diff options
Diffstat (limited to '76659-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 76659-h/76659-h.htm | 11438 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 76659-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 259329 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 76659-h/images/pg-11-image.jpg | bin | 0 -> 1371 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 76659-h/images/title-page-image.jpg | bin | 0 -> 182184 bytes |
4 files changed, 11438 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/76659-h/76659-h.htm b/76659-h/76659-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..27a29a2 --- /dev/null +++ b/76659-h/76659-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11438 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The seventh shot | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p3 {margin-top: 3em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + +/* === === */ +/* === QGC additions to standard CSS === */ +/* === === */ + +/* Avoids eBookmaker bug for epub2 conversion. */ +/* From Charlie Howard, 'post-processing for */ +/* epub', 08 Jan 2023 03:53. */ + +.x-ebookmaker .figcenter { margin: 0 auto 0 auto; } + +/* An alternative change to the ones suggested by Charlie and Jacqueline */ +/* is to use a div tag instead of a figure tag. If you do that, then */ +/* the ebookmaker code to downgrade a figure into a div for epub2 isn't */ +/* triggered, and the additional CSS is not added to the epub2 file. */ +/* Ibid. */ +/* NB The figure tag is HTML5 and is fine for epub3 but not epub2. */ + +/* Nigel's fix for non-illo dropcaps. This modified version is scaled */ +/* to have the whole of the dropcap'd word or phrase capitalised. */ + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: -4px; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter { + float: left; + font-size: 260%; + line-height: 0.80em; + margin-top: 0.09em; + margin-right: 5px; + margin-left: 4px; +} + +/* Keep the drop caps for epub3 and KF8. */ +/* */ +/* The changes below will only apply to epub2 */ +/* and mobi. */ + +.x-ebookmaker-2 p.drop-cap { + text-indent: 0; /* restore default */ +} + +.x-ebookmaker-2 p.drop-cap:first-letter { + float: none; + font-size: 100%; + line-height: 1em; + margin: 0; +} + +/* -------------------- */ + +hr.end-of-book { + width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 3em; + margin-right: 0; + margin-left: 0; + height: 4px; + border-width: 0px; + color: gray; + background-color :gray; +} + +table.toc { + width: 30%; +} + +.tdh { + vertical-align: top; + text-align: left; /* Hanging indent */ + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker table.toc { + width: 100%; +} + +p { text-indent: 1em; } + +.b2 { margin-bottom: 2em; } +.b3 { margin-bottom: 3em; } +.b4 { margin-bottom: 4em; } + +hr.r10 { + width: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 45%; + margin-right: 45%; +} + +.pagenum { font-family: serif; } + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowe02 { width: 2em; } +.illowe06 { width: 6em; } +.illowe25 { width: 25em; } + +.small { font-size: small; } +.x-small { font-size: x-small; } + +.bold { font-weight: bold; } + +.noindent { text-indent: 0em; } + +a { text-decoration: none; } +a.underline { text-decoration: underline; } + +/* === Transcriber's notes === */ +.transnote { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: small; +} + +.transnote-end { + background-color: #E6E6FA; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + color: black; + padding: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 5em; + font-size: small; + font-family: sans-serif, serif; +} + +p.TN-style-1 { + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1.5em; + font-size: small; +} + +p.TN-style-2 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1.0em; + text-indent: -1em; + margin-left: 3em; + font-size: small; +} + +@media print { .transnote { + margin-left: 2.5%; + margin-right: 2.5%; + } +} + +@media print { .transnote-end { + margin-left: 2.5%; + margin-right: 2.5%; + } +} + +.x-ebookmaker .transnote { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .transnote-end { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76659 ***</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowe25 x-ebookmaker-drop"> + <a rel="nofollow" href="images/cover.jpg"> + <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> + </a> +</figure> + +<div class="transnote chapter p4"> +<a id="top"></a> +<p class="noindent center TN-style-1 bold">Transcriber’s Note</p> + +<p class="noindent center TN-style-1">The cover image was restored by Thiers Halliwell and is granted to the public domain.</p> + +<hr class="r10"> + +<p class="noindent center TN-style-1">See the <a class="underline" href="#TN">end</a> +of this document for details of corrections and other changes.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="noindent center bold p4 b4" style="font-size: 160%;">THE SEVENTH SHOT</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h1>THE SEVENTH SHOT</h1> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center bold p2 b3" style="font-size: 120%;"><i>A Detective Story</i></p> + +<p class="noindent center bold b4"><span style="font-size: 80%;">BY</span><br> +<span style="font-size: 120%;">Harry Coverdale</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowe06"> + <a rel="nofollow" href="images/title-page-image.jpg"> + <img class="w100" src="images/title-page-image.jpg" alt=""> + </a> +</figure> + +<p class="noindent center bold p3"><span style="font-size: 100%;">CHELSEA HOUSE</span><br> +79 Seventh Avenue  New York City</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="noindent center p4"><span style="font-size: 80%;">Copyright, 1924</span><br> +<span style="font-size: 90%;">By CHELSEA HOUSE</span></p> +<p class="noindent center">——</p> +<p class="noindent center b4"><span style="font-size: 80%;">The Seventh Shot</span></p> + +<p class="noindent center p4"><span style="font-size: 90%;">(Printed in the United States of America)</span></p> + +<p class="noindent center" style="font-size: 90%;">All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign<br> +languages, including the Scandinavian. +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<table class="toc"> + <tr> + <td class="tdr x-small">CHAPTER</td> + <td class="tdl x-small"> </td> + <td class="tdr x-small">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">I.</td> + <td class="tdh"> “<span class="smcap">Brook Trout For Two</span>”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Woman in Purple</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The “Tag”</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">36</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Letter of Warning</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">51</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Miss Templeton</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">63</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Divided Danger</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">72</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Dark Scene</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">80</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Awaiting the Police</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">96</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Reconstructing the Crime</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">103</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Facts and Fancies</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">112</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">In the Star Dressing Room</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">123</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Two Doorways</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">131</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Initial</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">142</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">A Tip—and an Invitation</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">150</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">A Morning Call</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">156</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">A Scarlet Evening Coat</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">163</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Blind Trails</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">168</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Miss Templeton at Home</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">179</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Glimmers in the Darkness</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">190</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XX.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Checking Up</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">197</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Tony’s Report</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">206</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">“Rita the Daredevil”</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">215</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">’Twixt the Cup and the Lip  </span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">223</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">What Sybil Had Hidden</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">229</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">New Developments</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">242</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Wrenn’s Story</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">248</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">An Incriminating Letter</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">263</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">A Strange Summons</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">271</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Through the Night</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">279</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXX.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Whisper in the Dark</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">284</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">Tony Does His Bit</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">292</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The Lost Clew</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">302</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> + <td class="tdh"> <span class="smcap">The False Gods Go</span></td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">315</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="noindent center bold p4" style="font-size: 200%;">THE SEVENTH SHOT</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowe02"> + <a rel="nofollow" href="images/pg-11-image.jpg"> + <img class="w100" src="images/pg-11-image.jpg" alt=""> + </a> +</figure> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">“BROOK TROUT FOR TWO”</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">IT was twelve o’clock—a hot, sunny noon in the +latter part of August. Broadway blazed with the +last fiery effort of the passing summer; there was a +steady stream of humanity pouring up and down on +either side of the clanging cars, and occasionally +swirling between them. In spite of the temperature, +New York was as fervently busy as usual, especially +here on what is affectionately known as the Rialto. +For in nearly every theater in the Forties rehearsals +had begun, and those actors who were not already +employed were frantically hunting jobs. Gone the +brief weeks in which they had forgotten calcium and +make-up boxes; it was nearly September—time to +work.</p> + +<p>Chorus girls, half dead from three hours of ceaseless +dancing, came hurrying from stage doors, wiping +their dripping faces and talking shrilly of new +steps, tired legs, and the brutalities of their stage +managers. “Principals,” in scarcely less haste, repaired +to one of the big restaurants for a cold buffet +lunch, wearing the blank, concentrated expression +that is born of trying to memorize lines or to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> +estimate the cost of new costumes. Clean-shaven +young men, all dressed precisely alike, forgathered +on street corners or plunged pallidly into cafés. +Shabby little actresses, out of work and wearing +their best clothes of last year, scurried anxiously +from agent to agent.</p> + +<p>A few stars sank wearily into touring cars or +limousines and flew homeward for an hour and a +half of rest and refreshment before the long, grinding, +sweltering afternoon. Stage managers, with +scripts sticking out of their pockets and a grim and +absent glare in their eyes, strode along, mentally +blue-penciling the prompt book and cursing the company. +Authors crept miserably away to eat without +appetite and wonder if there would be any play at +all left by the date of the opening. In short, +theatrical Broadway was at one of its most vigorous +seasons of activity, and to walk along it was +like turning the pages of a dramatic newspaper.</p> + +<p>At the side door of one of the big, cool, luxurious +hotels extensively patronized by the profession when +it has enough money in its pockets, two young +women nearly ran into each other, laughed, and exchanged +greetings:</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye! How nice to see you again!”</p> + +<p>“It has been ages, hasn’t it? Are you lunching +here, too, Miss Merivale?”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know,” returned the younger and taller +girl, adding, with a frank laugh: “I was wondering +whether it would be too sinfully extravagant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> +to blow myself to a gilt-edged meal all alone. However, +I believe I had about succumbed to temptation; +I have a manager to see this afternoon, and I +really think I should fortify myself.”</p> + +<p>“Lunch with me,” suggested Kitty Legaye. “I +hate my own society, and I am all alone.”</p> + +<p>“For a wonder!” laughed the other. “Yes, I’d +love to, if you’ll let it be Dutch. I’ve been up and +down a thousand pairs of stairs this morning, and +I’m nearly dead.”</p> + +<p>They went together into one of the most comfortable +dining rooms in the city. They chose a little +table so placed that an electric fan, artificially hidden +behind flowering plants, swept it with a very +fair imitation of aromatic summer winds.</p> + +<p>Miss Legaye, who always knew exactly what she +wanted, waved aside the menu proffered by the +waiter and rapidly ordered: “Brook trout in aspic +for two. I’ll tell you the rest later.”</p> + +<p>Then she tossed off her fur neckpiece and turned +to the other girl.</p> + +<p>“I never asked you if you liked trout!” she exclaimed, +in a sweet, rather high voice which her +admirers called “larklike.” “Now, that’s so like me! +Do you?”</p> + +<p>“Very much,” said her companion, smiling. “I +don’t often get it, though. You are looking awfully +well, Miss Legaye!”</p> + +<p>“I am always well,” replied Kitty Legaye.</p> + +<p>She was an exceedingly pretty woman, already +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> +in her early thirties, but even by daylight she did +not look more than twenty-five. On the stage, with +the glamour of rouge and footlights to enhance her +naturally youthful appearance, she passed easily for +a girl in her teens. Very small, very dainty, with +the clear, ivory-white skin which keeps its freshness +so well, big dark eyes, brown curls, and a very +red, tiny, full mouth, she still made an enchanting +ingénue and captivated every one who saw her.</p> + +<p>To-day she was entirely charming in one of the +innocently sophisticated frocks she particularly loved +to wear—a creation of black and white, most daring +in effect, though demurely simple in cut. Always +pale by nature, she was doubly so now from fatigue +and heat, yet she still looked young and lovely, and +her smile had the irresistible and infectious quality +of a child’s.</p> + +<p>If at times her eye grew a bit cynical or her +pretty mouth a trifle hard, such slips in self-control +occurred seldom. As a rule she kept a rigid guard +upon herself and her expressions, not only because +an obviously ugly mood or reflection made her look +older, but because, if permitted to become a habit, +it would be perilously and permanently aging.</p> + +<p>Kitty Legaye was too truly clever not to know +that her one valuable asset, both as an actress and +a woman, was her quality—or illusion—of youth. +When she lost that, she shrewdly judged, she +would lose everything. She was not a sufficiently +brilliant actress to continue successfully in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> +character work after her looks had gone. And so far as +her personal and private life was concerned she +had lived too selfishly to have made a very cozy +human place for herself in the world.</p> + +<p>Not that she was a disagreeable or an unkind +woman; she could even be generous on occasion, +and she was almost always pleasant to her associates; +but the spirit of calculation which she +strove so hard to keep out of her face had left its +mark upon her life. She had few close friends, +though she liked many persons and many persons +liked her. She had long since drifted away from +her own people, and she had never been willing to +give up her independence for the sake of any man. +So, in spite of a great number of admirers and a remarkably +handsome salary, her existence seemed +just a little barren and chilly sometimes.</p> + +<p>We have said that she never had been willing to +give up her independence. That had been true all +her life until now. To-day she was considering just +that proposition. Did she care enough, at last, to +marry? Love—she had had no small measure of +that all her life, for Kitty was by way of being +temperamental; but marriage! That was another +and a vastly more serious matter.</p> + +<p>She looked almost wistfully across the table at +Sibyl Merivale. For a moment she had an unaccountable +impulse to confide in her. She wished +she knew her well enough. She looked, Kitty +thought, like the sort of girl who would understand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> +about this sort of thing—loving enough to get +married, and—and all that.</p> + +<p>Sybil was as unlike Miss Legaye as she well could +be. She was tall, and built strongly though slenderly, +like a young Artemis, and her eyes were very +clear and starry and blue. Her hair was of that +rare and delicious shade known as <i lang="fr">blonde cendrée</i>, +and the silvery, ashen nimbus about her face made +her brown eyebrows and lashes effective. Her skin +was very fair, and her color came and went sensitively. +She was not a beauty; her nose was decidedly +<i lang="fr">retroussé</i>, and her mouth too large. But +she was unquestionably sweet and wholesome and +attractive, and her lovely forehead and the splendid +breadth between her eyes suggested both character +and intelligence.</p> + +<p>Kitty looked disapprovingly at the dust-colored +linen dress she wore; it was far too close to the +tint of her hair to be becoming. Blondes, thought +Kitty, could wear almost any color on the face of the +earth except—just that! However, she felt rather +pleased than otherwise that Miss Merivale was not +looking her best. When she appeared in public with +another woman, she was well satisfied to have the +other woman badly dressed. She herself never was.</p> + +<p>Both women were honestly and healthily hungry, +and talked very little until they were half through +the trout. Then they met each other’s eyes and +laughed a little.</p> + +<p>“Thank goodness you don’t pretend not to have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> +an appetite, like most girls!” said Miss Legaye. +“I’m starved, and not a bit ashamed of it! Boned +squab, after this, waiter, and romaine salad.”</p> + +<p>“If you let me eat so much I shall be dull and +stupid,” declared Sybil. “And I want to be extra +brilliant to talk to my manager. I simply have to +hypnotize him into engaging me!”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Altheimer.”</p> + +<p>“Altheimer! You aren’t going into musical comedy, +surely?”</p> + +<p>Sybil flushed a bit and bent over her plate to hide +her discomfort.</p> + +<p>“I—I’m going into anything I can get,” she answered +in a low voice. Then she smiled and went +on more bravely: “I’ve been out of work since +March, Miss Legaye. Beggars can’t be choosers.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear—how horrid!” Miss Legaye felt sincerely +sympathetic—for the moment. “It’s a thousand +pities that you have to go into one of the Altheimer +shows. You can really act, and there—well, +of course, he doesn’t care about whether you +can act or not; he’ll take you for your figure.” And +she looked the other girl over candidly.</p> + +<p>Sybil flushed again, but answered promptly: “I +think he has some sort of part for me—a real part. +He knows I don’t sing or dance. You are rehearsing, +aren’t you, Miss Legaye?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; with Alan Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d tell me what you think of him!” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> +said Sybil, with interest. “He’s such a mystery to +every one. His first play, isn’t it? As a star, I +mean.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; Dukane is trying an experiment—starring +an unknown actor in a Broadway production. Pretty +daring, isn’t it? But Dukane doesn’t make many +mistakes. He knows Alan Mortimer will make good. +He’s got a lot of personality, and he’s extremely attractive, +I think. I—saw a good deal of him down +at Nantucket during the summer.”</p> + +<p>Kitty Legaye never blushed, but there was a certain +soft hesitancy about the way in which she +uttered the simple words that was, for her, the +equivalent of a blush. Sybil, noting it, privately +concluded that there had been something like a romance +“down at Nantucket during the summer.”</p> + +<p>Being a nice girl, and a tactful one, she said +gently:</p> + +<p>“Is it a good play, do you think?”</p> + +<p>Miss Legaye shrugged her shoulders carelessly; +the moment of sentiment had passed.</p> + +<p>“It’s melodrama,” she rejoined; “the wildest sort. +‘Boots and Saddles’ is the name, and it’s by Carlton; +now you know.”</p> + +<p>They both laughed. Carlton was a playwright of +fluent and flexible talent, who made it his business +always to know the public pulse.</p> + +<p>“What time is your appointment with Altheimer?”</p> + +<p>“Quarter past one.”</p> + +<p>“What an ungodly hour! Doesn’t the man ever +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> +eat? But finish your lunch comfortably; if you’re +late he’ll appreciate you all the more. Besides——”</p> + +<p>She paused, regarding the girl cautiously and +critically; and that evanescently calculating look +drifted across her face for the space of a breath.</p> + +<p>“Besides what?” demanded Sybil. “If I lose that +part, I’ll sue you for a job! Besides what?”</p> + +<p>Kitty, for all her pretty, impulsive ways, rarely +did things without consideration; so it was with +quite slow deliberation that she answered Sybil’s +question with another:</p> + +<p>“Would you like to come with Alan Mortimer?”</p> + +<p>“Mercy!” The girl put down her knife and +fork and stared with huge blue eyes. “Do you +mean to say that there’s a part open—after rehearsing +ten days?”</p> + +<p>“How do you know how long we’ve been rehearsing?” +queried the older woman.</p> + +<p>Sybil grew delicately pink. “I know a man in +the company,” she confessed, laughing shyly. +“Norman Crane—oh, he’s only got a little bit of a +part; perhaps you haven’t noticed him, even. It’s +a big company, isn’t it? But he’s quite keen +about your play.”</p> + +<p>“Norman Crane?” repeated the other thoughtfully. +“Why, yes, I know him. A tall, clean-looking +fellow with reddish hair and a nice laugh?”</p> + +<p>“That’s Norman! He isn’t a great actor, but—he’s +quite a dear.”</p> + +<p>Miss Legaye nodded slowly, still regarding her. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> +The notion which had come to her a minute before +seemed to her more and more markedly a good +notion, a wise notion—nay, even possibly an inspired +notion! Mortimer’s leading woman, Grace +Templeton, was a brilliant blonde with Isoldelike +emotions, and Kitty had loathed and feared her +from the first, for the new star swung in an orbit +that was somewhat willful and eccentric, to say +the very least of it, and his taste in feminine beauty +was unprejudiced by a bias toward any special +type.</p> + +<p>For a long time Kitty had yearned to get rid of +Miss Templeton. If the thing could possibly be +managed, here was a girl of undoubted talent—she +had seen her act and knew that she had twice the +ability of the average young player—presentable, +but not too radiantly pretty, and proper and conventional +and all that—not at all the sort of girl +who would be likely to have an affair with the star. +And then, if she was interested in young Crane, +why, it would be altogether perfect!</p> + +<p>“So you know Norman Crane,” she said. “Then +if you did come into the company, that would make +it particularly nice for you, wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,” the girl returned, frankly enough. +“We’re quite good friends, though I don’t see much +of him these days. We used to play together in +stock out West two years ago; we were both most +awful duffers at acting.”</p> + +<p>Kitty Legaye nodded as though fairly well satisfied. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> +It was on the tip of her tongue to say that +she would try to get Sybil a small part in the +play, with the chance to understudy Miss Templeton—it +was all she could even partially promise +until she had conferred with Dukane and Mortimer—when +her attention was sharply distracted by the +sight of two men who had just entered the room +and who were looking about them in choice of a +table. She uttered a quick exclamation, as quickly +suppressed.</p> + +<p>“Look at those two men standing near the +door!” she said. “There, close to the buffet. What +do you think of them? Do tell me: I’ve a reason +for asking.”</p> + +<p>Sybil’s eyes followed hers.</p> + +<p>The two men were both noticeable, but one of +them was so striking in appearance that one hardly +had eyes for any one else near by. He was a very +tall, very broad, very conspicuous type of man. +Everything about him was superlative—even the +air of brooding ill temper which for the moment +he seemed to wear. He was exceedingly dark, +with swarthy coloring, coal-black hair, thick and +tumbled, and deeply set black eyes. His features +were strong and heavy, but well shaped. Indeed, +he was in his general effect unquestionably handsome, +and the impression which he made was +one not lightly to be felt nor quickly to be forgotten.</p> + +<p>“Well?” insisted Miss Legaye impatiently, as Sybil +did not immediately speak. “I asked you what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> +you thought of him.” This time she did not say +“them,” but Sybil did not notice the altered word.</p> + +<p>The girl continued to look at the tall, dark man +as though she were mesmerized, and when she +spoke it was in a curious, detached tone, as she +might have spoken if she were thinking aloud.</p> + +<p>“He is a very strange man,” she said. “He +does not belong here in a Broadway restaurant. +He should be somewhere where things are wild +and wonderful and free—and perhaps rather terrible. +I think he belongs in—is it Egypt? He +would be quite splendid in Egypt. Or—the +prairies——” She spoke dreamily as she stared +at him.</p> + +<p>“You look as though he were a ghost, not a man!” +exclaimed Kitty, with a laugh. “I must tell him +what you said——”</p> + +<p>“Tell him?” repeated Sybil, rousing herself. “You +know him, then?”</p> + +<p>“My dear child,” said Kitty Legaye, “that is Alan +Mortimer!”</p> + +<p>At the same moment Mortimer caught sight of +her and strode toward her, passing between the +fragile little luncheon tables with the energy of a +whirlwind.</p> + +<p>“Guess what has happened now!” he exclaimed +in a deep but singularly clear and beautifully +pitched voice. “Dukane has fired Templeton, and +apparently I open little more than two weeks from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> +to-night without a leading woman! What do you +know about that!”</p> + +<p>“Without a leading woman? No, you don’t, +either,” promptly rejoined Kitty, the inspired. She +always liked a neat climax for a scene, especially +when she could supply it herself. “I’ve just picked +out Miss Merivale to play <i>Lucille</i>.”</p> + +<p>Breathless and amazed, Sybil looked up to meet +his eyes. They were dark and piercing. At first +she thought only of that, and of their fire and +beauty. Then something obscurely evil seemed for +a transient second to look out of them. “What an +awful man!” she said to herself. But he was holding +out his hand.</p> + +<p>“Did you think of that all by yourself, Kit?” +he said. A faint but rather attractive smile lightening +his moody eyes. “How do you do—Lucille? +You may consider the engagement—ah—confirmed.”</p> + +<p>But Sybil, as she drew her hand away, felt +vaguely frightened—she could not have told why.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE WOMAN IN PURPLE</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">MORTIMER had been drinking, else he would +never have assumed the entire responsibility +of engaging Sybil Merivale for the leading part in +his play. When sober, he had a very wholesome +respect for Dukane, the producing manager who +had discovered him and who was “backing him +blind” to the tune of many thousands of dollars. +But when he had even a little too much to drink, +the man’s whole personality and viewpoint underwent +a metamorphosis. He became arrogant, self-assertive, +unmanageable. Eventually it was this, +as even his friends and adherents were wont to +prophesy, which would be the means of his downfall.</p> + +<p>Now, though Dukane himself stood at his elbow, +the actor, with a swagger which he had too much +sense to use on the stage or when he was entirely +himself, cried:</p> + +<p>“Let us sit down here with you, Kitty, and +we’ll drink the health of the new <i>Lucille</i>.” Kitty +smiled indulgently as she watched him seat himself +and give a whispered order to the waiter which +presently resulted in the party being served with +high balls. Meanwhile, as Dukane also sat down, +Kitty introduced him to Sybil.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span></p> +<p>Dukane was short and squarely built, with gray +hair and steely eyes, a face as smooth and bland +as a baby’s, and an air so gentle and unassuming +that his occasional bursts of biting sarcasm came +upon his victims as a shock. His gaze, clear yet +inscrutable, swept Sybil Merivale in the moment +taken up by his introduction to her. He was +used to thus rapidly appraising the material presented +him.</p> + +<p>He was inclined to approve of her appearance. +She was not startlingly beautiful, but the hair +was unusual and would light up well. She carried +her head properly, too, and her low-voiced “How +do you do, Mr. Dukane!” was quite nicely pitched. +It would be worth while hearing her read the part, +at any rate. For once Mortimer had not too crassly +put his foot in it, as he was apt to do after four +or five high balls.</p> + +<p>That the actor had taken a good deal too much +upon himself in practically engaging Miss Merivale +without even consulting his superior troubled Dukane +not a whit. He was not a little man, and he +did not have to bluster in order to assert his +authority. His actors and actresses were to him +so many indifferently controlled children. When +they said or did absurd things, he usually let +them rave. If they really became troublesome or +impertinent—as Miss Templeton had been that morning—he +discharged them with the utmost urbanity +and firmness.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span></p> +<p>He sat down and quietly told the waiter to +bring him cold meat and coffee, while Mortimer +ordered more high balls. “Miss Merivale can come +back with us and read the part in the last act,” +Dukane said, sipping his coffee. “I shan’t ask the +company to go through the early part of the +play again to-day. In any case”—and he smiled +at the girl pleasantly—“in any case, Miss Merivale +will look the part.”</p> + +<p>“That’s more than Templeton ever did!” exclaimed +Kitty Legaye, with open spite.</p> + +<p>Dukane smiled once more. “Miss Templeton,” +he said, “is rather too—er—sophisticated to play +<i>Lucille</i>. She is growing out of those very girlish +leading parts.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you say,” interposed Kitty sharply, +“that she’s too old? She is—and, what’s more, +she looks it!”</p> + +<p>“She’s a ripping handsome woman, all the same,” +declared Alan Mortimer, scowling into his half-emptied +glass.</p> + +<p>Kitty bit her lip. “Of course <em>you</em> would be sorry +to see her go!” she began.</p> + +<p>“Who said I was sorry?” demanded the actor +rather rudely. “I am not; I’m glad. She was +getting to be a nuisance——” He checked himself, +a glimmer of something like shame saving him +in time. He turned to Sybil Merivale, and there +was a warm light in his black eyes as he added: +“I’m growing more glad every minute.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p> +<p>Sybil was uncomfortable. She hated this man +and feared him; she hated the tone of the talk, +the atmosphere of the table. She had a violent +instinct of repugnance when she thought of joining +the company. And yet—and yet a leading part, +and on Broadway, and under Dukane! She could +not, she dared not lose so wonderful a chance. +Her big blue eyes were eager and troubled both +at once.</p> + +<p>Dukane watched the play of expression in her +sensitive face. “Mobile mouth—quick emotions—excellent +eyes.” He went over these assets mentally. +Aloud he said, in the nice, impersonally +friendly tone with which he won people whenever +he had the fancy: “You need only read the part, +you know, Miss Merivale. You’re not committed +to anything.”</p> + +<p>Sybil looked at him gratefully; he seemed to +read her thoughts. All at once, with a surge +back of her usual gay courage, she cried, laughing:</p> + +<p>“Committed! I only wish I were—or, rather, +that <em>you</em> were, Mr. Dukane!”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” exclaimed Mortimer, a little +thickly. “’Course he’s committed! You’re under +contract, Miss—Miss M-Merivale. Word as good +as his bond—eh, Dukane?”</p> + +<p>He was deeply flushed and his eyes glittered. +In his excitement Sybil found him detestable. +Fancy having to play opposite that!</p> + +<p>“Suppose you eat something,” suggested Dukane, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> +pushing a plate with a piece of cold beef on it +in his direction. “Oh, yes, you do want it; you’ve +had a hard morning. Eat it, there’s a good fellow.”</p> + +<p>“A-all right,” muttered Mortimer, attacking the +beef somewhat unsteadily. “Must keep up m’ strength, I s’pose.”</p> + +<p>A waiter leaned down to him and murmured +something in French.</p> + +<p>“Eh?” said Mortimer. “Come again, George. +Try Spanish; I know the greaser lingo a bit.”</p> + +<p>The waiter spoke again in halting English. The +others could hardly help hearing part of what he +said. It concerned a “lady in mauve—table by the +window—just a minute, monsieur.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, damn!” ejaculated Alan Mortimer, and immediately +directed an apologetic murmur toward +Sybil. He got up, and walking with surprising +steadiness and that lithe, animal grace so characteristic +of him, made his way toward a table +where a woman sat waiting with an expectant face.</p> + +<p>“Grace Templeton!” exclaimed Kitty under her +breath. Her brown eyes snapped angrily. “I didn’t +see her before—did you, Mr. Dukane?”</p> + +<p>“I saw her when I first came in,” answered the +manager quietly. “That hair is so conspicuous. +Really I think she should begin to confine herself +to adventuress parts. She is no longer the romantic +type.”</p> + +<p>“<em>And</em> the dress!” Kitty shivered with a delicate +suggestion of jarred nerves or outraged taste.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p> +<p>Dukane dropped his eyes to hide the twinkle +in them. It was true that even in that lunch-time +Broadway assemblage, in which brilliant color +combinations in the way both of hair and of +garments proclaimed right and left the daring and +the resourcefulness of womankind, Miss Templeton +was a unique figure. Her hair was of a magnificent +metallic gold, and a certain smoldering fire in her +black-fringed gray eyes and a general impression +she gave of violent and but half-controlled emotions +saved her beauty from being merely cheap and +artificial and made it vivid and compelling. A +passionate, unforgettable woman, and her gown, +sensational as it was, somehow expressed her.</p> + +<p>The French waiter had drawn upon his fund +of native tact in calling it mauve. It was, as a +matter of fact, a sharp and thunderous purple—the +sort of color which is only permissible in +stained glass or an illuminated tenth century +missal. It was a superb shade, but utterly impossible +for any sort of modern clothes. It blazed +insolently against the massed greenery of the restaurant +window. A persistent ray of yellow August +sunshine, pushing its way past the cunningly contrived +leafy screen, fell full upon it and upon the +burnished golden hair above it. In that celestial +spotlight Miss Templeton was almost too dazzling +for unshaded mortal eyes.</p> + +<p>Now, as she sat looking up at Mortimer, who +stood beside her table, her expression was in keeping +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> +with the gown and the hair. It was violent, +conspicuous, crudely intense. Alan Mortimer’s expression, +in its way, was as violent as hers. They +looked, the two of them, as though they could +have torn each other’s eyes out with fierce and +complete satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Am I very late, Mr. Dukane?” said an agreeably +pitched voice just behind Sybil.</p> + +<p>Dukane started and raised his eyes. His face +brightened.</p> + +<p>“Barrison, my dear fellow, I am glad you came! +Do you know, you were so late that I had almost +forgotten you! Miss Legaye, let me present Mr. +Barrison; Miss Merivale, Mr. Barrison.”</p> + +<p>The newcomer smiled and sat down at the already +crowded little table.</p> + +<p>“If you say you had forgotten me,” he protested, +“I shall think you did not really need me +at all, and that would be a hard blow to my +vanity.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!” said Dukane. “Nothing could touch +the vanity of a dyed-in-the-wool detective. What +are you going to have, Barrison?”</p> + +<p>“I have lunched, thanks. If that is coffee—yes, +I will have a demi-tasse. I thought Mr. Mortimer +was to be with you, Mr. Dukane.”</p> + +<p>“He is talking to Miss Templeton over there.”</p> + +<p>Barrison’s eyes darted quickly to the other table. +“Your leading woman, is she not?”</p> + +<p>“She was,” said Dukane calmly. “At present +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> +we are not sure whether we have any leading +woman or not—are we, Miss Merivale?” And he +looked at her kindly.</p> + +<p>“And, what is more,” said Kitty Legaye irritably, +“we shall never find out at this rate. Do +you people realize”—she glanced at a tiny gold +wrist watch—“that it is nearly two, and that our +rehearsal——”</p> + +<p>“Nearly two!” Sybil’s exclamation was one of +real dismay. “And my engagement with Mr. +Altheimer——Oh!”</p> + +<p>“Altheimer, eh?” Dukane looked at her with +fresh interest. Whether a manager wants an +actress or not, it always makes him prick up his +ears to hear of another who may want her. “Telephone +him that you have been asked to rehearse +for me to-day, and that”—he paused, considering—“that +you personally look upon your contract as +very nearly signed.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Dukane!” Sybil flushed brilliantly. +At that moment she forgot her dread of being in +Mortimer’s company; she was conscious of pure +joy and of nothing else.</p> + +<p>“There—run along and phone him. You understand,” +he added cautiously, “I’m not really dependable. +If you are very bad, I shall say I never +thought of engaging you.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t be,” she laughed valiantly, and sped +away in the direction of the telephone booths.</p> + +<p>Dukane turned to watch the way she walked. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> +In a second he nodded. “Can hurry without +scampering,” he murmured critically, “and doesn’t +swing her arms about. H’m! Yes, yes; very good.”</p> + +<p>“What do you really think of her?” asked Kitty, +leaning forward. “You know she is my discovery.”</p> + +<p>“My dear girl, who am I, a mere worm of a +manager, to say? I haven’t seen her work yet. +She has carriage and a voice, but she may lose +her head on the stage and she may read <i>Lucille</i> +as though she were reciting the multiplication table. +I should say she was intelligent, but one never +knows. I engaged a woman once who was all +dignity and fine forehead and bumps of perception +and the manner born and all the rest of it; and +when it came to her big scene, she chewed gum +and giggled. I am too old ever to know anything +definitely. We must wait and see.”</p> + +<p>“She is charming to look at,” Barrison ventured.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you think so?” said the manager quickly. +“I am inclined to like her looks myself. And +she has youth—youth!” He shook his head half +wistfully. “Here comes Mortimer back again, +and in a worse temper, by the powers, than when +he went!”</p> + +<p>The actor was evidently in a black mood. He +made no reference to the woman he had just left, +but stood like an incarnate thundercloud beside his +empty chair and addressed the others in a voice +that was distinctly surly in spite of its naturally +melodious inflections:</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span></p> +<p>“What are we waiting for, anyway? Hello, Barrison! +Let’s get back to rehearsal.”</p> + +<p>“My own idea exactly,” said Dukane. “As soon +as Miss Merivale returns——Ah, here she comes! +Waiter——”</p> + +<p>“This is my party,” remonstrated Kitty.</p> + +<p>“Rubbish! I feed my flock. Barrison, you are +of the flock, too, for the occasion. How do you +like being associated with the profession?”</p> + +<p>The young detective laughed. Dukane looked at +him with friendliness. The manager was a man +who liked excellence of all kinds, even when it was +out of his line. Barrison’s connection with the +forthcoming play, “Boots and Saddles,” was a purely +technical one. A vital point in the drama was +the identification of a young soldier by his finger +prints. Dukane never permitted the critics, professional +or amateur, to catch him at a disadvantage +in details of this kind. He knew Barrison +slightly, having met him at the Lambs’ Club, and +found him an agreeable fellow and a gentleman, +as well as an acknowledged expert in his profession. +So he had asked him to show the exact +Bertillon procedure, that there might be no awkwardness +or crudity in the development of the +stage situation.</p> + +<p>Barrison himself was much entertained by this +fleeting association with the seductive and mysterious +world “behind the scenes.” His busy life +left him small time for amusement, and for that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> +reason he was the more interested when he came +upon a bit of professional work which was two +thirds play.</p> + +<p>He was a quiet-seeming chap, with innocent blue +eyes, a lazy, pleasant manner, and a very disconcerting +speed of action on occasion. His superiors +said that half of his undoubted success came from +his unexpectedness. It is certain that no one, +on meeting him casually and socially, would ever +have suspected that he was one of the most redoubtable, +keen-brained, and steel-nerved detectives +in all New York.</p> + +<p>The bill was paid, and every one was standing +as Sybil came back. She was a little breathless +and flushed, and Dukane, with a new note of approbation +on his mental tablets, got a very good +idea of what she would look like with a bit of +make-up.</p> + +<p>“I told Mr. Altheimer,” she cried eagerly. “And +he was quite cross—yes, really <em>quite</em> cross! I was +ever so flattered. I don’t believe he wanted me +one bit till he thought there was a chance of Mr. +Dukane’s wanting me.” She laughed joyously.</p> + +<p>“Very likely, very likely,” Dukane murmured. +“Why—what is the matter, Miss Merivale?”</p> + +<p>For the pretty color had faded from Sybil’s sensitive face. +Her big blue eyes looked suddenly dark +and distressed. “What is the matter?” the manager +repeated, watching her closely.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span></p> +<p>She pulled herself together and managed a +tremulous smile.</p> + +<p>“Some one is walking over my grave,” she said +lightly.</p> + +<p>But as she turned to leave the dining room with +the rest, she could not help another backward +glance at the brilliant figure in purple with the +golden sunbeam across her golden hair, and the +odd look which had just terrified her.</p> + +<p>Barrison, accustomed to noticing everything, followed +her gaze, and, seeing the expression on Miss +Templeton’s face, drew his lips into a noiseless +whistle. For there was murder in that look; Jim +Barrison had seen it before on other faces, and +he knew it by sight.</p> + +<p>As for Sybil, the memory of the woman in purple +haunted her all the way to the theater—the woman +in purple with the black-fringed eyes full of living, +blazing, elemental hate.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE “TAG”</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE stage entrance of the Mirror Theater was +on a sort of court or alley which ran at right +angles from one of the side streets near Times +Square. A high iron gateway which barred it +except during theatrical working hours stood half +open, and the little party made their way over +the stone flags in the cool gloom cast by the +shadow of the theater itself and the neighboring +buildings—restaurants, offices, and shops. It looked +really mysterious in its sudden dusk, after the midday +glare of the open street.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” said Jim Barrison, “this is the +first time I have ever gone into a theater by +the stage door!”</p> + +<p>“What a record!” laughed Miss Legaye. She +was in excellent spirits, and inclined to flirt discreetly +with the good-looking and well-mannered +detective. “And so you never had a stage-door +craze in all your properly conducted life! Don’t +you think it’s high time you re—no, it isn’t reformed +I mean, but the reverse of reformed. Anyway, +you should make up for lost time, Mr. +Barrison. Ah, Roberts! I suppose you thought +we were never coming. Every one else here?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span></p> +<p>She was speaking to the stage doorkeeper, a +thickset man of middle age, with a stolid face +that lighted up somewhat as she addressed him. +He did not answer, but beamed vacuously at her. +She was always charming to him, and he adored +her.</p> + +<p>They went on into the theater. Barrison was +taken in tow by Dukane. “Hello, Willie! Mr. +Barrison, this is Mr. Coster, my stage manager, +and I am inclined to dislike him, he knows so +much more than I do. Mr. Barrison is a detective, +and has come to help us with those finger-print +scenes, Willie.”</p> + +<p>“Pleased to meet you,” said Willie, absently +offering a limp, damp hand. “Gov’nor, is it true +you’ve canned G. T.?”</p> + +<p>“Quite true,” said Dukane cheerfully. “Let +me present you to Miss Merivale. She will rehearse +<i>Lucille</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Lord!” groaned Willie, who was hot and tired +and disposed to waste no time on tact. “About +two weeks before——”</p> + +<p>Mortimer lurched forward. “Say!” he began +belligerently. “She’s my leading lady—see? Any +one who doesn’t like——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, go ’way and take a nap!” interrupted Willie, +without heat. He was no respecter of persons. +“So <em>that’s</em> it! All right, gov’nor. I’m glad to see +any sort of a <i>Lucille</i> show up, anyhow. Even if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> +she’s bad, she’ll be better than nothing. No offense, +Miss Merivale.”</p> + +<p>“I quite understand,” said Sybil, so sweetly that +Willie turned all the way round to look her over +once more with his pale, anxious eyes.</p> + +<p>“Come on, folks; they’re all waiting,” he said, +and led the way onto the big, bare stage.</p> + +<p>Willie Coster was a small, nervous man with +a cynical pose and the heart of a child. His scant +hair was sandy, and his features unbeautiful, but +he was a good, clever, and hard-working little chap, +and even the companies he trained were fond of +him. He constantly and loudly proclaimed his disgust +with all humanity, especially the humanity of +the theaters; but he was usually broke because +he hated to refuse a “touch,” and every one on +earth called him Willie.</p> + +<p>He was a remarkable stage manager. He was a +true artist, was Willie Coster, and he poured his +soul into his work. After every first night he got +profoundly drunk and stayed so for a week. Otherwise, +he explained quite seriously—and as every +one, including Dukane, could quite believe—he +would have collapsed from nervous strain.</p> + +<p>Only a few electric lights had been turned on. +The stage looked dim and dingy, and the auditorium +was a vast abyss of unfathomable blackness. Close +to the edge of the stage, where the unlighted electric +footlights made a dully beaded curve, stood a small +table littered with the four acts of the play and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> +some loose sheets of manuscript, presided over by a +slim little youth who was Coster’s assistant. This +was the prompt table, whence rehearsals were, +technically speaking, conducted. As a matter of +fact, Willie Coster never stayed there more than two +minutes at a time.</p> + +<p>The company had already assembled. They +looked hot, resentful, and apprehensive. They +stood around in small groups, fanning themselves +with newspapers and handkerchiefs, and making +pessimistic conjectures as to what was going to +happen next.</p> + +<p>Every one knew that something had gone wrong +between Templeton and the management, and collectively +they could not make up their minds +whether they were glad or sorry. She had been +the leading woman of the show, and every one felt +a trifle nervous until reassured that another lead +would be forthcoming.</p> + +<p>It was Claire McAllister, one of the “extra ladies,” +who first recognized Sybil.</p> + +<p>“Gee, ain’t that the Merivale girl?” she exclaimed +to the young man who played a junior +officer in one very small scene. “I saw her in a +real part once, and she got away with it in good +shape, too.”</p> + +<p>The young man to whom she spoke looked up, +startled, and then sprang forward eagerly, his eyes +glowing.</p> + +<p>“Sybil!” he cried gladly.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> +<p>She turned quickly, and, laughing and flushing +in her beautiful frank way, held out both her +hands to him.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it luck, Norman?” she exclaimed gleefully. +“I’m to have a chance at <i>Lucille</i>!”</p> + +<p>Alan Mortimer had scarcely opened his lips since +leaving the restaurant. Now, with a very lowering +look, he swung his tall figure forward, confronting +Norman Crane.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I remember you,” he remarked, +with an insulting inflection. “Not in the cast, are +you?”</p> + +<p>Norman, flushing scarlet, started to retort angrily, +but Dukane stopped him with a calm hand upon +his arm.</p> + +<p>“All right, all right, my boy,” he said evenly. +“You’re in the cast, all right; but—come, come! +We are rehearsing a play to-day, and not discussing +personalities.”</p> + +<p>In some occult fashion he contrived to convey +his meaning to young Crane. It was not the +smallest of Dukane’s undoubted and unique talents; +he knew how to appeal directly and forcibly to a +human consciousness without putting the thing into +words. Crane, who was extraordinarily sensitive, +understood instantly that the manager wished to +excuse Mortimer on the grounds of his condition, +and that he put it up to the younger man to +drop the issue. Wherefore, Crane nodded quietly +and stepped back without a word.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span></p> +<p>It is proverbial that red hair goes with a peppery +disposition. Norman Crane’s short, crisply waving +locks were not precisely red, and his temper was +not too savage, but there was a generous touch +of fire in both. His hair was a ruddy auburn, +and there was in his personality a warmth and +glow which could be genial or fierce, according +to provocation or occasion. He was a lovable lad, +young even for his twenty-three years, with a clean +ardor about him that was very attractive, especially +to older and more sophisticated persons. Norman +Crane was in all ways a fine fellow, as fine for +a man as Sybil Merivale was for a woman. They +were the same age, buoyant, clear-eyed young +people, touched both alike with the spark of pure +passion and the distinction of honest bravery.</p> + +<p>Dukane was too truly artistic not to appreciate +sentiment; in his business he had both to appraise +and exploit it. And as he saw the two standing +together he experienced a distinct sensation of pleasure. +They were so obviously made for each other, +and were both such splendid specimens of youth, +spirit, and wholesome charm. He determined mentally +to cast them opposite each other some day, +for they made a delightful picture. Not yet; but +in a few years——</p> + +<p>The managerial calculations came to an abrupt +end as he chanced to catch sight of Alan Mortimer’s +face.</p> + +<p>Intense emotion is not generally to be despised +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> +by a manager when he beholds it mirrored in an +actor’s face, but this passion was a bit too naked +and brutal, and it was decidedly out of place at a +rehearsal. The man could be charming when he +liked, but to-day the strings of his self-restraint +were unkeyed. His face had become loose in line; +his eyes smoldered beneath lowered lids. Dukane +saw clearly revealed in that look what he had +already begun to suspect—a sudden, fierce passion +for Sybil Merivale.