"But you said a whole lot more than that," Mrs. Harrington reminded him. "When our baggage was being examined at Dover, you spoke about that man of mystery who is known as R. J. It was cumulative, Mr. Denby, and on the whole you did it rather well. My bank-book is a living witness to your eloquence."
Ethel asked rather eagerly, "But this R. J., Mr. Denby, what is he?"
"I've heard of him," Michael answered. "Some man at the club told me about him, but I very soon sized that matter up. If you want to know my opinion, Ethel, R. J. is the bogey man of the Customs. If they suspect an inspector he receives a postal signed R. J., and telling him to watch out. It's a great scheme, which I recommend to the heads of big business corporations. I don't believe in R. J."
Ethel looked up at Denby brightly. "But you really believe in him, don't you?"
"I only know," he told her, "that R. J. has many enemies because he has made many discoveries. Unquestionably he does exist for all Mr. Harrington's unbelief. He's supposed to be one of these impossible secret service agents, travelling incognito all over the globe. He is known only by his initials. Some people call him the storm-petrol, always in the wake of trouble. Where there is intrigue among nations, diplomatic tangles, if the Japs steal a fortification plan, or a German cross-country aeroplane is sent to drop a bomb on the Singer Building, R.J. is supposed to be there to catch it."
"What an awfully unpleasant position," Nora shuddered.
"Think of a man deliberately choosing a job like that!" Monty commented.
"So," Denby continued, "when a friend of mine in Paris told me that R.J. had been requested by the government to investigate Customs frauds, I knew there would be more danger in the smuggling game than ever. I warned Mrs. Harrington because I did not want to see her humiliated by exposure."
"That's mighty good of you, Denby," Michael said appreciatively; "but all the same I don't see how--supposing she had slipped in without any fuss some stuff she had bought in Paris or London and ought to have declared--I don't see how if they didn't know it, they could blackmail her."
"That's the simplest part of it," Denby assured him. "The clerk in the kind of store your wife would patronize is most often a government spy, unofficially, and directly after he has assured the purchaser that it is so simple to smuggle, and one can hide things so easily, he has cabled the United States Customs what you bought and how much it cost."