possibly, buried treasure?"
"Central Park, if piled up with hay, would be a right sizeable stack. By comparison, any treasure which might have been contained within that snuff-box would be needle-sized."
The girl looked intolerant, as if at stupidity on his part.
"The treasure which I hope to unbury before those grave-diggers you saw can unearth it for some one not entitled to it is larger than all the park."
Even at this, Pape didn't doubt her entire sanity. She had mentioned a cryptogram; merely was being a bit cryptic herself.
"That," he finished, "you don't trust me."
A moment her blue eyes blazed into his. He was feeling quite scorched by her scorn. Probably he looked wilted. At any rate, her next move amazed as much as it refreshed him.
One of her ungloved, ringless hands slipped into his that lay idle on the leather of the seat; the fingers curled around it.
"I'd like to trust you. I don't mind admitting that." She turned so directly toward him that again he felt her clover-field breath across his cheek. "But you'll have to excuse me for the present. I just don't dare."
He held her hand hard, pulsant palm to pulsant palm. But he took his eyes off the temptation of her face; a second or so stared straight ahead, trying to resist--trying to answer for himself the question of her.
Who and what was she--this woman of his first, deliberate self-selection?