</p> + +<p>This sort of thing was nothing new for Mortimer. +He was a man who attracted many types of women—some +of them inexplicably, as it seemed to male +onlookers—and whose loves were as fiery and as +fleeting as falling stars. He had made love both to +Kitty Legaye and Grace Templeton, playing them +against each other not so much with skill as with +a cavalier and amused mercilessness which might +well have passed for skill. Now he was tired of +the game, and, in a temporarily demoralized condition, +was as so much tinder awaiting a new +match.</p> + +<p>Then the youth and freshness of the girl unquestionably +attracted him. Alan Mortimer was in +his late thirties and had lived hard and fast. Like +most men of his kind, he was willing enough to +dally by the wayside with the more sophisticated +women; but it was youth that pulled him hardest—girlhood, +unspoiled and delicate. Dukane, more than +a bit of a philosopher, speculated for a passing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> +minute as to whether it was the inextinguishable +urge toward purity and decency even in a rotten +temperament, or merely the brutish wish that that +which he intended to corrupt should be as nearly +incorruptible as possible.</p> + +<p>But the manager permitted himself little meditation +on the subject. He had no wish that others +should surprise that expression upon the countenance +of his new star.</p> + +<p>“Last act!” he called sharply.</p> + +<p>Willie Coster glanced at him in surprise. It +was unusual for the “governor” to take an active +hand in conducting rehearsals.</p> + +<p>“How about Miss Merivale?” he said. “Isn’t +she to read <i>Lucille</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Here is the part.” Dukane took it from his +pocket and dropped it on the prompt table. “Miss +Templeton—er—turned it in this noon.” He suppressed +a smile as he recalled the vigor with +which Grace Templeton had thrown the little blue-bound +booklet at him across his desk. He added: +“Let Miss Merivale take the complete script home +with her to-night; that will give her the best idea +of the character.” For Dukane, unlike most of +his trade, believed in letting his people use as +much brain as God had given them in studying +their rôles.</p> + +<p>“Then we start at the beginning of Act Four,” +said Coster. “Here’s the part, Miss Merivale. Just +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> +read it through for this rehearsal, and get a line +on the business and where you stand. Everybody, +please! Miss Merivale, you’re not on till Mr. +Mortimer’s line, ‘The girl I would give my life for.’ +Then you enter up stage, right. Ready, Mr. +Mortimer?”</p> + +<p>The company breathed one deep, unanimous sigh +of relief. They had feared that the advent of a +new <i>Lucille</i> would mean going back and doing +the whole morning’s work over again. But Dukane +was—yes, he really <em>was</em> almost human—for a +manager!</p> + +<p>There were three other persons who had seen +Mortimer’s self-betraying look as his eyes rested +on Sybil Merivale’s eager young beauty. One was +Norman Crane, one was Kitty Legaye, and one +was the detective, Jim Barrison.</p> + +<p>Barrison’s eyes met those of Dukane for a moment, +and he had a shrewd idea that the manager +was telegraphing him a sort of message. He resolved +to hang around as long as he could and +get a word alone with Dukane after rehearsal +was over.</p> + +<p>At this point John Carlton, the author, arrived. +He was a dark, haggard young man, but, though +looking thoroughly subdued after a fortnight under +the managerial blue pencil, he quite brightened +up on being introduced to Barrison.</p> + +<p>“Thankful, no end,” he muttered in a hasty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> +aside. “Was afraid they’d cut out the whole +finger-print business.”</p> + +<p>“Cut it! Why? No good?”</p> + +<p>“Too good!” sighed the discouraged playwright. +He had, however, hauled a lagging sense of humor +out of the ordeal, for shortly after, he went with +Barrison to sit in a box in the dark auditorium, +and evolved epigrams of cynic derision as he +watched the rehearsal of his play. Barrison found +him not half a bad fellow, and before the hot +afternoon wore itself out, they had grown quite +friendly.</p> + +<p>Barrison’s own part in the rehearsal was soon +disposed of. After he had explained the way the +police detect finger prints upon objects that seem +innocent of the smallest impression, and illustrated +on a page of paper, a tumbler, and the surface +of the table, his work was over for the day. +Mortimer promised to practice a bit, that the effect +might be quite technical and expert-looking. Barrison +was to come to another rehearsal in a few +days and see how it looked. Then the detective +found himself free to enjoy the rest of the rehearsal, +such as it was.</p> + +<p>“Which won’t be much,” Carlton warned him. +“This is just a running over of lines for the +company, and to start Miss Merivale off. Nobody +will do any acting.”</p> + +<p>“The last act ought to be the most important, +I should think,” said Barrison.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span></p> +<p>“Oh, well, so far as action and hullabaloo goes—shots +and soldiers and that sort of thing. But +it’s a one-man play, anyway, and I’ve had to make +that last act a regular monologue. It’s all Mortimer. +He’s A1, too, when he cares to take the +trouble. Drunk now, of course, but he’s no fool. +He’ll keep sober for the opening, and if the women +don’t go dippy over his looks and his voice and +his love-making, I miss my guess. Now, watch—this +is going to be one of the exciting scenes in +the play, so far as action goes. Pure melodrama, +but the real thing, if I say it as shouldn’t—girl +in the power of a gang of ruffians, spies and so +forth. Night—dark scene, you know—a really +dark scene, with all the lights out, front and +back. Pitch black. Just a bit of a wait to get +people jumpy, and then the shots.”</p> + +<p>Willie Coster cried out: “Hold the suspense, +folks! No one move. Lights are out now.” He +waited while ten could be counted; then deliberately +began to strike the table with his fist. “One—two——”</p> + +<p>“Those are supposed to be shots,” explained +Carlton.</p> + +<p>“Three—four—five—six——”</p> + +<p>“That’s enough!” interposed Dukane. “The women +don’t like shooting, anyway.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Six shots, Mortimer. Now you’re +coming on, carrying <i>Lucille</i>—never mind the business. +Miss Merivale, read your line: ‘Thank God, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> +it’s you—in time!’ Right! All the rest of you—<em>hurry +up</em>! You’re carrying torches, you boobs; +don’t you know by this time what you do during +the rescue? Oh; for the love of——”</p> + +<p>He began to tell the company what he thought +of it collectively and individually, and Carlton +turned to Barrison.</p> + +<p>“All over but the shouting—and the love scene. +Mortimer can do that in great form, but you’ll +get no idea of it to-day, of course. He isn’t +even trying.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a good bit soberer than he was, though,” +said Barrison, who was watching the star carefully.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m inclined to think he is. Maybe he’ll +wake up and do his tricks, but you never can +tell with him. There go the extras off; it’s the +love scene now.”</p> + +<p>The last scene in the play was a short, sentimental +dialogue between <i>Tarrant</i>, the hero, and +<i>Lucille</i>. Sybil read her lines from the part; Mortimer +knew his, but recited them without interest +or expression, giving her her cues almost mechanically, +though his eyes never left her face, +and as they played on toward the “curtain,” he +began to move nearer to her.</p> + +<p>“A little more down front, <i>Lucille</i>” said Coster +from the prompt table. “<i>Tarrant</i> is watching you, +and we want his full face. All right; that’s it. +Go on, <i>Tarrant</i>——”</p> + +<p>“‘What do you suppose all this counts for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> +with me,’” said Mortimer, speaking slowly and +with more feeling than he had used that afternoon. +“‘What does it all amount to, if I have not the +greatest reward of all—<i>Lucille</i>?’”</p> + +<p>Barrison, listening to the sudden passion vibrating +in the genuinely splendid voice, thought +he could begin to understand something of the +man’s magnetism. If he really tried, he could +make a tremendous effect.</p> + +<p>“‘But the honors that have been heaped upon +you!’” read Sybil, her eyes bent earnestly upon the +page before her. “‘Your success, your achievements, +your——’” She stopped.</p> + +<p>“Catch her up quicker, Mortimer!” exclaimed +Coster. “We don’t want a wait here, for Heaven’s +sake! Speak on ‘your success, your’—speak on +‘your.’ Now, once more, Miss Merivale!”</p> + +<p>“‘Your success,’” read Sybil again, “‘your +achievements, your——’”</p> + +<p>“‘Honors! Success! Achievements!’” Mortimer’s +tone was ringing and heartfelt. “‘What do they +mean to me, <i>Lucille</i>—without you? They are so +many empty cups; only you can fill them with the +wine of life and love——’”</p> + +<p>“Noah’s-ark stuff,” murmured Carlton. “Likewise +Third Avenue melodrama. But it’ll all go if he +does it like that!”</p> + +<p>“‘Lucille—speak to me——’”</p> + +<p>“‘You are one who has much to be thankful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> +for, much to be proud of! Your medal of honor—surely +that means something to you?’”</p> + +<p>“‘Ah, yes! I am proud of it—the gift of my +country! But it is given to the soldier. The man +still waits for his prize! There is only one decoration +which I want in all this life, <i>Lucille</i>, only +one——’”</p> + +<p>“<em>And</em> so forth—all right!” said Willie, closing +the manuscript; for the final line of the play, the +“tag,” as it is called, is never given at rehearsals.</p> + +<p>But Mortimer appeared to have forgotten this +ancient superstition of the theater—seemed, indeed, +to have forgotten everything and everybody save +Sybil and the opportunity given him by the situation.</p> + +<p>He caught the girl in his arms and delivered +the closing line in a voice that was broken with +passion:</p> + +<p>“‘The decoration that I want is your love, +<i>Lucille</i>—your kiss!’”</p> + +<p>And he pressed his lips upon hers.</p> + +<p>Sybil wrenched herself free, flaming with indignation. +Crane, very white, started forward. Mortimer, +white also, but with a very slight, very +insolent smile, wheeled to meet him. But Dukane, +moving with incredible swiftness, stood between +them. His face was rather stern, but his voice +was as level and equable as ever as he said +quietly:</p> + +<p>“All right, all right—it is the business of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> +piece. But just a bit premature, Mortimer, don’t +you think? Suppose we let Miss Merivale get +her lines first? There will be plenty of time to +work up the action later. Rehearsal dismissed, +Willie. Have every one here at nine sharp to-morrow. +What’s the matter with <em>you</em>?”</p> + +<p>For Willie Coster was sitting, pale and furious, +by the prompt table, swearing under his breath +with a lurid eloquence which would have astonished +any one who did not know him of old.</p> + +<p>“Damn him!” he ended up, after he had exhausted +his more picturesque and spectacular vocabulary. +“He’s said the tag, gov’nor—he’s spoken +the tag—and queered our show!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rot, Willie!” said Dukane impatiently. +“You’re too old a bird to believe in fairy tales +of that sort!”</p> + +<p>But Willie shook his sandy, half-bald head and +swore a little more, though more sorrowfully now.</p> + +<p>“You mark my words, there’ll never be any luck +for this show,” he declared solemnly. “Never any +luck! And when we open, gov’nor, you just remember +what I said to-day!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE LETTER OF WARNING</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">BUT isn’t it very early to stop rehearsal?” asked +Barrison of John Carlton.</p> + +<p>“Of course it is. They ought to have gone over +the whole act again, and lots of the scenes several +times. That rescue stuff was rotten! But it’s an +off day. Something’s wrong; I’m not sure what, +though I <em>think</em> I know. Oh, well, it’s all in the +day’s work. Wait till you’ve seen as many of +your plays produced as I have!”</p> + +<p>“It’s as mysterious to me as one of the lost arts +of Egypt. I couldn’t think out a scene to save +my neck.”</p> + +<p>“And yet,” said John Carlton reflectively, “a +detective gets an immense amount of raw dramatic +material in his business. He must. Now, right +here in our own little happy family circle”—he +waved an arm toward the stage—“there’s drama to +burn! Can’t you see it—or are you fellows trained +only to detect crime?”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean—drama?” queried Barrison, +seeking safety in vagueness.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Carlton, reaching for his hat and +stick, “it strikes me that your well-beloved and +highly valuable central planet draws drama as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> +molasses draws flies. Pardon the homely simile, +but, like most geniuses, I was reared in Indiana.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a queer sort of chap,” said Jim, looking +at the tall actor as he stood talking to Dukane, +his heavy, handsome profile clearly outlined against +an electric light.</p> + +<p>“Queer? He’s a first-class mystery. ‘He came +like water, and like wind he goes’—though I hope +he’ll prove a bit more stable as a dramatic investment. +Seriously, no one knows anything about him. +He’s Western, I believe, and I suppose Dukane +fell over him some dark night when he was out +prospecting for obscure and undiscovered genius.”</p> + +<p>“He’s good looking.”</p> + +<p>“My son,” said Carlton, whose familiarity and +colloquialism were in striking contrast to the grandiloquent +lines he gave his characters to speak, “wait +till you see him in khaki, with the foots half up +and a little incidental music on the violins going on! +Manly beauty is not a hobby of mine, but I’ve had +experience with matinée idols, and I bet that Mortimer +is there with the goods. What are you +laughing at?”</p> + +<p>“The difference between your stage dialogue and +your ordinary conversation.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, I can’t help talking slang, and I +don’t know how to write it so that it sounds like +anything but the talk of a tough bunch in a corner +joint.” He stopped abruptly at the entrance to +the box and said, as though acting on impulse:</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span></p> +<p>“See here, speaking of Mortimer, did you ever see +a three-ring circus?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I always found it very confusing.”</p> + +<p>“Me, too. Mortimer doesn’t. He likes it. Takes +three at least to make him feel homelike and jolly. +He’s been—between ourselves—the temperamental +lover with Grace Templeton, and the prospective +fiancé with Miss Legaye; at least, that’s how I +dope it out; and now it looks as though he was +going to be the bold, bad kidnaper with this +charming child just arrived in our midst. What do +you think, from what you’ve seen to-day?”</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t been himself to-day,” answered Barrison. +“And, anyhow, there can’t be a three-ring +circus with one of the three features absent. Miss +Templeton, I understand, is not to be counted any +longer.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with rather forced lightness. He +disliked bringing women into conversation. He +did Carlton the justice, however, to see that it was +not a vulgar predilection for gossip which centralized +his interest in the three who had received +Mortimer’s attention. Obviously he looked upon +them as cold-bloodedly as did Dukane; they were +part of his stock in trade, his “shop.”</p> + +<p>“Not to be counted any longer! Isn’t she just? +If you’d ever seen the lady you’d know that you +couldn’t lose her just by dismissing her.”</p> + +<p>Barrison had seen her, but he said nothing.</p> + +<p>“However,” went on the author, leading the way +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> +out of the box and through the communicating +door between the front and back of the house, +“it’s none of my business—though I’ll admit it +entertains me, intrigues me, if you like. I <em>can</em> +talk something besides slang. I’m nothing but a +poor rat of an author, but if I were a grand and +glorious detective with an idle hour or so to put +in, I’d watch that combination. I’m too poor and +too honest to afford hunches, as a rule, but I’ve +got one now, and it’s to the effect that there’ll +be more melodrama behind the scenes in ‘Boots +and Saddles’ than there ever will be in the show +itself!”</p> + +<p>Though Barrison said nothing in reply, he privately +agreed with the playwright. Nothing very +startling had happened, to be sure, yet he was +acutely conscious of something threatening or at +least electric in the air—a tension made up of a +dozen small trifles which might or might not be +important. It would be difficult to analyze the +impression made upon him, but he would have +had to be much less susceptible to atmosphere than +he was not to have felt that the actors in this new +production were playing parts other than those +given them by Carlton, and that they stood in +rather singular and interesting relation to each +other.</p> + +<p>Mortimer infatuated with Sybil Merivale; Kitty +Legaye, he strongly suspected, in love with Mortimer; +Crane wildly and youthfully jealous; Miss +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> +Templeton in the dangerous mood of a woman +scorned and an actress supplanted! It looked like +the makings of a very neat little drama, as John +Carlton had had the wit to see.</p> + +<p>Barrison, however, was still inclined to look upon +the whole affair as something of a farce; it was +diverting, but not absorbing. There was nothing +about it, as yet, to quicken his professional interest. +He did, to be sure, recall Grace Templeton’s wicked +look in the restaurant, and had a passing doubt +as to what she was likely to do next; but he +brushed it away lightly enough, reminding himself +that players were emotional creatures and that they +probably took it out in intensity of temperament—and +temper! They were not nearly so likely actually +to commit any desperate deeds as those who +outwardly or habitually were more calm and conservative.</p> + +<p>But something happened at the stage door which +disturbed this viewpoint.</p> + +<p>When they crossed the stage the company was +scattering right and left. Miss Legaye was just departing, +looking manifestly out of sorts; Sybil and +young Crane were talking together with radiant +faces and evident oblivion of their whereabouts; +Mortimer was nowhere to be seen. Carlton had +stopped to speak to Willie Coster, so Barrison made +his way out alone.</p> + +<p>He found Dukane standing by the “cage” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> +occupied by the doorkeeper, with an envelope in his +hand.</p> + +<p>“When did this come, Roberts?” he said.</p> + +<p>“About twenty minutes ago, sir. You told me +not to interrupt rehearsals, and the boy said +there was no answer.”</p> + +<p>“A messenger boy?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir—just a ragamuffin. Looked like he +might be a newsboy, sir.”</p> + +<p>Dukane stood looking at the envelope a moment +in silence; then he turned to Barrison with a +smile.</p> + +<p>“Funny thing, psychology!” he said. “I haven’t +a reason on earth for supposing this to be any +more important than any of the rest of Alan Mortimer’s +notes—the saints know he gets enough of +them!—and yet I have a feeling in my bones that +there’s something quite unpleasant inside this envelope. +Here, Mortimer, a note for you.”</p> + +<p>The actor came around the corner from a corridor +leading past a row of dressing rooms, and they +could see him thrust something into his coat pocket.</p> + +<p>“Went to his dressing room for a drink,” said +Barrison to himself. Indeed, he thought he could +see the silver top of a protruding flask.</p> + +<p>“Note for me? Let’s have it.”</p> + +<p>He took it, stared at the superscription with a +growing frown, and then crumpled it up without +opening it.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span></p> +<p>“Wrenn!” he exclaimed in a tone of ungoverned +rage. “Where’s Wrenn? Did he bring me this?”</p> + +<p>“Wrenn?” repeated Dukane, surprised. “You +mean your valet? Why, no; he isn’t here. A boy +brought it. Why don’t you read it? You don’t +seem to like the handwriting.”</p> + +<p>With a muttered oath, the actor tore open the +envelope and read what was written on the inclosed +sheet of paper. Then, with a face convulsed and +distorted with fury, he flung it from him as he +might have flung a scorpion that had tried to bite +him.</p> + +<p>“Threats!” he exclaimed savagely. “Threats! +May Heaven curse any one who threatens me! +Threats!”</p> + +<p>He seemed incapable of further articulation, +and strode past them out of the stage door. Barrison +could see that he was the type of man who +can become literally blind and dazed with anger. +Mentally the detective decided that such uncontrolled +and elemental temperaments belonged properly +behind bars; certainly they had no place in a +world of convention and self-restraint.</p> + +<p>Quietly Dukane picked up both letter and envelope, +and, after reading what was written on +them, passed them to Barrison.</p> + +<p>“When I have a lunatic to dry nurse,” he observed +grimly, “I have no scruples in examining +the stuff that is put in his feeding bottles. Take +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> +a look at this communication, Barrison. I’ll admit +I’m glad that I don’t get such things myself.”</p> + +<p>Jim glanced down the page of letter paper. On +it, in scrawling handwriting, was written:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>You cannot always escape the consequences of your +wickedness and cruelty—don’t think it! Just now your +future looks bright and successful, but you cannot be sure. +You are about to open in a new play, and you expect to +win fame and riches. But God does not forget, though He +seems to. God does punish people, even at the last moment. +I should think you would be afraid that lightning +would strike the theater, or that a worse fate would overtake +you. Remember, Alan, the wages of sin; remember +what they are. Who are you to hope to escape? I bid +you farewell, <em>until the opening night</em>!</p> +</div> + +<p>The last four words were heavily underlined. +There was no signature.</p> + +<p>“What do you make of it?” asked Dukane.</p> + +<p>“It’s from a woman, of course. Quite an ordinary +threatening letter. We handle hundreds of them, +and most of them come to nothing at all.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly,” said Dukane thoughtfully. “And yet +I don’t feel like ignoring it entirely. Not on +Mortimer’s own account, you understand. He’s +not the type of fellow I admire, and I don’t doubt +he richly deserves any punishment that may be in +store for him. But he’s my star, and if anything +happens to him I stand to lose more money than I +feel like affording in these hard times.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p> +<p>“I can have a couple of men detailed to keep +an eye on him,” suggested Barrison.</p> + +<p>Dukane shook his head. “He’d find it out and +be furious,” he returned. “Whatever else he is, +he’s no coward, and he detests having his personal +affairs interfered with. Hello! What is it you +want?”</p> + +<p>The thin, gaunt, white-haired man whom he +addressed was standing, hat in hand, in the alley +just outside the stage door, and he was evidently +waiting to speak to the manager.</p> + +<p>“If you please, sir,” he began, half apologetically, +“Mr. Mortimer told me to——”</p> + +<p>“You’re Mortimer’s man, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; I’m Wrenn. I came down in the car +for Mr. Mortimer, sir. He—he seemed a bit upset-like +this morning.” His faded old eyes looked appealingly +at the manager.</p> + +<p>“He did,” assented that gentleman dryly. “You +take very good care of Mr. Mortimer, Wrenn,” he +added, in a kinder tone. “I’ve often noticed it.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir. I try——”</p> + +<p>“He sent you back for something?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” The old servant was clearly anxious +and ill at ease, and the answer came falteringly: +“A—a letter, sir, that he forgot——”</p> + +<p>Barrison had already thrust that letter into his +own pocket. He knew that Dukane would prefer +him not to produce it. As a specimen of handwriting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> +it was worth keeping, in case of possible +emergencies in the future.</p> + +<p>Dukane affected to hunt about on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Here is the envelope,” he said, giving it to the +valet. “I don’t see any letter. Mr. Mortimer must +have put it in his pocket; indeed, I think I saw +him do so. He seemed a good deal excited, and +probably doesn’t remember.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, but——” Wrenn still hesitated.</p> + +<p>“That’s all. Go back to your master and say the +letter is nowhere to be found. Tell him I said so.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Unwillingly Wrenn walked away.</p> + +<p>“A decent old chap,” commented Dukane, looking +after him. “I can’t understand why he sticks +to that ill-tempered rake, but he seems devoted to +him.”</p> + +<p>They went out together, and saw Wrenn say +something at the window of the great purring +limousine that was waiting in the street at the +end of the court. After a minute he got in, and +the car moved off immediately.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the manager, as though there had +been no interruption to his talk with Barrison, “I +hardly think that we’d better have him shadowed, +even for his own protection. I think that the +writer of that note means to save her—er—sensational +effect for the first night, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” admitted the detective, “it would be like +a revengeful woman to wait until a spectacular +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> +occasion of that sort if she meant to start something. +Particularly”—he spoke more slowly—“if she happened +to be a theatrical woman herself.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes,” said Dukane calmly. “Especially if +she happened to be a theatrical woman herself.”</p> + +<p>He was silent for a long minute as they walked +toward Broadway. Then, as he stopped to light a +cigar, he said:</p> + +<p>“Every woman is a theatrical woman in that +sense. My dear fellow, women are the real dramatists +of this world. If a man wants to do a +thing—rob a bank, or elope with his friend’s wife, +or commit a murder, or anything like that—he goes +ahead and does it as expeditiously and as inconspicuously +as possible. But a woman invariably +wants to set the stage. A woman must have invented +rope ladders, suicide pacts, poisoned wine +cups, and the farewell letter to the husband. Next +to staging a love scene, a woman loves to stage a +death scene—whether it’s murder, suicide, tuberculosis, +or a broken heart. Would any man in +<i>Mimi’s</i> situation have let himself be <em>dragged</em> back +to die in the arms of his lost love? Hardly! He’d +crawl into a hole or go to a hospital.”</p> + +<p>“It was a man who wrote the story of <i>Mimi</i>,” Barrison +reminded him.</p> + +<p>“A man who, being French, knew all about +women. Yes, I think we can safely leave our precautions +until September the fifteenth. Just the +same, Barrison, I shall be just as well pleased if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> +you’ll manage to drop in at rehearsals fairly often +during the next fortnight. There might be developments. +I’ll leave word with Roberts in the morning +that you are to come in when you like.”</p> + +<p>Barrison promised, and left him at the corner of +Broadway.</p> + +<p>As he walked back to his own rooms, Dukane’s +words lingered in his memory:</p> + +<p>“Women are the real dramatists of this world!”</p> + +<p>He thought of the same phrase that evening when, +while he was in the middle of his after-dinner +brandy and cigar, his Japanese servant announced:</p> + +<p>“A lady on business. Very important.”</p> + +<p>Barrison started up, hardly able to believe his +eyes. The woman who stood at his door was Miss +Templeton!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">MISS TEMPLETON</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">SHE was in full evening dress, with her splendid +shoulders and arms bare, and her brilliant hair +uncovered and elaborately dressed. Her tightly +clinging gown was black, embroidered in an orchid +design of rose color and gold. A long black lace +scarf, thrown over one arm, was her only apology +for a wrap. She was just then, as Barrison was +obliged to confess to himself, one of the handsomest +women he had ever seen in his life. He realized +now that she was younger than he had thought.</p> + +<p>Also she looked far less artificial and flamboyant +than she had looked at luncheon. Jim’s orange-shaded +reading lamp was kinder to her than that +intrusively glaring sunbeam had been. There was +even a softness and a dignity about her, he thought. +Perhaps, though, it was merely a pose, put on for +the occasion as she had put on her dinner dress.</p> + +<p>Moving slowly and with a very real grace, she +came a few steps into the room and inclined her +handsome head very slightly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison?”</p> + +<p>He bowed and drew a high-backed, brocaded +chair into a more inviting position. “Won’t you sit +down?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span></p> +<p>“Thank you. I am Grace Templeton.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” he said, smiling courteously. “I feel +enormously honored.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes. You saw me at lunch to-day.”</p> + +<p>“I have seen you before.”</p> + +<p>“Really!” Her eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. +She was inordinately vain of her stage reputation. +She thrilled to the admiration of her anonymous +audiences. Jim, looking at her, marveled at that +imperishable thirst for adulation which, gratified, +could bring a woman joy at such a moment. For +he felt sure that it was no ordinary crisis which +had brought Miss Templeton to consult him that +night.</p> + +<p>She sank into the chair he proffered, and the +high, square back made a fine frame for the gilded +perfection of her hair. He thought, quite coolly, +that no one ever had a whiter throat or more exquisitely +formed arms and wrists. Her manner was +admirable; not a trace now of that primitive and +untamed ferocity of mood which had blazed in her +whole face and figure not so many hours before.</p> + +<p>She was very beautiful, very sedate, very self-contained. +Barrison was able to admire her frankly—but +never for a second did he lift the vigilance of +the watch he had determined to keep upon her. In +his own mind he marked her “dangerous”—and not +the less so because just at present she was behaving +so extremely, so unbelievably well.</p> + +<p>“You are surprised to see me here, Mr. Barrison,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> +she said, making it a statement rather than a +question.</p> + +<p>“I confess that I am.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted your help, and—when I want a thing I +ask for it.”</p> + +<p>She paused a moment, looking at him steadily. +“Won’t you please sit down yourself?” she said. +“And move your lamp. I like to see the face of the +person I am talking to.”</p> + +<p>Barrison did what she wished silently. In half a +minute more they confronted each other across the +library table, with the reading light set somewhat +aside. Miss Templeton drew a deep breath and +leaned forward with her lovely arms upon the +table.</p> + +<p>“When I heard that you were to be called in as +an expert to help in—our—play”—she paused, with +a faint smile that was rather touching—“you see, +it <em>was</em> ‘our play’ then—I made up my mind to consult +you. For I was troubled even then. But the +best laid schemes——” She broke off, with a little +gesture that somehow made her look younger. “Oh, +well—I found myself, in an hour, in a minute, in a +position I was not used to: I was dismissed!” She +made him feel the outrageousness of this.</p> + +<p>“My mind was naturally disturbed,” she went on. +“It is a shocking thing, Mr. Barrison, to find yourself +cast adrift when you have been counting on a +thing, believing in it——”</p> + +<p>“I should scarcely have thought that it would be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> +so awful,” Jim ventured, “for you, who surely need +not remain in such a predicament any longer than +you care to.”</p> + +<p>She flashed him a grateful glance. “That is nice +of you. But I truly think that it is worse in a case +like mine. One grows accustomed to things. It is +somewhat appalling to find oneself without them, +to find them snatched away before one’s eyes. You +see, I have never been ‘fired’ before.” She uttered +the last words with a surprisingly nice laugh. “It +was rather terrible, truly. I asked Alan Mortimer +to-day who you were,” she said quietly. “When I +knew, I determined that I would come to see you.”</p> + +<p>“And so——” he suggested encouragingly.</p> + +<p>She was, if this were cleverness, much too clever +to change her gentle, rather grave attitude. “And +so,” she said, as she leaned upon the table, “I have +come to speak to you of the things which a woman +does not speak of as a rule.”</p> + +<p>Jim Barrison was slightly alarmed. “But why +come to me?” he protested, though not too discourteously. +“We are strangers, and—surely you do +not need a detective in your trouble, whatever it is?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” she demanded swiftly. “In your +career, Mr. Barrison, have you never found yourself +close to the big issues of life, the deep and tragic +things? Does not the detective’s profession show +him the most emotional and terrible and human conditions +in all the world? It is as a detective that I +want you to help me, Mr. Barrison.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span></p> +<p>“I—I shall be only too glad,” stammered Barrison, +with a full-grown premonition of trouble. He +wished the woman had been less subtle; he had no +mind to have his sympathies involved.</p> + +<p>She seemed to guess at something of his worry, +for she lifted her black-fringed eyes to his and +laughed—not gayly, but sadly. “It’s all said very +quickly,” she told him. “Alan Mortimer used to be +in love with me; he is not now.”</p> + +<p>Barrison found himself dumb. What on earth +could a man say to a woman under such circumstances? +He was no ladies’ man, and such homely +sympathy as he had sometimes had to proffer to +women in distress seemed highly out of place here. +Miss Templeton, in her beauty and her strangeness, +struck him as belonging to a class in herself. Resourceful +as he was, he had not the right word just +then. She did not appear to miss it, though. She +went on, almost at once, with the kind of mournful +calmness which nearly always wins masculine approbation:</p> + +<p>“Understand, there was no question of marriage. +I do not claim anything at all except that—he did +care for me.” She put her hand to her throat as if +she found it difficult to continue, and added proudly: +“I am the sort of woman, Mr. Barrison, who demands +nothing of a man—except love. I believed +that he gave me that. There were other women; +there was one woman especially. She wanted him +to marry her. She did not love him, as I understand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> +love, but she did want to marry him. She +had lived a selfish, restless life for a good many +years—she is as old as I, though no one knows it—but +she had never settled down. She is the type that +eventually settles down; I am not. She wants to be +protected and supported; I don’t. She is a born +parasite—what we call a grafter; I am <em>not</em>. Perhaps +you can guess whom I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I can,” conceded Barrison, remembering +what Carlton had said about Kitty Legaye and Alan +Mortimer.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” She smiled faintly. “Very well. Here am +I, flung aside from my part—and from him. She +is left in possession, so to speak. That is almost +enough to send a woman’s small world into chaos, is +it not? But there was something more left for me +to endure. Another woman came into the little play +that I thought was fully—too fully—cast. I don’t +mean Mr. Carlton’s play; I mean the one that goes +on night and day as long as men and women have +red blood in their veins and say what they feel +instead of what is written in their parts! Another +woman was engaged—or practically engaged—to +take my place.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know. Miss Merivale.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Merivale.” She repeated the name slowly +and without heat. “She is fresh and young and +charming. I do not hate her as I do the other, but +I am more afraid of her. She is just what he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> +cannot find in the rest of us. She will win him. +Yes, I know quite well that she will win him.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t think she wants to win him,” said +Barrison, recollecting the scene in which the “tag” +had been prematurely spoken. He had a mental picture +of Sybil, scarlet of cheek and indignant of +eyes, shrinking from Mortimer’s kiss.</p> + +<p>But Miss Templeton looked at him almost scornfully.</p> + +<p>“He can make her want to,” she declared positively. +“Don’t contradict me, because I know!” +Miss Templeton paused a moment and then continued: +“Mr. Barrison, do not detectives occasionally +undertake the sort of work that necessitates their +following a person and—reporting on what he does—that +sort of thing?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Templeton.”</p> + +<p>“And would you undertake work of that kind?” +Her fine eyes pleaded eloquently.</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Templeton; I’m afraid not.”</p> + +<p>“But why not? You’ve said detectives do it.”</p> + +<p>“Plenty of them.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mind telling me, then, why not?”</p> + +<p>Jim hesitated; then he decided to be frank. “You +see,” he said gently, “I don’t do this entirely as a +means of livelihood.”</p> + +<p>“You mean you’re an amateur, not a professional?”</p> + +<p>“I am a professional. But, since I can pick and +choose to a certain extent, I usually choose such +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> +cases as strike me as most useful and most interesting.”</p> + +<p>“And my case doesn’t strike you as either?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see yet that you have a case, Miss Templeton. +I don’t see what there is for a detective +to do.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll explain. I want you to follow—shadow, +do you call it?—Mr. Mortimer every day +and every night. I want to know what he does, +whom he sees, where he goes. I will pay—anything——”</p> + +<p>Barrison put up his hand to check her. “Yes, I +know,” he said quietly. “I quite understood what +you wanted me to do. But your determination, or +whim, or whatever we may call it, does not constitute +a case.”</p> + +<p>“I can make you see why. I can tell you the reasons——”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid that I don’t want to hear them, Miss +Templeton. I simply can’t do what you ask me to. +I’m sorry. There are detectives who will; you’d +better go to them. I don’t like cases of that sort, +and I don’t take them. Again—I’m sorry. Try not +to think me too rude and ungracious.”</p> + +<p>She sat with down-bent head, and he could not +see her face. He felt unaccountably sorry, as he +had told her he felt. He could not have felt more +grieved if he had hurt some one who had trusted +him.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></p> +<p>Suddenly she flung up her head, and there was +another look on her face—a harder, older look.</p> + +<p>“All right,” she said, in a metallic tone, “you +won’t help me. I’m sure I don’t know why I should +help you. But—if you won’t shadow Alan Mortimer +these next two weeks, you take a tip from me: +Shadow Kitty Legaye.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE DIVIDED DANGER</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">AS she swept to the door, her golden head held +high, her black scarf floating from one round +white arm, she encountered a newcomer, one Tony +Clay.</p> + +<p>“Beg pardon!” he gasped, standing aside.</p> + +<p>He was a cherubic, round-faced cub detective +whom Barrison liked and helped along when he +could—a nice lad, though a bit callow as yet.</p> + +<p>Miss Templeton’s trailing scarf caught in a chair +and Tony hastened to extricate it. Feeling profoundly +but unreasonably reluctant, Barrison made +the introductions:</p> + +<p>“Miss Templeton, may I present Mr. Clay? He +will put you in a taxi—won’t you, Tony?”</p> + +<p>“Rather!” breathed the patently enraptured +Tony.</p> + +<p>“My car is waiting,” Miss Templeton said sweetly. +“I shall be so glad if Mr. Clay will see me safely as +far as that.”</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Tony Clay returned, with sparkling +eyes and a delirious flow of language:</p> + +<p>“I say, Jim, where did you—how did she happen +to——Oh, gee! Some people have all the luck! +Isn’t she a peach? Isn’t she a wonder? Isn’t she +just the——”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></p> +<p>“Have a brandy and soda, Tony, and shut up,” +said Barrison, rather wearily. He was feeling a bit +let down, for Miss Templeton was not a restful person +to talk to, nor yet to hear talk for any long +period.</p> + +<p>But Tony raved on. “She reminds me,” he babbled +happily, “of some glorious, golden lioness——”</p> + +<p>“Fine for you!” murmured Barrison, burying himself +in a particularly potent drink.</p> + +<p>Long after Tony Clay had gone, Jim sat scowling +at the cigarettes which he lighted from one another +with scarcely an interval, and at the brandy and +soda of which he consumed more than what he usually +considered a fair allowance. Both as a man +and a detective he admired Miss Templeton.</p> + +<p>He wished he had seen her handwriting and +could compare it with the note which he still kept +put away in a locked cabinet where he cached his +special treasures. He wondered if——</p> + +<p>But her suggestion as to Kitty Legaye, inspired +by jealousy as it was, was not without value. On +the face of it, it seemed far-fetched, or would have +to a less seasoned experience; but Jim Barrison had +forgotten what it was to feel surprise at anything. +Stranger things—much, much stranger things—had +turned out to be quite ordinary and natural occurrences.</p> + +<p>There are, as Barrison knew, many varieties of +the female of the species; he had come up against +a goodly number of them, and could guess what the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> +different sorts would do in given extremities. And +he knew that in the whole wild lot there is none +wilder, none more secret, none more relentless, none +more unexpected and inexplicable, than she who has +counted on snatching respectability and domesticity +at the eleventh hour and been disappointed. If Kitty +Legaye had really expected to marry Alan Mortimer, +and if he was getting ready to throw her over for a +perfectly new, strange young girl, then one need +not be astonished at anything.</p> + +<p>Yet, little Miss Legaye seemed a steady bit of humanity, +not emotional or hysterical in the least.</p> + +<p>“Oh, hang it all!” he muttered resentfully, as he +turned out his light at least two hours later than +was his habit. “I wish women had never learned +to write—or to talk! It would simplify life +greatly.”</p> + +<p>Then he fell asleep and dreamed queer dreams in +which Grace Templeton, Kitty Legaye and Sybil +Merivale chased each other round and round, quarreling +for possession of the anonymous note which +for some reason the old man Wrenn was holding +high above his head in the center of the group. As +the three women chased each other in the dream, +Jim grew dizzier and dizzier, and finally woke up +abruptly, feeling breathless and bewildered, with +Tara, the Jap, standing beside him.</p> + +<p>“Honorable sir did having extreme bad dreams!” +explained Tara, with some severity of manner.</p> + +<p>Barrison answered meekly and lay down again to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> +fall only half asleep this time and toss restlessly until +morning.</p> + +<p>He kept his word to Dukane and attended rehearsals +with religious regularity, though what technical +use he had was exhausted after a few days. +He found himself becoming more and more interested +in the play—or, rather, in the actors who were +appearing in it. Their personalities became more +and more vivid to him; their relations more and +more complex.</p> + +<p>Not the least curious of the conditions which he +began to note as he grew to feel more at home +behind the scenes was the strange, almost psychic +influence which Mortimer appeared to have over Sybil +Merivale. Almost one might have believed that +he hypnotized her; only there was nothing about him +that suggested abnormal spiritual powers, and the +girl herself was neither morbid nor weak.</p> + +<p>Barrison, now at liberty to roam about “behind” +as he willed, overheard Miss Merivale one day talking +to Claire McAllister, the extra woman.</p> + +<p>“Say, I heard him ordering you about to-day as +if he had a mortgage on you,” said Claire, who was +practical and pugnacious. “What do you let him +play the grand mogul with you for?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe I can make you understand,” said +Sybil, breathing quickly, “but I don’t seem able to +disobey him. When he looks at me I—it sometimes +seems as if I couldn’t think quite straight.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p> +<p>“D’you mean,” demanded Claire McAllister +sharply, “that you’re in love with him?”</p> + +<p>Sybil flushed indignantly. “That’s just what I do +not mean!” she exclaimed. “Can’t you see the difference? +I—I hate him, I tell you! It’s something +outside that, but—but it frightens me. Sometimes +it seems, when I meet his eyes, that I can’t +move—that he can make me do what he likes.” She +shivered and hid her face in her hands. “It’s <em>that</em> +which makes me so frightened,” she whispered in a +broken way.</p> + +<p>The extra girl regarded her curiously, then +hunched her shoulders in the way of extra girls +when they wish to indicate a shrug of indifference.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she remarked cheerily, “when little Morty +takes the last high fall, we’ll look round to see if +there wasn’t a certain lady handy to give him the +extra shove.”</p> + +<p>Sybil turned on her quickly. “What do you +mean?” she cried. “What do you mean by that?”</p> + +<p>Miss McAllister stared in surprise. “Sa-ay!” she +remonstrated. “I was just kiddin’! Say, you didn’t +suppose I thought you were goin’ to murder the +guy, did you?”</p> + +<p>Sybil was rather white. “Awfully silly of me!” +she apologized. “Only—sometimes I’ve felt as +though——And it sounded awful, coming from +some one else like that.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes felt—what?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span></p> +<p>“As though—I almost—could!” She turned +abruptly and walked away.</p> + +<p>Barrison, standing leaning against a piece of +scenery, felt a hand upon his arm. He looked +around into the agitated face of Norman Crane.</p> + +<p>The boy had heard just what he himself had +heard, and the effect thereof was written large upon +his handsome, honest young countenance.</p> + +<p>“Think of her—think of Sybil up against that!” +he whispered huskily. “And me able to do nothing! +Oh, it’s too unspeakably rotten, that’s what it is! +If I could just wring that bounder’s neck, and be +done with it——”</p> + +<p>“Look here!” said Jim Barrison, losing his cast-iron, +chain-held patience at last. “There are about +a dozen people already who want to murder Alan +Mortimer. I’m getting to want to myself! For the +love of Heaven, give a poor detective a rest and +don’t suggest any one else; I’m getting dizzy!”</p> + +<p>Norman stared at him and edged away.</p> + +<p>“Does that fellow drink?” he asked Carlton, a few +minutes later.</p> + +<p>“I hope so,” said the author absently, rumpling +his hair with one hand while he wrote on a scrap of +copy paper. “Mortimer has waited until now to +have the last scene lengthened. Maledictions upon +him! May his next reincarnation be that of a humpbacked +goat!”</p> + +<p>Crane left him still murmuring strange imprecations.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span></p> +<p>Barrison went home, divided between annoyance +and amusement at the promiscuous hate Mortimer +had aroused. He was unquestionably the most unpopular +man he had ever heard of; yet he was sometimes +charming, as Barrison had already seen. Several +times at rehearsal, when he deliberately had +chosen to exert his power of magnetism, the detective, +critical observer as he was, could not fail to +note how successful he was. His charm was something +radiant and irresistible, and he could project it +at will, just as some women can. A singular and a +dangerous man, Jim decided. Such individuals always +made trouble for themselves and for others. +The theater was becoming rather electric in atmosphere, +and Barrison was glad to get home. But his +troubles were not over yet—even for that day!</p> + +<p>Just as he was sitting down to dinner Tony Clay +appeared, looking hot and unhappy.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Tony! Have you eaten?”</p> + +<p>Tony nodded in a most dispirited fashion. His +friend watched him a moment, and then said +kindly:</p> + +<p>“Go ahead; what’s the trouble?”</p> + +<p>The young fellow looked uncomfortable. “Nothing,” +he began; “that is——Oh, hang it all! I +can’t lie to you. I’m upset, Jim!”</p> + +<p>“No!” said Barrison, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Jim,” Tony went on, rather desperately, “do you +believe that there ever are occasions when it is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> +permissible to give a client away? To a colleague, I +mean. Do you?”</p> + +<p>“You just bet your life I do!” said Jim emphatically. +He put down his knife and fork and +eyed his young friend with kindling interest. “Go +on, kid, and tell me all about it.”</p> + +<p>“Well”—poor Tony looked profoundly miserable—“you +know—that is of course you don’t know—but—Miss +Templeton engaged me to shadow Alan +Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>“I knew that as soon as you did,” remarked Jim.</p> + +<p>Tony opened his round eyes till each of them +made a complete O.</p> + +<p>“The devil you did!” he ejaculated, somewhat +chagrined. “Well, she did engage me, and I +shadowed away to the best of my ability. But now—Jim, +I’m up against something too big for me, +and I’ve brought it to you.”</p> + +<p>He looked pale and shaken, and Barrison said +good-humoredly:</p> + +<p>“Go to it, Tony. I’ll help you if I can.”</p> + +<p>“Jim!” Tony Clay faced him desperately. “I +think you ought to know that Miss Templeton has +it in for Mortimer——”</p> + +<p>“I do know it, lad.”</p> + +<p>“And that—she bought a revolver to-day at the +pawnshop near Thirty-ninth Street. I saw her. +I suppose she got a permit somehow. But I hope +I’ll never again see any one look the way she did +when she came out with the parcel!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE DARK SCENE</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">IT was a little after eight in the evening of September +the fifteenth—the opening night of “Boots and +Saddles” at the Mirror Theater.</p> + +<p>Already the house was filling up. From his seat +on the aisle half a dozen rows back, Jim Barrison +saw that it was going to be a typical first-night audience. +As this was a comparatively early opening, +there were a goodly number of theatrical people +present, and practically every one in the social +world who had already returned to town was to be +seen. Max Dukane’s productions were justly celebrated +all over the country, and Carlton was a popular +playwright. Then there was much well-stimulated +curiosity in regard to Alan Mortimer. Dukane’s +press agent had done his work admirably, and +the mystery surrounding the handsome new light +in the dramatic heavens had been so artistically exploited +as to pique the interest even of jaded +theatergoers.</p> + +<p>It was an oppressively hot evening, though September +was so far advanced. All the electric fans +in the world could not keep the theater cool and +airy. To Barrison the air was suffocating. The +gayly dressed people crowded down into neat rows; +the hurrying, perspiring ushers in overheavy livery; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> +the big asbestos curtain that shut them all into a +simmering inclosure—these things in combination +were strangely oppressive, even in a sense imprisoning. +Moreover, he was not free from a half-sincere, +half-humorous sense of apprehension. +Hardly anything so definite, so full-fledged, or so +grave; but undoubtedly a mental tension of sorts +which would not readily conform to a perfunctory +festal spirit.</p> + +<p>Dukane, for all his coolness and poise, had insisted +on taking the warning letter seriously—at +least to the extent of taking every conceivable precaution +against danger, of arranging every possible +protection for Mortimer. It was understood that, +while Jim Barrison had his allotted seat in the front +of the house, he would spend most of the evening +back of the scenes. Tony Clay was also on duty. +There was a husky young guard on the communicating +door which was back of the right-hand boxes +and opened on the world behind. No one was to be +allowed to pass through that door that night but +Dukane, Barrison, and his assistant. Roberts, at the +stage door, had been similarly cautioned to let no +one enter the theater on any pretext whatsoever +after the members of the company had come for the +performance.