



Produced by Dianna Adair, Suzanne Shell, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries)









  THE BLUE LIGHTS


  Illustration: A hasty examination of the sailing list showed her the
  astonishing truth. Richard was not on board.




  THE

  BLUE LIGHTS

  BY

  ARNOLD FREDERICKS

  AUTHOR OF

  THE IVORY SNUFF BOX, ETC.

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  WILL GREFE

  NEW YORK

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY

  W. J. WATT & COMPANY




THE BLUE LIGHTS




CHAPTER I


The big, mud-spattered touring car, which for the past hour had been
plowing its way steadily northward from the city of Washington,
hesitated for a moment before the gateway which marked the end of the
well kept drive, then swept on to the house.

A man, stoutly built, keen of eye, showing haste in his every movement,
sprang from the machine and ascended the veranda steps.

"Does Richard Duvall live here?" he inquired, curtly, of the smiling old
<DW52> woman who came to the door.

"'Deed he do, suh. Does you want to see him?"

"Yes. At once, please. Tell him it is most important. My name is
Hodgman."

The servant eyed him with cool disfavor. "Set down, suh," she remarked
stiffly. "I'll tell him you is here."

The caller watched her, as she disappeared into the house, then cast
himself impatiently into a chair and lit a cigar.

He paid no attention to the attempts of two clumsy collie puppies to
attract his favorable notice, but contented himself with making a quick
survey of the wide comfortable veranda, with its big roomy chairs, the
wicker table, bearing a great jar of red peonies, the smooth green
lawns, swept by the late afternoon sun.

"Fine old place," he muttered to himself. "Wonder if I can persuade him
to go?"

As the car which had brought Mr. Hodgman on his hasty trip from
Washington dashed up to the front of the house, Grace Duvall, looking
very charming in a blue linen dress, was just approaching it from the
rear.

She held a pair of shears in her hand, and her apron was filled to
overflowing with hundred-leaf roses. "Dick--oh, Dick!" she called, as
she came down the long avenue of syring