</p> + +<p>Barrison thought Dukane’s precautions rather exaggerated. +He did not really think personally that +any peril threatened Alan Mortimer that night. +Murderers did not, as a rule, send word in advance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> +what they mean to do. Still, such things had happened +in his experience, and it was no harm to make +sure. As for Miss Templeton and the revolver—well, +that looked a bit more serious. He had not +told Dukane of Tony’s confidential information, but +he raked the many-hued audience with his sharp +gaze, trying to see if the erstwhile leading woman +was present. So far there was no sign of her. He +was even inclined to treat Tony’s fears as somewhat +hysterical. It will be recalled that Miss Templeton +had made rather a good impression upon the +detective, who was only human, after all, and prone +to err like other mortals.</p> + +<p>The truth was that the whole situation struck him +as a little too melodramatic to be plausible. He was +suffering from the disadvantages of being a bit too +cool and superior in view, a bit too well-balanced, a +bit too much the practical sleuth regarding theatrical +heroics with a pleasantly skeptical eye. Nevertheless, +cavalierly as he was disposed to treat them, he +thought that it was possible that these many concessions +to a possible gravity of situation, a more +or less apocryphal danger, did add to the feeling of +oppression which held him. It really seemed hard +to breathe, and it was difficult even for his trained +judgment to determine just how much of the sensation +was physical and how much psychological.</p> + +<p>At all events it was a very close, sultry night. As +people came in and took their seats there were constant +comments on the weather.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> +<p>“Humidity—just humidity!” pompously declared +a man next Jim, one of those most trying wiseacres +who know everything. “You’ll see it will rain before +the evening is over.”</p> + +<p>“There’s not a breath stirring outside,” said the +girl who was with him, fanning herself. “I wish +we were sitting near an electric fan.”</p> + +<p>The asbestos drop had gone up, and the orchestra +began to play music specially written for the piece. +It drowned the chatter of the well-dressed, expectant +crowd. But the overture was short, and the +lights all over the house soon began to go down +in the almost imperceptibly gradual fashion affected +by Max Dukane in his big productions. When the +other instruments had dwindled to a mere mist of +retreating sound, one high, silver-clear bugle played +the regimental call, “Boots and Saddles,” as a cue +for the rise of the curtain upon the first act.</p> + +<p>But Barrison was not looking at the stage. Before +the last lights had gone out in the front of the house +he had caught sight of a woman who had just entered +the right-hand stage box. She stood for a +moment looking out over the audience before she +slipped out of her gorgeous gold-embroidered evening +cloak and took her seat.</p> + +<p>“Look!” exclaimed the girl to the pompous man—and, +though she spoke in an undertone, it was +an undertone pregnant with sharp interest, almost +excitement. “Look! There’s Gracie Templeton, who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> +started rehearsing with this show and got fired. +They say she had quite an affair with Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>“Not much distinction in that,” remarked the man. +“He’s crazy about women.”</p> + +<p>“Not much distinction either way,” said the +woman lightly and heartlessly. “Grace has played +about with ever so many men. But she isn’t altogether +a bad sort, you know, and this Mortimer man +seems to have the power to make women care for +him awfully.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know him?” demanded her escort jealously.</p> + +<p>“Not I!” She laughed. “But seriously, Dicky, I +shouldn’t think she’d want to come to-night and see +him playing with another woman.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe she means to pull a Booth-and-Lincoln +stunt,” suggested the pompous man. “She’s fixed +just right for it if she does.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t! It’s horrible just to think of! You’re +so cold-blooded, Dicky! Hush! The play’s beginning. +I do like military shows, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Barrison did not wait to see the opening of the +piece. He had seen it once at dress rehearsal, and, +anyway, he had other fish to fry. He slid out of his +seat swiftly and almost unnoticeably and made his +way without waste of time up the aisle and around +in discreetly tempered darkness to the stage box +which held Miss Grace Templeton.</p> + +<p>As he passed between the box curtains and came +up behind her, she did not hear him, and he stood +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> +still for a moment before making any move which +would reveal his presence. In that moment he had +noticed that she was dressed entirely in black, +that melancholy rather than passion was the mood +which held her, and that she was watching the +stage less with eagerness than with a wistful, weary +sort of attention. She leaned back in her chair, and +her hands lay loosely folded in her lap. There was +about her none of the tension, none of the excitement, +either manifest or suppressed, that accompanies +a desperate resolve.</p> + +<p>Barrison felt the momentary chill of foreboding, +which certainly had crept up his spine, pass into a +warmer and more peaceful sentiment of pity. He +slipped into a chair just behind her without her +having detected him. This, too, was reassuring. +People with guilt, even prospective guilt, upon their +consciences were always alert to interruption and +possible suspicion. She was looking fixedly at the +stage where Mortimer was now making his first +entrance.</p> + +<p>He was a splendid-looking creature behind the +footlights. Barrison had been obliged to admit it +at dress rehearsal; he admitted it once more unreservedly +now. Whatever there was in his composition +of coarseness or ugliness, of cruelty, unscrupulousness, +or violence, was somehow softened—no, +softened was not quite the word, since his +stage presence was consistently and notably virile; +but certainly uplifted and tinged with glamour and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> +colorful charm. Every one else in the company +paled and thinned before him.</p> + +<p>“A great performance, is it not?”</p> + +<p>Jim spoke the words very gently into her ear, and +then waited for the inevitable start. Strangely +enough, in spite of the suddenness of the remark, +she barely stirred from the still pose she had +adopted. Dreamily she answered him, though without +pause:</p> + +<p>“There is no one like him.”</p> + +<p>Then all at once she seemed to wake, to grow +alive again, and to realize that she was actually talking +to a real person and not to a visionary companion. +She turned, with a startled face.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison! I thought I was quite alone, and—what +did I say, I wonder? I felt as though I +were half asleep!”</p> + +<p>“You voiced my thoughts; Mortimer is in splendid +form, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>She nodded. “I never saw him to better advantage,” +she said, speaking slowly and evidently +weighing each word. “Watch him now, Mr. Barrison, +in his scene with <i>Lucille</i>. So much restraint, +yet so much feeling! Yes, a superb impersonation!”</p> + +<p>Barrison looked curiously at the woman who +spoke with so much discrimination. Was she really +capable of being impersonal, disinterested? Yes, he +believed that she was. A certain glow of returning +confidence swept his heart; it was surely not she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> +whom he had to fear—if, indeed, there were any +one. He made up his mind to take a look at what +was taking place behind the scenes, and rose to his +feet, resting his hand lightly, almost caressingly, +on the back of Miss Templeton’s chair.</p> + +<p>“Good-by, until later,” he murmured. “I am going +back to pay my respects to Dukane.”</p> + +<p>And as he spoke, his fingers closed upon the +beaded satin bag which she had hung upon the back +of her chair. Something uncompromisingly hard +met his sensitive and intelligent touch. Instantly he +withdrew his hand as though it had met with +fire. There was a pistol in that pretty reticule; so +much he was sure of.</p> + +<p>A moment later he tapped lightly on the communicating +door, and, meeting the eyes of the suspicious +young giant on guard there, and speedily +satisfying him as to his reliability, passed through +into the strange, bizarre world of scenery and +grease paint and spotlights with which he had lately +become so familiar.</p> + +<p>“Remember,” he said to the blue-capped lad with +the six inches of muscle and the truculent tendency, +who stood as sentinel at that most critical passageway, +“no one—no one, Lynch—is to go through this +door to-night. Understand?”</p> + +<p>“Right, sir!”</p> + +<p>Barrison made his way through a labyrinth of +sets to where Dukane, against all precedent, was +standing watching the performance from the wings.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span></p> +<p>“You ought to be in front,” the detective told him +reprovingly.</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” Dukane looked at him with tired scorn. +Then he fished a paper out of his waistcoat pocket. +“Read this. It came this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>The new letter of warning ran:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>No man can run more than a certain course. When you +look with love at the woman who claims your attention +to-night, do you not think what might happen if a ghost +appeared at your feast? You have called me wild and +visionary in the past. Will you call me that when this +night is over?</p> +</div> + +<p>Having read it and noted that the writing was the +same as the previous one, Jim asked: “Have you +shown this to Mortimer?”</p> + +<p>“Am I an idiot?” demanded Dukane pertinently. +“No, my prince of detectives, I have not. I have +troubles enough without putting my star on the +rampage. Just the same, I think it is as well to be +prepared for anything and everything. What do you +think?”</p> + +<p>Unwillingly Barrison told him that he was not +entirely happy in his mind concerning Miss Templeton. +He asked minutely as to where Mortimer was +going to stand during various parts of the play, +notably during the dark scene in the last act. That, +to his mind, offered rather too tempting a field for +uncontrolled temperaments.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Dukane once more, looking at him. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> +“You have found out something, eh? Well, no matter. +Whether you suspect something or not, you are +going to help, you are going to be on guard. Miss +Templeton, now—do you think it would be a good +thing for you to go and spend the evening with her +in her box?”</p> + +<p>Barrison did not think quite that, but he consented +to retire to Miss Templeton’s box for at least +two acts. The which he did, feeling most nervous +all the time, as though he ought to be somewhere +else. Miss Templeton was most agreeable as a companion, +and most calm. Once in a while his eyes +would become glued to the beaded bag hanging on +the back of her chair. Just before the last act he +fled, and sent Tony Clay to take his place on a pretext. +He did not think he could stand it any +longer.</p> + +<p>Behind, he found a curious excitement prevailing. +No one had been told anything or warned in any +way, yet a subtle undercurrent of suspense was +strongly to be felt. There is no stranger phenomenon +than this psychic transmission of emotion without +speech. To-night, behind the scenes at the Mirror +Theater, the whole company seemed waiting for +something.</p> + +<p>Sybil Merivale seemed particularly nervous.</p> + +<p>“I can’t think what has got into me!” she said +with rather a shaky little laugh. “I wasn’t nearly +so upset at the beginning of the play, and usually +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> +one gets steadier toward the end of a first night. +I’m doing all right, am I not?”</p> + +<p>“You’re splendid!” Kitty Legaye said cordially. +“I’m proud of you! You have no change here, have +you?”</p> + +<p>“No; I’m supposed to be still in this white frock, +locked up in the power of the border desperadoes.”</p> + +<p>“And I, praise Heaven, am through!”</p> + +<p>Kitty did sound profoundly grateful for the fact. +Barrison thought she looked very tired and that her +eyes were rather unhappy. She had played her +part brilliantly and gayly, appearing, as usual, a +fresh and adorable young girl. Now, seen at close +range, she looked both weary and dispirited under +the powder and grease paint.</p> + +<p>“I’m awfully fagged!” she confessed. “And my +head is splitting. I think I’ll just sneak home.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but Mr. Dukane will be wild!” exclaimed +Sybil in protest. “Isn’t it a fad of his always to +have the principals wait for the curtain calls, no +matter when they’ve finished?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, stuff! We’re through with the regulation +business, all of us bowing prettily after the third +act, and Jack Carlton trying to make a speech that +isn’t unintelligible with slang! That’s enough and +to spare for one night. And I really feel wretched. +Like the Snark, I shall slowly and silently vanish +away! I call upon you, good people, to cover my +exit.”</p> + +<p>She slipped into her dressing room, and a moment +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> +later the dresser, Parry, whose services were shared +by her and Sybil, came out. She was a fat, pasty +woman whose long life spent in the wardrobe rooms +and dressing rooms of theaters seemed to have made +her pallid with a cellarlike pallor.</p> + +<p>She disappeared around the corner that led to the +stage door, and in a minute or so returned. As she +opened Kitty’s door and entered, Barrison heard her +say:</p> + +<p>“All right, Miss Legaye; Roberts is sending for a +taxi.”</p> + +<p>Of the dressing rooms Kitty’s was the farthest +back, Sybil’s next, and Mortimer’s—the star room—so +far down as to be adjoining the property room, +which was close to what is professionally known as +“the first entrance.” There Willie Coster and his +assistant ruled, supreme gods, over the electric +switchboard. The passage to the stage door ran at +right angles to the row of dressing rooms, so that +any one coming in or out at the former would not be +visible to any one standing near one of the rooms, +unless he or she turned the corner made by the star +dressing room. This particular point—the turning +near Mortimer’s door—was further masked by the +iron skeleton staircase which started near Sybil’s +room and ran upward in a sharp slant to the second +tier of dressing rooms where the small fry of the +company and the extras dressed.</p> + +<p>It is rather important to understand this general +plan. Make a note, also, that Mortimer’s big +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> +entrance in the “dark scene,” or, rather, at the close +of it, must be made up a short flight of steps; that +the scene was what is called a “box set”—a solid, +four-walled inclosure; that it was but a step from +the door of his own dressing room, and that the spot +where he had to stand waiting for his entrance cue +was in direct line, from one angle, with the stage +door, and from another with the door communicating +with the front of the house. This wait would +be a fairly long one, since, when the dark scene was +on, no lights of any sort would be permitted save +perhaps the merest glimmer to avoid accidents. The +actors were all expected to leave their lighted dressing +rooms and have their doors closed before the +melodramatic crash upon the stage told them that +the property lantern had been duly smashed and +that blackness must henceforth prevail until the +“rescue.”</p> + +<p>“All ready?” came Willie Coster’s anxious voice. +“The act is on. Miss Merivale, don’t stumble on +those steps when you are trying to escape. You +nearly twisted your ankle the other night. This is a +rotten thing to stage. Lucky Carlton made it about +as short as he possibly could. Playing a whole act +practically in the dark! Fred, put that light out +over there; it might cast a shadow.”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t the dark scene yet!” growled the +harassed sceneshifter addressed. He put it out, +however.</p> + +<p>“My cue in a moment!” whispered Sybil. “I must +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> +run! Where are my two deep-dyed ruffians who +drag me on?”</p> + +<p>“Present!” said one of them, Norman Crane, +laughing under his breath.</p> + +<p>They hurried down to their entrance, where the +other “deep-dyed ruffian” awaited them.</p> + +<p>Kitty Legaye, in a vivid scarlet satin evening coat, +stole cautiously out of her dressing room.</p> + +<p>“Shut that door!” commanded Willie in a sharp +undertone. “No lights, Miss Legaye!”</p> + +<p>Parry closed it immediately.</p> + +<p>“And now, Mortimer!” added the stage manager +in an exasperated mutter. “Of course he’ll let it go +until the last moment, and then breeze out like a +hurricane with his dressing-room door wide open +and enough light to——What is it?” And he +turned to hear a hasty question from his assistant.</p> + +<p>Kitty came close to Barrison and whispered beseechingly:</p> + +<p>“Do, please, tell Mr. Dukane that I only went +home because I really did feel ill. It’s—it’s been +quite a hard evening for me.” Her brown eyes +looked large and rather piteous.</p> + +<p>Barrison was sorry for her. She seemed such a +plucky little creature, and so glitteringly, valiantly +gay. Her red wrap all at once struck him as symbolic +of the little woman herself. She was defiantly +bright, like the coat. If her heart ached as +well as her head, if she really was disappointed, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> +hurt, unhappy—why, neither she nor the scarlet +coat proposed to be anything but gay!</p> + +<p>She waved her hand and tiptoed lightly away in +the direction of the stage door. Barrison turned to +look through a crack onto the stage. They were almost—yes, +they were actually ready for the dark +scene.</p> + +<p>In another moment the lantern crashed upon the +floor. There were shouts from the performers, and +audible gasps from the audience. For a full half +minute not a light showed anywhere in the house.</p> + +<p>Barrison felt oddly uncomfortable. The confusion, +the noises from the stage, the inky blackness, +all combined to arouse and increase that troubled, +suffocating feeling of which he had been conscious +earlier in the evening. The dark seemed full of +curious sounds that were not all associated with the +play. He almost felt his hair rise.</p> + +<p>A single one-candle electric bulb was turned on +somewhere. Its rays only made the darkness more +visible, rendered it more ghostly.</p> + +<p>A hand grasped his arm.</p> + +<p>“I thought—I saw a woman pass!” murmured +Dukane’s voice. “Hello! There goes Mortimer to +his entrance. He’s all right so far, anyway.” The +actor’s huge bulk and characteristic swagger were +just visible in the dimness as he left his room, closing +the door behind him at once. “Barrison, like a +good fellow, go out to Roberts and find out if any +one has tried to come in to-night.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> +<p>Dukane’s tone was strangely urgent, and Barrison +groped his way to the stage door.</p> + +<p>The old doorkeeper, when questioned, shook his +head.</p> + +<p>“No one’s passed here since seven o’clock,” he declared +emphatically. “No one except Miss Legaye, +just a minute ago.”</p> + +<p>“You’re sure?”</p> + +<p>“Sure!” exclaimed the man, misunderstanding +him. “I guess there ain’t any two ladies with a +coat the color of that one! I see it at dress rehearsal, +and it sure woke me up. I like lively +things, I does; pity there ain’t more ladies wears +’em.”</p> + +<p>Barrison laughed.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I know Miss Legaye +went out; but you’re sure no one came in?”</p> + +<p>“I tell you, no one’s gone by here since——”</p> + +<p>Barrison did not wait for a repetition of his asseverations, +but went back toward the stage. The +“rescue scene” was just beginning. Willie Coster, +a faint silhouette against the one dim bulb, was +conducting the shots like the leader of an orchestra:</p> + +<p>“One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six!”</p> + +<p>The six shots rang out with precision and thrilling +resonance. And then Jim Barrison grew icy cold +from head to foot.</p> + +<p>For there came a seventh shot.</p> + +<p>And it was followed by the wild and terrifying +sound of a woman’s scream.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">AWAITING THE POLICE</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">THAT scream echoed across the blackness. There +was a smell of gunpowder in the air. It +seemed an interminably long time before the lights +flared up, and the big curtain was rung down. At +last it formed a wall between the people on the stage +and the people in the audience, all about equally excited +by this time.</p> + +<p>“What is it—oh, what is it that’s happened?” +gasped Claire McAllister.</p> + +<p>Other women in the company echoed the bewildered +and frightened cry. Panic was loose +among them—panic and that horror of the unknown +and uncomprehended which is the worst of all horrors. +“What is it?” ran the quivering question from +mouth to mouth like wind in the grass.</p> + +<p>Barrison and Dukane knew what had happened +even before, with one accord, they dashed to the +little flight of steps where Mortimer must have been +waiting for his entrance cue. One look was enough. +Then the manager’s voice, clear and authoritative, +rang out:</p> + +<p>“Quiet there, every one. Mr. Mortimer has been +shot.”</p> + +<p>And swiftly upon the startling statement came +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> +Barrison’s command, given with professional sharpness:</p> + +<p>“Nobody is to leave the theater, please, until the +police have been here!”</p> + +<p>Shuddering and silent now, the men and women +drew back as though the quiet figure upon the floor +were a living menace, instead of something which +never again could commit an action of help or of +harm.</p> + +<p>Alan Mortimer must have died instantly.</p> + +<p>He lay at the foot of the steps, with his painted +face upturned to the blaze of the glaring electric +lights, and an ugly crimson patch of moisture upon +the front of his khaki uniform. There was something +indescribably ghastly in the sight of the +make-up upon that dead countenance.</p> + +<p>Old Wrenn, the valet, was kneeling at the side of +his dead master, trying to close the eyes with his +shaking, wrinkled fingers, and making no attempt +to hide the tears that rolled silently down his +cheeks. But, after one look into the stony, painted +face of the murdered man, Jim Barrison turned his +attention elsewhere.</p> + +<p>At the head of the four little steps stood Sybil +Merivale, in the white costume of <i>Lucille</i>, as motionless +as if she were frozen, with her hands locked +together. No ice maiden could have been more still, +and there was a chill horror in her look.</p> + +<p>“Miss Merivale,” said Barrison quickly, “you were +standing there when he was shot?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span></p> +<p>Slowly she bent her head in assent, and seemed +to be trying to speak, but no sound came from her +ashen lips.</p> + +<p>“Was it you who screamed?”</p> + +<p>“I—think so.” She spoke with obvious difficulty. +“I was frightened. I think—I screamed. I don’t +know.”</p> + +<p>Then every one who was watching started and +suppressed the shock they felt; for she had moved +her hands at last—the hands which had been so +convulsively clasped before her. And on her white +frock was a long splash of scarlet. One of the slim +hands, as every one could see, was dyed the same +sinister hue.</p> + +<p>She raised it, and looked at it, with her eyes dilating +strangely.</p> + +<p>“His blood!” she murmured, in a barely audible +voice.</p> + +<p>Dukane had sent Willie Coster out before the curtain +to disperse the audience. The police had been +sent for; the doors were guarded. Some of the girls +in the company were sobbing. Only Sybil Merivale +preserved that attitude of awful calm. She seemed +unable to move of her own volition, and remained +blind and deaf to every effort to help her down the +four steps.</p> + +<p>It was young Norman Crane, finally, who took +her hand in both his, and gently made her descend. +Then, as she stood there, looking like a pale ghost +in her white dress with the rather dull make-up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> +that the scene had demanded, the boy put his arm +gently around her.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, dear,” he said tenderly. “Don’t +look so wild, Sybil. Of course, it was a shock to +you, but you must rouse yourself now.” He looked +at Barrison as he spoke, and the detective thought +that there was a touch of defiance in his tone as he +emphasized the words, “Of course it was a shock to +you.” He seemed anxious to establish definitely +this fact.</p> + +<p>Jim quite understood and sympathized with him. +That Sybil had had anything to do with Mortimer’s +death the detective did not for a moment believe, +but her position was certainly an equivocal one. +This young actor was clearly in love with her, and +the situation must be an agonizing one for him.</p> + +<p>In confirmation of his conclusions, Barrison heard +Crane say to Dukane:</p> + +<p>“Miss Merivale and I are engaged to be married, +sir. She is very much upset, as you see. Will you +let me take her to her dressing room?”</p> + +<p>Dukane looked doubtfully at Barrison, who shook +his head.</p> + +<p>“I shall be very grateful if Miss Merivale will +stay where she is until the police come,” he said +courteously, but firmly. “You might see if you can’t +find her a chair.” For he had no desire to let a +witness out of his sight at this stage of the game.</p> + +<p>Norman Crane flushed under his make-up. “I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> +think you are going rather far!” he exclaimed hotly. +“Surely you don’t think——”</p> + +<p>“I think,” said Barrison, deliberately cutting him +short, “that you had better get the chair, and—has +any one any brandy? Miss Merivale looks very bad +indeed.”</p> + +<p>Old Wrenn spoke in a tremulous voice. “There +is some in his—in the dressing room, sir.”</p> + +<p>He went off and brought it, then stood once more +beside the body, wiping his shriveled old cheeks. +Barrison, seeing his evident and genuine grief, made +a mental chalk mark to the credit of Alan Mortimer. +There must have been some good in the man, +some element of the kind and the lovable, to have +won the devotion of this old servant.</p> + +<p>Crane held the brandy to Sybil’s lips, and she +drank a little mechanically. After a moment or so, +her eyes became less strained, her whole expression +more natural, and instead of the frozen blankness +which had been in her face before, there now +dawned a more living and at the same time an inexplicable +fear. She looked up at the face of her +young lover with a sort of sharp question in her +blue eyes, a look which puzzled Jim Barrison as he +caught it. What was it that she was mutely asking +him? What was it that she was afraid of?</p> + +<p>It had been scarcely five minutes since Mortimer’s +murder, yet already it seemed a long time. +They all felt as though that still figure on the floor +had been there for hours. Dukane would have had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> +the dead man moved to his dressing room, but Barrison +insisted that everything should be left as it +was. It was just then that he espied a small object +glittering on the floor just beyond the steps. He +stooped, picked it up, and put it in his pocket. As +he turned he saw, to his surprise, Tony Clay approaching.</p> + +<p>The older detective stared and frowned.</p> + +<p>“Where is Miss Templeton?” he demanded +sharply. “I told you to stay with her whatever +happened. Where is she?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I want to know,” said Tony. “She’s +gone!”</p> + +<p>“Gone! When did she go?”</p> + +<p>“Just before the dark scene. She felt faint and +sent me for a glass of water. Before I got back, +all that row on the stage started, and when the +lights were turned on again, she’d gone; that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“All!” groaned Barrison despairingly. “Tony, you +fool! You fool! Well, it’s too late to mend matters +now.”</p> + +<p>“Did anything happen, after all?” asked Tony, +with round eyes.</p> + +<p>Barrison stood aside and let him see Mortimer’s +dead body, which had been hidden from his view +by the little group around Sybil.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Heaven!” gasped Tony, horror-stricken. +“Then you don’t think she—Miss Templeton—did it? +Why, Jim, she couldn’t—there wasn’t time!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so myself. But it’s not our business +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> +to do any thinking at all—just yet. This can be a +lesson to you, Tony. When you’re watching a person, +<em>watch ’em</em>!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I think it can be a lesson to you, too!” said +Tony unexpectedly. “You’ve been acting all along +as though this affair were a movie scenario, that +you thought was entertaining, but not a bit serious, +and——”</p> + +<p>Jim Barrison flushed deeply and miserably. “I +know it, Tony,” he said, in a very grave voice. +“Don’t make any mistake about it; I’m getting mine! +I’ll never forgive myself as long as I live.”</p> + +<p>Willie Coster came up to them. He was paler and +wilder-eyed than ever, and his scant red hair stood +stiffly erect. Poor Willie! In all his long years of +nightmarish first nights, this was the worst. Any +one who knew him could read in his eyes the agonized +determination to go and get drunk as soon as +he possibly could.</p> + +<p>“The police inspector has come,” he said, in a low +tone. “And, say, when you get to sifting things +down, I’ve something to say myself.”</p> + +<p>“You have! You know who fired the seventh +shot?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say that. But if you’ll ask me some +questions by and by, I may have something to tell +you.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">RECONSTRUCTING THE CRIME</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">INSPECTOR LOWRY was an old friend of Barrison’s, +though, like most of the regular force, +inclined to treat the younger man as a dilettante +rather than an astute professional. However, he +was quite ready to include Jim in the investigation +which he set about making without loss of time.</p> + +<p>Lowry was a big, raw-boned man of middle age, +with a peculiarly soft, amiable voice, and a habit +of looking at almost any point on earth save the +face of the person to whom he was speaking. +This seemingly indifferent manner gave him an +enormous advantage over any luckless soul whom +he chanced to be examining, for when he shot +the question which was of all questions the most +vital and the most important, he would suddenly +open his eyes and turn their piercing gaze full +upon his victim. That unfortunate, having by +that time relaxed his self-guard, would be apt to +betray his innermost emotions under the unexpected +gaze.</p> + +<p>Naturally, the first thing to do was to get Sybil +Merivale’s story.</p> + +<p>His manner to the girl was not unkindly. She +was a piteous figure enough, as she sat drooping +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>in the chair they had brought her, trying to keep +her eyes from turning, with a dreadful fascination, +to the spatter of red upon the steps so near her. +Norman Crane stood at her side, with the air of +defying the universe, if it were necessary, for +her protection. Once in a while she would look +up at him, and always with that subtle expression +of apprehension and uncertainty which Barrison +found so hard to read.</p> + +<p>“Miss—ah—Merivale? Quite so, quite so. Miss +Merivale, if you feel strong enough, I should be +glad if you would tell us what you know about +the shooting.” The inspector’s voice was mild as +honey, and his glance wandered about this queer, +shadowy world behind the scenes. It is doubtful +if he had ever made an investigation in such surroundings. +To see him, one would have said that +he was interested in everything except in Sybil +Merivale and what she had to tell.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about it,” she answered +simply.</p> + +<p>“But you were quite close to him when he was +shot, were you not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” She shuddered, and looked down at the +stain of blood upon her dress. “He was just +taking me up in his arms to carry me on——”</p> + +<p>“That was in the—ah—action of the play?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. After the six shots, I heard another, and +felt him stagger. I slipped to the floor, and he +fell at once. He put out his hand to catch at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>scenery.” She pointed to the canvas door of the +stage set which still stood open. “I felt something +warm on my hand.” She closed her eyes as though +the remembrance made her faint. “Then he—he +fell backward down the steps. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes.” The inspector thought for a moment, +and then he said to Dukane: “Would it be possible +for every one to go to the places they occupied at +the moment of the shooting? I am assuming that +every one is here who was here then?”</p> + +<p>“Every one; so far as I know, no one has been +allowed to leave the theater. Willie, tell them to +take their places.”</p> + +<p>Willie caused a rather ghastly sensation when +he called out: “Everybody, please! On the stage, +every one who is in the last act!”</p> + +<p>There was a murmur among the actors.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” muttered Claire McAllister. “They +ain’t goin’ to rehearse us <em>now</em>, are they?”</p> + +<p>Dukane explained, and with all the lights blazing, +the players took the positions they had occupied at +the beginning of the dark scene. Stage carpenters +and sceneshifters did the same; also Willie and +his assistant, even Dukane and Barrison. The +woman Parry and old Wrenn went into the dressing +rooms, where they had been, and closed the doors. +Sybil Merivale mounted the little flight of steps +and stood at the top, looking through the open +door onto the stage.</p> + +<p>“Is that just the way you stood?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span></p> +<p>Every one answered “yes” to this question.</p> + +<p>One or two things became apparent by this plan, +which rather surprised Barrison. He had not, for +one thing, realized how close Willie Coster stood +to the place where Mortimer fell. Yet, of course, +he should have expected it. It was, as a matter +of fact, Willie who directed the six shots, which +were supposed to come from the point back of +<i>Tarrant’s</i> entrance. There were, as it turned out, +at least three persons who were so close as to +have been material witnesses had there been any +light: Willie, the man who fired the shots and +had charge of other off-stage effects, and—Norman +Crane.</p> + +<p>Crane took up his position immediately inside +the box set, close to the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Is that where you stood?” asked Lowry.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I played the part of a Mexican desperado, +and was supposed to be on guard at the door +leading down into the cellar, which was the stage.”</p> + +<p>“The door was open, as it is now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then you could have seen through it anything +that happened on the steps off stage?”</p> + +<p>“I could have if there had been light enough.”</p> + +<p>“As it was, you didn’t see anything?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t hear anything?”</p> + +<p>The young man seemed to pause for just a +moment before he said “No,” to this question also. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>If the inspector noticed his hesitation, he did not +appear to do so. He began to talk in an undertone +to one of the men who had come with him.</p> + +<p>John Carlton had been sending in frantic messages +ever since the tragedy, begging to be permitted +to come behind, but the allied powers there +agreed that there were enough people marooned as it +was. There was nothing to be gained by adding another, +and one whom it would probably be unnecessary +either to hold or to bind with nervousness and +disappointment.</p> + +<p>In an undertone, Dukane said to Jim Barrison: +“I thought they always sent for a doctor first of +all? Why isn’t there one here?”</p> + +<p>“There is,” returned Jim, in the same tone. +“He’s over there with the two policemen and the +plain-clothes man who came in with Lowry—the +little, old fellow with spectacles. Lowry’ll call on +him again in a moment; he examined the body and +pronounced life extinct. That was all that was +absolutely necessary. Lowry has his own way of +doing things, and he’s supreme in his department. +He’s ‘reconstructing the crime’ just now.”</p> + +<p>Barrison, indeed, was listening with gradually +increasing interest. This method which was being +employed by Inspector Lowry, sometimes known +as the “reconstruction-of-the-crime” method, was +rather old-fashioned, and many younger and more +modern men preferred the more scientific, analytical, +and deductive ways of solving mysteries. Yet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>there was something distinctly fascinating, even +illuminating, about the inspector’s simple, sure-fire +fashion of setting his stage and perhaps his trap +at one and the same time. Barrison felt his own +veins tingle with the leap of his roused blood.</p> + +<p>“Barrison,” said Lowry pleasantly, “just go up +there on those steps, and be Mortimer for a +minute. So!” The younger man obeyed with +alacrity. “Miss Merivale, was that about where +he stood?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And you are sure that you yourself were just +where you are now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Just there, you know. Not more to the right?”</p> + +<p>She glanced at him with faint wonder.</p> + +<p>“I think I may have been a little more to the +right,” she said. “That is, to your right, and my +left. But I don’t see why you thought so—and it +doesn’t matter, does it?”</p> + +<p>“And you, Mr. Crane,” pursued the inspector, +paying no attention to her last words, “you are +absolutely certain of where you stood?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, quite so; quite so!” murmured Lowry, +looking dreamily into space. Suddenly he faced +about and said sharply: “Mr. Crane, will you +kindly lift your right hand and point it at Mr. +Barrison? Just so; exactly! At that range, you +could hardly have missed him.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p> +<p>Norman Crane clenched his fists in a white heat +of indignation. “You dare to imply——”</p> + +<p>“Only what your fiancée has already been fearing,” +said the inspector calmly, “that your position +in this matter is, to say the least, not less unpleasant +than hers. You were, as is evident, only +a few feet away from the man.”</p> + +<p>Crane started to speak, but checked himself. +Barrison thought he knew what he would have +said; or, if he was not going to say it, he should +have, for the direction of the bullet was a thing +which ought to be easily determined. But something +prevented the young actor from uttering +anything resembling a protest; it was simple to +see what it was.</p> + +<p>Sybil Merivale, however unwillingly or unconsciously, +had given color to suspicion against him +by the low, heart-broken sobbing into which she +had broken at the bare suggestion.</p> + +<p>After one quick look at the obvious distress of +the young girl whom he loved so well, Norman +Crane suddenly changed his antagonistic attitude. +He faced the detectives quietly, and said to them, +in a manner that was not without dignity:</p> + +<p>“Very well. I admit that it looks bad for me. +I suppose that is enough? If you feel that you +have any case at all against me, I shall make no +trouble. Do you mean to arrest me?”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked at him rather more directly +than was his wont, and also longer.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span></p> +<p>At last he allowed himself to smile, and though +he was known to be a hard man with even possible +criminals, the smile was singularly pleasant just +then.</p> + +<p>“Bless you,” he remarked tranquilly, “that’s all +a matter for our medical friends to settle! If the +bullet entered the body at a certain angle and a +certain range, it will let you out.”</p> + +<p>“Then all this,” exclaimed Crane angrily—it was +so like a boy to be most enraged when most relieved—“all +this is waste of time—pure theatrics?”</p> + +<p>But at this point Willie Coster interfered. “Say, +Mr. Inspector,” he said, awkwardly but determinedly, +“I’m not crazy about a spotlight on +myself, but just here there’s something I ought to +say. I was pretty close by, myself, you understand.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly where you are now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And until the lantern was broken in the +scrap scene, there was a little light shining through +that door from the stage. See?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” It was not only the representatives of the +law who listened eagerly now. “Go on, man, go on!”</p> + +<p>“Well”—Willie hesitated, gulped, and plunged +ahead—“I saw a woman’s shadow on the wall, +and she had something in her hand. That’s all I +wanted to say.”</p> + +<p>“Something in her——A revolver?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p> +<p>“Would you be prepared to—ah—say that you +recognized the shadow?”</p> + +<p>“I would not. One woman’s shadow’s much like +another, so far as I can see; and the women, too, +for that matter! I never troubled to tell ’em apart!”</p> + +<p>“And you won’t even express a—ah—an impression +as to whether what this shadow woman +held was a weapon or not?”</p> + +<p>“No!” snapped Willie impatiently. “Why should +I? I didn’t think about it at the time. I was +waiting to time those shots. All I know is that it +was a woman, and that she was holding something. +She had something in her hand.”</p> + +<p>“I’d give something if I had it in mine!” muttered +the inspector fervently, more fervently than +he usually permitted himself to speak when on a +case.</p> + +<p>Barrison put his hand in his pocket and drew +out the thing which he had found in the shadow +of the miniature stairway. He thought it the +proper time to hand it over, and he said:</p> + +<p>“I think you have it now, Lowry! The barrel +was still warm when I picked it up a few minutes +after the murder.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">FACTS AND FANCIES</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">A SHORT while later the inspector addressed +them mildly:</p> + +<p>“I very often get a great deal of blame because +I won’t do things in a regulation way. But, even +while I get the blame, I also get the results—sometimes, +not always.” The inspector looked around +him thoughtfully, and repeated: “Not always. As +most people know, the first thing we must do in +locating a crime is to find out who could have +done it; next, who wanted to do it. The opportunity +is valueless without the wish; the wish is +not enough without the opportunity. But, of the +two essential points, the opportunity is the big +thing. For instance, some one standing in Miss +Merivale’s position—I mean, of course, her physical +position—might have that opportunity. It also +seems to me that some one standing on the stage +level, on the right of the steps, and reaching +upward, would have practically the same opportunity.”</p> + +<p>He took the little pistol and balanced it lightly +in his big hand. Then he walked over to the +point at which the weapon had been found at +the side of the steps which was farthest from +the front.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span></p> +<p>He raised his arm and pointed at Barrison, who +still stood where Mortimer had been standing.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he said, “it could have been done +this way. The bullet would have entered the +body under the right arm as he picked Miss +Merivale up, supposing her story to have been true.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” exclaimed Norman Crane eagerly, “that +eliminates both Miss Merivale and myself from +the suspects!”</p> + +<p>“It surely eliminates you,” rejoined the police +officer calmly, “because you couldn’t have thrown +this gun through the door so that it fell where it +did fall, unless you were a particularly skillful +baseball pitcher; and then you couldn’t! But, +as for Miss Merivale—Miss Merivale, we will suppose +that you are going to shoot this man; please +consider Mr. Barrison in that light. He is taller +than you; the weapon you use may be held close +to your side to avoid detection.”</p> + +<p>“I had no weapon!” she flashed.</p> + +<p>“Naturally not, naturally not!” agreed the inspector, +with a pacific wave of his hand. “But +you might have had, you know——”</p> + +<p>“How could——”</p> + +<p>“Pouf, pouf, my dear Miss Merivale! How you +carried it—or, rather, could have carried it, is a +secondary matter. I never saw a woman’s costume +yet in which she could not secrete anything +she wanted. Your dress is one of the very modern, +extra loose coat affairs; there are a hundred ways +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>in which you <em>could</em> have secreted anything you +wished. I didn’t say you had; I merely said that +you were foolish to say it was impossible. As I +was saying, if you did happen to have a pistol +and did happen to shoot it off at Mr. Mortimer, +the angle would be very much the same as that +taken by the bullet of some one standing somewhat +below and reaching upward as far as they could.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Sybil breathlessly. “You forget—he +would have been shot squarely in front, if I +had done it—or Norman!”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” said Lowry, pleasantly attentive.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes!” she reminded him. “He was facing +me.”</p> + +<p>“We have only your word,” said the officer gently.</p> + +<p>“I——” began Norman Crane impulsively, then +stopped in discomfort. He recalled that he had +sworn not to have seen anything through the open +door.</p> + +<p>Lowry, on the other hand, restrained himself +from reminding him that his testimony under the +circumstances would be rather worse than nothing. +To cover up any awkwardness, he went on: “Without +any discourtesy to you, we are bound to +consider any and all possibilities.”</p> + +<p>“But,” protested Norman Crane, “you said all +that would be settled by the doctors!”</p> + +<p>“I said your part of it would be; not, necessarily, +Miss Merivale’s. Doctor Colton?”</p> + +<p>The little man with spectacles stepped forward, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>and, after a brief interchange of words with the +inspector, bent over the body of Mortimer.</p> + +<p>Lowry turned to Dukane. “I should like to +have the murdered man carried in somewhere, just +as soon as the medical examiner arrives and sees +it. The dressing room? Is that the closest? Quite +so—quite so! That will do excellently. Very +near, isn’t it? Quite convenient.” His eye measured +the distance between the door of the room +and the spot where the murder had taken place. +“Just a moment first, though. I want to——Oh, +here’s the medical examiner now. In a minute +I think you may dismiss your people, most of +them, that is. We shall know where to reach +them, if necessary, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Of course—at any time.”</p> + +<p>“Then they may all go—except Miss Merivale, +and—let me see—the man who was on guard +at the door between the front and back. And +your stage door keeper; I shall want to speak to +him a bit later. But the rest—what do you call +them—supers?”</p> + +<p>“Extras. I may dismiss the extras?”</p> + +<p>“I think so. They were all on the stage, or upstairs +in the upper tier of rooms, weren’t they?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then I doubt if we want them——”</p> + +<p>Barrison, though unwillingly, was obliged to whisper +that Claire McAllister should be held. He +knew that she was bound to talk sooner or later +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>about Sybil’s attitude toward the dead man, and +he felt that it might as well be sooner as later. +Barrison, looking toward the star dressing room, +saw that the door was a little open, and that old +Wrenn was standing in the aperture, with an expression +of intense agitation upon his wrinkled +face. Whether the look was horror, grief, or fear, +it would be impossible at that juncture to say. +Barrison rather believed it was the latter. Though +of what could that old man be so acutely afraid?</p> + +<p>There was another person who was taking an +exceptional interest in the proceedings, the uniformed +guard who had been placed on duty at +the communicating door, the young man whom +the inspector had said he wished to question later. +Lowry suddenly turned upon him.</p> + +<p>“Is that where you stood at the time of the +shooting?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>The young man started and flushed.</p> + +<p>“N-no, sir,” he stammered; “I was over there +by the door.”</p> + +<p>“Then go back there over by the door, and stay +there until you are told to move.”</p> + +<p>The man retreated hastily, looking crestfallen, and +muttering something under his breath.</p> + +<p>Somehow, although the extras had been dismissed, +and the body was to be removed, Barrison felt +that Lowry had not yet quite finished with his +reconstruction work, so scornfully stigmatized by +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>young Crane as “theatrics.” His instinct was not +at fault.</p> + +<p>The inspector wheeled very suddenly toward +Sybil Merivale. “Miss Merivale,” he said, “you +have already given us some testimony which doubtless +was unpleasant to give. I am going to beg +you to be even more generous. You have said +that you stood there at the head of the steps, +waiting for your cue. I should like you now to +be more detailed. You are relating, remember, what +occurred within the last two minutes of Alan Mortimer’s +life. There could scarcely be two minutes +more important, and I must ask you as solemnly +and urgently as I can to omit nothing that could +possibly throw any light upon the problem of +how he met his death. Will you repeat what +you said before, with any additions that come to +you as you strain your memory?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand,” she faltered wearily. “What +more is there to tell?”</p> + +<p>“Try to remember!” said the inspector.</p> + +<p>Barrison was convinced that he was bluffing, +and that he had no idea of anything further that +the girl could tell, but to his surprise Sybil flushed +painfully and looked away. The younger detective +shook his head in silent admiration. The inspector +might be old-fashioned, but he had his inspirations.</p> + +<p>“I was waiting for my cue,” she began, in a +low voice, “and looking at the stage through the +open door. I have told you that.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span></p> +<p>“What was your cue, Miss Merivale?”</p> + +<p>“But you know that—after the lantern was +broken, there were to be six shots, and he”—she +would not mention his name—“was to carry me +on in his arms.”</p> + +<p>“Well, go on,” said the inspector gently enough. +“It is true that we have heard this before, Miss +Merivale, but in my experience even the most honest +witness—even the most honest witness”—he repeated +the words with faint emphasis—“seldom +tells a story precisely the same twice. You were +standing there——”</p> + +<p>“I was standing there, and I heard him come +up behind me.”</p> + +<p>“How did you know it was Mr. Mortimer if +you were not looking in his direction?”</p> + +<p>“I heard him speak.”</p> + +<p>“What did he say?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. He was muttering to himself. +He seemed horribly angry—upset. I thought——” +She checked herself.</p> + +<p>“What did you think?”</p> + +<p>“That—he had been drinking. He—he was—very +much excited. He kept muttering things +under his breath, and once he stumbled.”</p> + +<p>Dukane interposed. “Mortimer—drank—occasionally; +but he was cold sober to-night. I know.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” The inspector nodded dreamily. “Then +it was something else which had upset him; quite +so. You see, one gets more from the second +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>telling than the first. Go on, if you please, Miss +Merivale. You knew from his voice that he was +excited. Did he come up onto the steps at once?”</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know.” She looked at him appealingly; +she seemed honestly confused. “When he +spoke to me—I should think perhaps he had taken +a step or so up—I don’t know. I didn’t turn +round at once.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, he spoke to you. And said—what?”</p> + +<p>“Do I have to tell that?” She flushed and then +paled. “It hasn’t—truly, it hasn’t—anything to do +with—all this!” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid we will have to be the judge of +that,” Lowry said, quite gently; Barrison had an +idea that the old sleuth was truly sorry for the +girl, but he never willingly left a trail. “What +did he say?”</p> + +<p>“He said—he said: ‘If you knew the state of +mind I’m in, you’d think I was showing great +self-control toward you, this minute!’ That’s +exactly what he said.”</p> + +<p>“What did he mean by that?” demanded the +inspector, surprised and not taking the trouble, for +once, to hide it.</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>“I asked you, Miss Merivale, if you have any +idea what he meant by so peculiar a greeting? +Can you think of anything in your acquaintance—in +your relation with him—which might explain it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” she said, lifting her head and answering +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>boldly. “I know perfectly well what he meant. +He was excited or probably he would not have +said it then, for he cared awfully about his profession, +his work on the stage, and he would +ordinarily have been thinking most of that, just +then. But he meant—I am sure he meant that—the +darkness gave him—opportunities.”</p> + +<p>“Opportunities?”</p> + +<p>“Opportunities—such as—such as—he had abused +before.”</p> + +<p>There was the pause of a breath.</p> + +<p>“You mean,” said Inspector Lowry, “that he had +forced his attentions upon you in the past?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Against your will? I asked you—against your +will?”</p> + +<p>“I had always refused his attentions,” she answered, +with hesitation.</p> + +<p>The detectives noted the change of phrase as +she answered, but the inspector made no comment.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said. “What did you answer +then? I presume you turned round to face him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did.”</p> + +<p>“What did you answer?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say anything—then.”</p> + +<p>“Ah—not then! What did you do, Miss Merivale? +Did you hear me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I heard you. I did not do anything. I +stood still. I was frightened.”</p> + +<p>“You stood still, facing him. Could you see him?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p> +<p>“Yes. He was just below me. I could see him, +and I thought I heard him laugh in a—a dreadful +way. He came up two of the steps, and I could +see his face.”</p> + +<p>“It was not the dark scene yet?”</p> + +<p>“No; the lantern was not yet out. It was dark, +but not pitch dark. His face frightened me. He +had frightened me before.”</p> + +<p>“And did Mr. Mortimer speak to you again?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The answer came in a gasping breath, and Norman +Crane seemed to echo it unconsciously. He +was following every syllable that she spoke with +a terrible attentiveness, and at that last “yes” he +shuddered and drew his breath quickly. Lowry +fixed him with that disconcerting, unexpected look +of his.</p> + +<p>“So that was what you heard through the open +door!” he said, making it a statement, not a query. +“Well, Miss Merivale, he was coming up the steps +toward you, and he said——”</p> + +<p>“He said, ‘When I pick you up to-night to +carry you onto the stage—I shall kiss you!’”</p> + +<p>The shudder that came with this admission shook +her. Her eyes turned toward the body which, for +some reason, had not yet been taken away, and +in their gaze there was fear and loathing, and—it +might be—contempt.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Inspector Lowry, apparently unsurprised. +“And what did you answer, Miss Merivale?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span></p> +<p>She hardly seemed to hear. Her eyes were still +fixed upon that dead face, awful in its paint and +powder, such a handsome face, lately so full of +compelling charm, even now a face that one could +scarcely pass without a second look.</p> + +<p>“What did you say, Miss Merivale?”</p> + +<p>She paused for only a moment; then, looking +straight at the inspector, she replied very deliberately +indeed:</p> + +<p>“I said: ‘If you do that—I shall kill you!’”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">IN THE STAR DRESSING ROOM</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">A BRIEF pause followed Sybil’s unexpectedly +dramatic statement. Then Inspector Lowry +bowed gravely.</p> + +<p>“That is all, Miss Merivale,” he said, without +looking at her. “We shall not want you for a +while, though I shall have to speak to you again +later. I should advise you, as a friend, to go +to your own dressing room to rest.”</p> + +<p>“May I—mayn’t I—go home?” she asked piteously. +But on such points as these no amount +of courtesy or human sympathy could make Lowry +less inexorable.</p> + +<p>“Not just yet,” he said calmly. “Later, we shall +see. Go and rest, my dear young lady. Do go +and rest!”</p> + +<p>Norman Crane started forward to help her, but, +to every one’s surprise, Claire McAllister, the extra +woman who had been kept for possibly relevant +testimony, was before him.</p> + +<p>“You come with me, you poor kid!” she exclaimed, +as tenderly as she possibly could. “I’ll +see to you. Gee, but this is a bunch of boobs, +not to see that you’re about as apt to get in +wrong as a two-months’ one! Come on, deary!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span></p> +<p>They vanished within the dressing room wherein +Sybil had dressed for a possible triumph that +selfsame evening—hard as it was for any of them +to believe it. That evening? It might just as +well have been a month earlier, and even Dukane, +the imperturbable, was haggard with the strain +already.</p> + +<p>To him Lowry said something in a low voice, +and the manager turned at once to Mortimer’s +valet, still standing at the door:</p> + +<p>“Wrenn, clear the couch in there. We are——” +He paused, respecting the man’s feelings, and +ended gently: “We are bringing him in.”</p> + +<p>They carried the big, splendidly made form into +the room which he had left such a short time +before, in such a high tide of life and strength. +There was nothing of tragedy in this setting. Barrison +looked about him curiously, as though he +were in a queer sort of dream in which all manner +of incongruities might be expected.</p> + +<p>There were brilliant electric bulbs topping and +framing the glass on the dressing table; Barrison +knew that actors were obliged to test their make-up +under various lighting effects, and there was something +darkly strange in this array of lights still +ready for a test that could not come again—for +Mortimer. At that same table, under the same +bulbs, other stars would put on paint and wigs +and costumes. This one would do so no more.</p> + +<p>In that vivid glare, the litter of the paraphernalia +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>of make-up glowed with a somewhat gay, decorative +effect. Rouge boxes and cold-cream jars and sticks +of grease paint lay just as he had left them. Evidently +Mortimer had been “touching up” for the +last act, and the valet had not yet had time to clear +up or put away anything.</p> + +<p>Lowry’s keen eyes ran over the room, in that +seemingly cursory but actually minute inspection +which characterized his methods. There was nothing +about it unlike other theatrical dressing rooms. +There was the usual long dresser with its rows of +brilliant bulbs; there were the clothes hanging on +the walls; there was the couch—now bearing that +tragic burden, the magnificent body in khaki—the +big trunk, the two chairs—the small one by the +table, and the easy one for rest and visitors. Apparently, +there was nothing in the room for a +detective to note, save the dead man, and—here +the inspector’s glance became more vague, a sure +sign that he was particularly interested, for he was +looking at Wrenn.</p> + +<p>The old man, in his decent black clothes, was +standing near the couch; and he was watching +the intruders with a sort of baleful combination +of terror and resentment. The fear which he had +shown in his face when he looked out of the +dressing-room door a few minutes since, had not +vanished from it; but to it was added another, +and a not less violent emotion. He was angry, +he was on the defensive. He might, for the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>moment, have been some cornered animal, frightened, +but nevertheless about to spring upon his enemy.</p> + +<p>It was against Lowry’s principles to ask questions +at such moments as might be considered +obvious; so it was Dukane who said, with some +asperity:</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Wrenn?”</p> + +<p>The old man’s face worked and his voice shook, +as he returned:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Dukane, sir—you—you aren’t going to let +all these people in here, to poke and pry about among +my poor master’s things? It’s—it’s a wicked shame, +so it is! I’d never have thought it possible! It’s +an outrage——”</p> + +<p>“You’re crazy, Wrenn!” said Dukane, trying to +remember the old fellow’s bereavement, and doing +his best to speak kindly instead of impatiently. +“These are detectives, officers of the law. They +are on this case, and they have a perfect right +to do anything they want to.”</p> + +<p>“But, sir”—the old servant was working himself +up more and more, and his cracked voice was growing +shrill—“what are they doing here, sir? What +can they have to do here? Can’t his—his poor +body rest in peace without a—a lot of policemen +poking——”</p> + +<p>The inspector interrupted him placidly. “Much +obliged for the suggestion, Wrenn! We might +not have thought of searching this dressing room, +but, thanks to you, we certainly will now!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></p> +<p>“Of course,” he said to Barrison later, “we’d +have had to do it anyway, but I wanted to scare +that old chap into thinking it was chiefly his doing!”</p> + +<p>Wrenn gasped. “Oh, sir, oh, Mr. Dukane!” he +implored. “Can’t he—lie in peace—just for to-night? +I—I’d like to sit with him to-night, sir. +Surely there’s no harm?”</p> + +<p>“Was he so very kind to you?” said the inspector +sympathetically.</p> + +<p>Wrenn hesitated. “Mostly he was, sir,” he said at +last, quite simply. And then he added in a queer, +forlorn way: “I—I’ve been with him a long time, +you know, sir.”</p> + +<p>The detectives, despite Wrenn’s protests, searched +the room with methodical thoroughness. If there +was one single thing, no bigger than a pin, which +ought not, in the nature of things, to be in a dressing +room of this kind, why, they were there to +find it.</p> + +<p>“But why?” Dukane whispered to Barrison. “Not +that there is the slightest objection—but what is +it Lowry expects to find?”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t,” replied Barrison. “He’s from +Missouri; he wants to be shown. We always +search the premises, you know——”</p> + +<p>“But it wasn’t here he was killed.”</p> + +<p>“No; but it was so near here that——Hello! +They’ve got something!”</p> + +<p>He spoke in the tone of suppressed excitement +that a fox hunter might have used.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span></p> +<p>The plain-clothes man with the inspector had +opened the trunk, and was staring into it with a +puzzled face. At the same moment, Wrenn emitted +a low moan, as though, after a struggle, he found +himself obliged to give up at last. He staggered +a trifle, and caught at the back of a chair to steady +himself.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the inspector, softly jocose. “Haven’t +found the murderer in that trunk, have you, Sims?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said the officer; but his voice was as +puzzled as his eyes. “Only this.”</p> + +<p>He took something out of the trunk, and held +it up in the unsparing glare of the dressing-room +lights. It was assuredly an odd sort of article to +be found in a man’s theater trunk. For it was a +piece of filmy white stuff, with lace upon it, badly +torn.</p> + +<p>“A sleeve,” said the inspector, with an obvious +accent of astonishment. “A woman’s sleeve—let’s +have a look at it.”</p> + +<p>He took it into his own hands. Clearly, it was +the sleeve and part of the shoulder of a woman’s +dress or blouse, trimmed with elaborate, but rather +coarse and cheap lace. On the front, where it +had evidently been ripped and torn away from +the original garment, were finger prints, stamped +in a brownish red.</p> + +<p>The inspector’s eyes strayed to the dressing table +with its array of paints and powders.</p> + +<p>“Anything there that will correspond? Barrison, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>take a look, while Sims goes through the rest of +the trunk.”</p> + +<p>Barrison returned with a jar.</p> + +<p>“It’s bolamine,” explained Dukane. “They use +it for a dark make-up, to suggest tan or sunburn. +Mortimer would naturally use it in an out-of-door +part of this sort.”</p> + +<p>“On his hands, too?”</p> + +<p>“Surely on his hands; only amateurs forget the +hands.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Lowry. “We’ll have the finger prints +examined and compared with Mortimer’s, though it’s +scarcely necessary, I imagine. It’s so evident +that——”</p> + +<p>Wrenn broke in, almost frantically:</p> + +<p>“It’s only a make-up rag, sir! Every one uses +make-up rags, sir, to wipe the make-up off!”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Lowry. “You provided yourself with +these make-up rags, then?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” Wrenn spoke eagerly. “I asked the +chambermaid at the hotel for some old pieces for +Mr. Mortimer, and——”</p> + +<p>“Wrenn, don’t be a fool,” said Lowry, speaking +sharply for the first time. “In the first place—unless +I am much mistaken—make-up rags are +used only when the make-up is taken off—right, +Mr. Dukane?”</p> + +<p>The manager nodded.</p> + +<p>“And then—why, in that case, was this rag so +precious that you had to shut it up in a trunk, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>before it had been used? For I take it that a +make-up rag doesn’t show just one or two complete +sets of finger prints when a man gets through with +it! It must look something like a rag that’s used +on brasses or an automobile! Also, I see that +there are two or three cloths already on the +dressing table.”</p> + +<p>He turned his back on Wrenn, and examined +the bit of linen that he held, while the other detectives +held their breath.</p> + +<p>“This,” he said at last, “was torn from the +dress of some woman who was in the dressing +room to-night, at some time after Mortimer was +made up.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Dukane, with the faintest shrug, +and said:</p> + +<p>“You know, when I tried to reconstruct the crime +by putting every one in their places—the places +they had occupied at the time of the shooting—I +was attempting the impossible. For there evidently +was some one else here, some one who has +gone; some one”—his eyes flew suddenly and +piercingly to Wrenn—“whom this man wishes to +shield.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE TWO DOORWAYS</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">WHETHER it was strictly correct or not, no +one was in a position to question, but, anyway, +Inspector Lowry told Sybil finally to go home +after leaving her address. A lot of skeleton theories +had come tumbling down with the discovery that +another and unknown woman had been present +in Mortimer’s dressing room that night.</p> + +<p>Even Claire McAllister’s testimony—that Miss +Merivale had told her she sometimes wished she +could kill their star—fell flat after Sybil’s own +confession of not only what she had felt, but +what she had threatened.</p> + +<p>The whole business was, as Barrison could see, +a sickening one for Inspector Lowry. He had +fallen down right and left; practically speaking, he +had nothing left now to work on, out of all his +ingenious work of reconstruction.</p> + +<p>Only his examination of the two men on guard +at the doors had brought out anything clear cut, +anything on which seriously to work.</p> + +<p>First of all, he had questioned Joe Lynch, the +young fellow whose job it had been to keep +any one save the detective and the manager from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>passing either way through the communicating +door.</p> + +<p>“Your name is Joe Lynch, you say?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You have already said that you stood there by +the communicating door during the dark scene, +Lynch?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Just there?”</p> + +<p>“As near as I can say, sir, yes. I was close +up here by the door. My orders was to keep it +shut except for the detectives or Mr. Dukane.”</p> + +<p>“And did you know why?”</p> + +<p>“Why, how do you mean, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Did you understand why the orders were so +strict to-night of all nights?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that. Yes, sir; I knew there’d been some +talk of Mr. Mortimer being in some sort of +danger.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I couldn’t say, sir. I don’t rightly know. +Them things gets about. Anyhow, I knew that; +and I was, so to speak, sort o’ set on taking care +of Mr. Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>“Did you like him, then?”</p> + +<p>The young man’s dull eyes opened wide.</p> + +<p>“Me, sir?” he said, in surprise. “I never see +him to talk to. But I was wanting to do my +part. Mr. Dukane and Mr. Barrison, too, told me +I was to look sharp. So I did.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span></p> +<p>“Ah! You did, eh? You looked sharp, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Sure?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, sir! Course I did! I—I was keen +on showing I was as quick as the next.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! How were you going to show that?”</p> + +<p>Young Lynch laughed frankly, yet with a sort +of embarrassment, too.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, Mr. Dukane, he offered twenty-five +dollars either to Mr. Roberts or me if we could +spot any one trying anything suspicious, or anything.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Ah!</em>” The inspector’s laconic monosyllable +sounded a bit sharper than usual. “So that was +it! Lynch, you were standing there when you +heard the shot?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, as near as I can say now, in these +very tracks.”</p> + +<p>The inspector stood beside him and let his eyes +move slowly from the big door beside them to the +little flight of steps where the star had met his +death.</p> + +<p>“Mighty narrow way to pass,” he murmured, +half to himself.</p> + +<p>“Sir?” said Lynch respectfully.</p> + +<p>The inspector continued to measure distances with +his eye.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he said to Lynch, “if you will draw +a straight line from here where we stand, past the +angle of the property-room corner to the entrance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>where Mr. Mortimer was waiting, do you see what +I mean?”</p> + +<p>Lynch looked obediently where he was directed. +“No, sir,” he said, after he had looked.</p> + +<p>Lowry sighed gently. “Not much space to pass +any one, anyway,” he murmured.</p> + +<p>Lynch looked at him, still blankly.</p> + +<p>“Lynch,” said the inspector, “if I were in your +place, and had a chance of making twenty-five dollars +if I caught any one, and while I was on duty +like this, and heard a shot——”</p> + +<p>He paused, not seeming to look at Lynch, but +really noting every shadow and light that passed +over his face.</p> + +<p>“If I were, in short, as you had been situated, +I should have left my post when I heard that shot +and run forward toward the man I was supposed +to guard. I think I should have considered it my +duty.”</p> + +<p>“Would you, indeed, sir?” cried young Lynch +hopefully.</p> + +<p>The inspector suddenly looked at him and said +dryly. “So that’s what you did? Suppose you tell +me all about it. You heard the shot, and——”</p> + +<p>“If you please, sir,” protested the young man +eagerly and rather unhappily, “it wasn’t the shot; +leastways, I didn’t know about how many shots +there’d be. It was the scream. I heard the shots, +one after the other, and then the scream—a dreadful +scream, if you please, sir. And, of course, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>I thought first of all of Mr. Mortimer, and there +being danger, and—and all that. And I run forward, +sir, a few steps, through the dark, wishing +to be of some use, and——”</p> + +<p>“And to get the twenty-five dollars?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, that perhaps; of course, I’m not saying +that wasn’t in the back of my mind. But what I +was thinking of first was that there was trouble, +and that I might be needed.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right; I believe you.” Lowry spoke +shortly, but not at all unkindly. “The point is +that, within half a second of the time of the shooting, +you had left this particular point, and run in +the direction of the shots. In other words, Lynch, +this door was unguarded.”</p> + +<p>“Unguarded, sir!” Lynch was aghast, and truly +so. “Unguarded, sir! But I had been at my +post all the evening! No one had gone in or +out——”</p> + +<p>“No one had gone in or out during the evening, +I am absolutely convinced. But, after the murder, +any one who chanced to be there could have gone +out. Isn’t that so?”</p> + +<p>“But——” The young guard’s troubled eyes began +to measure the distance between the door and +the stage steps, just as the detectives had done +before.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Lowry. “You see why I spoke of the +narrow passage which would have to be traversed. +It would be very narrow, indeed. Any one who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>wanted to get from those steps to the communicating +door would have to pass you at very close quarters, +Lynch. And yet—the thing could be done. The +thing could be done. I have not lived so long +without learning that it is these unlikely, well-nigh +impossible things that come off in the smoothest +way of all. All right, Lynch, I’m obliged to you. +It’s not your fault. You were a bit overzealous, +but I don’t think we’ll put you in jail for that. +However you look at it, you’ve shown us one way +in which the murderer might have escaped.”</p> + +<p>He turned and crooked his arm in that of Barrison.</p> + +<p>“Now, we’ll go and interview the stage doorkeeper,” +he said. Together he and Barrison attacked +old Roberts, who confronted him at the +entrance with a look of mingled apprehension and +bravado. His round, flabby face was rather pale, +and he gave the impression of a weak old child +trying to act like a brave man.</p> + +<p>“What do you want of me, gentlemen?” he +demanded, in a tone that broke timidly in spite of +himself.</p> + +<p>They were both very nice to him. In this case, +Lowry let Barrison do most of the talking, feeling +that it was a case that required tact. He stood +back in thoughtful silence while Jim got around +the old doorkeeper in his very best and most diplomatic +style with the result that within five minutes +poor old Roberts was crumpling up in rather a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>piteous fashion, perfectly ready to tell them anything +and everything he had ever done, said, or +heard of.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean no harm,” he protested at last, +with such an attitude of abasement that neither +Barrison nor, indeed, Lowry had the heart to rub +it in. “I do hope—oh, I do hope, that you’ll not +let Mr. Dukane discharge me! I’ve been here a +good many years, and no one can say as I’ve not +been faithful. I don’t believe there’s been another +night in all my life when I’ve left my post.”</p> + +<p>“It would have to be to-night!” murmured Lowry.</p> + +<p>“It would!” agreed Barrison. “Go on, Roberts. +No one wants to kill you, and I don’t believe there’s +the least likelihood of your losing your job. Just +tell us——”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know Mr. Dukane, sir!” Roberts almost +wept. “He’s strict, sir; very strict! He says a +thing and you’ve got to do it, no matter what +happens! <em>I</em> know—haven’t I been working for him +for twenty years? And now to be fired and +out——”</p> + +<p>“Who said you were going to be fired? Get along, +Roberts! Tell us what it was that you did.”</p> + +<p>“I left the stage door, sir,” said Roberts humbly.</p> + +<p>“That we gathered. But why did you leave it, +and when, and for how long?”</p> + +<p>Roberts sniffed and answered in a small stifled +voice:</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span></p> +<p>“As to when I left it, sir—it was when Mrs. +Parry came to ask me to get a taxi for Miss Legaye.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you get a taxi, then—telephone for +one?”</p> + +<p>“I did, sir. I telephoned two places, but there +wasn’t a single machine in. The starters all said +the same thing: It looked like rain, and they +couldn’t guarantee a taxi for an hour yet. I—I +like Miss Kitty, sir; she’s always kind to me, and +I didn’t want her to have to wait, ’specially when +she was sick, as Mrs. Parry said she was. So, +when I found I couldn’t get one over the wire, I +went out into the alley to see if I could see one +passing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that doesn’t seem very awful,” said Barrison, +smiling at him. “Did you get one?”</p> + +<p>Poor old Roberts brightened a bit at the kindly inflection.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t see one, sir, not from this door, so I +went up to the gate at the end of the court, and +looked up and down the street. And after a minute +I saw one coming and hailed it, and it stopped. So +I ran back again; and Miss Legaye was standing +just outside the stage door, waiting. So I called +to her ‘All right, Miss Legaye, your taxi’s here!’ +and went on back. She passed me, in her red coat, +about halfway, and I told her I was sorry to have +kept her waiting. Then I hurried back here.”</p> + +<p>“And you are sure you didn’t pass any one but +Miss Legaye in the alley, no one coming in?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p> +<p>The old fellow shook his head. “So far as any +one going out goes,” he said, “how do I know? My +eyes are not so young as they were. But coming +in! Why, I was back here! How could any one +pass me in the light without my seeing them?”</p> + +<p>“But,” suggested Barrison, “while you were down +at the street signaling the taxi, some one who had +been hiding in the alley might have slipped in, +mightn’t they?”</p> + +<p>Old Roberts hung his head, and his whole heavy +body expressed dejection.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I keep saying to myself, sir!” he +whispered. “Not that I think it’s likely—but—my +eyes aren’t what they once were, and suppose the +murderer was hiding there, and just waiting for a +chance to get in?”</p> + +<p>“And how long, altogether, were you away?” +Lowry spoke for the first time.</p> + +<p>“That’s easy, sir. I went out a few minutes +after Mrs. Parry told me to send for the taxi, and I +had just come back when Mr. Barrison here came +out to ask me if I’d seen any one pass.”</p> + +<p>“That was just before the shooting,” Barrison +said.</p> + +<p>“<em>Before</em> the shooting. And you’re prepared to +swear, Roberts, that no one came out of the +theater after that?”</p> + +<p>“I am, sir!” The old man’s eyes, dim as they +were, left no room for doubt; he was speaking the +truth.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span></p> +<p>“All right, Roberts. I’m sure you’ve told the +truth, and Mr. Dukane shall be told so. I don’t believe +you’ll lose your job. Just the same, I wish +you hadn’t gone to hunt taxicabs at that particular +moment.”</p> + +<p>As the two detectives walked away, Lowry said +under his breath: “We’ve proved that no one left +the theater by the stage door after the shooting, +but we’ve proved that they might have done so by +the communicating door. We’ve proved that Lynch +was at his post for the whole evening up to the +shooting, so that no one could have come in by +that way before then; but, since he left it afterward, +there is no reason to suppose that that some +one could not have made their exit that way after +the crime. In other words, my dear friend and colleague, +while we can’t prove it, we can find a +perfectly possible way for the murderer to have entered +and an equally possible way for him, or her, +to have departed.”</p> + +<p>“You think that—whoever it was—came in while +Roberts was blundering up or down the alley?”</p> + +<p>“I see no other explanation. Barrison, you are +not officially under me, but I respect your judgment, +and I like your work. I should be obliged +if you would take on such branches of this case +as seem to lie in your way. You have been in it +since—so to speak—its inception. You should have +a line on many aspects of it that I couldn’t possibly +get, coming into it as I must, from a purely and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>coldly official standpoint. I’ll expect you to do your +darnedest on it, and help me in every way you can. +Right?”</p> + +<p>“Right, sir.” The young detective’s tone was full +of ardor.</p> + +<p>“Then good night to you. One moment. Did +you notice the initial on this pistol, the one you +picked up?”</p> + +<p>He produced it as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Jim. “I didn’t want any one to see +it, so tucked it away without a look.”</p> + +<p>“Take it along with you,” said Lowry unexpectedly. +“You may be able to spot the owner.”</p> + +<p>Barrison seized the tiny weapon with avidity; it +was too dark where they stood for him to see +clearly, and he said, with open eagerness:</p> + +<p>“What is the initial? That of any of the principals +in the case?”</p> + +<p>“Of two of them,” said the inspector, as he turned +to round a corner. “It’s M. Good night.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE INITIAL</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE inspector’s announcement gave Jim Barrison +food for thought.</p> + +<p>Then why had Lowry let Sybil go with no +further examination? They would have to establish +next her possession of a weapon, and the fact that +she was sufficiently practiced in the use of firearms +to have hers marked with her initial, and——</p> + +<p>But just then he discovered that it had begun to +rain at last; big drops heralded the storm that had +been threatening all the evening. Under the circumstances, +his library at home would be a pleasanter +place for speculation than the corner of a street. +He turned up his coat collar and ran for a Sixth +Avenue car. As he passed the clock outside a jeweler’s +shop, he saw that it was ten minutes past one +o’clock, and suddenly he was conscious that he was +tired. The evening had been a long one, and hard +on the nerves.</p> + +<p>He stood on the back platform, and let the rainy +winds blow about him. His dinner coat was getting +noticeably wet, but he wanted to think and +breathe. How hot the theater had been! The smell +of a singularly vile cigarette close beside him made +him turn in a disgusted sort of curiosity to see what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>manner of man could smoke it. It turned out to be +Willie Coster, who had boarded the car when he +did.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said Jim. “Didn’t see you before. I +thought you left the theater before we did.”</p> + +<p>“I had,” said Willie, puffing deeply on his rank +weed. “I stopped at the corner to get this.”</p> + +<p>Unblushingly he indicated an object done up in +brown paper, which he carried under his arm. There +was not the slightest doubt that it was a bottle of +quart dimensions. Barrison recalled the legend +that Coster always got drunk after a first night. +He could not help smiling at the serious deliberation +with which he was going about it.</p> + +<p>“I see!” he said. “Well, it’s been a pretty trying +time for you, a thing like this, coming on top of all +your hard work on the piece. I dare say you feel +the need of something to brace you.”</p> + +<p>Willie shook his head. “That’s a nice way of +putting it,” he said soberly; “but it won’t wash. +No, sir; the fact is, I mean to get drunk to-night. +I never touch anything while I’m working, and +when my work’s done, I consider I’m entitled to a +little pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” Barrison said again. “And does getting +drunk give you a great deal of pleasure?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” said Coster gravely. “I’m not a +drunkard, understand. I don’t go off on bats; <em>that</em> +wouldn’t give me pleasure. And I can always sober +up in time for anything special. But I like to go +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>quietly home like this and drink—well, say, about +this bottle to-night, and another to-morrow. Then +I’ll taper off and quit again. See?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly. If you have to do it, it seems a very +sensible method. Look here; is there any particular +hurry about this systematic debauch of yours?”</p> + +<p>“Hurry? Oh, no, there’s no hurry. Any time +will do. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Barrison, who had an idea, “why not +come over to my rooms—we’re almost there—and +have a couple of drinks with me and a bite to eat, +first? You can go home and get drunk later, you +know, just as well.”</p> + +<p>“Just as well,” said Willie, with surprising acquiescence. +“I don’t want any drinks, thanks, for I +only drink alone. But now you mention it, I’m +hungry.”</p> + +<p>Barrison knew that he himself was far too tired +already to lengthen out this night so preposterously, +but that idea which had so suddenly come to him +drove all consideration of fatigue from his mind. +He was a detective, and thought that in the dim +distance he could see a shadowy trail. In a weird +case of this sort, anything was worth a chance.</p> + +<p>At Barrison’s rooms they found a cold supper +waiting, and Tara asleep in a chair, contriving +somehow to look dignified even in slumber. +There is no dignity like that of a superior Japanese +servant. He even woke up in a dignified manner, +and prepared to serve supper. But Barrison sent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>him to bed, and sat down to talk to Willie over cold +chicken and ham, and macedoine salad. The little +stage manager ate hungrily, but stubbornly refused +to drink. He also scorned his host’s expensive +smokes, preferring his own obnoxious brand.</p> + +<p>“Coster,” said Barrison at last, “I want you to +tell me what you know of Alan Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>“What I know! He was the yellowest guy in +some things that ever——”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t just what I meant. I mean—you’ve +been with Dukane a long time, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing. I’ve been with the gov’nor five—no, +six—years.”</p> + +<p>“Then you must know how he came to take up +Mortimer. Where did he discover him first? He’s +a stranger on Broadway.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you ask the gov’nor about it?” demanded +Willie shrewdly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” Jim was obliged to admit, rather uncomfortably, +“he’s not the sort of man you feel like +pumping. Of course, Lowry will get it all out of +him sooner or later, but I’m curious. And I can’t +see what objection he could have to your——”</p> + +<p>“Being pumped,” finished Willie. “Maybe not, but +I don’t really know much about it, anyway.” His +eyes strayed wistfully to his brown paper package. +“See here,” he said, “I’m much obliged for the eats, +but I guess I’ll be trotting along. I’ve got a very +pressing engagement!”</p> + +<p>“With John Barleycorn?” laughed Barrison. “Oh, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>see here, Willie, what’s the difference? If you +prefer your whisky to mine, I’ll get you a corkscrew, +and you can just as well start here. Eh? +Make an exception and have a couple of drinks +with me, like a good sport.”</p> + +<p>He felt slightly ashamed of himself, but he +prodded his conscience out of the way by telling +himself that as long as the man was going to get +drunk anyway, he might just as well——</p> + +<p>Willie hesitated and was lost. The first drink he +poured out made his host gasp; it nearly filled the +tumbler.</p> + +<p>“Will you take it straight, man?” he asked, in a +tone of awe.</p> + +<p>“Certainly I will. I don’t take it for the taste, +I take it for the effect. The more you take at a +time, the quicker you get results. What’s the good +of little dabs of drinks like yours, drowned in soda +water? When I drink, I drink.”</p> + +<p>“I perceive that you do!” murmured Barrison, and +watched him swallow the entire contents of the +glass in three gulps. He choked a bit, and accepted +a drink of water, then leaned back with an expression +of pure bliss stealing over his face.</p> + +<p>“Gee, that was good!” he whispered joyously. +“Now I’ll have one more in a minute; that will start +me off comfortably. Then I’ll go home. You +know,” he added, with that shrewd glance of his, +“I’m on to your getting me to tank up here; you +know I’ll talk more. But I’m blessed if I can make +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>out what it is you want to know. If there’s any +dark mystery going, I’m not in it. But you just +pump ahead.”</p> + +<p>He poured out another enormous draft.</p> + +<p>“Mortimer used to be in a sort of circus, a wild +West show, didn’t he?”</p> + +<p>Willie grunted assent between swallows. “It was +a sort of punk third-class show,” he said. “Never +played big time, just ordinary tanks and wood piles +out West. They had a string of horses and a few +cowboys who could do fancy riding; Mortimer was +one of them. His real name was Morton. The +gov’nor was waiting to make connections somewhere +on his way to the coast, and dropped in to +see one or two of the stunts. This chap was a sort +of matinée idol wherever he went, and the gov’nor +spotted him as a drawing card if he ever happened +on the right part. You know the gov’nor never forgets +anything, and never overlooks a bet. He took +the guy’s name and address, and put him away +in the back of his head somewhere, the way he always +does. When Carlton came to him with this +war-play proposition, the gov’nor thought of Morton, +and wrote him. That’s all I know about it.”</p> + +<p>“Was Mortimer married?”</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of. Not likely—or, rather, it’s +likely he had half a dozen wives!”</p> + +<p>Barrison was disappointed; he had thought it just +possible—there was the pistol, marked with M, and +the unknown woman who had been in the dressing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>room that night. However, Willie was not proving +much of a help. Barrison yawned and thought of +bed.</p> + +<p>“One more question,” he asked suddenly. “What +was the name of the show?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t remember. Blinkey’s or Blankey’s, or +something like that. Blinkey’s Daredevils, I think, +but I’m not sure. Say, you’d better let me go home +while I can walk.”</p> + +<p>“All right; you go, Willie. Were there any +women in the show?”</p> + +<p>“A couple, I think—yes, I’m sure there were, because +I remember the gov’nor speaking about a sort +of riding-and-shooting stunt Mortimer did with some +girl, a crack shot.”</p> + +<p>Barrison started. Was that the trail, then?</p> + +<p>“Much obliged to you, Willie,” he said carelessly. +“There wasn’t much to tell, though, was there? +Why did Dukane keep it all so dark, I wonder? I +should have thought that would have been good +advertising, all that cowboy stuff, and the traveling +show, and the rest of it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know why the gov’nor does some things; +no one does,” said Willie, getting to his feet with +surprising steadiness, and carefully corking his precious +bottle. “But he’s never given any of that stuff +to the press agent, and I’ve a notion he doesn’t want +it made public. I don’t know why, but I’m pretty +sure he has some reason for keeping it dark. Now +you know as much about it as I do, and I’d never +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>have told you as much as that if I hadn’t started in +here!”</p> + +<p>While he was wrapping up his bottle, with a +painstaking deliberation which was, as yet, almost +the only sign of what he had drunk, Barrison drew +the little pistol from his pocket and laid it on the +table. It was almost a toy, and mounted in silver +gilt, a foolish-looking thing to have done such +deadly harm. The letter was in heavy raised gold, +a thick, squarely printed M. In the rays of the +student lamp it glittered merrily, like the decoration +on some frivolous trinket.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said Willie Coster, looking dully at it +from the other side of the table. “So that’s the +gun that did it? Let’s see the letter.” He swayed +forward to look closer.</p> + +<p>“It’s an M,” said Barrison.</p> + +<p>“You’re looking at it upside down,” said Willie; +“or else it’s you that’s drunk and not me. That’s +a W, man, a W! Good night!”</p> + +<p>He ambled toward the door, bearing his package +clasped to his breast, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Barrison seized the pistol and turned it around. +Willie was right. The initial, seen so, was W!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">A TIP—AND AN INVITATION</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">JIM BARRISON had scarcely grasped this fact +when the telephone rang. In the dead silence of +that hour, half after two in the morning, the shrill +tinkle had a startling effect. Barrison, his fatigue +forgotten, sprang to the instrument.</p> + +<p>It was Tony Clay’s voice that came to him. “I +want to come up for a minute.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, confound you!” ejaculated the detective irritably. +“What do you want at this hour? I’ll have +to come down and let you in; the place is closed.”</p> + +<p>“I know it is. That’s why I’m calling up. I’m +in the drug store at the corner, and I’ll be there as +soon as you can get downstairs. All right?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so. But I’d like to wring your neck!”</p> + +<p>“Welcome to try, old man, just a bit later. So +long!”</p> + +<p>Barrison hung up, and tramped downstairs with +suppressed profanity on his tongue, to let Tony in +at the front door of the apartment house where he +roomed. The younger man was already waiting on +the steps, dripping wet, but whistling softly, rather +off the key.</p> + +<p>“Come in, you blamed night owl!” growled Barrison, +under his breath. “Don’t slam the door. And +if you haven’t something worth while to tell me, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>after routing me out like this, I’ll wake Tara and +give him full permission to jujutsu you into Bellevue! +Come on, and stop whistling.”</p> + +<p>Upstairs, Tony demanded Scotch and cigarettes, +and took off his wet coat.</p> + +<p>“Heavens! Does that mean you’re intending to +<em>stay</em>?”</p> + +<p>“Not permanently,” Tony reassured him soothingly. +“I do manage to arrive at inconvenient times, +don’t I?”</p> + +<p>“You do, you do! Now what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Tony, settling himself in the chair +recently vacated by Willie Coster. “I’ve been calling +on Miss Templeton.”</p> + +<p>Barrison was conscious of a queer little thrill, not +entirely unpleasant. Truth to tell, he had not been +able to dismiss a certain vision from his mind, +through all his practice and professional occupations. +He could see it now, all in a moment, gold +hair, dark-fringed eyes, marble-white throat and +arms, and a mouth that could soften and droop like +a child’s at the most unexpected moments.</p> + +<p>“She’s out of the case, I suppose you know,” he +said shortly. “Go ahead, though.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Tony, “when you pitched into +me like that about her giving me the slip, I was +sort of sore, but I knew you were right, too. So +I gave you the slip, in my turn, and chased over to +her hotel. I wasn’t at all sure she’d see me, but I +thought I’d try it on anyhow, and she sent down +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>word I was to come up. She wore a kimono thing, +and looked like an angel——” He paused in fatuous +reflection.</p> + +<p>“Get on, you young fool!”</p> + +<p>Barrison’s tone was the sharper because he himself +admired Miss Templeton rather more than was +wholly consistent with the traditions of a cold-blooded +detective.</p> + +<p>So Tony went on: “She seemed to know that there +had been something wrong at the theater; that impressed +me at once. The moment I came into the +room, she said: ‘Something has happened to him?’ +I told her about it, and she just sat for a moment +or two looking straight in front of her. She looked—strange, +and awfully white and tired and—sort +of young. After a while she said: ‘Thank Heaven +it wasn’t I’—just that way. Then she asked some +questions——”</p> + +<p>“What sort of questions?” interrupted Barrison, +who was looking at the floor, and had let his cigarette +go out.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the usual thing: Who was behind at the +time, and whether any one was suspected, and—she +made rather a point of this—where Miss Legaye was +when it happened.”</p> + +<p>“I know; she’s always harped on that.” Barrison +frowned impatiently, yet he was thinking as hard +as he knew how to think. “Anything else, Tony?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; she asked me to give you this.”</p> + +<p>Tony took a small unsealed envelope out of his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>waistcoat pocket and handed it over. “She said it +was important,” he added; “that’s why I insisted +on coming in to-night.”</p> + +<p>Barrison read his note, and then looked up. “Do +you know what this is?” he said.</p> + +<p>The boy flushed indignantly. “Good heavens, +Jim!” he exclaimed. “You don’t suppose I read +other people’s letters? She just gave it to me to +bring, and I brought it, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Barrison smiled at him, with a warm feeling +round his heart. “That’s all right, Tony,” he said +kindly, “and you’re all right, too! You’d better look +at it.” He held it out.</p> + +<p>Tony shook his head. “If there’s anything in it +you want to tell me, fire ahead!” he said stoutly. +“I—I haven’t any particular reason for seeing it, you +know.”</p> + +<p>Barrison understood him, and smiled again. “I’ll +read it to you, then,” he said, and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“<span class="smcap">My Dear Mr. Barrison</span>: I have just heard, though +scarcely with surprise, I admit, of Mr. Mortimer’s death. +It has shocked me very much, I find, even though it was +the sort of tragedy that was bound to come sooner or later. +I cannot pretend complete indifference to it, nor yet indifference +to the conviction of his murderer. I am going to +assume that you really want any sort of help, from any +source, in solving this mystery. Though you refused to help +me once, I am ready to help you now in whatever way I +can, and I believe that my help may be worth more than +you are now prepared to see. I knew Alan Mortimer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>rather well; it is possible that I can throw light upon certain +phases in his life of which you are still ignorant. I +promise nothing, for I do not yet know how valuable my +testimony may prove. But—will you lunch with me at +one o’clock to-morrow—or, rather, to-day—at my hotel? +And meanwhile, if you will forgive me for reiterating the +suspicion I once suggested to you, you can hardly do better +than look up Miss Kitty Legaye, and get her views on the +murder. Far be it for me to suggest a course of action to +an expert detective like yourself, but—if Miss Legaye left +the theater early, she would hardly be likely to learn of the +tragedy until she got the morning papers. Don’t you think +that it would be interesting to forestall them, and yourself +be the one to break the news to her? Just suppose that you +found it was not precisely ‘news’ after all!</p> + +<p>“If I do not hear from you, I shall expect you for luncheon +at one. Sincerely yours,</p> + +<p class="right"> +“<span class="smcap">Grace Templeton</span>.” +</p> +</div> + +<p>Jim Barrison automatically registered the fact that +the writing was not that of the threatening letters, +and sat still staring at the sheet after he had read +it aloud. His brain was in a whirl of excitement. +The words which he had just read seemed, in the +very utterance of them, to have taken on a vitality, +a meaning, that they had not had in the first place.</p> + +<p>One could read such a communication in more +ways than one; at present he could read it only as a +curious and inscrutable message, or inspiration. He +could not have said just why it seemed to him so +important, so imperative. He only knew that the +phrases of it, simple as they were, seemed to fill the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>room and echo from wall to wall. Miss Templeton +herself might have stood before him; he might have +been listening to her voice.</p> + +<p>Tony Clay, poor lad, was looking troubled, +huddled there in the big chair on the other side of +the table. He had forgotten to finish his whisky and +soda, and was staring at Barrison in a queer, uncomfortable +way.</p> + +<p>“I say, Jim!” he burst out at last, desperate +through his shyness. “You’re looking not a bit like +yourself. What’s the matter? That note doesn’t +sound so very important, now I hear it, and yet, to +look at you, one would say you’d received a message +from the tomb.”</p> + +<p>Barrison laughed. “I haven’t!” he said lightly. +“But I have received a tip. Just a plain, ordinary, +every-day sort of tip! And I’m going to follow it, +too! How much sleep do you need, Tony?”</p> + +<p>Tony considered. “Four will do me,” he said judicially.</p> + +<p>“You’ll get five. It’s three o’clock now. At eight +you’ll be ready for business; at eight thirty we’ll be +at Miss Kitty Legaye’s door. It may be a pipe +dream, but I’ve taken kindly to the notion of announcing +the news of Mortimer’s death in person! +Now tumble in on that couch there, and don’t dare +to speak again until eight in the morning!”</p> + +<p>As he fell asleep, he was still repeating the pregnant +words: “Just suppose that you found it was +not precisely ‘news’ after all!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">A MORNING CALL</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">MISS LEGAYE lived at a very smart little hotel +near Fifth Avenue. It was not one of the +strictly “theatrical” hostelries, since Kitty had always +had leanings toward social correctness. But +the house was patronized by so many actresses of +exactly the same predilections that it could not help +being run with an indulgent and sagacious understanding +of their tastes and peculiarities, and might +almost as well have been one of the just-off-Broadway +variety.</p> + +<p>When Barrison and Tony Clay presented themselves +at the “Golden Arms” at twenty minutes after +eight in the morning, they found the hotel barely +awake. The clerk who had just come on duty at +the desk eyed them with surliness and distaste. The +very electric lights, turned on perforce, because of +the outrageous dinginess of the morning, seemed to +glare at them with disfavor. Bell boys looked unrelentingly +cross; a messenger boy was making his +exit with as much dripping and mud as he could; +and a departing patron appeared to be becoming +quarrelsome over a fifteen-cent overcharge.</p> + +<p>“Well?” demanded the clerk. He looked frankly +ugly; ugly in temper as well as in features. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>could see that they were not incoming guests, for +they had no luggage; and it was too early for callers +of any reputable type. He put them down as a +breed suspicious, being unknown, of neither fish nor +fowl variety. “<em>Well?</em>” he repeated urgently.</p> + +<p>Barrison produced a card. “We would like to see +Miss Legaye,” he suggested pleasantly.</p> + +<p>As he put down the slip of pasteboard on the desk +counter, his quick eyes noted a bell boy standing at +the news stand, taking over an armful of assorted +morning papers. Obviously, the lad was just going +up to leave them at the doors of the guests; they +would have to work quickly, he and Tony, if they +were to get ahead of them.</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye,” repeated the clerk. “Miss Legaye. +Are you guys dippy? Miss Legaye always leaves +word that she ain’t at home to no one till after +twelve o’clock. Now beat it!”</p> + +<p>Barrison sized up the clerk, and decided on his +course.</p> + +<p>“Say, brother,” he murmured, with a confidential +accent, “we don’t mean to annoy Miss Legaye; we +want to give her a boost. Get me? We’re reporters, +and we’re looking for a first-class story. Say, take +it from me, she’ll be keen to see us if you’ll just +phone up!”</p> + +<p>The slang won his case. The clerk looked at him +with more respect.</p> + +<p>“Say, you’re talking almost like a human being!” +he remarked. “Want me to phone up for you, eh?” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>He waited a perceptible space. “Times is hard,” he +declared, in an airy manner, “and phone calls is +high. Did I hear you say anything?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe not me,” said Barrison, who had laid a +dollar bill on the desk. “But I’ve known money to +talk before now.”</p> + +<p>The clerk actually chuckled. “You’re on,” he +said, pocketing the bill with a discreet look around +the almost deserted office. “I’ll phone up!”</p> + +<p>He turned around a minute later to inform Barrison +that Miss Legaye would see him at once.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later they were knocking at the +door of Kitty Legaye’s apartment. Resting against +the lintel were half a dozen morning papers; clearly +she had ordered them ahead, in the expectation of +criticisms of the first night. The indefatigable bell +boy had been ahead of them, but there was still time +to rectify that.</p> + +<p>The boy who had piloted them had vanished. +Barrison picked up the whole bundle, and gave them +a vigorous swing down the corridor. This had +barely been accomplished when the door opened, +and an impeccably attired lady’s maid asked them to +please come in; Miss Legaye would see them in +a moment.</p> + +<p>Kitty’s parlor was like Kitty herself, discreet, yet +subtly daring; conventional, yet alluring. She had +made short work of the regulation hotel furnishings, +and replaced them with trifles of her own, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>gave the place a dainty and audacious air calculated +to pique the interest of almost anybody.</p> + +<p>One of the modern dark chintzes had been chosen +by the little lady for her curtains and furniture +coverings; she also had dared to put cushions of +cherry color and of black on the chaise longue, and +futurist posters in vivid oranges and greens upon +the innocuous drab wall paper. The extreme +touches had been made delicately, without vulgarity. +Barrison, who had rather good taste himself, smiled +as he read in this butterflylike audacity a sort of +key to little Miss Kitty’s own personality.</p> + +<p>She came in almost immediately, and, though Jim +had never admired her, he was forced to admit to +himself at that moment that she was very charming +and quite appealing.</p> + +<p>The creamy pallor which was always so effective +an asset of hers seemed a bit etherealized this morning, +whether by a sleepless night or the gray, rainy +light. Her dark hair was pulled straight back from +her small face, with a rather sweet absence of +coquetry; or was it, instead, the very quintessence +of coquetry, brought to a fine art? Her big brown +eyes were bigger and browner than ever, and her +slim, almost childish little figure—which looked so +adorable always in its young-girl frocks before the +footlights—looked incomparably adorable in a +straight, severely cut little white wrapper, like the +robe of an early martyr.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> +<p>She came forward to meet them quickly, but +quite without embarrassment.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison!” she exclaimed, rather breathlessly. +“What is it? Of course I said I would see +you at once. I knew you wouldn’t come without +some good reason. What do you want of me?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes were as clear as the brown pools in a +spring brook, and Barrison felt suddenly ashamed +of himself and—almost—wroth with Grace Templeton +for putting him up to this.</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye,” he said, with some hesitation, “I +am already calling myself all sorts of names for +having aroused you at this unearthly hour. And +you were not well, too.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that headache!” she said. “That is all gone +now! I got to bed early, and had a really decent +sleep for once, so I am in good shape this morning! +But—what <em>did</em> you want to see me about?”</p> + +<p>Just as Barrison was trying to find words in +which to answer her properly, the maid spoke from +the doorway:</p> + +<p>“You told me to take in the papers, miss, but +there’s none there.”</p> + +<p>Kitty turned in astonishment. “Not there! But +they always leave them at eight, and I particularly +said that I wanted all of them this morning. That’s +funny! Never mind; you can go down to the stand +and get them, and Mr. Barrison can tell me what I +want to know first of all. Oh, Mr. Barrison, tell me +about last night! Did it all go off as well as it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>seemed to be going when I left?” She looked with +honest eagerness into his eyes.</p> + +<p>Barrison felt most uncomfortable, but he forced +himself to say steadily: “Have you really not heard +anything about what happened last night, Miss +Legaye?”</p> + +<p>If it were possible to turn paler, she turned paler +then; and her eyes seemed to darken, as though with +dread; yet there was nothing in her look but what +might come from honest fear of the unknown.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison! What is it that you are trying to +make me think? What do you mean? Oh—<em>oh</em>!” +She drew in her breath sharply. “Is that what it +means? Is that what you came here for—to—tell +me something? Is that it, Mr. Barrison?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes pleaded with him, looking earnestly out +of her little white face. She looked a butterfly no +longer; rather, a tired and frightened little girl. +“Won’t you tell me what it all means?” she begged.</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye,” Jim said gently, “there was a +tragedy last night at the theater after you left.”</p> + +<p>“A tragedy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; there was—a murder.”</p> + +<p>She stared at him, as though she did not yet +understand. “A murder?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye, I see it is a shock to you, but you +must hear it from some one; you might as well +hear it from me. Mr. Mortimer was shot last night +during the last act, and is dead.”</p> + +<p>She shrieked—a thin, high, deadly shriek, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>rang long in the ears of the two men. Her face +grew smaller, sharper; she beat the air with her +hands. The maid ran to her.</p> + +<p>News? Oh, Heaven, yes! There was no question +of this being news to her; it was news that was +coming close to killing her.</p> + +<p>“Say that again!” she managed to say, in a slow, +thick utterance that sounded immeasurably strange +from her lips. “Alan Mortimer was murdered? +You said that? You are sure of it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Legaye.”</p> + +<p>She flung up her hands wildly, and fainted dead +away.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">A SCARLET EVENING COAT</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">IT was a real faint. They had a good bit of difficulty +in getting her out of it.</p> + +<p>There wasn’t much room in Jim Barrison’s mind +for anything except self-reproach. He <em>knew</em> that +the tidings of Mortimer’s murder had come upon +Kitty Legaye like a stroke of lightning. She had +no more been prepared for it than she would have +been prepared for the end of the world. He had +an idea that the end of the world would, as a general +proposition, have affected her much less. Barrison +was no new hand, and not too soft-hearted or +gullible; and he knew that what he had looked upon +that morning was sheer, absolute shock and grief, +unlooked for, terrible, devastating.</p> + +<p>Poor little Kitty, with all her frivolities, had bigness +in her. As she struggled back into the gray +world, she obviously tried to straighten up and +steady herself. The terror was all the time at the +back of her brown eyes, but she was doing her best +to be game, to be, as she herself would have expressed +it, “a good sport.”</p> + +<p>Of course, she wanted particulars, and he gave +them to her, feeling like a pickpocket all the time. +Papers were obtained, and she was induced to take +coffee with brandy in it, and—at last—she broke +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>down and cried, which was what every one had +been praying for since the beginning.</p> + +<p>Probably never in his clear-cut, well-established +career had Jim Barrison experienced what he was +experiencing now: The sense that he had brought +unnecessary suffering upon an innocent person, and +brought it in a peculiarly merciless and unsportsmanlike +way. He felt savage when he thought of +that “tip” of Miss Templeton’s—or did he, really? +He was obliged to confess to himself that, where she +was concerned, he would be almost sure to discover +approximately extenuating circumstances!</p> + +<p>It was partly to soothe his own aching conscience +that Jim forced himself to ask a few perfunctory +questions.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mind?” he asked Kitty.</p> + +<p>“Naturally I don’t,” she said, trying not to cry, +and choking down coffee. “You’ve been awfully +kind, Mr. Barrison. If there’s anything I can do to +help, please let me. You know”—she looked at him +in a sudden, piteous way—“I had expected to marry +Mr. Mortimer. Maybe you can guess what all this +means to me? Will you tell me what you wanted +to know?”</p> + +<p>“For one thing,” he said, “we want to establish +as nearly as we can when the murderer—the murderess, +as we think it was—entered the theater. +Old Roberts says that he went out through the +alley to the street to get you a taxi——”</p> + +<p>“Dear old thing!” she whispered.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span></p> +<p>“Yes; he is a nice old sort. He made it very clear +that it was only his devotion to you that induced +him to leave his post. Well, it seems almost certain +that some one passed him, and perhaps you, in the +alley last night. You don’t remember seeing even a +shadow that might be suspicious?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” she said. “But I was in a hurry, +and wasn’t looking out for anything of that sort. +Roberts knows I was in a hurry?” She spoke +quickly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. He says you were in a hurry, and not +feeling well. The point is, did you see anything at +all on your way to the taxi?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I was only thinking of getting home +and to bed; it had been a horrid evening.”</p> + +<p>Now, of course, the obvious thing for Jim Barrison +to do then was to take his leave. More, it was +manifestly the only decent thing for him to do. He +had proved conclusively that Kitty had not expected +the news of Mortimer’s murder; in addition, +she had declared that she had noticed no one on +her way out to the taxi the night before. On the +face of it, there was nothing further to be found out +here. And yet, after he had got to his feet and taken +up his hat, he lingered. As a matter of fact, he +never was able, in looking back afterward, to tell +just what insane impulse made him blurt out suddenly:</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye, you were wearing a red wrap last +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>night, weren’t you? Something quite bright, +scarlet?”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him faintly surprised. “Why, +yes,” she answered, “you saw it yourself, just as I +was going out.”</p> + +<p>Jim hesitated, and then said something still more +crazy: “Would you—do you very much mind letting +me see it—now?”</p> + +<p>She stared at him in undisguised astonishment. +“Certainly,” she said, rather blankly. “Celine, will +you bring my red evening coat, please?”</p> + +<p>The maid did so at once; it flamed there in the +gray light of that rainy morning like some monstrous +scarlet poppy. Barrison lifted a shimmering, +brilliant fold, and looked at it.</p> + +<p>“It’s a gorgeous color!” he said, rather irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>“Scarlet!” whispered Kitty, in a strange tone. +“And to think I was wearing <em>that</em> last night. I do +not believe that I shall ever feel like wearing scarlet +again! You are going, Mr. Barrison?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; you have been very patient with me, and +very forgiving for having been the bearer of such +bad news. Good-by. I won’t even try to express +the sympathy——”</p> + +<p>“Don’t; I understand. Mr. Barrison, <em>why</em> did you +want to see this coat?”</p> + +<p>“It was just an impulse!” he declared quickly. +“You forgive me for that, too?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span></p> +<p>She bent her head without speaking, and the two +men went away.</p> + +<p>“Tony,” said Jim Barrison, when they were in the +street once more, facing the wet blast, “it’s no lie +to say that facts are misleading.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no lie to say they very often mislead <em>you</em>!” +retorted Tony, somewhat acidly. He felt the loss +of sleep more and more, and was fretful. Also, +he was hungry. “What wild-goose chase are you +off on now?”</p> + +<p>“None; I’m going round in circles.”</p> + +<p>“You said it!”</p> + +<p>“It’s a fact,” continued Barrison, unheeding, +“that the little woman back there was genuinely +shocked and upset by hearing of Mortimer’s death.”</p> + +<p>“Rather!”</p> + +<p>“But it is also a fact—also a fact, Tony—that +that evening coat of hers is damp this morning, and +it didn’t begin to rain till after midnight!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">BLIND TRAILS</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">MIND you,” Barrison went on hastily, “there are +a hundred explanations of a thing like that; it +isn’t, strictly speaking, evidence at all. Only—I +couldn’t help noticing! Now, Tony, I want you to go +home and go to bed—see?”</p> + +<p>“It’s lucky you do!” said Tony.</p> + +<p>“Shut up! Go to bed and sleep your fool head off; +and then—get back there to the Golden Arms, and +find out who saw Miss Legaye come in last night; +what time it was, whether she seemed excited, and—<em>what +she wore</em>! That last is the most important. +Make up to the maid. You can bribe, torture, or +make love to her; I don’t care which. Only find out +everything you can. Get me?”</p> + +<p>Tony grunted, and departed.</p> + +<p>Jim turned his face toward Forty-fourth Street. +He knew that John Carlton usually breakfasted at +the Lambs’ Club, and he needed his help. Also, he +thought tenderly of the prospect of a mixed grill. +Barrison could get along with very little sleep, when +he was on a case, but he had to have food. Carlton +was at breakfast, devouring, with about equally +divided attention, bacon and eggs and the morning +papers. He welcomed Jim with much excitement +and a flood of slang.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span></p> +<p>“Well, what do you know about this, Barrison? +I can’t seem to get a line on myself to-day. Am I +the whole cheese, or am I an also ran? Do I stack +up as the one best bet, or do I crawl into a hole +and pull the hole in after me? Sit down!”</p> + +<p>“Talk English!” suggested Barrison good-naturedly +as he obeyed. “Order me some breakfast, first, +and then tell me what you’re talking about.”</p> + +<p>Carlton, having with difficulty been prevented +from ordering a meal adequate to the needs of a +regiment on march, condescended to translate his +emotions.</p> + +<p>“You see, it’s this way,” he explained, munching +toast and marmalade. “That poor guy going out +like that—I never liked him, but it was a rotten +way to finish, and I’d like to broil whoever did it +alive—leaves me, so to speak, guessing. My play is +off, for the present anyway, and I’ve been spending +my royalties already. On the other hand, I’m getting +some simply priceless advertising! Everybody +will be after me, I guess, and all the beautiful leading +men will be thirsting to play the part in which +poor Mortimer achieved eternal fame by getting +killed. I may sound flippant, but I’m not; it’s the +only way I can express myself—except on paper! +Now, where do I get off? Am I a racing car or a +flivver?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll probably find out soon enough,” Jim told +him. “Meanwhile, I want your help.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing doing!” said Carlton energetically. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>“Meanwhile, I want yours! I can live just long +enough for you to drink that cup of coffee without +talking, but after that it’s only a matter of seconds +before I cash in, if you don’t tell me everything +that happened last night. Beastly of you and the +governor not to let me back, so I could be in on +what was doing.”</p> + +<p>Barrison told him what had happened. He was +not too completely communicative, however; he +liked the playwright, and had no reason to distrust +him, but he knew that this case was likely to be +a big one, and a hard one, and he had no mind +to take outsiders into his confidence unless it was +strictly necessary.</p> + +<p>“And now,” he said, “I’ve done my part, and, I +hope, saved you from an early grave shared by the +cat who died of curiosity. Come across, and do +yours!”</p> + +<p>Carlton grinned. “Talking slang so as to make +yourself intelligible to my inferior intelligence? All +right; fire away! What can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>Barrison told him that he wanted to find out about +a wild West show called by the name of its manager, +Blinkey or Blankey.</p> + +<p>Carlton scowled at him wonderingly. “Now, what +sort of a game’s that?” he demanded. “What has a +wild West show to do with my perfectly good +play——”</p> + +<p>“Never mind. Can you find out for me?”</p> + +<p>The writer shook his head.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p> +<p>“Not in a million years. I don’t know anything +about the profession except where it happens to hit +me. Why don’t you tackle the governor? He knows +everything and everybody.”</p> + +<p>“I may yet. But it isn’t anything that really concerns +him. And I don’t imagine he’s very cheery +this morning.”</p> + +<p>“I believe that little thing! It’s beastly hard +lines for him! Tell you what I’ll do, Barrison. I’ll +give you a card to Ted Lucas. He’s a decent sort of +chap, on the dramatic department of the New York +<cite>Blaze</cite>. If he can’t help you, maybe there’ll be +some one in his office who can.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks. That’s just what I want.”</p> + +<p>Armed with the card, Barrison said good-by and +departed. He met two or three men whom he knew +on his way out. One and all were talking about +the murder. He was not known to have any connection +with the case, so he escaped being held up +for particulars, but he heard enough to show him +that this was going to be the sensation of the whole +theatrical world.</p> + +<p>It was not yet ten o’clock, and Dukane would +not be in his office, so he went downtown to hunt +up Ted Lucas in the roaring offices of the <cite>Blaze</cite>.</p> + +<p>He had to wait a bit, with the deafening clatter +of typewriters, and the jangle of telephones beating +about his ears. Then a keen-faced but very quiet +young man rather foppishly dressed, and with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>sleek hair which looked as though it had been +applied with a paint brush, appeared.</p> + +<p>“I’m Lucas,” he explained politely. “Wanted to +see me?”</p> + +<p>Barrison knew reporters pretty well, and this +one was typical. The detective wasted as few +words as possible, but stated what he was after. +Lucas shook his head doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Never heard of any such show,” he said. “I’ll +have a look at the files, though. My chief is +rather a shark for keeping records of past performances. +Will you look in a bit later—or phone?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll phone,” said Barrison, preparing to leave. +He had not expected any rapid results, yet he felt +vaguely disappointed. Or was it because he was +tired? “See here,” he said impulsively. “You +cover a lot of theatrical assignments, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Quite a lot,” said the reporter indifferently, +eying him.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t there anything playing here in town now +with a—a wild West feature? Anything that includes +a shooting stunt, or cowboy atmosphere, or—or +that?”</p> + +<p>Barrison could not help clinging to that faint +clew concerning Mortimer’s connection with the +“daredevil” outfit, out West.</p> + +<p>Ted Lucas considered. “Why, no,” he said. “I +don’t know of any. You wouldn’t mean a single +act, like Ritz the Daredevil, would you?”</p> + +<p>“Ritz the Daredevil!” Barrison leaped at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>name. Of course, it might be nonsense, but there +was something that looked like just the shadow +of a coincidence. “Who is she?”</p> + +<p>“Just a crack shot, a girl who plays at a bum +vaudeville theater this week. I don’t know why she +calls herself a ‘daredevil.’ It isn’t such a daring +stunt to shoot at a target. But she’s clever with a +gun, I understand. I’m to ‘cover’ her act to-night.”</p> + +<p>Barrison thought quickly. It was only the ghost +of a trail, but——</p> + +<p>“You’re going to see her to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Going to see the show from the front +and interview her afterward. She’s through with +her stunt, I hear, about nine thirty. It isn’t a usual +thing, but Coyne—who owns the theater—has a +bit of a pull with us; advertising, you know; and +we usually give one of his acts a write-up every +week.”</p> + +<p>“Might I come along?”</p> + +<p>“You? Sure thing! But I warn you, it’ll be +an awful thing! It’s one of those continuous affairs. +Well, have it your own way. If you’ll meet me +at the theater, I can get you in on my pass. +Eight?”</p> + +<p>“Eight it is.”</p> + +<p>Barrison waited for directions as to the whereabouts +of Coyne’s Music Hall, of which he had +never heard, and took his departure. He went +into a telephone booth to call up Lowry, but found +that the inspector would not be at his office until +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>the afternoon. Then he went uptown again, and, +taking a deep breath and a big brace with it, +went to call on Max Dukane.</p> + +<p>He had no real reason for dreading an interview +with him; the manager had always been most +courteous to him. Yet he did feel a shade of +apprehension. Something told him that the Dukane +of yesterday would not be quite the Dukane of +to-day. And it wasn’t only the tragedy which had +brought him so much financial loss which was to +be considered. Ever since Willie Coster had intimated +that Dukane had a secret reason for keeping +dark the conditions under which he had come across +Mortimer, Barrison had felt uneasy in regard to +him. He had always recognized in the manager a +man of immense power and authority. If he had +a sufficient reason, he could guess that he would be +immensely unscrupulous as well.</p> + +<p>However, at a little after half past eleven o’clock, +he presented himself at the great man’s office.</p> + +<p>This time, though there were half a dozen people +ahead of him, he did not have to wait at all. The +fact surprised him, but when he had been admitted +to Dukane’s presence, he understood it better. He +had been thus speedily summoned in order to be +the more speedily dismissed.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Barrison,” said Dukane crisply. “Anything +I can do for you?”</p> + +<p>He sat at his desk like an iron image; his face +was hard and cold. He did not look so much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>angry as stern. It was clear that, in his own stony +fashion, he had flung yesterday into the discard, +and was not any too pleased to be reminded of it.</p> + +<p>Barrison was not asked to sit down, so stood +by the desk, feeling rather like a small boy reporting +to his teacher.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Dukane,” he said quietly, “there is. +I’ve come about the case.”</p> + +<p>“Case?”</p> + +<p>“The murder of Alan Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>Dukane raised his heavy eyebrows. “I am not +interested in it.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Dukane, I can scarcely believe that. Mortimer +was your star, under your management; I +should imagine that the disaster to him must concern +you very closely.”</p> + +<p>Dukane laid down a paper cutter which he had +been holding in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Concern me?” he said, in a hard, disagreeable +tone. “Yes, it does concern me. It concerns me +to the tune of several thousands of dollars. The +part was especially worked up for him; there is no +one available to take it at a moment’s notice. But +there my concern begins and ends. So far as his +murderer goes——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is what we are chiefly interested in.”</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> am not interested in it. Mortimer was an +investment, so far as I was concerned. It is an +investment which has failed. I have other things +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>to think of that seem to me more important—and +more profitable.”</p> + +<p>“But you engaged me, professionally, to——”</p> + +<p>“You will receive your check.”</p> + +<p>Barrison flushed indignantly. “Mr. Dukane! You +cannot think I meant that. But if you were sufficiently +interested to engage me——”</p> + +<p>Dukane raised his hand and stopped him. “Barrison,” +he said, in short, clear-cut accents, “let us +understand each other. I engaged you to keep Alan +Mortimer alive. Alive, he was worth a good deal +to me. Dead, he is worth nothing. I was perfectly +willing to pay to protect my property; but having +lost it, I wash my hands of the matter.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you really want to see his murderer +brought to justice?”</p> + +<p>“I really care nothing about it.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are not even willing to help the authorities?”</p> + +<p>“Help?” The manager raised his head haughtily, +and stared at him with cold eyes. “What have I to +do with it? What should I have to say that could +help?”</p> + +<p>“You might tell us something about Mr. Mortimer’s +life—something that could point toward a +possible enemy. You know as well as I do that +when a man dies under such circumstances, it +is necessary for the officers engaged on the case +to know as much of his life and antecedents as +possible. In this case, no one seems to know +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>anything except you, Mr. Dukane. That’s why I am +obliged to come to you.”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing about his life, nor about his +antecedents. I picked him up in a Western town, +stranded, after his show had gone to pieces.”</p> + +<p>“What was the name of the show?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the faintest idea. Now, if you will +be good enough to let me get on with my morning’s +business——”</p> + +<p>“I shall certainly do so,” said Barrison quietly, +as he turned away. “But I must warn you, Mr. +Dukane, that I believe you are making a mistake. +The detective force will find out what they have to +find out. If you have any reason——”</p> + +<p>“Reason?”</p> + +<p>“I say, if you have any reason for wanting them +not to do so, you would do much better to forestall +them, and give them your help frankly to begin +with.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all?”</p> + +<p>“That is quite all, Mr. Dukane.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Barrison. As I say, you will receive +your check in due time. Barrison——”</p> + +<p>The detective turned at the door, and waited for +him to go on. Dukane was sitting with his head +somewhat bent; after a moment he lifted it, and +said, in a gentler tone than he had used before +during the interview:</p> + +<p>“I have given you the impression of being a +hard man. It is a truthful impression; I am a hard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>man. I should not be where I am to-day, had I +not been hard, very hard. But if I have spoken +to you with bitterness, you will remember, please, +that I feel no bitterness toward you. I like you, +on the contrary. But in my life there is no place +for individual likes or dislikes. Long ago, I decided +to play a great game for great stakes. I have won +at that game; I shall continue to win. Nothing else +counts with me; nothing! That is all. Good-by, +Barrison!”</p> + +<p>“Good-by, sir,” the younger man said, and went +out of the big, rich, inner office, where even the +noise and bustle of the world came softly, lest +anything disturb the imperious brain brooding and +planning at the desk.</p> + +<p>It was in a very sober mood that Barrison reached +Miss Templeton’s hotel at luncheon time, and sent +up his card.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">MISS TEMPLETON AT HOME</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">I THOUGHT you’d just as lief have lunch up +here,” said Miss Templeton.</p> + +<p>Barrison looked at her as though he had never +seen her before. Indeed, he was not sure that he +ever had.</p> + +<p>It is an experience not unknown to most of us, +that of finding ourselves confronting some one or +something long familiar, as we thought, but presented +all at once in a new guise. From the first, +Jim had felt in Miss Templeton a personality deeper +and truer than would be superficially descried +through her paint and powder and conspicuous +dresses. But, so far, his idea of her had had to +be more or less theoretical and instinctive; he had +not had very much to go by.</p> + +<p>To-day, and for the first time, he saw in the +flesh the woman whom he had half unconsciously +idealized in the spirit: a very sweet, rather shy +woman, whose starry eyes and clear skin looked +the more strikingly lovely for being, to-day, unassisted +by artifice.</p> + +<p>She wore a nunlike gray frock, and her splendid +gold hair was simply arranged. It would be hard +to imagine a greater contrast than that which she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>presented with the Woman in Purple of but a +brief fortnight ago.</p> + +<p>Her parlor was a further surprise. Unconsciously, +he found himself remembering Kitty Legaye’s +dainty and bizarre apartment, and comparing the +two. Who would have dreamed that it was in +such surroundings as these that this woman would +choose to live?</p> + +<p>She had not, like Kitty, transformed her apartment +with stuffs and ornamentations. Her individuality +had somehow transfused itself through everything, +superior to trappings or furnishings. She +had left the room very much as it must have been +when she took it. The curtains and the carpets +were the same that the hotel manager had put +there; but they seemed somehow of secondary importance. +On that drab regulation background she +had contrived to paint herself and what she lived +for in colors that were, while subdued, unmistakable. +No one could enter there without knowing +that he was in the sanctum of a personality.</p> + +<p>First and foremost, there were books; books on +shelves, on the table, books everywhere. And they +were not best sellers either, if one could judge by +their plain heavy bindings.</p> + +<p>“Italian history,” she said, seeing him glance +curiously at a title. “I take up wild fads from +time to time, and read about nothing else until the +subject is exhausted, or until I am! At present I +spend my time in the company of the Medici!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span></p> +<p>He thought that she was the last woman on +earth whom he would expect to care for such things, +but that was to be the least of his surprises. All +her books sounded one persistent note, romance, +adventure, a passionate love for and yearning after +the beautiful, the thrilling, the emotional in life. +There were books of folklore and legends, medieval +tales and modern essays on strange, far lands more +full of color and wonder than ours. There were +translations from different tongues, there were volumes +full of Eastern myths, and others of sea +tales and stories of the vast prairies and the Barbary +Coast. There was not a single popular novel +among them all. Every one was a treasure box +of romance.</p> + +<p>The pictures which she had collected to adorn +her rooms were equally self-revealing. They ranged +from photographs and engravings to Japanese +prints; more than one looked as though it had +come from a colored supplement. Here, again, the +message was invariably adventurous or romantic.</p> + +<p>Miss Templeton smiled as she saw her guest’s +bewildered look.</p> + +<p>“It’s a queer assortment, isn’t it?” she said. +“But I can’t stand the flat, polite-looking things +that people pretend to admire. Things have to be +alive, to <em>call</em> me, somehow!”</p> + +<p>All at once, it seemed to Jim that he had the +keynote to her character. It was vitality. She was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>superbly alive—with the vivid faults as well as the +vivid advantages of intense life.</p> + +<p>Luncheon was served at once, and it proved almost +as cosmopolitan in its items as the rest of +Miss Templeton’s appurtenances. She had ordered +soft-shell crabs to begin with, because she said +that for the first twenty-five years of her life +she had never had a chance to taste them, and +now, since she could, she was making up for lost +time, and ate them every day! With truly feminine +logic, she had made her next course broiled ham +and green corn, because she had been brought up +on them in the Middle West. She had a new +kind of salad she had recently heard of, solely +because it <em>was</em> new; and she finished with chocolate +ice cream for the reason, as she explained, that +chocolate ice cream had always been her idea of +a party, and when she wanted to feel very grand, +she made a point of having it.</p> + +<p>Barrison was no fool where women were concerned; +he knew that she was purposely making +herself attractive to him, and he knew that she +was sufficiently fascinating to be dangerous. Her +unexpectedness alone would make her interesting +to a man of his type. But he could usually keep +his head; he proposed to keep it now. So far as +playing the game went, he was not altogether a +bad hand at it himself, and Miss Templeton, he imagined, +was not precisely a young or unsophisticated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>village maid. That there was danger merely made +it the more exhilarating.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison,” she said at last, “of course you +are asking yourself what it is that I have to tell +you—why, in short, I asked you to lunch to-day.”</p> + +<p>“I am asking myself nothing at the present moment,” +he returned promptly, “except why, by the +favor of the gods, I should be playing in such +extraordinary luck! But, of course, I’ll be interested +in anything you have to tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said slowly. “I think you probably +will be interested. You’ll forgive me if I begin +with a little—a very little—personal history? It +won’t be the ‘story of my life,’ don’t be frightened! +But it’s essential to what I want to tell you afterward.”</p> + +<p>“Please tell me anything and everything you care +to,” he begged her, with the air of grave attention +which a woman always delights to see in a man +to whom she is speaking.</p> + +<p>She sat, her chin resting on her clasped hands; +her eyes abstracted, fixed on nothing tangible that +he could see, as she spoke:</p> + +<p>“You understand me a little better now, seeing +me at home—in as much of a home as I can have—among +the books and pictures that I love, don’t +you? Never mind; perhaps you don’t. Though I +don’t think I’m very hard to understand. I’m just +a woman who’s always been hunting for something +that——”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span></p> +<p>“The Blue Bird of Happiness?” he suggested +gently. “You’ve read it, of course?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally—and loved it. But—I don’t imagine +that <em>I</em> could ever find my Blue Bird at home, as +they did. It would have to be in some very far +place, I’m sure, only to be won after tremendous +effort!”</p> + +<p>“After all, that Blue Bird they found at home +flew away as soon as it was found!” he reminded +her. “I can see that you hear the call of adventure +more clearly than most people. Have you always +dreamed of the ‘strange roads?’ Or has it been a +part of—growing up?”</p> + +<p>“You were going to say ‘growing older!’” she +said, with a faint smile. “I think I’ve always been +so. I seem always to have been struggling away +from where I was—rotten, discontented nature, +isn’t it? Will you hand me those cigarettes, +please?”</p> + +<p>Barrison proffered his own case, and she took and +lighted one with a grave, almost a dreamy air. “You +see,” she said, “I was brought up in a deadly little +Illinois town. While I was still practically a baby, +I got married. He was a vaudeville performer, +and to me quite a glorious personage. The girls +I knew thought so, too. He was better looking +than any drummer who’d been there, and had +better manners than the clerk at the drug store, +who was the village beau.”</p> + +<p>She spoke calmly, without sentiment, yet she did +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>not sound cynical; her manner was too simple for +that.</p> + +<p>“Well, I didn’t find the Blue Bird <em>there</em>. I found +nothing in that marriage with a glimmer of happiness +in it, until I came in sight of the divorce +court. That looked to me like the gate of heaven! +Then I went into the movies.”</p> + +<p>“The movies! I never knew that.”</p> + +<p>“No, of course not. No one knows it. It’s all +right to advertise leaving the legitimate stage for +the screen; but if you’ve come the other way, and +graduated from the screen to the stage, you’re not +nearly so likely to tell the press man. Anyway, +I was in an old-style picture company—I’m talking +about six years ago—that was working on +some blood-and-thunder short reels out in Arizona, +when they hired a bunch of professional cow-punchers +for some rough Western stuff in a feature +picture. Alan Mortimer was one of them.”</p> + +<p>“Alan Mortimer!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, or, rather, Morton. He changed his name +later on.” She looked at him. “Surely you must +have guessed that I knew him before this engagement—this +play? How did you suppose that we +got to be so intimate in two weeks of rehearsals? <em>I</em> +didn’t spend the summer at Nantucket!”</p> + +<p>“That’s where Miss Legaye met him, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. She always goes down there, and Dukane +wanted him to be there while Jack Carlton was—he +was working on the play, you know. But I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>hadn’t maneuvered and worked and planned for +nothing. I’d got on in my profession, and played +a few leading parts. I moved heaven and earth +to get into his company—and I succeeded!”</p> + +<p>“You mean—you wanted to see him again?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes flashed suddenly. For a second she +looked fierce and threatening, as she had looked +that first day in the restaurant.</p> + +<p>“Wanted? I had thought of nothing else for five—nearly +six years! I used to be mad about him, +you see. He made women feel like that.”</p> + +<p>“I know he did.”</p> + +<p>Barrison spoke naturally enough, but truth to +tell, he was feeling a bit dazed. The Mortimer +case was developing in a singular fashion. It was +like one of those queer little Oriental toys where +you open box inside box, to find in each case a +smaller one awaiting you. He wondered whether +he was ever to get to the end of this affair. The +further you went in it, the more complicated it +seemed to get. But she was speaking:</p> + +<p>“I was very much in love with him. But I never +had any illusions as to his real character. He was +rather a blackguard, in more ways than one. It +wasn’t only that he treated women badly—or, anyway, +lightly. He was crooked. I am very sure of +that. He gambled, and the men in the company +wouldn’t play with him; they said he didn’t play +straight. There was one elderly man with a +daughter, who was his particular crony; they were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>both supposed to be shady in a lot of ways—I +mean the two men. So far as I know, the girl +was all right. Evidently they stuck together, too; +perhaps they had to, knowing too much about each +other! But I saw the older man at the theater +two or three times during rehearsals.”</p> + +<p>“What did he look like?” demanded Barrison, +struck with a sudden idea.</p> + +<p>“Oh, very respectable looking, like so many +crooks! Elderly, as I say, and thin, and——”</p> + +<p>“You surely don’t mean Mortimer’s old valet, +Wrenn?”</p> + +<p>She looked at him in a startled fashion.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, that’s the name. I don’t believe I +should have remembered it if you hadn’t reminded +me. The man was Wrenn, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>Jim’s pulse was pounding. Light at last, if only +a glimmer! He was really finding out something +about Mortimer’s past, really coming upon things +that might have led up, directly or indirectly, to his +murder.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember anything about the daughter?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not very much. She rode for us in one or two +scenes, but she was hard to use in the picture. +I do remember that she was an awfully disagreeable +sort of girl, and most unpopular. What I +wanted to tell you particularly was that Mortimer +had a crooked record behind him, and that at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>least one man near him—this Wrenn—knew it. +That was one thing. The other——”</p> + +<p>But Barrison could not help interrupting.</p> + +<p>“Just a moment, if you don’t mind, Miss Templeton! +This is all tremendously interesting to +me—more interesting than you can possibly guess! +It’s just possible that you’ve put me on the clew +I’ve been looking for. Was there any man in that +crowd called Blankey, or Blinkey, or anything like +that?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head wonderingly.</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of,” she said. “But Alan +had several particular pals, he and Wrenn. One +of them may have been called that. I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>Jim was slightly disappointed, but, after all, he +had gained a good deal already; he could afford to +be philosophical and patient.</p> + +<p>“And you don’t remember anything about the +girl at all?” he insisted. “Only that she was disagreeable, +and could ride?”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute,” said Miss Templeton thoughtfully; +“I’ve some old snapshots tucked away. There +ought to be some group with that girl in it.”</p> + +<p>Barrison smoked three cigarettes in frantic succession +while she hunted. Finally, she put a little +kodak photograph in his hand.</p> + +<p>“There am I,” she said, “rather in the background, +dressed up as a beautiful village lass—do +you see? And that’s Alan. He was handsome, +wasn’t he?” Her voice was quite steady as she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>said it, but it had rather a minor ring. “And there—that +girl over there in the shirtwaist and habit +skirt, is Wrenn’s daughter.”</p> + +<p>As Barrison looked, he felt as certain as though +he had seen her with his own eyes, that she—Wrenn’s +daughter—was the woman who had been +in Mortimer’s dressing room the night before.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">GLIMMERS IN THE DARKNESS</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">HE raised his eyes to find Miss Templeton regarding +him from the other side of the table +with a rather curious expression.</p> + +<p>“I had no idea that you would be interested in +the Wrenn girl,” she said. “I thought that my +information would point rather toward her father. +Why are you interested in her?”</p> + +<p>Barrison hesitated. Charming as he found this +woman, he had no mind to confide in her just yet. +He countered with another question, one which +had, as a matter of fact, trembled on his lips ever +since he had come into the room. It was an impertinent +question, and he knew that she would +have a perfect right to resent it. Yet there was an +indefinable attitude about her—not familiarity, but +something suggesting intimacy—when she spoke to +him, that made him somewhat bolder than his good +taste could justify.</p> + +<p>“Miss Templeton,” he said, “you have just told +me that you cared so much for Alan Mortimer that +you waited for six years to get in the same company +with him. I know that only a few days ago +you were still sufficiently interested in him to +be——”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span></p> +<p>He really did not know how to put it, but she did.</p> + +<p>“Jealous?” she suggested promptly, and without +emotion. “Oh, yes, I was—in a way—insanely +jealous. You see, it had become an obsession with +me; I don’t imagine I really loved him any longer, +but I was being cheated of something I had worked +for and sacrificed for. Probably, not being a +woman, you wouldn’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“Probably not,” said Jim. “And—will you forgive +me for adding this?—I understand even less +your mood to-day. Last night you were deeply +moved at the play; I saw that. Perhaps”—he +paused; he did not know whether to speak of the +revolver or not—“you were even on the verge of—some +scene—some violent expression of emotion, +some——”</p> + +<p>She glanced at him, startled. “How did you +know that? But, suppose it were true. Will you +go on, if you please?”</p> + +<p>“No; I am merely offending you.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t—offend me.” Her tone was singular. +“I should really like you to go on. There was +something else that you did not understand. What +was it?”</p> + +<p>“It is in the present tense,” he answered. “It’s +something that I cannot understand now. Miss +Templeton, you have done me the honor of asking +me here to-day, and of talking to me with a certain +measure of confidence. You have been most gracious +and charming, a perfect hostess. I have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>enjoyed myself completely. And yet—last night, the +man who has occupied your thoughts and, let us +say, your hopes for years past—was tragically murdered.”</p> + +<p>She was silent for a second or two. “Is that +what you don’t understand?” she demanded +abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I cannot reconcile the two women I know +to exist: The angry, passionate, jealous woman +who looked—excuse me—as though she could have +done murder herself, a short fortnight ago, and +the woman who has been talking to me to-day +about her fruitless quest for the Blue Bird of +Happiness.”</p> + +<p>“I think that is rather stupid of you, then,” she +answered composedly. “Can’t you see it’s all part +of the same thing? The quest for love—for the +unattainable—but, Mr. Barrison, that is something +else which puzzles you, which, in a way, jars on +you. I can see it quite well. It is to you a +strange and rather a horrible thing that I should +be calm to-day, giving you lunch—and eating it, +too!—talking of all sorts of things, while he, the +man I used to be in love with, is lying dead. Isn’t +that it?”</p> + +<p>“That is certainly part of it.”</p> + +<p>After a moment, she pushed back her chair and +rose restlessly.</p> + +<p>“No, don’t get up!” she exclaimed, as he, too, +rose. “Sit still, and let me prowl about as I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>choose. I am not used to expressing myself, Mr. +Barrison, except in my actions. Words always +bother me, and I never seem able to make myself +clear in them. Let me see if I can make you +see this thing, not as I do, but a little less confusedly. +In the desert, a man sometimes follows +a mirage for a long time; longs for it, prays for it, +worships it from afar. He is dying of thirst, +you see, and his feeling about it is so acute it is +almost savage. The mirage isn’t real, the water +that he thinks he sees is just a cloud effect, but +he wants it, and while he is hunting it, he is not +entirely sane. One day he finds it is not real. All +that everlasting journeying for nothing; all that +thirst for something that never has existed! Men +do strange things when they find out that the water +they were traveling toward is nothing but a mirage. +Some of them kill themselves. But suppose, just +when that man was losing his reason with the +disappointment and the weariness—suppose just +then some traveler, some Good Samaritan, or—just +a traveler like himself, or—some—never mind!” +She choked whatever it was that she had meant to +say. “Suppose, then, some one appears and offers +him a real gourd of real water! Does he think +much more about the mirage? He only wonders +that he ever dreamed and suffered in search for +it. But—it had taken the sight of the real clear +water to make him see that the other was just +a feverish dream.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span></p> +<p>She paused in her restless pacing up and down +the room, and looked at him. “Do you understand +better now?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Barrison flatly. “It is very pretty, and, +I suppose, symbolic, but I have not the least idea, +if you will pardon me for saying so, what you are +driving at.”</p> + +<p>“Think it over,” said Miss Templeton, lighting +another cigarette. “One more touch of symbolism +for you. Suppose the—traveler—who showed him +the real gourd of water should spill it, or drink +it all himself, or—refuse to share it, after all? +What do you think would be likely to happen +then?”</p> + +<p>“I should think the thirsty man would be quite +likely to shoot him!” said Jim laughing a little.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him. “Ah,” she said, “you see +you understand more than you pretend. Yes, that’s +just what might happen——Oh, by the by, Mr. +Barrison, there was something else that I sent for +you to say. You know I warned you in regard +to Kitty Legaye?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but it is out of the question,” said Barrison. +“I am sure that Mortimer’s murder was +an overwhelming surprise to her.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe so,” she said thoughtfully. “But I am +sure that, when I rushed out of the theater last +night in that darkness and confusion, I saw Miss +Legaye’s face at the window of a taxicab at the +front of the house.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span></p> +<p>“At the front of the house! But that would be +impossible!”</p> + +<p>“I only tell you what I am certain I saw.”</p> + +<p>“Would you be prepared to swear that?”</p> + +<p>She considered this a moment. “No,” she admitted +finally. “I would not be prepared to go +quite as far as that. I felt very sure at the time, +and I feel almost as sure now. But a glimpse +like that is sometimes not much to go by. I only +tell you for what it is worth. And now, Mr. +Barrison, I have an engagement, and I am going +to turn you out. You forgive me?”</p> + +<p>“I am disposed to forgive you anything,” said +Jim, with formal gallantry, “after the help you +have given me—to say nothing of the pleasure I +have had!”</p> + +<p>She made a faint little face at him. “That sounds +like something on the stage!” she protested. “I +wish you would think over my—my——”</p> + +<p>“Allegory?” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“I was going to say my confession. I am sure, +the more carefully you remember it, the simpler +it will become. Especially remember your own suggestion +as to what would happen to the niggardly +rescuer who might refuse to be a rescuer, after all!”</p> + +<p>Barrison saw fit to ignore this. He shook hands +cordially and conventionally.</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” he said. “And thanks.”</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” she returned briefly.</p> + +<p>As he went downstairs, his face was a shade +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>hot. There were two reasons for it. For one +thing, Miss Templeton’s attitude—the allegory of +the mirage and the gourd of water—what did she +mean by it? Was it possible that she—that she—Jim +Barrison was not conceited about women, but +he could hardly avoid being impressed with a +subtle flattery in her manner, a flattery dignified +by what certainly looked like rather touching sincerity. +And on his part—well, he was not yet +prepared to tell himself baldly just what he did feel.</p> + +<p>Several years ago, Barrison had imagined himself +in love with a beautiful, heartless girl who +had baffled him in one of his big cases. She had +gone out of his life forever, and he had imagined +himself henceforth immune. Yet this woman, with +her curious paradoxes of temperament, her extraordinary +frankness, and her strange reserves, her +cold-blooded dismissal of a past passion, and her +emotional yearning for joy and the fullness of +life—well, he knew in his heart of hearts, whether +he put it in words or not, that she thrilled him +as no woman in the world had ever thrilled him yet.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">CHECKING UP</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">I KNOW that the Wrenn woman probably did it,” +said Barrison, speaking to Lowry in the inspector’s +office. “And I’m going to move heaven +and earth to find her. But I’ve a hunch—a sort of +theory—that those two women, Miss Templeton and +Miss Legaye, know more than they’ve told us yet.”</p> + +<p>He tried to keep himself from feeling guilty +when he spoke of Grace Templeton; certainly his +own reasons for particular interest in her had no +place in a police investigation, and yet he became +subtly embarrassed whenever her name came up.</p> + +<p>“Never,” said Lowry, smoking his large, black, +bad cigar, “never have theories. Find out the situation, +and build your theories into that. You started +off on the idea that these two women—Templeton +and Legaye—were mixed up in the business somehow. +You’ve been chasing ’round, worrying about +them, to make that idea good. Now, I don’t +believe either of ’em knows a darned thing about +it! They may both have been in love with the +man, but nowadays actresses, with their futures +ahead, don’t often queer themselves that way. However, +if there were any evidence against either of +’em, I’d go after it fast enough. But there isn’t. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>In fact, there’s conclusive evidence clearing them +both. There’s the pistol, for instance. Not one +initial among the four belonging to the two women +resembles an M.”</p> + +<p>“One moment, inspector!” broke in Barrison. +“That isn’t an M, it’s a W.”</p> + +<p>“Discovered that, eh?” remarked the inspector +imperturbably. “I wondered if you would. If you’ll +look at the pistol closely, though, my dear boy, +you’ll find that the angle at which it is engraved +is a curious one. It might be either an M or a W. +It depends on how you look at it. The letter is +oddly shaped; looked at from different points, it +makes just as good a W as it does an M, and +vice versa. Well, the ladies in question have no +more W’s in their names than they have M’s. Then, +Miss Templeton could not have got behind the +scenes in time.”</p> + +<p>“I imagine not,” admitted Jim. “Of course, we +are dealing in what was possible, not likely; the +door was unguarded just then, and——”</p> + +<p>“The door was unguarded after the shot, not +before.”</p> + +<p>“If you believe the man Lynch. But—mind you, +I suspect her no more than you, but—she was +familiar with the theater.”</p> + +<p>“Familiar—hell! No one’s familiar with any +place in the pitch dark! And the other woman +had gone home, hadn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye had gone home, as it was generally +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>supposed,” said Jim, feeling obliged to register +conscientiously every passing suspicion of his. “But +Miss Templeton thinks she saw her near the front +of the theater just after the tragedy.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ve only got that woman’s word for +<em>that</em>! Will she swear to it? No? I thought not! +She’s just talking through her hat, either to queer +the other, or to make herself interesting to you! +Say, Barrison, you’re dippy on this thing! I always +thought you were a pretty snappy detective for a +young un! Now get rid of your theories, and +your hunches and your intuitions and your suspicions, +and check up! That’s what I’ve been doing +all day, and, take it from me, while it may be +old-fashioned, it’s the method that gets there nine +times out of ten. Here goes!”</p> + +<p>He took a sheet of paper and made notes, as he +talked.</p> + +<p>“Now that shot, according to the medical report, +was fired at close range; very close range, indeed. +The khaki of the man’s uniform was quite a bit +burned by it. The bullet entered under the right +arm, so he must have had his arms lifted, either +to take hold of Miss Merivale, as she said, or for +some other reason. It entered the body below the +right armpit, and made a clean drill through the +right lung at a slightly upward angle. Then it +lodged in an upper rib just under the right breast. +That explains the big splotch of blood on the breast. +It could have been fired from either of two ways.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span></p> +<p>He drew a rough diagram on the page before +him, representing an imaginary, cylindrical man, +two crosses, and a couple of dotted lines.</p> + +<p>“So! If Miss Merivale did it,” he explained, +pencil in hand, “he’d have to be standing facing +toward the front of the house, with his arm slightly +raised, and his right side exposed to her aim.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that an unlikely attitude, under the circumstances?”</p> + +<p>“It is unlikely, but it is perfectly possible. It’s +only in songs that every little movement has a +meaning all its own! Do you always have a good +and logical reason for every motion you make? +If you do, you’re a freak! The great difficulty +with most detectives is that they try to get a +reason and a sequence for everything, as though +they were putting a puzzle together or writing a +play. In real life, half the things we do we do +for no reason at all, or from sheer natural human +contrariness! However, never mind that. Now, +if the other woman—the woman we believe was in +the theater last night—fired the shot, she only had +to stand in close at the foot of the four-step entrance, +and reach up. Even if she were a small +woman, she would be able to place her bullet just +about where it was found. It’s a toss-up, Barrison. +Either Miss Merivale fired that shot, or the unknown +woman did.”</p> + +<p>“The unknown woman I don’t consider unknown +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>any longer. She is Wrenn’s daughter, without a +doubt.”</p> + +<p>“On Miss Templeton’s testimony? Tut, tut, my +dear Barrison!”</p> + +<p>“But, surely, the unknown woman, if you insist +on continuing to think her unknown, is the more +likely bet of the two?”</p> + +<p>Inspector Lowry pulled at his cigar, and wrinkled +his heavy brows.</p> + +<p>“Likely! I’m mortally afraid of those ‘likely’ +clews! When a thing looks too blamed ‘likely,’ I +get scared. Nature and life and crime don’t work +that way! Besides,” drawled the inspector, “we’ve +not got her, and we <em>have</em> got the other one! There’s +everything in possession!”</p> + +<p>“But you aren’t going to hold Miss Merivale on +a mere——”</p> + +<p>“Hold your horses, boy! We aren’t holding her +at all at present. She is as free as air, and will +continue to be free for quite a while, anyway. +But she’s being watched, Barrison, my boy, she’s +being watched every minute. And she’ll go on +being watched.”</p> + +<p>Lowry relighted his defunct cigar.</p> + +<p>“Incidentally,” he added, “we’ve got a few fresh +points on this. You’d be interested in hearing them, +I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Interested!”</p> + +<p>“Very well. For one thing, Mrs. Parry, the +dresser at the theater, has given us rather an odd +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>piece of evidence. She says that a messenger boy +called at Miss Merivale’s dressing room during the +evening. She was not in the room at the time, +but saw him knock, saw him admitted, and saw +him go away.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing odd in that, surely—on a first night?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all odd. Mrs. Parry also recalls +that, when she went in to help Miss Merivale +for the last act——”</p> + +<p>“Miss Merivale had no change for the last act.”</p> + +<p>“No; so I understand. But she had gone back +to her dressing room as usual for a few final +touches. She had to alter her make-up slightly, +hadn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; she had to be rather paler in the last +act.” Barrison was somewhat impressed by Lowry’s +thorough, even if archaic, way of getting his facts.</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” said the inspector equably. “Well, +Mrs. Parry says that, as she entered the dressing +room, she saw Miss Merivale walking up and +down the room, evidently very angry. She had a +note in her hand, and as she saw the woman, she +tore it up in a lot of little pieces, and made an +effort to become composed. Then she went hastily +over to the dressing table, and caught up something +that was lying there.”</p> + +<p>“Something! What?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Parry does not know. She knows that it +was a small object possibly as long as her hand. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>She does not vouch for its shape. She just saw +it in the flash of an eye.”</p> + +<p>“And what is Miss Merivale supposed to have +done with it?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Merivale put it, very swiftly indeed, into +the front of her white gown.”</p> + +<p>Barrison felt thunderstruck. That pretty, frank-eyed +girl! Why, the thing was unbelievable! Impetuously +he said:</p> + +<p>“But, as you’ve impressed on me more than once, +the testimony of a single person can’t be conclusive. +Suppose——”</p> + +<p>“Suppose that testimony is borne out by that of +others? Miss McAllister remembers Miss Merivale’s +fingering the buttons on the front of her +blouse several times, in a nervous way. And two +of the minor actors in that scene say that she kept +her hand at her breast when it was not part of +the business, as though she could not entirely +forget something she carried there.”</p> + +<p>Lowry paused, as though to let these points +sink into his hearer’s intelligence. Then he continued:</p> + +<p>“We found the torn scraps of the note, at least +enough of them to be able to get quite a fair idea +of what its purport had been.” Lowry opened the +drawer of his desk and took out a Manila envelope. +From it he drew a sheet of paper upon which had +been pasted a number of words, some of them in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>sequence and some of them detached and far apart. +He pushed the paper across to Barrison.</p> + +<p>“Have a look,” he said laconically. Barrison +read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>How madly—you—you accept—know I may hop—you +pretend—needn’t expect—scape, you beau—might just as—make +up—rrender—to-ni——</p> +</div> + +<p>“What do you make of it?” asked Lowry, after +Barrison had stared at the cryptic mosaic of paper +scraps for a moment or two.</p> + +<p>The younger detective began to fill in and piece +together. He evolved the logical complete letter:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>You know how madly I love you. If you accept the +accompanying I know I may hope. Though you pretend, +you needn’t expect to escape, you beauty. You might just +as well make up your mind to surrender the battle to-night.</p> +</div> + +<p>Lowry read it and smiled.</p> + +<p>“Quite good,” he pronounced. “Here’s another +answer.”</p> + +<p>And he pushed another sheet toward Jim.</p> + +<p>This one read—with the words of the recovered +scraps underlined—as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>No matter how determinedly, how madly you resist, you +accept your fate. You know I may hope. You pretend +courage, but you need not expect to escape, you beautiful +fiend! You might just as well make up your mind to surrender +to-night.</p> +</div> + +<p>Barrison read, and then, with a slight shrug, +pushed it back toward the older man.</p> + +<p>“I see very little difference,” he said.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span></p> +<p>“Really? Can’t you see that one is a love letter, +and one a threat?”</p> + +<p>“If you choose to put in phrases like ‘you +beautiful fiend!’” said Barrison, raising his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>Lowry chuckled. “Doesn’t it sound kind of natural?” +he queried. “Oh, well, maybe I’m behind +the times! I just tried to make it natural. But +seriously, Jim, there is a difference, and you’d +better get on to it quick. That letter—which was +from Mortimer; I’ve had the handwriting verified—might +have been a threat to a woman whom he +was dead set on getting, or a billet-doux to a +girl he was sweet on, and who was acting shy. +Isn’t that right?”</p> + +<p>Barrison frowned over the two epistles.</p> + +<p>“You’ve something else up your sleeve,” he declared, +watching him closely. “I’ve a good mind +to go and call on Miss Merivale myself.”</p> + +<p>“Do!” said Lowry, turning to his desk with the +air of a man dismissing a lot of troublesome business, +and glad of it. “You will find that she is +too ill to see a soul; utterly prostrated since last +night. Will that hold you for a while, you uppity +young shrimp?”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">TONY’S REPORT</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">BARRISON often dined at a chop house in the +Thirties, near his own rooms. He repaired +thither to-night, after having telephoned his whereabouts +to Tony Clay’s boarding house, with a message +for that youth to come on to join him there +if he could.</p> + +<p>As he sat lingeringly over one of the meals he +liked best, he endeavored to forget the problems +which had stabbed at him relentlessly all day. He +wished that it were only from a professional angle +that the business worried him; to his own uttermost +disgust, he found an enormous mass of personal +worry connected with it. He would like, +for instance, to have been able to eliminate Miss +Templeton. Or—would he? He was alarmed to +find his condition so critical that he was not absolutely +sure.</p> + +<p>He glanced up at last, uncertain whether with +relief or disgust, to find Tony Clay wending his +way toward him between tables.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said, with a very fine show of +enthusiastic welcome.</p> + +<p>Tony bobbed an acknowledgment. When he was +seated opposite Jim, he growled:</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></p> +<p> +“How doth the little butterfly<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">Improve each shining hour,</span><br> +By sending other folks to spy,<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">And bring to him more power!</span><br> +<br> +“What pretty things he learns to do,<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">What merry games he beats!</span><br> +He lets the other fellow stew,<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">While he sits still and eats!”</span> +</p> + +<p>Barrison could not help laughing, as he greeted +him:</p> + +<p>“What do you suppose I’ve been doing? Sitting +here ever since we parted? What are you going +to eat, oh, faithful, good, and seemingly hungry +servant?”</p> + +<p>“I want all the ham and eggs there are in the +place, and the ham cut thick, and the eggs fried on +both sides!”</p> + +<p>“You half-baked little ass!” remarked Jim affectionately. +“Give your own order.”</p> + +<p>Tony ordered, with a vague yet spectacular carelessness +which made Barrison roar.</p> + +<p>“Not awake yet, Tony?” he queried, when his +young friend had committed himself to mushrooms +and guinea hen after the ham and eggs.</p> + +<p>“Eh? Sure I’m awake! Say, you didn’t give +me a job at all, oh, no!”</p> + +<p>“The point is, did you get it?”</p> + +<p>“Get it? You bet your life I got it. But, Jim, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>your hunch about that Golden Arms business was +punk. There’s nothing doing there.”</p> + +<p>“No?” said Barrison. He tried to sound cool and +casual, but it wasn’t much of a success; he felt +a bit flat about it all. “Go ahead, Tony; suppose +you tell me about it, eh?”</p> + +<p>Tony nodded, and straightened up at sight of the +ham and eggs.</p> + +<p>“Well; first off you wanted a line on the maid. +I got that, all right. She was one of those musical-comedy +sorts. I spotted her from the beginning, +and I guess you did, too. She wasn’t able to +get away from her ‘lady’ much, but she was supposed +to eat like anybody else, and——”</p> + +<p>“Tony, if you tell me that you gave up your +sleep to go and fix her at lunch, and that——”</p> + +<p>“I don’t, and I didn’t tell you anything. But, +as a matter of fact, I’d have bust if I hadn’t +got a chance on this thing, Jim; you know that. +Maybe I seem a bit slow sometimes, but, take +it from me, I’m there with the goods when the time +comes! Anyway, the maid’s story is perfectly +straight, and I’m certain she’s telling the truth. +It seems that she isn’t supposed to knock at Miss +Legaye’s door until half after eleven. She sleeps +in a room on top of the house, connected by +telephone, and only comes down at special times, +or when she’s phoned for. Last night, she didn’t +expect Miss Legaye in early, so didn’t come downstairs +to her door till about twenty minutes past +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>eleven. It being a first night, she really didn’t +imagine Miss Legaye would be in much before +midnight. But at eleven twenty Maria—that’s the +maid—came and knocked. She saw that the lights +were turned up inside the room.</p> + +<p>“Miss Legaye called out to her: ‘Maria, don’t +bother about me to-night; I’m tired, and I’m going +to bed right away. Come at about eight to-morrow, +please.’</p> + +<p>“Maria went up to bed then, and didn’t come +down again until eight, the hour she was expected. +That was about fifteen minutes before +you and I turned up this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” demanded Barrison, not so much eagerly +as savagely, for he was hot on what he thought +to be a trail of some sort, even if not a criminal +trail. “Well, what else does she say about when +she came in to Miss Legaye’s rooms this morning?”</p> + +<p>“She says that she came to the door and knocked, +as was always her rule, before using her key. +She had a key, but was not expected by Miss +Legaye to use it unless there was no answer. +This time she didn’t get any answer, so she opened +the door, and went in.</p> + +<p>“She went in to Miss Legaye’s bedroom, and +found her half awake and half asleep. She said +she had had a bad night, and had had to take her +sleeping medicine. She looked pale. Maria says +that the thing that upset her, Maria, most was +the sight of Miss Legaye’s fine opera coat on a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>chair near the window, where the rain had made +it all wet. She said she had barely hung it up, +and made Miss Legaye comfortable, when we telephoned +up.”</p> + +<p>Barrison thought a moment. “That sounds all +right,” he admitted. “Get ahead, Tony, to the rest +of your investigation. For, of course, you must +have got at some one else!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Tony, as he munched fried ham; +“I got at the night clerk of the Golden Arms.”</p> + +<p>“The night clerk? But he wasn’t on duty?”</p> + +<p>Tony buttered a piece of bread with a glance +of scorn. “And would that make him inaccessible +to <em>you</em>, you pluperfect sleuth?” he demanded caustically. +“To me it merely meant that I would have +to dig up his address and call on him when he +was not on guard, so to speak. He is a very +nice, pleasant youth. You would not get on with +him at all; you would hurt his feelings. I have +feelings of my own, so we were delighted with +each other! You do neglect your opportunities, +you know, Jim!”</p> + +<p>“Did you find out when Miss Legaye got in last +night?” asked Barrison, but Tony’s answer was +disappointing.</p> + +<p>“I did not,” he rejoined. “I found that my night +clerk had not seen Miss Legaye at all last night.”</p> + +<p>Barrison jumped and stared at him. “Not seen +her!” ejaculated he.</p> + +<p>“No. She had not come through the office at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>all. But he says that she often avoids the crowd +in the hotel office by going up to her apartment +by the back way. He says she hates publicity.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” Barrison was thinking. “Is there, then, +no one who would have seen her, if she came in +‘the back way,’ and went up to her room?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t see how any one could have seen her. +You see, Jim, it’s this way. In the Golden Arms +Hotel, there is a side door, which is kept open and +unguarded until after eleven o’clock at night. Lots +of people, women especially, who don’t want to +go through the crowded office at that hour, prefer +to slip in that way. It’s a regular thing; they all +do it. As to the elevator boy who——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was going to ask about him. Did he +take her up?”</p> + +<p>“No, he didn’t. At that hour of the night, even +an elevator boy sometimes nods. Anyway, he remembers +the bell ringing for a long time while he +was half asleep, and when he got to the lift there +was no one there. The answer seems obvious.”</p> + +<p>“That she walked upstairs, having become tired +of waiting?”</p> + +<p>“I should say so. Especially as she lived only +one floor up, and often ran up the flight to save +time!”</p> + +<p>Barrison thought of this as he drank black coffee. +“And that is all you found out?” he demanded suddenly, +raising his head.</p> + +<p>“Not at all!” responded Tony cheerfully. “I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>found out that the first news the night clerk had +had of Miss Legaye last night was a telephone message +from her room at about eleven o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“A message? What was it?”</p> + +<p>“She said that she had a frightful headache, +and that she wanted one of the bell boys to go +out to the drug store for her, and get a medicine +bottle filled—stuff that she often took when she +had trouble about sleeping.”</p> + +<p>“And then?”</p> + +<p>“And then the boy went upstairs, and got the +empty bottle from her. She was wearing a +wrapper. He took the bottle out and had it filled. +That’s all. It establishes the fact that she was in, +and undressed, at eleven.”</p> + +<p>Barrison called for the check and paid it; then +he still knitted his brows over the thing that +troubled him.</p> + +<p>“Tony!” he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Could</em> she have gotten upstairs into that hotel +without being seen? I can’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“I thought there were maids or guards on +every floor.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” said Tony; “you remind me. There +is a maid stationed on every floor of all decent +hotels. There was one on every floor of this. +But she is human, and therefore she is movable. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>This one, on Miss Legaye’s floor, was on duty up +to twenty minutes to eleven, and she was on duty +after eleven had struck. In between she had been +called in to settle some newcomer, an old lady +who wanted eight hundred and seventy things to +which she was not entitled. She was away less +than half an hour, but it was during that time +that Miss Legaye must have gone to her room.”</p> + +<p>Barrison still sat looking at his coffee cup in +a troubled way, and Tony suddenly spoke:</p> + +<p>“Jim, that’s a cold trail, a dead one. See? Why +do you keep tracking back to it? You know, and +I know, that there’s nothing doing at that end of the +story. What keeps you nosing around it?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you, Tony,” said Barrison, low and +not too certainly. “It isn’t exactly evidence that +keeps me following that trail. It’s——”</p> + +<p>“Say!” broke in his subordinate sharply. “Shall +I tell you what it is? It’s that woman—it’s Miss +Grace Templeton; that’s what it is. You’re dippy +about her! And because she’s tipped you that +there’s something queer about Miss Legaye, you +believe it!”</p> + +<p>“I thought you admired Miss Templeton yourself!” +said Jim Barrison, rallying his forces.</p> + +<p>Tony Clay surveyed him in surprise. “Admired +her?” he exclaimed. “Of course I admire her! +But that wouldn’t prevent me from doing my bit +on a case! I wouldn’t let a thing like that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>interfere with me professionally!” He spoke most +grandiloquently, with a swelling chest.</p> + +<p>Jim Barrison looked at him a moment seriously; +then his face broke into irrepressible smiles. +“Wouldn’t you?” he queried. “Tony, you’ll be a +great man one of these days!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">“RITA THE DAREDEVIL”</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">PROMPTLY at eight o’clock, Barrison presented +himself at the entrance to Coyne’s Theater, +where he had agreed to meet Teddy Lucas, of the +<cite>Blaze</cite>.</p> + +<p>The house was of the flagrantly cheap variety, +to judge by the people then going in. On either +side of the glaringly illuminated doorway were vivid +lithographs of ladies with extremely pink cheeks +and tights, and gorgeously yellow hair and jewelry; +also, of prodigiously muscled acrobats, performing +miraculous feats in impossible positions.</p> + +<p>Barrison found his own eyes attracted, almost +at once, by something which stood out, oasislike, +among the more lurid and obvious sheets; a large +frame containing three photographs, under the +plainly printed title: “Rita the Daredevil! Late of +the World-famous Blankley Daredevils!”</p> + +<p>Then this <em>was</em> the girl who had been playing in +the riding act with Mortimer when Dukane came +upon him first. Now, if by any chance Jim could +connect that girl with Wrenn’s disagreeable daughter, +whom Miss Templeton remembered! He was +eager for a sight of her. Would that rather dim +snapshot he had seen prove sufficient to identify +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>her? He wondered! None of these pictures looked +particularly like that nondescript smudge of a +woman in the corner of the kodak picture which +had been shown him that day.</p> + +<p>He examined them with close interest. One +was of Rita the Daredevil, sitting a vicious-looking, +rearing broncho, with a nonchalant air, and huge, +ornamental spurs; another was of Rita the Daredevil +firing with a rifle at an apple held up +by a fat man in evening clothes. The third was, +presumably, a likeness of Rita the Daredevil herself, +doing nothing in particular but scowl at the world +from beneath a picturesque sombrero.</p> + +<p>She certainly looked disagreeable enough to justify +Grace Templeton’s unpleasant recollection of +her. Of a markedly Spanish type, with the faint +Indian cast which is so prevalent in South America, +she was in no sense beguiling or prepossessing. +It would be hard to vision those glowering black +eyes soft with any tender emotion; her mouth +was as hard and as bitter in line as that of some +fierce yet stoical young savage, brooding over a +darkly glorious nightmare of revenge.</p> + +<p>Fascinated, even while repelled, by the odd, forbidding +face, Barrison started as he was roused +from his momentary trance by the cool, rapid tones +of Teddy Lucas:</p> + +<p>“Awfully sorry if you’ve been waiting. I don’t +imagine we’re late for our act, though. Have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>you a cigarette? We can smoke here. Righto! +Come along!”</p> + +<p>They went in and took the places reserved for +them in a stage box. Jim was glad to be so +close to the stage; he wanted to study this woman +as minutely as he could. As they settled themselves, +an attendant changed the cards giving the +names of the acts. With a real thrill Barrison saw +that they read:</p> + +<p>“Rita the Daredevil.”</p> + +<p>“Good stuff,” murmured Lucas critically. “They +don’t say what she does, nor what makes her a +daredevil. They just say it, and wait for her +to make good. Of course, she probably won’t.”</p> + +<p>He took the evening newspaper from under his +arm, and on the margin of the first page scribbled +a short enigmatic note in pencil. On the stage was +a small table decorated with a .44 rifle and several +small weapons, a target painted in red and gold +instead of black and white, and a large mirror. +Almost immediately Rita the Daredevil made her +entrance.</p> + +<p>She was dressed in the regulation “cowgirl’s” outfit—short +skirt of khaki, sombrero, heavy leather +belt, high-laced brown boots, embroidered gauntlets. +As though to give a touch of daintiness to her +costume, she wore a thin white shirtwaist, and a +scarlet tie. Also, the buckle on her belt was of +gold, and there was a golden ornament in the +band of her broad felt hat.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span></p> +<p>Daintiness, however, seemed out of place. There +was about the young woman an absence of feminine +coquetry that set her apart from most vaudeville +performers. Sometimes she forced a smile, and +made a little bow to the house, but conciliatory +measures were plainly foreign to this woman’s +temperament. She was there to do certain things; +one would be safe to wager that she would do +them well.</p> + +<p>And she did. She was a marvelous shot, cool, +and steady; and the men in her audience were +genuinely enthusiastic. A good many of them +could appreciate straight and clever shooting when +they saw it.</p> + +<p>She shot bull’s-eyes, tossed glass balls, shot apples +on the head of her meek partner, the smiling +man of the photograph; she shot over her shoulder, +looking in a mirror; she shot, after sighting carefully, +with her eyes blindfolded; she shot with guns +of every size and caliber. In everything she did +was apparent the same crisp, grim efficiency. She +did not do her work at all gayly, nor as if she +enjoyed it. There was something resentful about +her whole personality. Doubtless she grudged the +entertainment she gave and would have preferred +to earn her salary, if possible, by making herself +unpleasant to people, instead of diverting them!</p> + +<p>Barrison gave many glances to the man who so +patiently and self-effacingly assisted her. He was, +in spite of the professional smile, not a happy-looking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>man. There were moments when, for all +his creases of flesh, he looked positively haggard, +and his eyes were very tired. He was a man who +for some reason lived under a shadow or a burden +of some sort; and—this belief came suddenly to +Barrison—she herself suffered from the same handicap. +These two people were the victims either +of a heavy trouble, a grievous disappointment, or +a gnawing wrong. You could see the pinches and +rakings of suffering in both faces.</p> + +<p>The climax of Rita’s act was now pending. +The partner came down to the footlights, and explained +that “The Daredevil, whose life had been +one hourly challenge to such dangers as lesser +mortals hold in justifiable dread,” would now show +the ladies and gentlemen how little she cared +for common risks or common caution. It appeared +that she wished any one who liked to come and +examine the pistols she was going to use. It +was necessary for the audience to understand that +they were all loaded. Did any one care to examine +them?</p> + +<p>Yes; to Teddy Lucas’ surprise, Barrison did. He +leaned over the side of the box, and had the +satisfaction not only of noting that they were all +loaded, six chambers each, but that each one of +the three that she intended to use was marked in +precisely the same way as the one which was +now locked up in his safe at home.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span></p> +<p>“I thought she did the stunt with four,” said Ted, +arching his eyebrows. “She was advertised to.”</p> + +<p>Another point. Until recently, she had done +her trick with four pistols, all exactly alike. Where +was the fourth? Jim knew where the fourth was. +Naturally, there had not been time to have another +made and marked in precisely the same way.</p> + +<p>He handed back the weapons, saw them examined +by several other curious people, and settled +back to see what she was going to do with them.</p> + +<p>The stunt itself turned out to be disappointing. +It was a mere juggling trick, the old three-ball +affair, done with loaded pistols; that was all. To +be sure, there was a certain amount of risk about +it, since even a clever shot cannot always be responsible +for what will happen to a trigger when it is +caught in the lightning manipulation of juggling. +But it was not nearly so dangerous as it was +advertised to be.</p> + +<p>“Now, it’s safe to assume,” remarked Teddy languidly, +in Barrison’s ear, “that she never fired one of +those things off yet, in that stunt, and never will!”</p> + +<p>And then two things happened. It was difficult +even for Jim Barrison’s trained mind to tell him +which had happened first. His eyes caught sight of +some one in the box opposite, a gray-haired, dignified +figure of middle height, not sitting, but +standing with his look fixed sternly upon the stage. +It was Max Dukane, the great manager, and Barrison, +in a great flash of intuition, knew why he was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>there. He had come either to warn or threaten these +people who knew him since the days when he had +discovered Mortimer in the show known as Blankley’s +Daredevils.</p> + +<p>And at the selfsame instant, it seemed, the pistols +which Rita was tossing so composedly and surely, +experienced a hitch in their methodical orbits. One, +two, three, they rose and fell, and she caught them +neatly each time, and sent them whirling as though +they were tennis balls, instead of loaded guns. But +something had happened. There was a faint cry, +Barrison was near enough to hear it. And then a +shot.</p> + +<p>The detective’s hair seemed to rise. It was so +soon after that other tragedy! Was it possible? +But nothing had happened, it seemed, except a flesh +wound for Rita herself. She was holding her hand +against her arm, and staring in front of her in a +dazed and frightened way. Her partner was tearing +away her sleeve to investigate, and the house +was wildly excited. It was superb advertising, of +course; only, Barrison knew that it was not advertising. +She had been frightened by Dukane’s +sudden appearance, and even her sure hand had +lost its cunning for a second.</p> + +<p>He looked toward the other box sharply, at the +very moment, as he thought, when Rita had sunk +down wounded. But even so, he was too late. +Dukane had gone.</p> + +<p>“Shall we go behind now, and have a talk with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>her?” suggested Teddy Lucas, rising. “Really, that +was quite well staged. Every one will be twice as +ready to believe her a daredevil after they have +seen her wounded. Ready?”</p> + +<p>They made their way behind.</p> + +<p>Barrison’s blood was thrilling with that excitement +of the chase which keeps a good detective alive +on this earth, and without which one can scarcely +imagine him contented.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">RITA received them in her dressing room, which +was frankly a utilitarian apartment. Since she +had to share it in turn with other performers, she +had not much chance to impress her individuality +upon it. And, for that matter, she was not the type +of woman, probably, who would have thought it +worth her while to take the trouble. She scorned +frivolities.</p> + +<p>When they saw her at close range, they were +both struck by the fact that she was scarcely made +up at all. Doubtless, if she had taken the trouble, +she could have softened her face and expression, +and made herself less hard and repellent. Not that +she was ugly. She was not; her features were regular +enough, and her black eyes quite splendid in +their smoldering sort of way. If she had not bound +up her hair so tightly, its masses and luster would +have been a sensation; and her figure was good, in +a lean, wiry style all its own.</p> + +<p>The truth was that she was uncompromising, +unyielding, ungraceful as she was ungracious.</p> + +<p>If Rita had really experienced a shock during her +act, she certainly had recovered from it, so far as +the eyes of outsiders could determine.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span></p> +<p>After greeting them, she eyed her visitors coldly +and sharply.</p> + +<p>“Wanted to talk to me?” she demanded, in rather +a metallic voice.</p> + +<p>“Please, for the <cite>Blaze</cite>,” said Teddy Lucas, in his +most insinuating tone.</p> + +<p>But Rita the Daredevil shook her head with a +slight scowl.</p> + +<p>“Waste of time,” she stated. “We aren’t playing +here after next week, and——”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon!” slid in Teddy smoothly but +firmly. “You are not playing at this theater, but +you have time at——”</p> + +<p>“I tell you——” she began hotly. But another +voice made itself heard. It was, as they were somewhat +surprised to find, the voice of Rita’s subservient +partner, who had appeared just behind +them, and who now confronted them with a curious +little air of authority, in spite of his plump body +and his very ancient evening dress.</p> + +<p>“If you will excuse me for interrupting,” he said +courteously, and made them a bow which was quite +proper and dignified. It was the bow of—what +was it? Jim tried to think. Was it the bow of a +head waiter, or a floorwalker, or—a ringmaster? +That was it, a ringmaster. This man was used to +the exacting proprieties of the circus. No one else +could be so perfect! Instantly, Jim placed him as +Blankley himself.</p> + +<p>“If you will excuse me for interrupting,” he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>repeated gently. “Our plans have changed. Vaudeville +performers live, unfortunately, in a world of +changes. We had expected to play in and around +New York for some weeks; our expectations have +not materialized. We leave New York to-night.”</p> + +<p>“To-night!” repeated Teddy Lucas, sitting up and +opening his eyes. “Isn’t that rather short notice?”</p> + +<p>“It is,” said the fat man, and Jim saw his hand +shake as he raised it to wipe the perspiration from +his forehead. But he was firm enough, for all that. +“It is extremely sudden, but—it is—advisable.”</p> + +<p>“More advantageous time, I suppose?” said Teddy, +watching him with seeming indifference.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said the fat man eagerly, and his +hand shook more than ever. “More advantageous +time! Meanwhile, if you care to interview Mrs. +Blankley——”</p> + +<p>Barrison pricked up his ears. Mrs. Blankley!</p> + +<p>“She—I—we would be glad to be mentioned in +your paper,” went on the fat man hurriedly. “You +could hardly give your space to a more scintillating—a +more——”</p> + +<p>“Nick,” said Rita the Daredevil shortly, “I don’t +want to be interviewed. You arranged with Coyne +for this gentleman to come, representing his paper, +but I don’t stand for it. You never can get it out +of your head that we’re not running our own show +any longer, and that the public doesn’t care a continental +about us. You keep hanging on to the old +stuff. You keep thinking that because you used to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>be a big noise in your own little gramophone, you’re +loud enough to take in Broadway nowadays. It +doesn’t get across, Nick. If these gentlemen want a +story,” and her voice was keen and bitter, “they’d +better get after something else.”</p> + +<p>“Miss—er—I mean, Mrs. Blankley,” said Teddy, +“weren’t you hurt, when that bullet exploded to-night?”</p> + +<p>She changed color; oh, yes, she did change color. +But she said with a swiftness that made Jim Barrison +admire her the more: “That? Oh, that was just +advertising! Didn’t you guess?”</p> + +<p>Teddy Lucas looked at her. “H’m!” he said, deliberating. +“I confess I did think it was advertising +at first, but——”</p> + +<p>Rita looked strange; for a moment it seemed that +she was going to strike the newspaper man. Then +she let her heavy, dark eyes sink, and turned away +with a muttered remark that none of them could +catch.</p> + +<p>It was Jim’s moment; the only moment that had +been put straight into his hands that night. He +seized it boldly. The fat man was talking nervously +and volubly to the reporter; there was a +chance.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wrenn,” said Jim Barrison deliberately, +“will you let me talk to you alone?”</p> + +<p>He never forgot the look that came into those +big black eyes, as she raised them then to meet his. +He could not have told whether it was horror or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>hatred, but he was sure that it was one or the +other. For a full half minute she stared at him +so, her face white as chalk. Then she drew a deep +breath, and took a step back.</p> + +<p>“Since I must,” she said, answering his request. +“But I warn you, it will be to very little purpose—I +know why you are here. Do you truly think +that—this—this investigation—is worth your +while?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that,” he said steadily, but still in a +voice that was audible to her alone. “I only know +that it is necessary; that it is my duty. I know +that you are the girl I am seeking. Your name is +Wrenn. Is it not?”</p> + +<p>“It is,” she replied. “Marita Wrenn!”</p> + +<p>Marita! So the initials were to be explained +logically after all! M for Marita; W for Wrenn. +The two engraved in that odd fashion which he +could quite understand had been of her inspiration.</p> + +<p>“Will you believe,” he went on, steadying his +voice, and keeping all excitement out of it, “that I +am only trying to get at the facts? That I——”</p> + +<p>“Marita!” came the voice of the fat man sharply. +“This gentleman”—he indicated Lucas—“has asked +us to take supper with him and his friend. We +will go?”</p> + +<p>“I should be delighted,” she said, in the mechanical +way, which one felt was her way of accepting +all pleasures in life, however they came.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p> +<p>Blankley turned to them with his anxious little +bow. “If you would pardon us——” he begged. +“My wife must take off a little make-up, and then—may +we join you at the stage door?”</p> + +<p>Barrison hated to let the woman out of his sight, +but he scarcely knew how to refuse so simple a request. +He was here as Teddy Lucas’ guest, and +not in his professional capacity. So the two young +men went out to the stage door to wait.</p> + +<p>They waited until, with a short laugh, the reporter +showed his watch. Almost sixty minutes had +gone by.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know just your game, my dear fellow,” +he said, as he turned away. “But, for my part, +I think you’ve been jolly well sold!”</p> + +<p>“How about you?” said Barrison, raw about his +part of it, and yearning to be disagreeable.</p> + +<p>Lucas laughed. “I’m fixed all right,” he said +amiably. “I’m going to write a peach of a story +about the shock which led to the canceling of the +Blankley engagement!”</p> + +<p>“What shock?” asked Barrison.</p> + +<p>Lucas looked at him in polite scorn. “My dear +friend,” he said, in a tired voice, “didn’t you see +Dukane in the box to-night?”</p> + +<p>Barrison jumped. “You mean you saw him?” he +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Lucas sighed heavily. “Saw him?” he said. “My +dear fellow, I’m a reporter!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">WHAT SYBIL HAD HIDDEN</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">JIM BARRISON was dog tired. He felt as though +the past twenty-four hours had been twenty-four +months; it scarcely seemed possible that the murder +had been committed only the night before! Nevertheless, +weary as he was he called up Lowry and +told him of his evening’s experience. The inspector +made some cryptic grunts at the other end of the +wire, and ended up with a curt “I’ll see about it. +Good night!”</p> + +<p>Barrison smiled, but felt slightly annoyed as he +hung up the receiver. “‘I’ll see about it!’ As +though he were Providence incarnate, and could +wind up the moon and stars to go differently if he +felt like it!”</p> + +<p>He was past more than a fleeting flash of resentment, +however, and lost no time in wending his +way homeward and to bed. Tara made a dignified +offering of Scotch and sandwiches, but he waved +him away sleepily, and tumbled in.</p> + +<p>So profound was the slumber into which he immediately +fell, that the shrill ringing of the telephone +hardly pierced his rest. If he heard it at +all, it was only as a component part of his fitful +dreams.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></p> +<p>The voice which came to Tara over the wire was +cool and crisp:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison, please.”</p> + +<p>Tara glanced compassionately toward the bedroom +where his master was already in deep repose.</p> + +<p>“No, sir!” he responded, politely but firmly.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean—no? Has he gone to bed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—please.” Tara was nothing if not deferential.</p> + +<p>“Well, get him up. I want to speak to him.”</p> + +<p>“Honorably excuse,” said Tara, with an instinctive +bow to the instrument, “but—I <em>not</em>!”</p> + +<p>“You won’t call him?”</p> + +<p>“Please—I not!”</p> + +<p>The voice at the end of the wire cursed him +gently, and then continued:</p> + +<p>“Well, will you take a message?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, please—I thank!”</p> + +<p>The Jap hastily seized pencil and paper, and, +after making sundry hieroglyphics in his own language, +said good night humbly, hung up, and +translated what he had noted into English. In the +morning, when he carried coffee in to a refreshed +but still drowsy Barrison, the message which that +gentleman read was as follows: “Hon. gent. paper +man say if you please call. Import.”</p> + +<p>Barrison knew that this meant Teddy Lucas in all +probability, but he also knew that it was too early +to catch him at the newspaper office yet. He ate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>breakfast and hunted through the morning papers +for matters of interest. In the <cite>Blaze</cite>, he found a +picturesque little account of the spectacular exit of +Mr. and Mrs. Blankley. It was toned down, however, +a good deal, Dukane’s name not being mentioned, +and nothing more sensational being suggested +than that “Rita the Daredevil” lost her nerve +after the narrow escape which had left her in a +state of collapse when the <cite>Blaze</cite> representative +was admitted to her presence. Her husband had +urged her discontinuance of the engagement, et +cetera. Barrison could not entirely understand, but +he knew that the ways of newspapers were strange +and devious. Later he would call up Lucas and find +out more about it.</p> + +<p>It was at this point that his eye caught sight of +another item on the page given over to dramatic +news. It was starred in a half column, and was +headed:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"> +TRAGIC AND SENSATIONAL ROMANCE OF MISS<br> +KITTY LEGAYE!<br> +<br> +Popular Actress Announces Her Engagement to Star Who<br> +Was Murdered.<br> +<br> +(Interview by Maybelle Montagu.) +</p> + +<p>Miss Kitty Legaye, whose charm and talent have endeared +her to thousands of the American public, is to-day +that saddest of figures, a sorrowing woman bereft of the +man who was to have been her husband. Alan Mortimer, +whose terrible and mysterious death has stirred the entire +theatrical world and baffled police headquarters, has left +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>behind him a woman whose white face bears the stamp of +ineffaceable love and endless grief.</p> + +<p>In deepest mourning, which enhanced her childlike loveliness, +the exquisite little actress whose impersonations of +young girls upon the stage have made her famous all over +the continent consented to receive the representative of the +New York <cite>Blaze</cite>. It was with a touching simplicity that +she said:</p> + +<p>“We had intended to postpone the announcement of our +engagement until later, but he has been taken from me, +and why keep silent any longer? It is, in a way, a comfort +to let the world know that we were to have been married—that, +at least, I have the right to mourn for him!”</p> + +<p>Her sweet voice was choked with sobs, and in the eyes +of even the seasoned interviewer there were tears.</p> +</div> + +<p>Barrison shook his head, and smiled a wry, cynical +smile.</p> + +<p>“Not so prostrated that she can’t make capital out +of it!” he commented to himself. “Lost no time, I +must say. However, it’s no concern of mine.”</p> + +<p>Refreshed by his sound sleep, he rushed through +the process of dressing like a whirlwind, and went +off to try the doubtful experiment of another call +upon Mr. Dukane.</p> + +<p>But before he went up to the great man’s office, +he paused to take due thought. After all, was it the +best thing to do? He considered, and before he had +decided, the door of the elevator opened, and young +Norman Crane came out. He looked fresh and +wholesome as ever, but, Jim thought, a bit anxious. +He greeted the detective cordially.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span></p> +<p>“Hello!” he said. “Beastly mess it all is, isn’t it? +Were you going up to see the old man? Because +you won’t. Not unless you’ve an awful drag at +court! Every one in the world is waiting in the +outer office, all the poor old ‘Boots-and-Saddles’ +bunch, and everybody in town that’s left over.”</p> + +<p>“I hadn’t made up my mind whether I was going +up or not,” admitted Barrison. “Now I have, I +think. I’ll walk along with you, if you’ve no objection?”</p> + +<p>“Rather not! I’m——” He hesitated. “I’m going +to inquire for Sybil.”</p> + +<p>“How <em>is</em> Miss Merivale? I was sorry to hear that +she was so ill.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you? Oh, it would be Lowry, of +course! I can’t get used to the idea of having Sybil +watched and spied on by policemen. Beg pardon!” +He flushed boyishly. “I don’t mean to be offensive, +Mr. Barrison, and you never strike me like that +quite, but—you must know what I mean?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally I do,” said Jim, who liked the lad. +“And, if you don’t mind, I’ll come with you when +you go to inquire—not in a professional capacity!” +he added hastily, seeing the glint of suspicion in the +other’s transparent eyes.</p> + +<p>Crane laughed a little awkwardly. “I’d be very +glad to have you,” he said frankly, “and, for that +matter, in your professional capacity, too! Mr. Barrison, +am I right in thinking that—that man suspects +Sybil?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span></p> +<p>“Suspects is rather a plain term and rather a +strong one. I don’t think he absolutely suspects +her; but there are things that will need a bit of +clearing up.”</p> + +<p>“I thought so!” The young man’s manner expressed +a sort of angry triumph. “Now, Mr. Barrison, +you must come. Sybil must talk to you, +whether she feels like it or not! You know, the +whole idea is too absurd——”</p> + +<p>“I think it is absurd myself!” said Barrison +kindly. “But you know it’s just those ridiculous +things that make such a lot of bother in the world! +Miss Merivale, I’m convinced, is the last person in +the world to have committed any sort of a crime.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens! I should say so!”</p> + +<p>“And yet—what was it that she hid in her dress +that night?”</p> + +<p>Norman stopped and stared at him. “Why should +you think she hid anything in her dress?” he demanded +in unfeigned astonishment.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you by and by,” said Barrison evasively. +He saw that Crane was really surprised by this, +and he was debating with himself just how far it +was politic and wise to go in this direction.</p> + +<p>In another few minutes they were at the boarding +house where Sybil lived—a quiet house in the upper +Forties, kept by a gentle, gray-haired woman who +seemed of another day and generation, and who +called Norman “my dear boy,” with a soft Southern +drawl.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span></p> +<p>Miss Merivale was better, she said; so much so, in +fact, that she had had her removed into her own +parlor at the front of the house, where she could +have more cheerful surroundings and see her +friends, the sweet lady added, smiling, if she felt +strong enough. If the gentlemen would take the +trouble to walk upstairs, she was sure they would +do Miss Merivale good. She was better, but not so +bright as one could wish.</p> + +<p>The boarding-house keeper and Norman Crane +ascended first, and shortly after the former came +back to tell Barrison that they were expecting him, +if he would go up.</p> + +<p>“I thought,” she added softly, “that they would +want to see each other, and so I had her couch fixed +in my place, where I can be in and out, so to +speak. Not that I’d have the time,” she added, +gently humorous, “but it’s the idea, you know! I’m +from the So’th, sir, and I have my funny notions +about the proprieties!”</p> + +<p>Sybil, on the landlady’s old-fashioned sofa, looked +rather pathetically wan, but she made an effort to +greet Jim with some animation and cordiality. It +was plain that she was still very shaken and depressed, +and that her fiancé was much worried about +her.</p> + +<p>She went at once to the matters that were in all +their minds. It was characteristic of the girl that +she did not shrink from approaching even the subjects +responsible for her recent collapse. And she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>was very fair to look at, in her soft blue dressing +gown lying back among the faded chintz cushions, +with her ash-blond hair in two long braids upon her +shoulders. Kitty Legaye should have seen her now!</p> + +<p>“Mr. Barrison,” she said at once, “it is awfully +good of you to have called. Norman and I know +that you are here as a friend, and not as an officer +of the law, and we are both grateful. Mr. Barrison, +you surely don’t think I had anything to do +with—with that horror the other night?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Barrison, speaking as briefly +and frankly as she was speaking herself.</p> + +<p>“Well, will you tell me on what grounds they are—are +watching me?”</p> + +<p>“You are sure they are?” he said, to gain time.</p> + +<p>“Sure! Of course, I am sure! Look at that man +over there, reading the paper and occasionally glancing +up at the sky to see if it is going to rain. Isn’t +he watching this house?”</p> + +<p>Barrison smiled. “Probably he is,” he admitted. +He had noticed the man himself as he came in, but +he had not imagined that the girl herself knew of +her situation.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she insisted, and a faint spot of feverish +color came into either cheek, “what is it that they +expect to find out? What is it? I know that I was +there, on the scene, but—but—surely that man +would not have let me go if he had thought I had—done +it!”</p> + +<p>Barrison was convinced of her innocence; but he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>was also convinced that the wisest course would be +to enlighten her as to the points wherein her position +was open to question by the law. He had hesitated +because his connection with the case, while +unofficial, more or less tied his hands; but, after all, +the inspector had given him leave to use his own +judgment.</p> + +<p>He spoke straightforwardly. “What did you hide +in your dress, just before the last act, the night +before last, Miss Merivale?”</p> + +<p>She started upright on the couch, and looked at +him with wide eyes of amazement. “How did you +know that?” she asked blankly.</p> + +<p>“But you didn’t, did you, dear?” struck in Norman +Crane, taking her hand in his. “What could +you have put in your dress? It’s absurd, as I told +Mr. Barrison!”</p> + +<p>She thought for a moment, and then said quietly: +“I put into my dress something that I wanted to +hide, chiefly from you, Norman. I knew that if you +saw it, you would be angry.”</p> + +<p>Norman Crane looked as though she had struck +him.</p> + +<p>“You did hide something, then?” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“I certainly did, and would again, under the same +conditions. Only, I can’t see how any one knew of +the fact. Who was it, Mr. Barrison?”</p> + +<p>“Your dresser, the woman Parry.”</p> + +<p>“Of course!” She nodded slowly. “She was always +a meddlesome old thing! And I know that she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>was consumed with curiosity when I got the package +and the note that night.”</p> + +<p>“The package and the note!” repeated Norman +Crane. “Sybil, you are crazy! What are you talking +about?”</p> + +<p>“I know what the note was,” put in Barrison, +smiling at her reassuringly. “At least, I know part +of it, and I was daring enough to make up the rest +of it in Lowry’s office last night!”</p> + +<p>Sybil looked up at him with a flash of laughter +in her eyes, though poor Crane was still dazed.</p> + +<p>“And what did you make of it?” she asked, in a +tone that tried for raillery and only achieved a certain +piteous bravado.</p> + +<p>“I made of it a sort of love letter, if you can call +it so,” said Barrison gently, “which might have accompanied +a present, something which could be considered +in the light of a test—no, that is not the +word, a proof of——”</p> + +<p>“A proof,” she broke in passionately, “of my +willingness to do something, and to be something +that I could not do and could not be! And you +made that out of it, with only those torn scraps +to go by! Oh, you understand. I see that you do +understand!”</p> + +<p>She hid her face in her hands and cried. In a +moment, however, she put aside her own emotion, +and explained:</p> + +<p>“He—Mr. Mortimer—had tried to make love to me +many times; you both know that. Norman was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>furious with him, and I was always afraid that +there would be trouble between them. Of my part +of it—well, it is much harder to speak. Being men, +perhaps you will not understand the sort of power +of fascination that a man can have over a woman, +even when she does not love him. I shall always +believe that Alan Mortimer had some hypnotic power—however, +that is not the point. Though I had always +repulsed him, he could not help knowing that +he had influence over me; a man always knows. +You see, I don’t try to lie; I tell you the truth, even +though it isn’t a pleasant sort of truth to tell.”</p> + +<p>“I know it is most painful to tell,” Barrison said, +feeling indeed profoundly sorry for her, and most +respectful of her courage in speaking as she did. +Norman Crane said nothing.</p> + +<p>“That night—the first night,” Sybil went on, +“Alan Mortimer made it especially—hard for me. +He had chosen an ornament for me, a splendid jeweled +thing, but I had refused it several times. That +night, he sent it to me with a note, and told me +that he expected me to wear it that evening, after +the play was over.”</p> + +<p>“Have you got it now?” asked Barrison.</p> + +<p>She reached out to a small table near by and took +it from a hand bag. “I have never been separated +from it,” she said simply. “It is too valuable, and—until +to-day—I did not know just what to do +with it.”</p> + +<p>In another moment it lay before them—the case +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>“as long as a hand,” which Mrs. Parry had seen +the girl hide in the front of her dress. In yet another +instant the case was open, and the splendid +piece of jewelry that was within flashed in the +morning sunshine. It was a pendant of sapphires +and diamonds, and it was the sort of thing that +would be extremely becoming to Sybil Merivale.</p> + +<p>Crane suppressed with difficulty a sound of rage +as he saw it.</p> + +<p>Barrison cut it off quickly by saying: “You told +us you did not know what to do with it until to-day. +Why to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Because”—Sybil took up a morning paper, +looked at a particular place, and dropped it again—“because +to-day I know that Miss Legaye was engaged +to him, and that, therefore, anything that he +had, when he died, belongs to her. I am going to +send the pendant to Miss Legaye.”</p> + +<p>She closed the case with an air of finality. “Isn’t +that what I ought to do?” she asked, half anxiously, +looking from one to the other.</p> + +<p>Norman Crane, who had been sitting moodily +staring at the floor, suddenly lifted his head and +bent to kiss her hand.</p> + +<p>“My darling,” he said honestly and generously, “I +don’t understand everything you’ve been talking +about, but I understand that you’re my dear girl—my +fine girl—always. And—and whatever you say—must +be right!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span></p> +<p>“And you, Mr. Barrison?” she persisted, looking +at him wistfully, as she left her hand in Norman’s.</p> + +<p>Jim rose to go, and, standing, smiled down upon +her. “I think your notion is an inspiration!” he +declared. “I would give something to see Miss +Legaye when she gets that pendant!”</p> + +<p>After which he departed, wondering how he was +going to convince Lowry that the trail to Sybil +was, professionally speaking, “cold.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">NEW DEVELOPMENTS</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">HE telephoned the <cite>Blaze</cite> office, and caught Teddy +Lucas just as he was starting out on an +assignment.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s you,” said the reporter. “Wanted to +tell you something about your friend Rita which +might be useful in your business. I strolled round +last night to the furnished rooming house where +she and her husband hung out, and they never +went home at all; just beat it to the train, I +suppose. Their room was just as they’d left it, +and full of junk. There was a shelf full of old +photographs, and one of ’em was of two young +girls, sisters I should say; at least, they were both +dark. One’s evidently Rita herself, as she may have +looked ten years ago, and the other, unless I’m +very much mistaken, is the lady that the sob sisters +are interviewing this morning!”</p> + +<p>“Not Kitty Legaye?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the one. Oh, and I poked about the +files for you this morning. The Blankley Daredevils +were a riding and shooting show that did small +time in the East until a year ago. Then it bust +up, and the company scattered. Blankley seems +to have been a crook, for the reason for the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>smash-up was that he was arrested and sent to +jail for six months! Quite a nice, snappy little +story—what?”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to write it?”</p> + +<p>“Not my line. I’ve turned it over to a chap +on the news staff!”</p> + +<p>“I noticed that you didn’t make much out of +last night.”</p> + +<p>“My editor cut out most of it; thought I was +giving Coyne’s theater too much advertising. Well, +that’s all I had to tell.”</p> + +<p>“Where is that photograph?”</p> + +<p>“I swiped it. Send it up?”</p> + +<p>“Please! And I’m no end obliged.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right.”</p> + +<p>Barrison walked out of the booth more astonished +than he had ever been in his life. In all the +speculations he had made in his own mind concerning +this twisted and unsatisfactory case, it +had never occurred to him to connect those two +women. Kitty Legaye and Marita Blankley! He +recalled the two faces swiftly, and saw that there +was a faint resemblance, though Rita’s was far the +harder and more mature. He would not swear that +she was the older, though; little ladies like Kitty +rarely looked their age. Kitty and Rita! The +more he thought of it, the more astounding it +seemed. Of course, the first thing to do was to +locate Wrenn. But how? He wondered if Willie +Coster could help him.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p> +<p>He got Willie’s address easily enough from the +theater, and went to call. He found him a little +wan and puffy-eyed, but quite recovered, and amazingly +cheerful for a man who has only been sober +a few hours!</p> + +<p>“Wrenn?” he repeated. “How should I know? +He’d scarcely be staying on at Mortimer’s hotel, +I suppose?”</p> + +<p>Barrison explained that Mortimer’s rooms and +effects were in the custody of the police, and +that the old valet would not be allowed near them in +any case.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe that he’s left town,” Willie +said, “and I’ll tell you why. He wasn’t at all well +fixed for money. I don’t believe Mortimer ever +paid him any wages to speak of; whatever it +was that held them together, it wasn’t cash. He’s +touched me more than once, poor old beggar!”</p> + +<p>“You! Why you?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Willie simply. “People +always do!”</p> + +<p>Good little fellow! Of course, people always did.</p> + +<p>“And you think he’d come and borrow money +from you, if he meant to leave town?”</p> + +<p>“I’d not be surprised.”</p> + +<p>And, as a matter of fact, he did come that very +day and for that very reason; and Willie, having +ascertained his address, gave it to Barrison over +the wire.</p> + +<p>“I feel rather rotten about telling you, too,” he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>added. “I don’t know what you want him for, +and the poor old guy is awfully cut up about +something—scared blue, I should say. Say, Barrison, +you don’t suspect <em>him</em>, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Lord, no! But I think he knows who did it.”</p> + +<p>Willie grunted uncomfortably. “Well, treat him +decently,” he urged.</p> + +<p>“I’m not exactly an inquisitor in my methods, +you know,” Jim told him. “How much money +did you lend him, Willie?”</p> + +<p>“Only a ten spot,” said Willie innocently.</p> + +<p>Barrison laughed and said good-by.</p> + +<p>Within the hour, he was at the address given +him by Coster. It proved to be a shabby, dingy +little lodging house east of Second Avenue, and the +few men whom the young man met slouching in +and out were as shabby and dingy as the place, +and had, he thought, a furtive look. Sized up +roughly, it had a drably disreputable appearance, +as though connected with small, sordid crimes and +the unpicturesque derelicts of the underworld.</p> + +<p>In a dreary hall bedroom on the third floor, +he finally found Wrenn.</p> + +<p>The old man opened the door with evident caution +in response to Barrison’s knock, and when he saw +the detective, his face became rigid with a terror +which he did not even attempt to conceal. Mutely, +he stood back and let the visitor enter, closing +the door with trembling hands. Then, still speechless, +he turned and faced him, his anguished eyes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>more eloquent than any words could have been. +Jim was touched by the man’s misery. He could +guess something of what he must be suffering on +his daughter’s account.</p> + +<p>“Don’t look like that, Wrenn,” he said kindly. +“I’ve only come to have a talk with you.”</p> + +<p>The old man bent forward with sudden eagerness. +“Then,” he faltered, “you’ve not come to +tell me—of—her arrest, sir?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Barrison; “I don’t even know where +she is. Sit down, man; you look done up.”</p> + +<p>Wrenn sank onto the bed, and sat there, his +wrinkled face working with emotion.</p> + +<p>“I was afraid you’d arrested her, sir!” he managed +to say, after a moment, in broken tones.</p> + +<p>“You had been expecting that?”</p> + +<p>He nodded. “I’ve known that the—the police +were bound to find out some time that she’d been +in the theater that night, and I knew what that +would mean. She <em>would</em> come, though I tried so +hard to prevent her! She <em>would</em> come!”</p> + +<p>“Wrenn,” said Barrison deliberately, “it’s a pretty +tough question to put to you, but—did she shoot +Mortimer?”</p> + +<p>Wrenn looked at him with haggard eyes. “Before +God, Mr. Barrison,” he said earnestly, “I +don’t know, I don’t know! I didn’t <em>see</em> her shoot +him, but—I know she meant to.”</p> + +<p>“You know that!” exclaimed Barrison.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span></p> +<p>“I know that she had threatened him more than +once, and—it was her pistol. You knew that, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I knew that. Go on!”</p> + +<p>“I’d better tell you the whole story, sir. I’m +getting old, and it’s weighed on me too long—too +long! If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll go back +to the beginning.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">WRENN’S STORY</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">I WAS born in the West,” said Wrenn, “and I +was fairly well educated, but while I was still +in college—a small, fresh-water university—I got +into bad company, and was expelled. My people +disowned me after that, and I drifted into the sort +of ‘adventurous’ life that attracts so many young +men. I never really liked the idea of living +dishonestly, but I didn’t seem good for much else. +I had not worked hard at college, and I had no +particular ambitions, one way or another. I suppose +I was lazy, and I know that I was very weak. +Eventually I became what you, sir, would call a +crook, though for a long time I tried to gloss +it over and pretend it was just taking a chance +or living by my wits, and the rest of it! Then +I got more hardened, and admitted even to myself +that I was no better than the rest of the crowd +I went with—a cheat, a card sharper, a petty +criminal. Twice I was in jail for short terms, +and I don’t think either experience improved me +much.</p> + +<p>“Then I married. She was a high-class Mexican +girl—very beautiful. She was a Catholic, and had +an idea of reforming me. So she did, for a short +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>time, but the old wild longings came back. I’d +settled down in a job as foreman on an Arizona +ranch, and I was working hard and drawing good +pay. We had two little girls, and things were going +pretty well. Then my wife died, and I got reckless +again.</p> + +<p>“There was a tough bunch of cow-punchers in +our outfit, and we got to gambling a lot, and pretty +soon I found out that it was easier and more exciting +to win when I played crooked than when I +played straight. And there were others who felt the +same way. We formed a sort of combination—a +gang. And we did very well, indeed.”</p> + +<p>Barrison sat and stared at the mild, respectable +old fellow, who so patently and typically looked the +part of a decent, sober, and trusty servant, and +tried to visualize him as a bold, bad man of the +wicked West. But some things are past the powers +of the human imagination. He thought, with a sort +of grimly humorous awe, of the strange alchemy +of time, and shook his head, giving the problem up, +as have better and wiser men before him.</p> + +<p>Wrenn went on with his story:</p> + +<p>“My girls were brought up in a rough-and-tumble +way, I’m afraid. It affected them differently. The +older Caterina—she was named for her mother—never +took kindly to it. She was selfish and headstrong—they +both were, for that matter. But I +think Marita had more heart. Not that I ever called +out much affection in either of them!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span></p> +<p>He bent his gray head for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Anyway, I didn’t give them much of a bringing +up. Marita knocked about with the boys and +learned to ride like a puncher herself. But Caterina—Kitty, +we called her—hated the whole life, and +when a rich prospector came along, she threw us +over like a shot and went away with him. She +was only just eighteen, but she was ambitious already. +She wanted to get some pleasure out of +life, as she had said twenty times a day since she +could speak. I—I shall not mention her name, sir—the +name which she is known by now, for—you +would know it.”</p> + +<p>It was odd, the way he dropped so constantly +into the respectful “sir,” and all the air and manner +of a servant. It was clear that his was one of +those pliable natures that can be molded by life +and conditions into almost any shape. His instinct +of fatherhood, his late-awakened sense of conscience, +responsibility and compunction, were struggling +up painfully through the accumulated handicap +of a lifetime of habit.</p> + +<p>“I know her name,” Barrison said quietly. “You +mean Kitty Legaye, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>The start that Wrenn gave now betrayed an even +livelier terror than had yet moved him.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say it!” he gasped in fright and agitation. +“I have never said it—never once, through +all these years! She always made us swear we +would tell nobody. I don’t know what she would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>do if she thought I had spoken! She was so +ashamed of us—and I can hardly wonder at that, +sir. She has done so well herself! Oh, sir, if ever +it comes up, you—you’ll see that she knows that +it wasn’t I who told?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly will,” said the detective, pitying—though +with a little contempt—this father’s abject +fear of his unnatural daughter’s displeasure. “As a +matter of fact, I found it out by accident. I only +told you that I knew just now to show you that +you have nothing to conceal about her. Nor,” he +added, entirely upon impulse, “about Mr. Dukane!”</p> + +<p>This time Wrenn’s jaw dropped, in the intensity +of his astonishment.</p> + +<p>“You—you know about—him—too!” he muttered +breathlessly. “Is there anything you—do not +know?”</p> + +<p>“Several things, else I should not be here now,” +rejoined Jim, with an inner thrill of elation over +the success of his half-random shot. “Suppose you +go on with your story, and then I shall know +more.”</p> + +<p>The other sighed deeply, and proceeded:</p> + +<p>“Since you know so much, sir, there is no sense +in my hiding anything. Not that I think I should +have hidden anything, in any case. As I told you, +I am an old man, and all this has been hard to +bear. But you don’t want me to tell about my +feelings, sir; you want the story.</p> + +<p>“When Kitty had been gone a year or more, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>and Marita was about seventeen, Nicholas Blankley +came to the town where we lived. It was a little +Arizona settlement, where I ran a saloon and +gambling place. Blankley was one of us—I mean +he was a natural-born crook, but he wasn’t a bad +sort of fellow at that, if you know what I mean, +sir. He was a good sport, and square with his +pals, which is more than can be said for most of +us! He was in the theatrical line, and had worked +on all sorts of jobs of that kind—advance man, +stage manager, all sorts of things. He was interested +in Rita from the first—saw her possibilities +as a ‘cowgirl,’ and was fond of her, too—for she +was young and fresh in those days, and the daring, +reckless sort that got men. Nick got the daredevil +name from her; that’s what he used to call her.</p> + +<p>“His idea was to start a sort of wild-West show, +on the cheap; get some down-and-outers who could +ride and shoot and who wouldn’t want much pay, +and do short jumps at low prices. We would +have to carry the horses, but no scenery, and no +props to speak of, and we could use a big tent +like the small circus people. It looked like a +good venture, and I was tired of staying in one +place. Marita was wild about it from the first. +So I sold out my business, and we started. We +made a success of it, though nothing very big, +and kept at it fifteen years! Fifteen years! It +seems impossible that it could have been as long +as that, but it was. In that time Marita married +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>Nick, and we ran across Alan Morton—I might as +well go on calling him Mortimer, though.</p> + +<p>“There’s no use pretending that we were running +our outfit strictly on the straight. We weren’t. +We were out to get what we could out of the +public, and we didn’t care much how we did it. +But we didn’t do anything very bad; I, for one, was +getting careful as time went on, and Nick had a +notion of reforming after he married Rita. We did +run a gambling business in connection with the +show, and we did cheat a bit, and we did take in +any sort of thug or gunman or escaped convict who +had ever learned to ride, and Nick got away with +a very good thing in phony change at one place. +Very neat, indeed, it was, and he never had any +trouble with it, either.”</p> + +<p>Wrenn spoke of this with a sort of pride which +made Barrison shake his head again. He was the +queerest felon with whom the detective had ever +come in contact.</p> + +<p>“But as I say,” resumed Wrenn, “we got along +all right, and did no great harm for all those years. +Then we struck Mortimer. He was a bad one—just +a plain bad one, from the very first.”</p> + +<p>“And I always thought you were so fond of him!” +ejaculated the detective.</p> + +<p>“But I was, sir,” said the old man at once. “I +was very fond of him, indeed! He was a—a very +lovable person, sir, when he cared to be.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span></p> +<p>Barrison, again rendered speechless, simply stared +at him for a moment or two.</p> + +<p>“Go on!” he managed to articulate, after a bit.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, it was this way. Mortimer’s blood +was younger than ours, and he was more venturesome, +more energetic, more daring.”</p> + +<p>“Like your daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the ex-gambler, rather sadly. +“Like her. There was a time when I was afraid +that she was getting too fond of him—he had such +a way with women! Wherever he went there was +trouble, as you might say. He helped the show—put +new life into it, and he could ride—oh, well, +no one ever rode better than he did. And you +know how handsome he was?”</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, the old man’s voice choked a +bit just there.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know why I always felt just the way +I did about him,” he went on quietly. “He was +often very rough and careless in his ways, but—but +I was as fond of him as if he’d been my +own son—and that, sir, is the gospel truth.</p> + +<p>“Mortimer had a scheme to branch out bigger, +and get a sort of organized company together, with +capital, and a circus arena somewhere with the +right sort of scenery and music, and that sort of +thing. Mr. Dukane had seen our show once, and +had taken an interest in it—at least, had taken an +interest in the lad—and Mortimer wrote to him +for a loan to back the new plan.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span></p> +<p>“Wrote Dukane—for a loan?” repeated Jim, in +admiration.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he did. I felt just as surprised as you, +sir, when he told me what he had done. And—to +this day, I’m not sure whether it was just +plain, pure nerve on his part, or whether he—he—had +in mind what the result might be.”</p> + +<p>“Result?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” For the first time the old scapegrace’s +utterance was slow and troubled—hardly audible. +He would not meet Barrison’s eyes. What he said +now seemed to be dragged up from the depths of +his sinful and unwilling soul.</p> + +<p>“You know—you must know, sir,” he said, in +those new and halting accents, “since you know so +much—about the deal with Dukane?”</p> + +<p>“I know something,” said Jim, truthfully, but +very cautiously—his heart was beating hard. “I +know that there was a deal at all events.”</p> + +<p>“It—it doesn’t sound very well—put into words, +does it, sir?” Poor old Wrenn’s tone was tired +and appealing. “But there! I said I was going +to make a clean breast of it, and I might as well. +Dukane and Mortimer fixed it up between themselves——”</p> + +<p>“Dukane and Mortimer only?” interrupted Barrison, +with a sudden intuition.</p> + +<p>Wrenn’s poor, weak, tragic eyes met his piteously, +shifted, and fell.</p> + +<p>“Dukane and Mortimer and—I—fixed it up, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>sir,” he confessed humbly. “We were to double-cross +Nick Blankley, and Dukane was to star +Mortimer.”</p> + +<p>“He must have had a pretty high opinion of +him!” exclaimed Jim Barrison wonderingly, for the +great manager, while a shrewd gambler, was no +plunger.</p> + +<p>“He knew that he had the makings of a favorite, +sir; any one could see it. Mr. Dukane wanted +him the way the owner of a racing stable wants +a fine horse. He knew there was money in him +if he was put out right. And Dukane was the man +to do that. Anyway, that was the idea. They—I +mean we—were to get Blankley out of the way, +and Dukane would take care of us afterward.”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean get him out of the way?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not kill him, sir!” Wrenn’s tone was +virtuously shocked. “You wouldn’t think that, +surely? It was just my way of putting it, as it +were. No; he’d done a number of shady things, +Nick Blankley had, and——”</p> + +<p>“So had you!” interpolated Jim Barrison, rather +cruelly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir! But we had—if you’ll pardon +the expression—got away with it.”</p> + +<p>There it was, the point of view of the born +criminal. If you weren’t found out, it was all +right! Jim looked at the wretched creature before +him, and mused on man as God made him.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he demanded, somewhat impatiently.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span></p> +<p>“Mortimer told Dukane something that Blankley +had done; it wasn’t very much—just a fraud.”</p> + +<p>“And Dukane lent himself to this!”</p> + +<p>“He’s a business man, sir. He suggested it, I +believe. At least, Mortimer said so.”</p> + +<p>No wonder the manager did not care to talk +about it!</p> + +<p>“Anyway,” continued Wrenn, “it was on Mortimer’s +testimony that Blankley went to jail.”</p> + +<p>“For six months.”</p> + +<p>“You know that, sir? But it was eight months. +He got pardon for good behavior. We”—he stumbled +over this—“we hadn’t expected it yet a while.”</p> + +<p>“Great Scott!” said Barrison, looking at him. “And +you tell all this! You mean that you double-crossed—betrayed +your pal, your partner—got him +out of the way, so that you could be free of him +while you got rich in the new venture?”</p> + +<p>“It—it comes to that, sir; I told you it didn’t +sound well when you put in into words. But it’s +the truth, and I don’t care any longer who knows +it. I’m tired. And, anyway, I think it’s more +Dukane’s fault than ours.”</p> + +<p>Barrison thought so, too, but he said nothing, +only waited in silence.</p> + +<p>“I came as Mortimer’s valet because there wasn’t +much of anything else that I could do, and I swore +I’d stick to him, and—and he liked me, and wanted +me round him. And I did stick to him! I was +fond of him, and I took care of him as well as I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>knew how. No one could have looked out for him +better—no one, sir!”</p> + +<p>“I believe that. It’s queer; but, no matter, I +believe it! What were you to get out of it?”</p> + +<p>“When he made his hit, I was to have ten +thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>“And what did your daughter—the one married +to Blankley, whom you had sent to jail—what did +she say about this pleasant little arrangement?”</p> + +<p>Wrenn’s head drooped once more.</p> + +<p>“Marita was always hard to manage, sir,” he +said, in a faint voice. “She turned against me—her +own father, and——”</p> + +<p>“I should think she might!”</p> + +<p>“And she turned against Mortimer, and against +Mr. Dukane, who offered her money. She said she +would wait for Nick to come out of prison, and +would spend the rest of her life in getting even!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I sympathize with her!” said Barrison +sincerely. So that was the meaning of the tragic +and haggard lines about her mouth and the weary +look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, Wrenn,” he went on quietly, “I don’t +know just how the blame is to be divided in all +this, but I imagine you’ve had almost your share +of suffering. And Mortimer is done for. Dukane +will get his eventually. I shall be sorry personally +if your daughter Marita has to pay the penalty +for the death of a rotter like the man who died +the other night. I wish you could tell me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>something about her visit which would make her case +look a little better.”</p> + +<p>Then Wrenn broke down, and, burying his head +in his hands, cried like a child. He might have +been a crook, a weakling, neglectful of his children +through all the days of his life, but he was suffering +now. His gaunt old body quivered under the +storm of grief that swept him. In that abasement +and sorrow it was even possible for Barrison +to forget the despicable things he had just admitted. +He was now merely an old man, bitterly punished +not only for the sins of his youth, but those of his +age.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I keep saying,” he panted at last, +lifting his swollen eyes to the younger man’s pitying +gaze. “I keep asking myself if there isn’t +something that’ll clear her. Though we’ve been +apart so long, and I was always a bad father to +her, and a false friend to her husband, it will kill +me altogether if I find that she is guilty of murder!”</p> + +<p>“She wrote those letters—the ones threatening +Mortimer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And she took advantage of the time permitted her +by the hours of her act at Coyne’s to come to the +theater that night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Let me tell you just how it was. She +slipped in while Roberts was out getting the taxi +for Kitty.” He spoke his daughter’s name shyly +and with embarrassment. “She came straight into +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>the dressing room—though why no one saw her +I can’t see! She was dressed just as she had +come from the theater, in a khaki skirt and a +white waist. And she pulled a pistol out of her +dress as she came in. I knew the pistol, because +it was always a fad of hers, in all her stunts, +to carry guns like that—very small, and very much +decorated, and with a letter that might be either +an M or a W, according as you looked at it.</p> + +<p>“The moment she and Mortimer saw each other +they flew out like two wild cats. I’d always tried +to keep this from happening, because I knew that +they were both past controlling when their blood +was up, and they both had a lot to fight for.”</p> + +<p>“Both!” repeated Barrison. “I can’t see that. +Your daughter had something to fight for, because +of the wrong done to her husband, and incidentally +to herself. But where was Mortimer’s grievance?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said Wrenn slowly, as though he +were seriously trying to express something rather +beyond the intelligence of his hearer, “you see—maybe +it hasn’t struck you, sir, but, if you’ve risked +a great deal on a thing, and find that something is +going to interfere with it, after all, at the last +moment, you—well, sir, you are apt to lose your +head over it. Aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>Barrison laughed a trifle grimly.</p> + +<p>“Crooked logic,” he remarked, “but excellent—for +the crooked kind! So you sympathize with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>Mortimer in his annoyance at seeing your +daughter?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t sympathize, sir. In a way, I may say +I understand it. But when she pulled out that +gun, I fell into a sweat of fear, sir, for I knew +that she was afraid of nothing, and that if she’d +said she’d kill him——”</p> + +<p>“Never mind how you felt! Tell me what happened!”</p> + +<p>Wrenn wiped his forehead. “She went for Mortimer, +and he got to her first, and caught hold of +her arms. He was very strong, but she struggled +like a demon, and every minute I expected one +of two things to happen, the pistol to go off or +some one to hear and knock at the door. After, +I suppose, two or three minutes like that, I pulled +her away from him—her waist was torn in the +struggle, you remember.”</p> + +<p>“I remember.”</p> + +<p>“And I managed to get her out of the door, +begging her to make a run for the stage entrance +and to get away if possible without being seen. +It was nearly dark then, you see—not the regular +dark scene, but all the lights were being lowered, +because there was to be so little light on the stage.”</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment, then Wrenn +went on again: “I’ve wondered, you know, sir, +several times, whether she and Kitty met that +night. I’ve—I’ve been afraid of it, I confess, because +I don’t believe my daughter Kitty would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>feel much sisterly affection for Rita. She might +even give it away if she had seen her.”</p> + +<p>Barrison sat plunged in deep thought for at least +two minutes, while the shaken and troubled old +man watched him very anxiously indeed. At last +he spoke, not ungently:</p> + +<p>“Wrenn, will you give me your word that you +will not leave this place, this address, until I see +you again?”</p> + +<p>He supposed that he was rather mad in asking +the word of a self-confessed crook like Wrenn, but +he thought he had got to the end of his tether. At +any rate, the old man lifted his head with quite an +influx of pride, as he answered:</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Barrison!”</p> + +<p>Jim departed, with just one determination in his +brain—to pay Kitty Legaye a second call as fast as +a taxi would take him to the Golden Arms!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">AN INCRIMINATING LETTER</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">KITTY looked very pretty and quite pathetic in +her smartly simple mourning. She saw +Barrison at once, and received him with a subdued +cordiality that was the perfection of good taste +under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she said, in a low voice. There was +no artificiality about her now; she was disturbed, +apprehensive. “I know it’s something. Please tell +me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, there is something,” he said. “It’s about—your +sister.”</p> + +<p>He could hear her draw in her breath.</p> + +<p>“My sister!” she whispered. “Marita! How did +you know anything about her?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think we need go into an account of +that,” Jim said steadily. “As it happens, I do know +quite a good deal about her. I know, for instance, +that she was in the theater only a little while before +Alan Mortimer was murdered.”</p> + +<p>“You know that!” she exclaimed, in unfeigned +surprise. “I thought——”</p> + +<p>Then she checked herself, but it was too late; +she saw at once what she had admitted.</p> + +<p>“I knew it,” said Barrison, watching her. “The +question is—how did you know it, Miss Legaye?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span></p> +<p>She dropped her eyes and was silent until he +felt obliged to insist:</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I must ask you to tell me about +it, though I can easily suppose it isn’t very pleasant +for you.”</p> + +<p>“Pleasant!” she flashed out at him then. “Think +what a position I am in! To lose him—<em>like that</em>—and +then—to find my own sister mixed up in it!”</p> + +<p>“You think she was mixed up in it, then?”</p> + +<p>“How on earth do I know?” she cried excitedly. +“I—I—oh, Mr. Barrison, you aren’t brutal, like +most detectives; you are a gentleman! Won’t +you make it a little easier for me? My sister and +I were never very fond of each other, but I can’t +be the one to implicate her now. I can’t!”</p> + +<p>“It may seem very dreadful to you, of course, +Miss Legaye. But—how can you keep silent? She +is already under suspicion. I don’t see how you +can avoid telling everything you know.”</p> + +<p>“I thought—I never dreamed—that it would come +to this!” she said miserably. “I thought no one +knew of her being there except myself and—and +my father.” She seemed to wince as she said the +word; Jim remembered that Wrenn had said she +was always ashamed of him. “He did not give you +this information?”</p> + +<p>“He only corroborated what we already knew. +Now, please, Miss Legaye, for all our sakes, even +for your sister’s, tell me what you know.”</p> + +<p>“For my sister’s?” she repeated.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span></p> +<p>“I don’t know what you have to tell; but, seriously, +one of the reasons why I have come to you +is that I can’t help hoping that you can supply +some tiny link of evidence which will help to clear +her. If you saw her leave the theater, for instance——”</p> + +<p>She shook her head, with an air of deep depression.</p> + +<p>“I did not see her leave the theater,” she said +quietly. “I did not see her at all.”</p> + +<p>“Did not see her! Then how——”</p> + +<p>“Wait, Mr. Barrison, and I will tell you. I +will tell you just exactly what happened, and you +must believe me, for it is the truth. I did not see +my sister, but—<em>I heard her voice</em>!”</p> + +<p>Now that she had made up her mind to speak, +the words came in a rush, as though she could +not talk fast enough, as though she were feverish +to get the ordeal over with.</p> + +<p>“When I left you to go home, I had to pass his—Alan’s—door, +as you know. Just as I reached +it, I heard voices inside—not loud, or I suppose +they would have been stopped by some one, for +the whole stage was supposed to be quiet while +the act was on. But there was rather a noisy +scene going on then—the bandits quarreling among +themselves over the wine, you remember—and, anyway, +the voices inside the dressing room could +only be heard by some one who was standing very +close to the door. I stopped for a moment, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>instinctively at first, and then—I heard my sister’s +voice, panting and excited!”</p> + +<p>All this tallied with Wrenn’s story. “Could you +hear what she said?” asked Barrison.</p> + +<p>“Only a word or two.”</p> + +<p>“What words?”</p> + +<p>She flashed him a glance of deep appeal, then +went hurriedly on:</p> + +<p>“I heard her say ‘Coward and cad,’ and—and +‘You ought to be shot, and you know it!’ That’s +all.”</p> + +<p>All! It was quite enough. Barrison looked +at her with faint pity, though he had felt at first +that she was not sincere. She had a way of disarming +him by unexpected evidence of true feeling +just when he expected her to play-act. He could +see that she was finding this pretty hard to tell.</p> + +<p>“What did you do, Miss Legaye?”</p> + +<p>“Do—I? Nothing. What was there for me to +do? I went home.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t it occur to you to try to see your sister, +to interfere in what seemed to be such a very violent +quarrel?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head vehemently.</p> + +<p>“No, it did not. Why should it? My sister +and I had nothing in common. I had not seen her +for many years; I—I did not want to see her. For +the rest—I knew that she hated Alan Mortimer, and +if she was talking to him at all, it seemed quite +natural that she should talk to him like that.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span></p> +<p>“You did not feel afraid, then—did not look +on those chance phrases you heard as—well, a +threat?”</p> + +<p>She shuddered. “Oh, no; how could I? I thought +she was just angry and excited. She always had a +frightful temper. How could I guess that she +had—anything else—in her mind?”</p> + +<p>“So you went straight home, without waiting?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” She bent her head, and added, in a low, +troubled tone: “You will think me very selfish, very +much a coward, Mr. Barrison, but—those angry +voices made me want to get away as fast as possible. +I hate scenes and quarrels and unpleasantness +of all kinds. I was thankful to get out of +the theater, and to know that I had not had to +meet Marita, especially in the mood she was in +then.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Barrison, not without sympathy. +“And is that all—really and absolutely all—that you +know about the matter?”</p> + +<p>Kitty hesitated, and then she lifted her head and +faced him bravely.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said clearly, “it is not all. If you +will wait a moment, I have something I ought to +show you.”</p> + +<p>She rose and went to a desk, returning with +an envelope. She sat down again and took a letter +from this envelope, which she first read herself +slowly and with a curious air of deliberation. Then +she held it out to Barrison.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span></p> +<p>“I am going to trust you,” she said, meeting his +eyes proudly, “not to make use of this unless you +have to. Wait, before you read it! When I knew +of the horrible thing that had happened at the +theater that night, I thought of my sister. I—I +am afraid it is scarcely enough to say that I suspected +her. I remembered the angry words I had +heard her say inside the dressing room. I knew +her ungovernable rages and the bitterness she had +for Alan. And I knew that she was a wonderful +shot, and that she had never got out of the habit +of going armed. I—well, I felt very sure what +had happened.”</p> + +<p>She was breathing quickly, and speaking in a +hoarse, strained tone.</p> + +<p>“I knew that there was more than a chance +that some one else knew of her presence, and—I +could not bear to have her arrested. I won’t +pretend that it was all sisterly affection, but I +think it was that, too, in a way. I couldn’t forget +that, after all, we were of the same blood, and +had been children and young girls together. I—I +sent her money; I had seen in the paper that she +and her husband were playing in New York, and +I sent it to their theater, and with it I sent a +note, begging her to lose no time in getting out of +town. Was it—do you think it was very wrong?” +she asked him rather piteously.</p> + +<p>“It was at all events very natural,” Jim +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>answered, a little surprised and touched by what she +had told him. “And may I read this now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, read it. It is Marita’s answer to me. She +accepted the money and sent me this letter.”</p> + +<p>With an odd movement of weariness and sorrow, +she turned and laid her hands upon the back of +her chair, and her face upon them.</p> + +<p>The note was in the same scrawling hand that +had made all the threats against Mortimer, that he +knew to be that of Marita Blankley. And it ran +thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Kitty</span>: I am glad that you have some feeling as a sister +left in you. I did not suppose that the day would ever +come when it would be <em>you</em> who would help me get out +of trouble! I dare say at that it was only your hatred of +having our names linked together, or having any one know +you knew me even! Of course I was a fool to go to the +theater last night. I might have known what would happen. +Now I am going to try to forget it all. I shall live +only for my husband, and we shall get out of town as soon +as possible! I can trust <em>you</em> not to talk, I know! There +was never much love lost between us, Kitty. Your sister,</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Marita</span>. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Barrison sat very still after reading this. At +last he noticed that Kitty had lifted her head and +was watching him with an anxious face.</p> + +<p>“Well?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“You told me not to use this unless it were +necessary,” said Barrison very gravely. “It is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>necessary now, Miss Legaye. I must take it to +headquarters at once!”</p> + +<p>She gave a little cry.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I was afraid—I was afraid!” she exclaimed. +“You think it—it looks bad for her?”</p> + +<p>“I think,” said Jim Barrison, “that it is practically +conclusive evidence!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">A STRANGE SUMMONS</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">IT was barely an hour later, and Lowry and +Barrison sat together in the inspector’s office. +Before them lay the letter which Kitty Legaye had +given Jim, side by side with the threatening letter +which had come to the Mirror Theater. The handwriting, +as was to be foreseen, was identical. +There, too, lay the photograph “swiped” by the +reporter Lucas, showing the two young faces, so +easily recognized now as the likenesses of Rita +Blankley and Kitty. There was the pistol with its +odd, non-committal initial, which had been identified +as Rita’s.</p> + +<p>A telegram was handed to Lowry, and, after +reading it, he passed it to Jim. It was signed with +an initial only, obviously one of the inspector’s +regular men, and came from Indianapolis. It read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Got your friends. All coming back on next train. G.</p> +</div> + +<p>“The Blankleys?” asked Barrison.</p> + +<p>“Sure. They’ll be here to-morrow, and then I +guess the case’ll be over.”</p> + +<p>Just as Barrison was leaving the office, the inspector +said casually:</p> + +<p>“By the bye, Jim—if you want to take a look +at the place where the Blankleys lived, here’s the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>address on a card. I’d like you to go round there +and have a look. You’re the sort of fellow who +gets on with people better than the regular +officers. Will you?”</p> + +<p>“Rather!”</p> + +<p>Jim went off with his card, wondering just what +the inspector meant. “The sort of fellow who gets +on with people!” That sounded as though there +were people on the premises whom the inspector +had failed to pump satisfactorily. He decided to +“take a look” without delay.</p> + +<p>It turned out to be quite the usual type of +furnished rooming house, kept by a faded, whining +woman, with hair and skin all the same color.</p> + +<p>It seemed that she had a boy—thirteen he was, +though he looked younger. He went to school +mostly, but he was a good deal more useful when +he stayed away. “And what was the good of +schooling to the likes of him?” said she.</p> + +<p>Barrison refrained from shaking her till her teeth +rattled, and soothingly extracted the rest.</p> + +<p>Freddy, who appeared to be a sharp youngster +from what she said, could always turn a pretty +penny by acting as messenger boy for the “ladies +and gents” in the house. Some of them were actors; +more of them were not. It was fairly evident that +the place was largely patronized by denizens of +the shady side of society. Before Jim was done +with the woman, he had ascertained that Freddy +had more than once acted as messenger for the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>Blankleys, for whom, by the bye, she had a sincere +respect. She said they were “always refined in +their ways,” and paid cash.</p> + +<p>Barrison remembered that Roberts, the stage doorkeeper, +had reported that the threatening letters +had been delivered by a street urchin. He asked +to see Freddy, but he was at school—for a wonder. +His mother appeared to resent the fact, and to look +upon it as so many hours wasted.</p> + +<p>She promised that the evening would find him +free to talk to the gentleman as much as the gentleman +desired. Barrison had given her a dollar to +start with, and promised another after he had conferred +with Freddy.</p> + +<p>When he left, he had an unsatisfied instinct that +he had somehow missed something Lowry had expected +him to get. The unseen Freddy was in his +mind as he went uptown—in his mind to such an +extent that he spoke of him to Tony Clay when +he met him on Broadway and accepted that youth’s +urgent pleading to go to a place he knew of where +they could get a good drink. The boy was in his +mind when, on coming out of the café, they found +themselves stormbound by crosstown traffic and +looking in at the windows of Kitty Legaye’s taxicab.</p> + +<p>Her charming, white-skinned face framed in its +short black veil and black ruff, lighted to intense +interest as she caught sight of them.</p> + +<p>“Have you any news?” she cried, in carefully +subdued excitement.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span></p> +<p>Barrison could not bring himself to tell her that +the police had caught up with her sister, and that +she was on her way back to face her accusers. +Kitty saw his hesitation, and thought it might be +because Clay was present.</p> + +<p>“Let me give you a lift!” she said impulsively.</p> + +<p>Barrison accepted, after a second’s cogitation. “Go +on to my rooms, Tony,” he said. “I’ll be there +shortly.”</p> + +<p>He got into the machine with Miss Legaye, and +said to her gravely, as they began to move again:</p> + +<p>“Tell me, please, Miss Legaye, you had no intercourse +with your sister since she came to New +York—I mean until you sent her the money, and +she answered you?”</p> + +<p>“None!” she said quickly and frankly.</p> + +<p>“Did your letter come by mail or by a messenger +boy?”</p> + +<p>She started, and looked at him in surprise. “By +mail,” she replied. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“Perfect nonsense,” he said, really feeling that +the impulse which had made him speak was an +idle one. “I’ve found a boy who did a lot of +errands for her, and I wondered if you could +identify him, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head; though it was getting dusk, +he could see her dark eyes staring at him.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about that,” she said. +“What sort of a boy, and what do you expect to +prove by him?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span></p> +<p>“He’s merely a witness,” Barrison hastened to +explain. “You see, the—the letter you let me have +corresponds exactly in writing to the letters that +came to Mortimer, threatening him. We think this +is the boy who carried Mrs. Blankley’s messages +while she was in New York. That’s all. You see, +though it’s a small link, it is one that we can’t +entirely overlook.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen him?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“No; I am to see him to-night,” said Barrison. +“And—Miss Legaye, I must tell you”—he hesitated, +for he was a kind-hearted fellow—“I ought to warn +you that you may have an unpleasant ordeal ahead +of you. Your sister and her husband are—coming +back to New York.”</p> + +<p>She was silent for half a minute.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she said. “You have been very +good to—warn me. I don’t think you will ever +know how glad I am to have met you this afternoon, +Mr. Barrison.”</p> + +<p>He did not pretend to understand her. As they +had gone several blocks, he said good night with +more warmth and consideration than he had ever +expected to feel for Kitty Legaye, and, alighting +from the taxi, made his way directly to his rooms.</p> + +<p>He found Willie Coster awaiting him there, with +his hair standing on end, and an expression of +blank and rather appalled astonishment on his mild +countenance.</p> + +<p>“Say!” he cried, as Jim entered. “I went to call +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>on the gov’nor this afternoon, and—he’s sailed for +London to put on three or four plays! And I’m +out of a job! Now, what do you think of that?”</p> + +<p>Barrison stood still in the center of the room +and nodded his head slowly. So Dukane had heard +the warnings in the air, and had slipped away! +Well, it was only a matter of time! They had +nothing criminal against him, but—the story would +not make a pleasant one, as noised abroad about +the greatest theatrical manager of America. Eventually, +it would come out. However, meanwhile +he had gone. He was sorry for Willie; sorry for +the hundreds of actors and other employees who +would suffer. It looked from what Willie had +to tell that Dukane’s exit had been a complete and +clean-cut one. He had closed up his office, put +his road companies in subordinate hands, and—cleared +out.</p> + +<p>“And I—who have been with him all these years—don’t +even get a company!” complained poor +Willie.</p> + +<p>Barrison remembered what Dukane had said to +him about not being able to afford to consider any +man personally. For some reason he had chosen +to forget Willie Coster, and, true to form, he had +forgotten him!</p> + +<p>Tony Clay came in then. It was half past seven, +nearly an hour later, when Tara reminded them +politely of dinner.</p> + +<p>“We’ll go out somewhere,” said Jim, rising and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>stretching himself. “You two shall be my guests. +I feel that this case is practically over, and when +I’m through with a case I feel like Willie after a +first night—I want to relax. I don’t want—at +least not necessarily—to get drunk, but I do want +to——”</p> + +<p>Oddly enough, it was Tony Clay who interrupted +him in a queer, abrupt sort of voice. He sounded +like a man who hated to speak, but who was driven +to it in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>“Look here, you fellows,” he said, “don’t let’s +go out for dinner to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” demanded Barrison, in astonishment. +“I thought you were always on the first call for a +feed, Tony!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, maybe I am. And—I know you think +me an awful duffer in lots of ways, Jim, but—I +have a hunch that perhaps——”</p> + +<p>“That what?” demanded Jim, as he paused.</p> + +<p>“That something is going to happen!” declared +Tony defiantly. “Now call me a fool if you like! +I shan’t mind a bit, because I dare say I am one. +But that’s my hunch, and I’m going to stick to it. +I don’t know whether it’s something good or something +darned bad, but—if something doesn’t turn +up before another hour’s out, I miss my guess!”</p> + +<p>They laughed at him, but they stayed.</p> + +<p>“Tony,” said Barrison, after the lights were +lighted and Tara had gone to prepare dinner, “you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>have something more than a hunch to go on. What +is it? Out with it!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Tony unwillingly, “maybe I have +something, but it’s too vague for me to explain, +yet. Only—I’d be just as pleased if we three +stuck together to-night. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>The boy spoke earnestly, and Barrison looked at +him in real wonder.</p> + +<p>“Tony,” he said, “if you really know anything——”</p> + +<p>The bell rang, and Tara brought in a telegram.</p> + +<p>Barrison tore it open and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Am in danger. Come to me, Ferrati’s road house, two +miles beyond Claremont, before nine. Come, for Heaven’s +sake, and mine.</p> + +<p class="right"> +G. T. +</p> +</div> + +<p>Barrison gazed at the words in dazed stillness +for a moment; then seized his hat.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Jim!” cried Tony urgently. “You must +tell us—you must tell me—what is the matter?”</p> + +<p>Barrison shook his head as he dashed to the +door.</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell any one anything!” he cried, as he +went. “I am needed. Isn’t that enough for any +man?”</p> + +<p>He was gone, and the door had slammed after +him.</p> + +<p>Tony quickly picked up the telegram which had +fluttered to the floor. “Didn’t I warn him?” he +muttered.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THROUGH THE NIGHT</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">ON—on through the blue dusk of the September +evening.</p> + +<p>Now that he found himself actually in the touring +car that he had so impetuously engaged, Jim +Barrison found his chaotic thoughts settling into +some sort of approximate order, if not of repose. +He began to analyze himself and this strange ride +through the night.</p> + +<p>He knew that suddenly he had forgotten the +habit and the prompting of years; the caution that +usually made him project himself into a possible +future and meet it intelligently; the restraint and +sensible skepticism which had always made him +consider risks and appraise them, even while being +quite as willing to take them as any other brave +man. He knew that he had in a single moment +forgotten all the training and the custom of his +mature lifetime, because a woman had asked him +to come to her!</p> + +<p>A woman? That would not have been enough, +he knew, in any other case. He was as chivalrous +and as plucky as most men—a gallant gentleman +in all ways; but his discretion would have aided +his valor in any ordinary enterprise. As it was—he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>had been deaf and blind to any and all promptings +save those that pounded in his ardent pulse. +And all because a woman had sent for him! A +woman? Say, rather, the woman! The one +woman in the world who could so move him, +change him, separate him from himself!</p> + +<p>For the first time, but with characteristic honesty +and thoroughness, Jim Barrison acknowledged to +his own heart that he loved Grace Templeton.</p> + +<p>He loved her, and he was going to her. The +fact that she wanted him was enough. It was +strange—some day when he was sane, perhaps, +he would see how strange.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur slowed up and turned to say over +his shoulder:</p> + +<p>“I guess it’s here, sir. There’s a sign that says +Fer—something, and that’s a road house in there, +all right! Shall I drive in, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; go ahead.”</p> + +<p>The big car crept in slowly around the curving +drive toward the low row of not too brilliant +lights, for this road house was set far back from +prying eyes. There were a few trees in front, +too, which further enhanced the illusion of privacy. +Barrison could not help noticing that, unlike most +road houses, this one seemed bare of patrons for +the nonce. There was not another automobile to be +seen anywhere about.</p> + +<p>He had heard of Ferrati’s before. It was one +of those discreet little out-of-town places, far away +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>from the main road, hidden by trees, vines, and +shrubbery, and known only to a certain selection +among the elect. Whatever its true character, it +masqueraded as modestly as a courtesan behind a +cap and veil. Proper to the last degree was Ferrati’s; +any one could go there. The tone was +scrupulously correct—if you frequented its main +rooms. And the authorities saw nothing wrong +with it. Ferrati himself saw to that!</p> + +<p>But there were stories—Barrison had heard a +few of them—which suggested that the resort, like +some people, had a side not generally known to +the public. It was even said that it was a headquarters +for a certain blackmailing concern much +wanted by the police; that all manner of underworld +celebrities could be sure of a haven there +in off hours, and that the bartender was nearly as +skillful at knock-out drops as he was at mixed +drinks.</p> + +<p>How, Jim asked himself, had Grace Templeton +ever got into these surroundings? Of course he +sensed something queer about it all, and he could +not help wondering despairingly whether that unquenchable +thirst for adventure to which she had +borne witness had been the means of bringing her +inadvertently into such an unsavory neighborhood.</p> + +<p>He did not dismiss the car, but told the man to +wait, and, running up the short flight of steps +at the front door, asked the rather seedy-looking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>maître d’hôtel, or whatever he was, for Miss Templeton.</p> + +<p>The man did not seem to understand him, but a +second individual, who was clearly his superior in +position, made his appearance, and greeted Barrison +politely and with some air of authority.</p> + +<p>“Is your name Ferrati?”</p> + +<p>“Giovanni Ferrati, if the signor pleases.” He +bowed, but Barrison had the impression that the +man was watching him. He was dark and foreign +looking, with a face like a rat.</p> + +<p>“The signor wished——”</p> + +<p>“I am to meet Miss Templeton here,” said Barrison +shortly.</p> + +<p>The rat-faced one’s expression cleared from a +dubious look to delighted relief. So far as he was +able, he beamed upon the newcomer.</p> + +<p>“Ah, that is well! If the signor would come +this way——”</p> + +<p>Jim followed where he led, with an unaccountable +sense of distrust and discomfort gaining place +in his breast. For the first time, a genuine doubt +assailed him. Suppose it were a trick, a trap? +Nothing since he had first entered this “joint,” as he +savagely termed it to himself, had put him in any +way at his ease. And at last he was conscious +of a well-developed instinct of suspicion. It was +not only what he had known before—that Grace +was in trouble; it was a conviction that the whole +situation was an impossible one—false, dangerous, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>utterly unlike what he had been expecting. Suppose—he +hardly dared to put his thoughts into +words. He only knew that he found his environment +singularly menacing. He could not tell what +it was that was in the air, but it was something +wicked and deadly. He wished that he had waited +long enough to verify that telegram! If Grace +Templeton had <em>not</em> sent it——</p> + +<p>“This way, signor, if you please!” said the rat-faced +man called Ferrati.</p> + +<p>At the end of a dim and unsavory corridor, he +turned the knob of a door.</p> + +<p>“The lady awaits you, signor!” he said, with a +remarkably unpleasant smile.</p> + +<p>The room within was highly lighted, as Jim +Barrison could see, even through the small space +where it was held open by Ferrati. He walked +in promptly.</p> + +<p>On the instant, the lights were switched out—at +the very second of his entrance. He could see +nothing now; it was pitch dark.</p> + +<p>Mingled with his rage was a perfectly human +mental comment: “You idiot; it serves you right!”</p> + +<p>For of course he was in a trap—a nice, neat +trap, such as any baby might have walked into!</p> + +<p>The door closed behind him quickly, and something +straightway clicked.</p> + +<p>He was locked into this mysterious room in this +strange and murderous resort, and the darkness +about him was that of the grave.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE WHISPER IN THE DARK</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">DARKNESS is a very strange thing. It is probably +as strong and mysterious an agent when +it comes to transmuting—and to deceiving—as +anything on this earth. Nothing known to man is +the same in the dark as at another time, and under +the light.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Jim Barrison that a series of pictures +were being painted upon that cruel, that +unfeeling, darkness. He had never, perhaps, been +so close to himself before. The possibilities of +human pain had certainly never been so apparent +to the eyes of his mind. For suddenly, and with +terrible clearness, he recalled his conversation with +Grace Templeton, and seemed again to hear her +say:</p> + +<p>“Suppose the traveler who showed him the real +gourd of water should refuse to share it, after all? +What do you think would be likely to happen +then?”</p> + +<p>And once more he could hear himself reply:</p> + +<p>“I should think the thirsty man would be quite +likely to shoot him!”</p> + +<p>And then—then—what was it she had said, with +that enigmatical smile of hers?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span></p> +<p>“Yes, that’s just what might happen!”</p> + +<p><em>Yes, that’s just what might happen!</em> She had +said that. How much had she meant by it, and +how much had she meant it? He did not know. +But, though he was not willing to apply it too +closely as a key to his present position, he could +not bring it to mind without a strange chill. For, +if there were women of that kind, he was sure that +she—lovely and idealistic as she was—was one of +them.</p> + +<p>He stood still, perfectly still, straining his ears, +since it would have been utterly vain to have +strained his eyes. For a time he even heard nothing. +Yet he was poignantly conscious of another +presence there—whose?</p> + +<p>He was afraid to permit himself much in the +way of conjecture; that sharp and taunting memory +was still too fresh with him. He would rather +a thousand times over that he had been tricked and +trapped by some desperate criminal determined to +torture him to death than that <em>she</em> should have +thus deliberately led him here, should have thus +cruelly traded upon her certain knowledge of his +interest in her! The thing would not bear thinking +of; it could not be!</p> + +<p>He scarcely breathed as he stood there, motionless, +waiting for that other’s first movement. He +was so tensely alert that it seemed strange to +him that the other could even breathe without his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>hearing it. He wished for a revolver, and cursed +himself for the precipitancy which had carried him +off without it.</p> + +<p>And then he heard—what he had dreaded most +of all to hear—the faint, almost imperceptible rustle +of a woman’s dress!</p> + +<p>It was the veriest ghost of a rustle, as though +the very lightest and thinnest of fabrics had been +stirred as delicately as possible.</p> + +<p>But—it <em>was</em> a woman, then!</p> + +<p>“Who is it?” he demanded, and his voice to his +own ears seemed to resound like an experimental +shout in one of the world’s famous echoing caverns.</p> + +<p>And the answer came in a whisper—a woman’s +whisper:</p> + +<p>“Hush!”</p> + +<p>Then there was a long, blank, awful silence, +and then the rustle once again. And again that +sibilant breath voiced:</p> + +<p>“Can you tell where I am standing?”</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” Barrison repeated, though dropping +his own voice somewhat.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t speak so loud!” He could barely +hear the words. “I am Grace Templeton—surely +you know?”</p> + +<p>“Why are you whispering?”</p> + +<p>“Because we may be overheard. Because there +is danger, very great danger!”</p> + +<p>“Danger—from whom?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span></p> +<p>“Come closer, please! I am so afraid they will +hear! Can’t you place me at all? If you are +still at the door—are you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then come forward to the right, only a few +steps, and then wait.”</p> + +<p>Now it has already been pointed out in these +pages that the dark is paramountly deceptive. Barrison +could not accurately locate the woman who +was whispering to him; neither could he entirely +identify the voice itself. If you will try the experiment +of asking a number of different people +to assemble in pitch darkness and each whisper the +same thing, you will probably find that it is painfully +easy to mistake your bitterest enemy for +your very nearest and dearest friend. Jim Barrison +had no soul thrill, nor any other sort of +evidence, to assure him that the woman in the +dark room was Grace Templeton; on the other +hand, there was nothing to prove her any one else.</p> + +<p>And yet—and yet—he had a curious, creeping +feeling of dread and suspicion. He did not trust +this unknown, unidentified, whispering voice in the +darkness.</p> + +<p>It came again then, like the very darkness itself +made audible; insistent, soft, yet indefinitely sinister:</p> + +<p>“Come! Come here to me! Only a few steps forward +and just a little to the right.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span></p> +<p>Barrison took one single step forward, and then +stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>He did not know what stopped him. He only +knew that he <em>was</em> stopped, as effectually and as +imperatively as if some one in supreme authority +had put out a stern, restraining hand before him.</p> + +<p>And then, all at once, something happened—one +of those tiny things that sometimes carry such +huge results on their filmy wings. The whisper +came again, more urgently this time:</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to come to me, when I’m in +danger?”</p> + +<p>When people are born in the West, they carry +certain things away from it with them, and it +matters not how long they are gone nor in what +far parts they choose to roam, they never get rid of +those special gifts of their native soil. One is the +slightly emphasized “r” of ordinary speech. No +Easterner can correctly mimic it; no Westerner can +ever get away from it except when painstakingly +acting, and endeavoring to forget that to which +he was born. The two r’s in the one brief +sentence were of the nature to brand any one +as a Westerner. And Barrison knew that Grace +Templeton had never spoken with the ghost of such +an accent in her life. Who was it whom he had +heard speak recently who did accentuate her r’s +like that? Marita did! And one other—though +much more delicately and——</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span></p> +<p>He remembered, with a throb of excited pleasure +on dismissing a hideous suspicion from his +mind, and on entering normally into the joys of +chance and danger, that he had one weapon which +might turn out to be exceedingly useful in his +present predicament. He had come away without +his gun, but he had with him the tiny pocket +lamp, the electric torch of small dimensions but +great power, which had been the joy of his life +ever since it had been given him. Like all nice +men, he was a child in his infatuated love of new +toys!</p> + +<p>He drew the little cylinder from his coat pocket +cautiously, and, with the same exultant feeling +that an aviator doubtless knows when he drops a +bomb on a munitions factory, he flashed it.</p> + +<p>The result was surprising.</p> + +<p>Straight in front of him was a square, black +hole in the floor. If he had taken that step forward +and to the right which she had urged, he would +have gone headlong to practically certain death. +The human brain, being quicker than anything else +in the universe, reminded him that there had been +some unexplained disappearances in this neighborhood. +But he was now chiefly concerned in finding +out who the woman was. Before he could flash +his light in her face she had flung herself upon +him.</p> + +<p>There was no more pretense about her. She +was grimly, fiercely determined to force him +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>toward that wicked, black hole into eternity. Not +a single word did she utter; she did not even call +for assistance, though, since the people in this +house were her friends or tools, she might well +have done so. She seemed consumed by one single, +burning desire: to thrust him with her own hands +into the pit.</p> + +<p>Never had Jim struggled against such ferocity of +purpose. She was like a demon rather than a +woman, in the way she writhed between his hands, +and forced her limited strength against his trained +muscles in the bold and frantic effort to annihilate +him. And, in that dense blackness, it was a toss-up +as to who would win. The woman herself might +easily have gone headlong into the very trap she +had planned for him. But she did not seem to +think or to care for that; her whole force of +being was centered, it seemed, in the one sole +purpose of his destruction.</p> + +<p>At that furious, struggling moment, Barrison became +convinced of an odd thing. He was perfectly +certain, against all the testimony of all the world, +that the woman who fought him so murderously +was not only the woman who had planned his own +death that night, but also the criminal for whom +they were so assiduously seeking. He was sure +that his hands at that very minute grasped the +person who had killed Alan Mortimer.</p> + +<p>It seemed to last forever, that silent, breathless +struggle in the dark. But finally he got her hands +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>pinioned behind her in one of his, and deliberately, +though with a beating heart, raised his electric +torch and flashed it full in her face.</p> + +<p>Mutinous, defiant, almost mad with rage for the +moment, the dark eyes of Kitty Legaye blazed back +at him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">TONY DOES HIS BIT</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">THINGS happened very rapidly in Jim Barrison’s +rooms after he had made his hasty departure. +Tony Clay stood for a moment, holding the telegram +in his hand; and then, tossing it to Willie Coster, he +made a jump for the telephone. There he called +Spring 3100, and, getting his number, demanded Inspector +Lowry in a voice that might have been the +president’s for authority, and a Bloomingdale inmate’s +for agitation.</p> + +<p>“Now, now,” came the deep, official tones from +the other end of the wire; “hold your horses, my +friend! Is it an accident or a murder?”</p> + +<p>“It’s probably both,” stormed Tony.</p> + +<p>He had the inspector on the wire, and was pouring +out his tale, trying his best to keep himself coherent +with the ever-present picture in his brain of +Jim in trouble. Tony was not one of the most inspired +of detectives, but he was as good a friend +as ever a man had, and he loved Jim.</p> + +<p>It happened that Lowry had a weakness for +Jim himself. Also, the story told by Tony was, +though wild, certainly one to make any police official +sit up and take notice. Ferrati’s, as has already +been suggested, was not looked upon favorably by +the police.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span></p> +<p>He told Tony Clay that he would come up to +Ferrati’s himself with a couple of men.</p> + +<p>“And we’ll stop for you,” he said, meaning to be +most kind and condescending.</p> + +<p>Tony retorted hotly: “I’m leaving for Ferrati’s +now! I can’t wait for the police department to +wake up!”</p> + +<p>He hung up viciously and turned to face Willie +Coster, also Tara, who, though less demonstrative +than these Occidentals, was clearly about as anxious +as either of them.</p> + +<p>“Tara, get a taxi!” said Tony briefly.</p> + +<p>“Immediate, honorable sir!”</p> + +<p>Tara’s alacrity was rather pathetic. Willie Coster +looked after him with a kindly nod.</p> + +<p>“D’you know,” he remarked, in a low tone, “that +Jap is just as keen to help Barrison as we are. +You’ll find when we start out after him he won’t +let himself be left behind.”</p> + +<p>Tony turned to scowl at him in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“When ‘we’ start out after him!” he repeated. +“You aren’t expecting to spring anything of that +sort, are you?”</p> + +<p>Willie Coster looked at him a moment only. Then +his small, pinched face blazed suddenly into fiery +red.</p> + +<p>“Say,” he snapped, “do you think you’re the only +he-man on the premises? And do you suppose that +no one else is capable of a friendly feeling for Barrison, +and a natural wish to help him out of a mess, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>except just your blessed self? Because, if that’s +what you think, you forget it—quick!”</p> + +<p>Tony felt abject, and would have apologized, too, +but a snorting arose in the street below them, and +Tara announced the taxi which, in some inscrutable +way, he had maneuvered there in more than record +time.</p> + +<p>Tony recalled what Willie Coster had said.</p> + +<p>“Tara,” he said abruptly, “you are fond of Mr. +Barrison, I know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” Tara said.</p> + +<p>“We think Mr. Barrison is in danger. We are +going to see what we can do for him. Now remember, +there isn’t a reason in the world why you +should come too, only——”</p> + +<p>The Jap spoke in his elaborately polite way:</p> + +<p>“Honorably pardon, sir! There is reason.”</p> + +<p>“But——” Tony was beginning, but he never +finished. He saw the reason too plainly. Tara, like +himself and like Willie, was too fond of Barrison to +stay away. That was reason enough.</p> + +<p>“All right, Tara, you come along!” he said, turning +away. And his voice might have been a bit +husky.</p> + +<p>“Where, first?” said Coster, as they entered the +taxicab. And there were three of them, too!</p> + +<p>Tony gave the name of the hotel where Miss Templeton +lived, which was not so far away. Once +there, he left his companions in the taxi and went +up alone to interview the lady. In his hand, tightly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>crumpled with the vehemence of his intense feeling, +he kept the telegram which had come for Jim Barrison, +signed with her initials.</p> + +<p>He penciled a note to Miss Templeton which made +her send for him as soon as she received it.</p> + +<p>They knew each other, but she was so excited +that she did hardly more than acknowledge his +hasty bow.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Clay,” she exclaimed, “what does it all +mean? I know you would not have sent me this +message without a reason! You say: ‘Mr. Barrison +is in grave danger because of you. Will you +help me to save him?’” She confronted Tony +with pale cheeks and wide eyes. “Now, Mr. Clay, +you know that such a thing is impossible! How +could Mr. Barrison be in danger on my account +without my knowing it? And I swear to you +that I can think of nothing in all the world which +could subject him to danger—because of me! Nevertheless, +I cannot let a thing like this go—no +woman could! If there is danger to Mr. Barrison, I +should know it! If it is, in some way, connected +with me, I should know it all the more, and care +about it all the more! What is it?” Suddenly she +dropped the rather haughty air which she had assumed +and clasped her hands like a frightened child. +“Oh, Mr. Clay, you know that I would do anything +to help him! What is it? What is it?”</p> + +<p>By way of answer, Tony handed her the telegram.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span></p> +<p>After she had read it, she held it in rigid fingers +for a moment; it seemed they were not able to drop +it. She looked at Tony Clay.</p> + +<p>“And, receiving this,” she murmured faintly, “he—went?”</p> + +<p>“He went,” answered the young man, “so fast +that we could not stop him; though I, for one, +suspected something shady, and had warned him +he must be on his guard.”</p> + +<p>It is probable that in all his life Tony Clay never +understood the look that flamed in the woman’s face +before him now. In that strange combination of +emotions was pain and fear, but there was also joy +and triumph.</p> + +<p>“So he cared like that!” she murmured.</p> + +<p>And then, before Tony Clay could even be sure +that she had uttered the words, she had changed +again to a practical and utilitarian person. She +seized a long raincoat from the back of a chair and +said immediately:</p> + +<p>“I am ready. Shall we go?”</p> + +<p>Tony glowered at her. Another one? Aloud he +remarked:</p> + +<p>“If you will merely testify that you did not send +that telegram——”</p> + +<p>She looked as though she would have liked to +slap him in her exasperation.</p> + +<p>“Of course I didn’t!” she raged. “But what +has that to do with this situation? I thought you +said he was—in danger?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span></p> +<p>“I am afraid he is. Very well, ma’am; if you +must come, you must. We have rather a larger +crowd than I had expected at first.”</p> + +<p>It was impossible for him to avoid an injured +tone.</p> + +<p>However they felt about it, Miss Templeton went +with them. When the light of passing street lamps +fell upon her face, it had the look of an avenging +angel.</p> + +<p>On the way, she insisted that Tony should tell +them what had made him suspicious as to danger +awaiting Barrison that night. And after a little +hesitation he told—this:</p> + +<p>“You know Jim had put me onto the Legaye end +of the case—had suggested my talking to the maid, +and all that. Well, I did it, and, as a matter of fact, +I got in deeper than I expected to.” He looked at +each of them defiantly, but no one seemed disposed +to sit in judgment, so he continued: “Maria—she’s +quite a nice girl, too, and don’t let anybody forget +it—told me to-day that her lady was terrifically +upset about something.”</p> + +<p>“When was that?” demanded Coster.</p> + +<p>“Late in the afternoon, just before I came to dinner—to +the dinner that didn’t come off. Jim and I +parted when he took a ride in Miss Legaye’s taxi, +and he left me to come on to join him alone.”</p> + +<p>“Did you come straight on?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Tony, “I did. But something +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>happened on the way, and that has given me the clew +to—to—what’s taking us out here.”</p> + +<p>“Well, tell it, for Heaven’s sake!”</p> + +<p>“Well, it seems,” said Tony unwillingly, yet with +the evident realization that he was doing the right +thing, “it seems that Miss Legaye was in the habit +of going shopping with her maid—Maria—and of +dropping her when she was tired—I mean when +Miss Legaye was tired, not Maria—and leaving her +to come on with packages and so on. She had done +that to-day. Just after she and Jim Barrison had +gone on, I met Maria, and I stayed with her, too”—defiantly—“until +after the time I should have been +at Jim’s rooms!”</p> + +<p>“Not very long, was it?”</p> + +<p>“Not more than half an hour, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p>“And in that time, what could have happened +that——”</p> + +<p>“Nothing happened. Nothing could have happened. +It was only that—that——” Tony swallowed +hard, and then went on courageously: “She +asked me when her mistress had gone home, and I +told her just a few minutes before. Then she said +she must telephone her, if we were to have a moment +together. She said that she could easily make +out an excuse. And, though I had no—no particular +interest in Maria,” faltered poor Tony unhappily, +“I couldn’t see what I could do to get out +of that! And—and she did telephone, and when +she came back from telephoning,” he said, speaking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>carefully, and evidently trying his best to make the +thing sound as commonplace as possible, “she told +me that her mistress had just come in, and that +she was so excited she could scarcely speak, and +she wanted Maria at once, and that she had told +Maria that if ever she had cared anything about +her, she must be prepared to stand by her now—and +to hurry—hurry—hurry—hurry! That’s what +poor Maria kept repeating to herself. And that’s +what I had in my mind when I went into Jim’s +rooms, for it was the last thing in my mind.</p> + +<p>“I was afraid then and there of Miss Legaye’s +doing something—queer—but before I had a chance +to tell Jim what I thought—that message came, and +he was off!”</p> + +<p>Almost directly they were at Ferrati’s and confronting +Ferrati himself, who looked alarmed at the +sight of these visitors.</p> + +<p>It required small astuteness to see that his party +was an unexpected one, and that the unexpectedness +was only rivaled by the lack of welcome.</p> + +<p>Finding that ordinary and moderately courteous +inquiries were only met with extreme haziness of +perception, Tony saw that he would have to push +his way in.</p> + +<p>He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Willie +Coster expected the same result; also that Tara +looked mildly pleased. Doubtless he was pondering +enjoyably upon jujutsu and what it could accomplish. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span>Considered collectively, the party was not +one to be ignored.</p> + +<p>As though to put an exclamation point after the +sound sense of the rest, Miss Templeton, who had +been extremely quiet through it all, suddenly drew +out a revolver from the pocket of her raincoat. +Tony thrilled, for it was the one that he had seen +her buy.</p> + +<p>“Before we fight our way in,” she said amiably +enough, “suppose we try just walking in? I +don’t believe that these poor creatures will make +much trouble.”</p> + +<p>She smiled, not too pleasantly, at the poor +creatures.</p> + +<p>But they did!</p> + +<p>They made so much trouble that it took the lot of +them fifteen minutes to get to that dark inner room +where Jim Barrison was imprisoned. By that time +Lowry and three good men had arrived in a racing +car, and by the same time, Tony Clay had been put +out of business by two of Ferrati’s “huskies.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind about me!” he had implored them. +“Get Jim out!”</p> + +<p>They did. And they found Jim blinking at them +out of that awesome darkness, holding Kitty in an +iron grip. He was rather white, but he tried to +smile.</p> + +<p>“Suppose you take her?” was his first utterance. +“She’s one handful.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span></p> +<p>Kitty, once in the hands of the officers, shrugged +her shoulders and changed her tune.</p> + +<p>“What a lot of fools you are!” she exclaimed +contemptuously. “You had the clew in your hands +a dozen times over! It was only to-day that this +fellow got onto it, though, and so”—again she +shrugged her shoulders—“I had to finish him, if I +could, hadn’t I?”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE LOST CLEW</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">FERRATI was the selfsame man who had first induced +Kitty to run away from her home, her +father, and her sister. As she had progressed, she +had grown away from him and his evil influences; +but, as often happens in a situation of this sort, +when she found herself in trouble of a criminal +nature, she had gravitated most naturally back to +the man who, she was sure, could help her out of +her problem.</p> + +<p>Face to face with each other in the inspector’s +own office, neither Kitty nor Ferrati had the nerve +to hold out; between them, as a matter of fact, they +cleared up sundry police mysteries which had worried +the heads and irritated the underlings for +months past.</p> + +<p>The trap set for Jim Barrison elucidated a good +many mysteries and showed the way in which +several rich men had disappeared from the face of +the earth. The trapdoor was not in any sense a +secret one; it had been seen by half a dozen policemen +during the energetic investigations of Ferrati +and his establishment which had gone on from time +to time ever since it had become generally known +that men who subsequently disappeared had been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span>“last seen dining at Ferrati’s.” But the explanation +had been so simple and there had been so little attempt, +seemingly, at subterfuge or evasion, that the +law had been put off the scent so far as that trapdoor +was concerned.</p> + +<p>The room in which it was situated was a kind of +pantry, and directly under it was a part of the +cellar. Like many restaurant keepers, he had +bought an old country house and made it over into a +resort. Thrifty Italian that he was, he had made +as few and as inexpensive alterations as possible in +the actual structure of the building, and had found +it cheaper to put in a trapdoor and a ladder than to +build a complete staircase reaching to his cellar. +This was the explanation that he gave the police, +and it was probably true, and was assuredly logical.</p> + +<p>What became apparent now, however, was that +the trapdoor had served other ends than that of +legitimate café service. What could be easier than +to inveigle a man into the room and get rid of him +through the cellar door? As for the disposal of +the body, that, too, was quaintly provided for and +covered by Ferrati’s business. Every morning, just +at dawn, the restaurant garbage was carted away. +It was not difficult to carry other and more ghastly +things away at the same time; and the road is lonely +at that hour. A couple of discreet henchmen could +quite easily drop something over the cliffs in the +direction of the river. But, after all, this was a +secondary matter for the moment.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span></p> +<p>The great thing was that they knew now who +had fired the seventh shot. It only remained to find +out how it had been done, for even after Kitty had +admitted it, the thing seemed impossible from the +facts which they had securely established.</p> + +<p>She did not in the least mind telling them about +it. She told her story with simplicity and directness. +In her curious, calculating little head there +was not the slightest trace of regret or remorse for +what she had done. Barrison, watching her, remembered +his talk with Wrenn, and seemed to descry in +the daughter the same strange bias he had noted +in the father; the same profound selfishness, the +same complete absence of conscience where her own +wrongdoing was concerned. It also appeared clear +that only one person had ever sincerely touched the +heart of either of them, and that was the man who +was dead.</p> + +<p>There was one thing that Kitty did truly grieve +for, and that was Mortimer’s death. Whether it +was because she had loved him, or because in losing +him, she had lost the chance of marrying and so +squaring her somewhat twisted and clouded past, +would never be known to any one but herself. That +she did grieve, however odd it might appear, was +certain.</p> + +<p>The detectives exchanged glances of wonder as +they realized how simple the case had been from +the very first, once given the clew. As for the +clew itself, Barrison had had it once, but had lost +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>it. It was, as he had at one time suspected, that +red evening coat. It had left the theater exactly +when it was supposed to have left; only—it was +not Kitty who had worn it!</p> + +<p>It was the morning after the episode at Ferrati’s, +and Lowry was holding an informal inquiry. None +of them who were present would ever forget it—nor +the enchanting picture which the self-confessed +murderess presented as she sat there with a poise +that her situation could not impair, looking exquisite +in the swathing black which she wore for the man +whom she had herself killed!</p> + +<p>Inspector Lowry was, for once in his life, totally +at a loss, absolutely nonplused. To Barrison, and +the other men who knew him well, his blank amazement +in the face of the phenomenon represented by +Kitty Legaye was, to say the least of it, entertaining.</p> + +<p>At last he remarked, still staring at her as though +hypnotized: “It is a most remarkable case! Miss +Legaye, if you feel the loss of this man so deeply—and +I am convinced that you do, in spite of the +paradox it presents—why, if you don’t mind, did +you shoot him?”</p> + +<p>She flashed him a scornful glance. “Shoot him!” +she repeated vehemently. “You surely don’t suppose +for one moment that I meant to shoot him?”</p> + +<p>“But——” the inspector was beginning.</p> + +<p>“Shoot <em>him</em>!” she rushed on, with a different emphasis. +“Of course I didn’t! It is the sorrow of +my life that it turned out in that horrible manner. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>No; it was that Merivale woman whom I meant +to shoot! He was making love to her, and I +couldn’t stand it! I aimed at her, but—but—I suppose +he was closer to her than I thought, and—it +happened!”</p> + +<p>She bit her lips and clenched her small hands. +They could all see that it was only with the greatest +difficulty and by the most tremendous effort that +she was able to control the frenzy of her rage and +despair over that fatal mischance.</p> + +<p>“At that, I hadn’t planned to kill even her,” she +went on, after a moment or two. “Not then, at any +rate. But when the opportunity came, sent straight +from heaven as it seemed,” said this astounding, +moralless woman most earnestly, “I simply could +not help it.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose you tell us what actually happened.”</p> + +<p>“Why not, now? What I told him”—she looked +at Jim Barrison—“was all quite true up to the point +where I stopped at Alan’s door and heard my sister’s +voice. The rest, of course, was different. +What I really did then was to wait, listening to the +struggle and quarrel inside until I could make out +that my—my father was succeeding in separating +them. The door opened and Marita almost staggered +out, with her waist all torn and her hair half +down. She looked dreadful, and I was so afraid +some one would see her.</p> + +<p>“At the same second I saw the pistol lying just inside +the door. Alan said: ‘Shut that door!’ Neither +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>he nor my father had seen me. I bent down quickly +and, reaching in, picked up the pistol. The next +second my father had shut the door very quietly +and quickly, for no lights were to be shown in the +theater.</p> + +<p>“I still had no real intention of using the thing +that night. I just picked it up, acting on an impulse. +Besides, I didn’t think that my sister was in any +state to handle it then; so I kept it, and did not +give it to her. Then I pulled off my evening coat +and made Marita put it on.”</p> + +<p>“One moment, with Inspector Lowry’s permission,” +Barrison interrupted. “All that must have +taken time, Miss Legaye, and there were people all +around you. I myself was only a short distance +away.”</p> + +<p>“You were standing up stage,” she informed him +tranquilly, “and the stairway going to the second +tier of dressing rooms masked Alan’s door from +where you were. As for the time, it took scarcely +a minute; it happened like lightning. Such things +take time to tell about, but not to do.”</p> + +<p>“And in giving your sister your wrap, you were +trying to shield her, and were moved by sisterly affection?” +suggested the inspector sympathetically.</p> + +<p>“Indeed I was not!” snapped Kitty resentfully. +“I never had the least affection for my sister! I +was moved by the fear of a lot of talk and scandal. +I wanted to get her out of the theater, and out of my +life entirely, and the quickest way I could think of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>was to give her my coat and send her home in my +taxi.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you not go with her?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I told you I wanted to get rid of her? +I didn’t think of anything but that for a moment, +and then—then something else came over me, after +she had gone.”</p> + +<p>Her tone had changed. It was plain that she was +no longer merely narrating something; she was living +it again. She was again stirred by what had +stirred her on that fateful night; no eloquence in +the world could have made her hearers so vividly +see what she saw, nor so gravely appreciate what +she had felt, as the expression which she now wore—a +terrible, introspective expression, the look of one +who lives the past over again.</p> + +<p>“Sybil Merivale was waiting for him at the top of +the little flight of steps, and—I had the pistol still in +my hand. Even then I was not perfectly determined +on killing her. I hated her and I feared her, but I +had not planned anything yet. There was a dark +scarf over my arm; I slipped that over my head +so that it shaded my face from any chance light, and +I slipped across the few feet of distance and stood +just below her, close by the steps.</p> + +<p>“Then Alan came out of his room. There was no +light, for he had had them put out, of course, according +to Dukane’s directions, for the dark scene +which was almost on. I stood so near that I could +have touched him as he went up two steps and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span>stopped, and laughed under his breath and spoke to +her.”</p> + +<p>Again she fought for self-control, and again she +won it, though her face looked older and harder +when she began to speak once more.</p> + +<p>“He was trying to make love to her, and she +would have nothing to do with him.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t that make you hate her less?” queried +Lowry, being merely a man.</p> + +<p>“It made me hate her more! She was throwing +aside something which I would have risked anything +to get! I went mad for the moment. Then +the shots began, and it was pitch dark. I—I found +myself lifting my hand slowly, and pointing it. I +knew just where she was standing. It seemed to +me I could scarcely miss. When I had heard what +I thought was the fifth shot, I fired. I suppose I +was excited and confused, and counted wrong. I +meant my shot to come at the same time as the last +shot; that would have given me a longer time to get +away. As it was, she screamed, and I was sure +I had hit her. And I was very glad!</p> + +<p>“But I had no time to make sure. There was +commotion and confusion, and I had to get away. +I did not dare to go out through the stage entrance +where there was a light. I knew my way to the +communicating door, and I took a chance that the +lights would not go up until I was through it. I +brushed past the man who was supposed to guard +it, in the dark, but I suppose he was too excited to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>notice. I got through and ran down past the boxes +to the front of the house. People were already beginning +to come out, and there was a lot of confusion. +I had my dark scarf over my head, so I +easily passed for one of the women in the audience +who had turned faint and wanted air. I walked +quietly out of the lobby and hailed a taxi. That’s +all.”</p> + +<p>“What did you do then?”</p> + +<p>“I went home—to my hotel. I didn’t go in by the +front way, but through the side entrance, and +slipped into my room without meeting any one. I +sent out for some chloral, for I knew I could not +sleep without it, but I would not let my maid see +me, for she would have noticed that I was without +my coat.”</p> + +<p>“And the coat?”</p> + +<p>“Marita sent it back to me in the morning before +Maria came to the door. I put it on a chair by the +window so that it would seem to have been rained +on that way. When the boy brought it, it was pouring +outside, and the wet had soaked through the +paper wrapping.”</p> + +<p>There was a short silence. The mystery was +solved. It was curious to think that this small, +black-clad figure was the criminal. Yet—when one +looked deep into Kitty’s eyes, one might discern +something of her Mexican mother’s temperament and +her time-serving father’s selfishness which could explain +her part in this tragedy.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span></p> +<p>“And did you still believe that it was Miss Merivale +that you had killed?” asked Inspector Lowry.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I believed it until that man”—again indicating +Jim—“came to me in the morning and told +me of Alan’s death. It was a frightful shock.”</p> + +<p>“I should imagine that it might have been,” remarked +the inspector thoughtfully. “And when did +you decide that it was—er—advisable—to get rid of +him?” pointing to Barrison.</p> + +<p>“Yesterday afternoon, when he told me that you +were bringing my sister back, and that he was going +to have an interview in a short time with the +boy who had done her errands. I knew then that he +would soon learn too much. It was that boy who +brought me the red coat the morning after Alan’s +death, and I did not want him to talk.”</p> + +<p>“But surely you did not think that investigations +would stop just because you had got Mr. Barrison +out of the way?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head. “I didn’t reason about it +very clearly,” she said. “I had been under a good +deal of strain, you must remember. All I thought +of was that he was on my track, and that the +sooner I put him where he couldn’t harm me, the +better for me. So far as any one else was concerned, +I suppose, if I thought of them at all, I +thought that it was worth a chance. I’ve got out +of some pretty tight places before now; I’m always +inclined to hope till the last moment.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span></p> +<p>“I am afraid, Miss Legaye,” said the inspector +seriously, “that you have come to that last moment +now.”</p> + +<p>She glanced at him, and she had never looked +more charming. “Sure?” she said, in her prettiest, +most ingénue way. “I haven’t been before a jury +yet, you know, and—and men usually like me!”</p> + +<p>The inspector was red with indignation. But +more than one of the men present suppressed a +chuckle at his rage and Kitty’s composure.</p> + +<p>“Why,” asked Jim, “did you sign Miss Templeton’s +name to that decoy telegram of yours?”</p> + +<p>Kitty shrugged her shoulders. “I certainly +couldn’t sign my own, could I?” she rejoined calmly. +“And she’d been suspected at the beginning. She +seemed a good one to pick.”</p> + +<p>There was not much more to clear up, but Barrison +was on the point of putting one more question +when an officer came in and whispered to the +inspector.</p> + +<p>“Bring them in,” he said at once.</p> + +<p>The new arrivals were the Blankleys, accompanied +by the detective who had found them in Indianapolis. +They looked frightened, but Lowry quickly relieved +their minds and assured them that they would only +be required as witnesses.</p> + +<p>The meeting between the sisters was curious. +Seeing them together for the first time, Barrison +saw the resemblance plainly, though Rita looked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span>more Mexican than Kitty, and was, he knew, far +the better woman of the two.</p> + +<p>“Well, Kit?” said she quietly, almost compassionately, +but Kitty looked straight in front of her, and +neither then nor at any other time deigned to recognize +her existence.</p> + +<p>Barrison prompting the inspector, the latter turned +to Marita and held out the letter which Jim had +turned over to him the day before, the note which +both he and the younger man had accepted as conclusive +evidence of her guilt.</p> + +<p>“Did you write this, Mrs. Blankley?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She glanced down the page and nodded. “Certainly,” +she responded; “when I returned the coat +Kitty had lent me.”</p> + +<p>When they read it over, they found that its wording +was innocent enough. It was only Kitty’s evil +ingenuity which had twisted it deliberately.</p> + +<p>“Did you really hate me as much as all that, +Kit?” asked Marita, almost in wonder, but Kitty +said never a word, and did not even look in her direction.</p> + +<p>A little later, Jim Barrison was bidding Inspector +Lowry good-by.</p> + +<p>“The inquest is to-day,” remarked the inspector, +who was smoking very hard and looking very bland +and satisfied. “And we won’t have to have any ‘person +or persons unknown’ verdict this time! Found +the murderer inside of forty-eight hours! We didn’t +do so badly, eh, my boy?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span></p> +<p>Barrison dropped his eyes to hide an involuntary +twinkle at the “we.”</p> + +<p>“Splendid, sir!” he declared cordially. “Good-by! +I’m off to make a few extra inquiries—of a strictly +personal nature.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="noindent center small b2"><span class="smcap">THE FALSE GODS GO</span></p> + +<p class="drop-cap">WELL?” demanded Miss Templeton, at whose +apartment Jim Barrison presented himself in +record time after leaving headquarters. “And is +the case now closed?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite,” said Barrison, putting down his hat +and stick deliberately and standing facing her.</p> + +<p>She was standing, too; and, as she was a tall +woman, her eyes were not so very much below his +own. She was, he thought, most splendidly beautiful +as she stood there gravely looking at him.</p> + +<p>“Not quite,” he repeated, in a voice he had never +before permitted himself to use in speaking to her. +“I want to ask a few more questions, please?”</p> + +<p>She nodded, still watching him in that deep, intent +fashion.</p> + +<p>“First,” pursued Jim, trying to speak steadily and +to keep to the unimportant things, even while his +heart was throbbing violently, “why did you always +suspect Kitty Legaye?”</p> + +<p>“Because I had an instinct against her; also because +I was sure that she knew that man Wrenn. +I could tell by the way that they looked at each +other that they were not strangers, though I never +knew them to speak to each other. And, you see, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>I knew that he was connected with Alan Mortimer’s +old life. The suspicion seemed to slip in naturally.”</p> + +<p>“And at any time—at any time, mind you—did +you have it in your mind to kill Mortimer yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Never!” she returned at once, and firmly.</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, looking full into the clearest +eyes that ever a woman had.</p> + +<p>“Grace,” he said, calling her so for the first time, +“why did you buy that revolver?”</p> + +<p>She colored painfully, but her eyes met his as +truthfully as before. “Ah, you knew that!” she said. +“I had hoped that you did not. However, what can +it matter now? I am very much changed since the +day I bought that revolver. You know that, I +think?”</p> + +<p>“I know it,” he acknowledged gently.</p> + +<p>“I was terribly hurt, terribly outraged, terribly +disappointed. You must always remember that I +am a woman of wild emotions. I felt myself flung +aside—not only in love, but in my profession. I had +lost my part, and I had lost the man who, after all, +I had believed I loved.”</p> + +<p>“And did <em>you</em> want to kill Sybil Merivale, too?”</p> + +<p>She stared at him in astonishment. “Kill Sybil +Merivale!” she repeated. “Why on earth should I? +I had nothing against the girl, except that I believe +I was a little jealous of her youth and freshness +just at first. No; I had made up my mind to kill +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Yourself!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span></p> +<p>“Yes. Didn’t you guess? I had an idea that you +did, and that that was one reason for your keeping +so near me all that evening in the box. I had the +insane impulse to kill myself then and there, and +spoil Alan’s first night!” She laughed a little, +though shakily, at the recollection. “It was ridiculous, +melodramatic, anything you like, but +women have done such things, and—and I’m afraid +I am rather that sort. I meant to do it, anyway.”</p> + +<p>“And—why didn’t you? You had the revolver; I +felt it in your bag on the back of the chair. Why +didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>He had not known that a woman’s eyes could +hold so much light.</p> + +<p>“You know,” she said softly and soberly. “You +were there. You had come into my life. The false +gods go when the gods arrive!”</p> + +<p>There was a long stillness between them, in which +neither of them stirred, nor took their eyes away.</p> + +<p>“You—love me?” Jim said, in a queer voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>When he let her leave his arms, it was only that +he might look again into her eyes and touch that +wonderful golden hair, now loose and soft about +her face.</p> + +<p>“It—it isn’t dyed!” she said hastily. “I did make +up, but my hair was always that color—truly!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear, my dear!” he laughed, though with +tears and tenderness behind the laughter. “What +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>do I care whether it is dyed or not? It’s just a +part of you.”</p> + +<p>A little later a whimsical idea came to him.</p> + +<p>“You know,” he said, “the inspector said to me +yesterday that in drawing in our nets we sometimes +found that we had captured some birds that we had +never expected. I didn’t know how right he was, +for—we two seem to have caught the Blue Bird of +Happiness, after all!”</p> + +<p>“And I am sure,” said Grace Templeton solemnly, +“that no one ever really caught it before!”</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END. +</p> + +<hr class="end-of-book x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="transnote-end chapter p4"> + +<p class="noindent center bold TN-style-1"><a id="TN"></a>Transcriber’s Note (continued)</p> + +<p class="TN-style-1">Errors in punctuation and simple typos have been corrected without note. +Variations in spelling, hyphenation, accents, etc., have been left as +they appear in the original publication unless as stated in the following:</p> + +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 17 – “Miss Lagaye” changed to “Miss Legaye” (I’ve been out of work since March, Miss Legaye.)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 29 – “unforgetable” changed to “unforgettable” (A passionate, unforgettable woman)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 41 – “crispy” changed to “crisply” (crisply waving locks)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 45 – “playright” changed to “playwright” (sighed the discouraged playwright)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 53 – “coldbloodedly” changed to “cold-bloodedly” (as cold-bloodedly as did Dukane)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 76 – “well-simulated” changed to “well-stimulated” (much well-stimulated curiosity)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 115 – “stagedoor” changed to “stage door” (your stage door keeper)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 196 – “coldblooded” changed to “cold-blooded” (her cold-blooded dismissal)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 197 – “feeing” changed to “feeling” (from feeling guilty)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 198 – “imperturably” changed to “imperturbably” (remarked the inspector imperturbably)</p> +<p class="TN-style-2">Page 305 – “not” changed to “nor” (would ever forget it—nor the enchanting picture)</p> + +<p class="TN-style-1 p2"><a class="underline" href="#top">Back to top</a></p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76659 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76659-h/images/cover.jpg b/76659-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f05765d --- /dev/null +++ b/76659-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76659-h/images/pg-11-image.jpg b/76659-h/images/pg-11-image.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..65a2981 --- /dev/null +++ b/76659-h/images/pg-11-image.jpg diff --git a/76659-h/images/title-page-image.jpg b/76659-h/images/title-page-image.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0477a46 --- /dev/null +++ b/76659-h/images/title-page-image.jpg |
